#adventure man makes a triumphant return

[ghostedgwen]

inside her fantasy | s.black

notes : so, finally a very long 8.6k words fic for Sirius. I had scrapped this many many times, changed plots like 4 times and even tried to just eat my keyboard while writing this but FINALLY I finished!! Thank u for 900 followers, ily all!!! somuch!!!!!

warnings : reader has an ancient blood curse with no cure, based on sleeping beauty- loosely, LOTS and LOTS of angst, the first wizarding war plot line, character death(s), mention of war and grief and loss, marauders angst (yk the rest)

Sirius Black never thought he would ever stop playing and offer his heart to someone else until he met her, but how does a man out of time keep a girl awake and within his reach? In which a girl is cursed to fall asleep, never to wake, and Sirius is hopelessly in love with her.

. . . Trends change, rumors fly through new skies but I'm right where you left me.

It starts with a dare, like all good stories involving the Marauders do.

You swap a fellow Hufflepuff's pumpkin juice for firewhisky before breakfast, right under the nose of three Prefects and a hovering ghost. You flash your friends a triumphant grin, and the moment the poor bloke takes a gulp and splutters across the table, you let out a laugh that makes heads turn.

One of those heads belongs to Sirius Black.

He doesn't laugh like everyone else. No, he watches for a moment, assessing, then leans over to James with a smirk. "Think we got ourselves another pranskter."

You catch it. Of course you do. You raise an eyebrow across the table and say, loud enough for him to hear, "You say that like you own the rights for pranks, Black."

James snorts. Sirius pretends to be wounded. "And here I was, thinking I was being complimentary."

"Don’t strain yourself," you say. "You might pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the thrill of not being immediately adored - he was too deep in his and his friends' adventures to truly notice everyone else. Specially that you wore a yellow robe, too forgetable for him.

James grabs his arm. "We’ve got practice, mate. Come on."

He stands, but he throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Right at you, you give him a mocking wave and you get a shit-eating grin in return.

You were caught sneaking back in from the Owlery.

He was caught hexing Filch’s office door so it screamed every time someone knocked.

Now you’re side by side, polishing trophies that haven't seen the light of day since 1903. Your fingers are smudged with Brasso. The room smells like lemon and resentment and old.

"So," he says, halfway through a plaque commemorating a Gobstones champion, "what’s your best detention story?"

You grin. "I once convinced McGonagall that Peeves framed me. Drew a whole diagram and everything."

Sirius lets out a laugh that bounces off the marble. "That’s impressive. I usually just take the blame and try to look roguish while doing it."

"That explains the ego," you reply, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, mock offended. "You’re not as clever as you think you are."

You pause, toss him a sideways glance. "And you’re not as clever as you think you are."

There’s a beat.

Then he grins. Wide and wolfish. "Then I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?"

And just like that, the dynamic begins.

The pumpkins explode in perfect sequence: one after the other, like a line of golden-orange fireworks down the centre of the Great Hall.

Everyone cheers. The Marauders look vaguely shocked, for once caught off guard by a grand prank -

Because the original plan wasn't supposed to work that well. And definitely not with the added effect of floating bats that shriek "Boo!" in different languages.

You had overheard their plotting. Tweaked a few spell matrices. Subtle improvements. You're not a glory-hog, but thought to add your own flair.

Sirius corners you near the staircase hours later, after the chaos has started to die down - he looked like he had been hunting you since it all went off.

"You meddled."

You feign innocence. "I improved. There’s a difference."

"You should join us."

You raise your brow. "I work alone."

Nevermind the fact you just tinkered with their pranks, you decided against joining their little band of Marauders as you didn't fancy being the only girl in their little boys group.

You'd rather do your own thing.

Moments later, Filch comes stomping down the corridor, waving a list of suspects. You grab Sirius's hand without thinking.

"Hide."

He doesn’t question it. He lets you drag him to the small, tight place between walls where a statue was located, you squeezed yourselves behind it.

He whispers, "You really are a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Black."

Your breath fogs in the silence. His eyes catch yours. For a moment, the world shrinks. Just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of his coat brushing your arm.

He doesn’t kiss you.

But he wants to.

He asks you like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke, and perhaps it was. He had insisted so, justifying it in his head.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? I hear Honeydukes has a new licorice wand."

You smirk. "Only if you’re paying. And I want a scone. With clotted cream."

He blinks, not expecting you to say yes. He half-expected you to make fun of him for it or perhaps hex him at his audacity.

He broke into a grin at that, unbelievably successful. "Done."

You go. It’s cold and overcast and perfect. Sirius has managed to shrug James off who whined non-stop about being left alone for yet another date.

James Potter ever the brat was complaining that, "Mates before dates!" but Sirius left him.

You tease each other the whole way there, and the whole way back.

Inside the tea shop, he stares at the way you scrape the jam across your plate and says, "You’re not like anyone else, you know."

You tilt your head. "That sounds suspiciously like a line - am I supposed to swoon now?"

He sighs, knowing you'd respond with a bite like always. He leans back. "It’s not. I just meant - "

"I’m not interested in being Sirius Black’s next conquest," you interrupt, quiet but firm.

For once, he has no retort.

For once, something cracks in his expression. Just for a second, that you barely caught it.

Then he masks it with a grin. "I’d never break your heart."

You don’t believe him. But you wish you could.

The tower is asleep - but as always, one Gryffindor is out of bed.

Sirius sits on the edge of his bed, candle flickering low beside him. His parchment is blotchy with crossed-out lines.

He thought about practising it first, writing down his thoughts and feelings and words he dared not say on parchment before he blurts them out to you.

In fear that he'd say it wrong - or you wouldn't take it too well. He resorted to writing his feelings down, it made him feel almost embarrassed. Almost.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t make it easy.

Maybe it’s because when I’m around you, I’m not just ‘Sirius Black’ - I’m something I don’t hate.

He finishes the letter at that after many revisions, numerous lines crossed out and ink droplets staining the edges of the texts. He stares at it, blinks once -

Then he folded it, tucked into the bottom of his trunk. Probably not to be seen ever again by any other soul, specially not the person it was written for.

He went to bed with a heavy weight on his chest.

Your friends surprise you with a pile of sweets and a stack of cards. Someone charms the banner to say Happy Birthday, You Absolute Legend. There’s music, and dancing, and laughter that lights up the whole room.

You were against them throwing a whole party but they insisted. Your dormmates had birthdays outside of school, right during holidays and summer breaks so they insisted on celebrating yours.

You couldn't dodge out of it any longer and it soon turned into a big thing with other people from the other houses piling into your common room, all invited, to celebrate your coming-of-age.

Sirius gives you a wrapped package the size of a wand. Inside is a quill - you eye it with distrust as it couldn't be that simple with him.

"What does it do?" you ask, raising a brow with a coy grin.

He smirks. "Try it."

You scribble your name across a napkin. The quill shimmers, then begins writing compliments beneath it: Wittiest girl in the castle. Eyes like midnight mischief. Dangerous in the best way.

You laugh so hard at the words that you felt tears in your eyes.

During the festivites, you decided you have had enough and snuck out so effortlessly, you climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius follows, wordlessly, you didn't even mind him following you in there. Much too happy by everything that had happened to feel anything but pure happiness.

The stars are out, constellations drawn out to scatter across the night sky. You can feel the cold wind brushing past you, but you’re warm.

Must've been the Firewhiskey.

He stands beside you, watching how the moon illuminated your face. How the white light cast an almost blue hue across your features, like you were a painting come to life.

He leans in, despite himseld and you immediately caught it. Pressing a hand to his chest to stop him, your palms staying flat against his jacket. You give him a small smile.

"Not yet," you whisper.

He doesn’t push, he just slowly nods, accepting the rejection.

"Seventeen feels. . . big," you say, eyes on the sky, turning away from him before you could reject pushing him away before he could even close the distance.

"You’ve got time," he tells you.

You smile, soft. Sad, somehow.

"I know."

The library was unusually silent for a Thursday evening. You knew that most students had already left to their common rooms or gone to dinner, escaping the biting chill that had settled over the castle.

Even the ghosts, those eternal spirits who haunted the halls, seemed to have retreated into their own restless slumber, leaving the space in a fragile, almost sacred silence. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the shadows, their dark wood and brass fittings gleaming faintly in the low glow of the lanterns, like silent sentinels guarding ancient secrets.

You sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the far window, your legs tucked beneath you, a pile of books and loose parchment spread across your lap.

Your ink-stained fingers moved furiously, scribbling notes, ideas, or perhaps just trying to clear your mind. Your quill tapped rhythmically against your lips as you thought, lost in the world of your own making, unaware of anyone else’s presence.

The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here. You hated the library on principle - so quiet, so organized, so full of reminders of work you’d rather avoid. But tonight, it was a refuge of sorts, a quiet space where you could escape the chaos of school and the pressure of exams.

Besides, you liked the solitude. It was easier to think when no one was around.

Until you felt that familiar, restless energy stir within you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly - maybe boredom, maybe the need for distraction. Maybe a desire to defy the dull routine of school life. Whatever it was, it made you glance around and contemplate your options. Perhaps a little mischief. A quick prank to liven things up.

You shifted slightly in the chair, lifting your quill and preparing to scribble a note to yourself or perhaps an amused doodle. That’s when you noticed him.

Sirius Black.

He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a crooked grin curling on his lips. His eyes flicked over you with a teasing glint, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You tried to ignore him, but you knew better.

He sauntered over, boots silent on the stone floor, a devilish smirk on his face. You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, the way he always looked at you when he was about to do something he knew you’d hate.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and amused. "What do we have here? A little angel hiding in the library after hours?"

You rolled your eyes, pretending to ignore him. "Not your concern, Black."

He chuckled softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Come on, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends."

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. Sirius always knew how to push your buttons - in the worst and best ways.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the spine of a dusty, leather-bound tome on the table next to your chair. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Thinking of a little prank, are we?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your grin. "Not this time, Black."

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. "Come on, I know you’re dying for some trouble. Just one little thing."

You hesitated. You knew he was right - your usual impulse was to stir up chaos, to shake things up. But tonight, you felt something different. A flicker of unease, maybe. Something about the way you were feeling - restless, distracted, almost jittery - made you pause.

Sirius, however, was relentless.

He reached for the nearest book on the table - an enormous, dusty volume - and grinned wider. "How about I give this a little shove? Bet it’d make a hell of a noise."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re hopeless."

He chuckled again. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you to it."

You shook your head, trying to focus on your work again. But then, something caught your eye. You felt it before you saw it: the strange stillness in your body, the way your fingers suddenly refused to move, the sensation that your mind had gone quiet, almost as if you’d fallen into a trance.

You didn’t realize until a moment later that you’d gone completely still, your eyes fixed on a point far away.

Suddenly, Sirius’s voice broke through your concentration. "Oi, princess," he said softly, crouching down beside your chair. "You’re gonna fall asleep in the library like that? Not exactly the look you’re going for."

You didn’t respond. For a moment, you didn’t even blink. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

He nudged your shoulder gently. "Come on, wake up. Hey."

Nothing.

Your heart fluttered - an odd, sinking feeling you couldn’t quite place. You were alive, weren’t you? You felt your chest rise and fall. But something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "Oi, what’s going on?" he asked softly, reaching out to shake you more firmly. "This isn’t funny."

Still, you remained frozen, eyes staring blankly ahead. Your head lolled slightly to the side, your body slack in the chair’s embrace. A shiver ran down your spine; a primal instinct told you that something was terribly wrong.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently shook your shoulders. "Come on, talk to me. Wake up."

No response.

His heart hammered in his chest. You weren’t responding. Your body was limp, unnaturally still.

"No, no, no," he whispered, voice cracking. Panic rising. His mind raced - what was happening?

He pressed his ear as close as he dared to your chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat. There it was, faint but steady - faint, slow, like a distant drum. You were alive, somehow, but not present. Not really.

His breath hitched as he stared at you, helpless.

"Please, no," he muttered, voice thick with emotion.

Without thinking, Sirius slid his arms under your body, lifting you carefully, cradling you against his chest as if afraid you’d shatter. Your head lolled against his collarbone, limp and unresponsive. His heart pounded harder now, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

He sprinted through the rows of books, knocking over stacks in his haste, ignoring the startled shouts of Madam Pince, who hurried after him.

"Help! Somebody, I need help!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing down the corridor as he burst out into the hallway.

The hospital wing smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a familiar blend that didn’t bring comfort tonight. Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, meticulously organizing vials and bandages, when the doors swung open with a gust of wind and Sirius burst in, clutching you carefully.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of you, unconscious and limp in his arms. "What happened?"

"I don’t know," Sirius gasped, pounding his fist against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "She was just sitting there. She wouldn’t wake up."

Pomfrey hurried forward, her hands deft and sure. "Bring her here," she ordered, taking you from Sirius’s trembling grip and laying you gently onto a bed.

"She’s alive," Pomfrey said, brow furrowing. "But she’s not sleeping. This is . . . different."

Sirius clenched his fists, helpless and desperate. "What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

Pomfrey shook her head slowly. "It’s not a physical injury. This is magical. Or perhaps. . . something darker."

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "A curse?"

She nodded grimly. "Most likely. A very old, very powerful one."

Sirius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. "A curse? How? Why? I - "

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, and Professor Dumbledore entered with his usual calm grace, his robes flowing behind him like a gentle wave. His blue eyes, however, were sharp with concern.

He moved swiftly to your bedside, examining you with quiet precision. His fingers hovered over your brow, then traced down to your wrist.

"Leave us for a moment, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, voice calm but firm.

Sirius hesitated, his jaw tight. But he nodded, stepping back into the corner, watching helplessly as Dumbledore’s gaze flicked over your still form.

He could hear the whispering of Pomfrey’s concerned murmurs, see the way her brow furrowed as she studied you.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Sirius, his expression grave. "This is no ordinary sleep," he announced.

"You said it’s a curse," Sirius pressed. "Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he folded his hands in front of him. “I wish I could. But some magic was forged not to be broken. This is a blood curse - ancient.”

Sirius stared at you. At the way your head lolled to the side, still tucked in close to your shoulder like you’d just drifted off mid-sentence. Your hand was still curled around your quill, ink smeared at the base of your palm. You looked so alive. Too alive to be cursed. Too alive to be gone.

But you weren’t breathing right. Not deeply, not the way you did when you fell asleep in the Common Room after a long patrol. He would’ve teased you for it, if this were different - how you snored just a little when you were really knackered, how your mouth always parted like you were in the middle of some secret dream. But there was none of that now.

Just stillness. Just silence.

“She was fine,” he said again, voice quieter this time. "She was laughing at McGonagall’s robes in Transfiguration. Making that bloody stupid joke about animagus hats. She was fine.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no comfort in his eyes - only something impossibly old. “These curses often lie dormant until they are triggered. A moment of emotional intensity. Prolonged exhaustion. Sometimes even something as simple as turning seventeen. We don’t always know what wakes them.”

Sirius blinked hard. His throat was starting to close. “And now what? What do we do now?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We wait.”

“No,” Sirius snapped, too quickly, voice breaking on the edge of it. “That’s not- that’s not good enough.”

The air around him tightened, buzzing beneath his skin like he was about to explode. He’d lived his whole life under someone else’s control - his family, his bloody name, the rules of the castle, the limits of what magic could and couldn’t do - but this was different.

This was you. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep in a library and never wake up.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing like he might wear a hole through the stone. “She’s not some fairytale. She’s not some . . . cursed maiden locked in a tower. She’s her. She’s stubborn, and she hates studying, and she always steals the last bit of toast when she thinks I’m not looking - she’s real.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said, quiet as ever.

“She can’t just - ” Sirius’s voice cracked again. “She can’t just go.”

“She’s not gone.”

“But you don’t know when she’s coming back.” The words scraped out of his throat like they’d been broken inside him. “You don’t know if she ever will.”

Silence.

And then, Dumbledore spoke again - gently, but with the weight of someone who had seen too much. “This curse runs in her family. Passed through generations. Few survive it more than once.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists. “She didn’t even know.”

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore allowed. “Or perhaps she did. But she hoped, as many do, that it would skip her.”

Sirius stared down at you, at your fingers, still ink-stained and human. “So what now?”

“Now we care for her,” Dumbledore said. “We wait. And we love her, even if she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. That’s not me. I’m not going to just sit and watch her fade. There has to be something. Anything.”

Dumbledore hesitated.

And that hesitation - that split second - was all Sirius needed.

“There is something, isn’t there?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re holding something back.”

“It’s not something that can be done,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Not the way you think. This curse. . . it only yields to love. Not infatuation. Not obsession. Something older. Something that holds its shape even when time doesn’t.”

Sirius’s chest burned. “Then I’ll do it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would have to remain, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Through months. Years. Decades, perhaps. And never know if she’ll wake. Or if she’ll remember. You’d have to love her in silence. Without promise. Without return.”

“I already do.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

The air felt different after that.

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “If that is true, then you may be the only hope she has.”

Dumbledore sent word to your family within the hour.

Sirius wasn’t in the room when they arrived - Dumbledore had gently, firmly suggested he give them privacy - but he could hear the voices. Muffled through stone and spellwork. Raised. Bitter. Desperate.

They’d known. Not everything, but enough.

It had happened once before - a great-aunt, long dead, whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree out of shame or grief or maybe both. You were supposed to have been spared. A healer had sworn it dormant. A ritual had been done when you were a baby. There’d been no signs. You were bright, brilliant. Uncursed.

They’d believed in the lie because it was easier than preparing for the truth.

You woke up just after 4 days. Those 4 days were spent with Sirius visiting you in between classes, meals, Quidditch practices. His friends were growing worried for him as they also worried for you.

He looked changed in just a span of 4 days. 4 cruel days spent on your bedside begging you to wake up, begging you to come back to him.

Promising you grand pranks you could pull together, more alcoholic concoctions to throw up in the morning. He offered everything to see your eyes flutter open.

It wasn't fair. He was just beginning to know you, to love you - it all felt to fresh and raw and real - this cannot be happening to him.

When you woke up, it was so sudden.

Just a sharp inhale that jolted your whole body and the whisper of your name as Dumbledore caught your shoulder before you could fall out of the bed in shock.

You blinked at the light, slow and sluggish, as if waking from years instead of days. You reached for your wand first - you did not find it. Then your face. Then the necklace under your collarbone. None of it had changed. But everything had.

They cried - your parents. But not the way Sirius thought they would. Not relief, not love, not wild, stupid joy.

No, they cried like cowards. Quiet, ashamed, as if your waking made it worse. As if the confirmation of the curse meant the whole thing had been real all along. Like you were some buried secret they couldn’t keep hidden anymore.

Sirius watched it all from the hallway, fists clenched, pacing outside the Hospital Wing like he was about to be sick.

The door creaked open. Madam Pomfrey slipped out. “She’s awake.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t even think.

He was inside the room before anyone could stop him, blood still thrumming in his ears. You were sitting up in bed, hair a tangle, voice raw as you said his name - confused, hoarse, like you hadn’t said it in years. “Sirius?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room and pulled you into him like you were drowning and he didn’t care if he sank too.

You tried to push him away after that.

It started the moment you woke up, dry-mouthed and weak, in the Hospital Wing. Four days. You'd lost four days of your life to a sleep you hadn’t meant to enter, and everything had changed.

You saw it in your parents’ eyes first. The shame. The quiet devastation. You saw it in the way Pomfrey didn’t scold you for trying to stand, and in the way Dumbledore couldn’t quite meet your gaze.

But most of all, you saw it in Sirius.

When he ran to you and pulled you into a hug, like holding you meant that it was all real. He just breathed like he'd finally surfaced from drowning.

You couldn’t look at him too long. Because the guilt hit harder than the fear. You hadn’t meant to become a problem. A burden. A question mark in someone else’s future.

So you did what you always did. You joked.

"You should probably date someone with a better track record for staying conscious," you said over breakfast the next morning, stirring your porridge like it might give you answers.

He didn’t laugh.

You tried again in the corridor. "Seriously, Sirius, you don’t have to do this whole loyal boyfriend routine. I know it’s been a weird month. I give you full permission to run."

He didn’t even blink - not even when you finally addressed him by first name. A progress to your now, very complicated, relationship.

"You think I’m staying because I feel bad?" he asked one night, voice low and raw. "You think this is pity?"

You shrugged, but your fingers clenched around the edge of your sleeve. "I think I wouldn’t blame you if you left."

And that was the truth. The quiet, aching part of it. That you didn’t think you deserved someone who stayed. It was a burden you could never ask of anyone.

He stepped closer then, close enough that his words landed right against your ribs.

"Don’t you get it?" he said, voice shaking with something bigger than anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake."

It should’ve comforted you. It only made your chest ache harder.

Because you didn’t want him waiting around like some tragic romantic figure. You didn’t want to be the girl people wrote poems about after she vanished too soon. You wanted to be solid. Reliable. Here.

But you weren’t. And he's decided to stay anyway.

Even when you stopped meeting his eyes.

Even when you flinched in the middle of a sentence, panicked that a yawn might spiral into something worse.

Even when you stopped touching him entirely, afraid that if you reached for his hand, it might be the last thing you ever did.

Still, he stayed.

And he started leaving you things.

A tiny mirror charm on your nightstand, bewitched to show cartoon dog ears on your reflection when you frowned.

A chocolate frog with a note tucked inside the box that said, Still here. Always here.

A prank exploding parchment that poofed glitter in your face during a Charms study session and made you laugh until you nearly sobbed.

Sometimes it was just small things. A folded jacket over your chair when you forgot it was cold. A sugar quill tucked into your books.

It should have been too much. But it never was.

Because you missed him. Desperately.

You missed the ease. The banter. The feeling that you were someone he chose, not someone he pitied.

You missed before.

But there was no going back.

One afternoon, you found him outside the library, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against the wall.

He wasn’t doing anything. No mischief, no plotting. Just staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to stay still. Like the world had moved on and he was trying to figure out how to follow it.

You hadn’t seen him all day.

And somewhere in your chest, the idea that he’d finally given up had lodged itself like a splinter. The relief that washed through you at the sight of him was nauseating.

He looked up when your footsteps stopped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, finally: "I’m sorry."

Sirius blinked. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer.

"For what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"I don’t know," you said honestly. "Everything. Pushing you. Making you wait around for someone who can’t promise anything."

You hesitated.

"I wish you could love someone with less complications."

He stared at you for a moment, like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then, suddenly, he laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh. Like it startled even him.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him out of nowhere. "What?"

"If this were easy," he said, still laughing, "I’d think it was some grand prank. I’d assume Moony and Prongs were hiding behind a tapestry ready to jump out."

You snorted despite yourself.

"Merlin, you’re so stupid."

And then you kissed him. Not planned. Not careful.

Just raw.

You kissed him like you were terrified and desperate and alive. Like if the curse took you tonight, you wanted this to be your last memory.

He didn’t pull away. Just froze for a breath. And then he was kissing you back with that same terrified urgency.

You pulled away after a second, just enough to murmur: "Just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow."

Sirius cupped your face with both hands then, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was trying to memorize them.

His voice was soft. So gentle it hurt.

"Don’t worry about tomorrow," he whispered. "You’re awake right now."

You nodded. But your lip trembled."I’m so scared of falling asleep."

There. You said it. Finally voicing out the thought that haunted you at night. Bags hung under your eyes from nights you desperately tried to stay awake.

Your dormmates have all tried their best to offer any help they could. The whole castle knew your predicament by now - nothing ever stays a secret at Hogwarts.

You appreciated them, but nothing helped.

And when you finally said it, he didn’t flinch.

He just pulled you in again. Wrapped his arms around you like he could protect you from the unknown. From the curse that ran through your veins, as old as your magic.

"I know," he said. "I’m scared too."

And then he kissed your temple. Your forehead. The corner of your mouth, he wished he could kiss every inch of you.

"Don’t worry, love," he murmured. "I’ll be here when you open those pretty eyes."

And the thing is, you believed him. Even if it still hurt.

Even if you still woke every morning unsure if you'd made it through the night or it was some dream you have landed into.

He was always there.

And slowly, you started reaching back.

They didn’t have forever - so they started pretending like they did.

By late February, your hand had found a permanent place in Sirius’s.

He joked that the skin might fuse together if you weren’t careful, and you’d laughed - really laughed - for the first time since you’d woken from that cursed sleep. He’d grinned like a fool then, pride blooming in his chest just for being the reason your shoulders weren’t tight with fear, just for chasing the shadow from your eyes, even for a moment.

You’d made it through March. Barely. Some days your legs dragged beneath you like your body already knew the sleep was coming. Some nights Sirius had to shake you awake from dozes you didn’t remember falling into. But you were still here. And so was he.

Hogsmeade in spring felt like a stolen miracle.

He took your hand outside Honeydukes, lifting it to his lips with a boyish smile. “So, what’ll it be, darling? Chocolate frogs or a full day of snogging behind the Shrieking Shack?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I die in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, you better be ready to fight off some angry ghosts.”

He beamed. “Then it’s a date.”

You weren’t hiding anymore. He’d told everyone. James had fist-bumped you and said it was about time. Remus had congratulated you as well, making a sarcastic remark that "Pads can finally stop moaning about how much he wants you now that you can snog him into silence." Even Peter had hugged you with the kind of gentleness that meant he’d heard. That he understood.

And the pranks - oh, the pranks.

It started with your idea, actually. A tiny hex that made Filch’s boots click like tap shoes. The look on Sirius’s face when you suggested it - pure, lovesick awe.

“Marry me,” he said, half-joking.

You tilted your head. “Better wait until I survive the school year.”

The boys had welcomed you into their chaos without question. You were a natural. A little louder than James, a little sharper than Remus, and exactly Sirius’s brand of reckless.

When you came back one night covered in soot and giggling from a dungbomb gone wrong, Sirius tugged you close on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, kissed your temple, and whispered, “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

But he was the brilliant one. The constant. Every night, after curfew, he would draw the curtains of his four-poster and you would curl beside him. The other boys never said a word - not one complaint, not even a tease.

You were terrified to sleep alone. And they understood.

Some nights you fell asleep tangled together, his arms around your waist, your breath uneven against his neck.

Other nights, sleep wouldn’t come. You’d lie awake listening to his heartbeat and whisper nonsense into the dark. Sirius would hold you tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles into your spine.

And every single night, he would say, without fail:

“Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here, handsome as ever when the sun rises.”

You pretended to believe it. Most nights, you even did.

April crept in like a thief. The scent of rain on stone, blossoms blooming beside the lake, the castle lit with gold and promise. Exams were approaching. So was the end.

So was the sleep.

And then - you didn’t wake up.

It was a Thursday.

You’d said goodnight. You’d kissed him. You’d whispered your usual lie: “See you in the morning.”

And then - nothing.

The Healers said it was the curse reasserting itself. That your body was fighting to stay, but the magic was older than any potion. There was no way to stop it. No one knew how long it would last.

Sirius didn’t move from the Hospital Wing for a week.

James brought food. Remus sat with him in the early mornings. Peter left chocolate frogs on the table beside your bed. But Sirius - he stayed. He barely slept. He wrote letters and folded them beneath your pillow. He spoke to you like you were just resting.

“You’re not gone,” he said one night, voice cracking. “You’re just late. You’ve always been late to things, remember? You’ll wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”

But you didn’t wake.

You missed the N.E.W.T.s. Missed the way Remus clutched his results in trembling hands. Missed James and Lily getting into a blazing row about the future and making up in the courtyard two hours later.

You missed the last Gryffindor breakfast, the daisy chain crowns, the class photo with everyone laughing too hard to stand still.

You missed graduation.

Sirius didn’t walk. He refused. Said he wouldn’t cross a finish line you hadn’t.

By July, he was different. Gaunt-eyed. Brittle-tempered. The war had begun - the real one - and he joined the Order like his blood was already boiling for vengeance.

But still, he wrote you letters.

He left them at St. Mungo’s when you were transferred there in August. Left chocolates, enchanted notes, silly doodles. He threatened the mediwitch who tried to call you a lost cause.

“She’s not gone,” he snapped. “She’s just waiting.”

And then - autumn came.

And you woke up.

The world smelled different. Crisper. More distant.

You were eighteen now. But the world had moved on without you.

Your body was slow to respond. Magic flickered in your hands but didn’t sing the way it used to. You blinked against the sterile light of St. Mungo’s, head pounding, heart aching.

And then the door opened.

Sirius stood in the frame.

Older. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes, jaw tighter, arms crossed like he’d forgotten how to relax. But still - him. Still yours. Always yours.

He stared at you for a moment like you were a ghost.

And then he was at your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You missed a war,” he said, voice rough.

You tried to smile. “Did we win?”

He didn’t answer that. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You moved in together. Shared a flat with creaky floors and mismatched furniture, patched together like your hearts. You tried to build a life between sleep and fear - fleeting moments of normalcy suspended in the quiet before sirens, the hush before screams.

The flat became a fragile sanctuary. You lit candles during power outages and cooked dinner over the radio’s static updates. Some nights you danced in the kitchen just to remember joy. Other nights, you held each other in the dark, neither speaking, just listening to the wind press against the windows like a warning.

You kept a journal now - small and leather-bound, pages inked with memories of what you missed, what he told you, and what you dreamed when you were gone. You wrote down things like: his laugh this morning, like something untouched by war. Or: he said “stay safe” like he meant “stay alive.”

You lived like it might all vanish again. Because it would. Because war takes everything, even the things you think are untouchable.

You both tried to power through it, despite the raging war around you and the brewing danger that curled like smoke under your door. Each day was a risk. Each night, a relief.

You were worried for him - for the way his name appeared in whispered conversations, for the work he did in shadows. But you knew it was right. He was trying to change the story.

Sirius sometimes talked about stopping. Once, after a long silence over cold tea, he said quietly, almost ashamed, “I barely get enough moments with you, with all this happening - what if I just get less and less time?”

You reached across the table, grabbed his hand like it was the only steady thing in a world falling apart. You shook your head, firm. “No. You don’t get to give up. You’re fighting for a good cause. Let’s be on the good side of history when people look back on this time.”

His eyes searched yours - tired but still burning - and after a breath, he nodded. “You’re right. You always are.”

So you both joined the Order.

Not because you weren’t scared, but because you were. Because fear can hollow you or harden you - and you chose to fight.

Then one night, in a small and quiet gathering of Order members - tired, battle-worn, but still fighting to hold onto something human - Lily stood up.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled - truly smiled, not the brittle one she'd worn through grief and fear, but something bright and real, like the girl she used to be before the war.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

For a moment, the room was still - stunned into silence. And then it erupted like spring breaking through frost.

James laughed so loudly it startled the portraits on the walls. He beamed like the sun - the kind of joy that doesn’t ask permission. Remus stood and clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy with tears he wouldn’t let fall. Sirius made a strangled noise, like a laugh and a sob at once, and buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up, his grin was crooked and wild. Peter smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - there was something distant in his expression, like he was somewhere else entirely. You noticed. But you hadn’t been around long enough to know what was normal for Peter anymore, so you let it slide.

The Marauders buzzed with pride, their joy loud and golden, filling every dark corner of that war-battered room. Your found family, in all its ragged glory, clung to joy wherever it bloomed - because joy was a form of resistance too.

Later that night, after the toasts and the storytelling and the laughter worn thin from overuse, the others drifted away. Candles burned low. The room emptied, settling into silence.

That’s when Sirius pulled you aside.

He looked different in the low light - softer somehow. His usual fire had banked into something slower, more careful. There was a tremble in his hand as he reached for yours, not from fear, but from urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. His voice was low, stripped of bravado. “I don’t want to wait. Not with everything going on. Not with how time keeps. . . stealing you.”

Your heart caught. Because he was right. Every day was a borrowed page, every goodbye heavy with the question: will there be another? Will tomorrow really come?

He pulled something from his pocket - a ring, simple but quietly extraordinary. It shimmered like starlight, charmed with a magic that whispered permanence in a world that promised none.

“Marry me,” he said.

There was no speech, no preamble. Just those two words. And then more: “I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared. But I don’t want anyone else. It’s you or nothing. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of protest forming. You wanted to say he might regret it. That the war could tear you away, again. That love like this didn’t always get a happy ending, not with your curse anyway.

But he saw it all in your eyes and stopped you before the words could shape.

“All we have is now,” he whispered. “Say yes. Say yes while you’re here.”

And something in you - some quiet, aching truth - answered him before your lips did.

So you said yes.

You were so afraid but you said yes despite yourself and the clawing fear. Because love, in this world, wasn’t a promise. It was a defiance, and in some fairy tales, love is how you beat war.

Your wedding was held shortly after his proposal and it wasn't big at all.

There were no grand halls or gilded arches, no glittering lights or towering cakes. Just a windswept clearing in the woods near Godric’s Hollow, with wildflowers bowing in the breeze and magic humming softly through the air like it recognized something sacred.

Only friends were there - the people who mattered, who had bled and laughed and fought beside you. The ones who’d become family when bloodlines stopped meaning anything.

Remus officiated, because of course he did. He stood in worn robes, clutching a piece of parchment he barely needed to glance at, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He kept it simple, heartfelt. There were no flowery vows, no overly rehearsed speeches - just truth spoken between people who knew how precious time had become.

Lily cried, openly, beautifully - tears glinting in the sunlight as she clutched James’s hand. James looked at her like she hung the stars, then raised a glass and made a toast full of wit and warmth, ending with, “To love that fights, even when the world’s falling down.”

Sirius kissed you like a vow, like he could stitch you into the present with just his mouth on yours. There was no audience in that moment, no war, no future - just the weight of his hands on your face, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palms. A promise sealed in the kind of silence that means everything.

Afterward, when the sky began to burn gold and purple at the edges, and laughter floated over shared food and spiked cider, you pulled him aside. Looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t regret this,” you said.

He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he gave the world, but something gentler, quieter. A smile made just for you.

“Never,” he said. “Not in any lifetime.”

And for a while, things were good. The war kept brewing but you stayed awake, greeting him like it's the best surprise every morning. Only, he greeted you now as his Wife.

Then Harry was born - tiny, wrinkled, and loud enough to shake the walls of the cottage with his arrival. The kind of scream that said, I’m here. I survived.

You were there. In the still-soft hours after, Lily handed him to you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something fierce and unbreakable.

She placed him in your arms like it was the most natural thing in the world - like she was giving you hope in human form.

He was beautiful. Small fists curled in sleep, a shock of black hair, his father’s stubborn chin already making itself known. And those eyes - not James’s, but hers. Green and bright and knowing.

For a moment, you all forgot there was a war. Just long enough to believe in a future.

You and the Marauders became the babysitters.

It wasn’t official, but it was understood. Harry would grow up surrounded by magic and mischief and unbreakable love - even if the world outside was falling apart. You rocked him to sleep in Lily’s favorite chair, humming lullabies that didn’t quite belong to you.

Remus read him stories in soft, calming tones, changing his voice for each character until the baby would babble back in delight. Peter would bring sweets and toys, always a little awkward, like he was trying to earn a place in a world that had started to drift just beyond his reach.

And Sirius - Sirius made him laugh. Real, belly-deep baby giggles, the kind that echoed through the house and made even the darkest thoughts scatter for a while. He barked like a dog, of course. Poked his tongue out. Pulled ridiculous faces that turned Harry red with laughter and left James wheezing from the couch. Harry adored him.

One night, after the baby had worn himself out and fallen asleep curled in James’ arms, the fire crackling low and quiet in the hearth, Sirius turned to you. His hair was mussed from Harry’s tiny fists, and his smile was soft - the kind that only came out in quiet moments like this.

“He’s so bloody cute,” he whispered, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. “I think I want one of my own.”

Your breath hitched.

The air felt too still, too sharp. “Sirius - ”

You didn’t have to finish. He saw it instantly - the fear blooming behind your eyes. Fear of the future. Fear of hope. Fear of losing again.

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “It’s just a thought. We don’t have to. I just. . . I love this. I love you. And I’d never let anything happen. You hear me?”

He touched your cheek then, eyes full of that same vow he’d made the day you married. “If you ever fell asleep again, I’d hold the world steady until you came back.”

You nodded, even as your heart clenched. Because that’s what Sirius Black did - he made impossible promises and meant every one.

And time passed. Quietly, quickly. Like a thief.

Then came the mission.

Just another assignment with the Order. Nothing you hadn’t done before. Nothing worth fearing, not really. But Sirius was tense. He lingered at the door, kissed your forehead too long. Held your hands like they were glass.

You kissed him that night, trying to lighten the mood, trying to be brave for both of you. “If I don’t wake for a while,” you whispered, smiling softly, “tell me you’ll wait again.”

He kissed you back like he was sealing a spell, like he could pour every ounce of magic he had into your skin.

“Always,” he said. “Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here - handsome as ever - when the sun rises.”

It did not go well. You encountered a death eater and was severely hurt, still alive and fighting but through your fight to stay alive - you slipped into the darkness.

Tomorrow came, and you didn’t wake.

Not the next morning.

Not the next week.

Not when Lily and James were murdered in their home, his body in the hallway leading to the nursery, her body found crumpled over a crib that somehow still held a crying child.

Not when Sirius found them first. Not when he fell to his knees on the floor, screaming James’ name so loud it broke something inside him forever.

Not when Peter turned traitor and vanished in the smoke of his own destruction.

Not when Sirius was blamed - framed - and hunted like a beast. Not when they cornered him on that street and stripped him of everything.

Not even when they dragged him to Azkaban.

You didn’t stir.

He screamed your name in that prison cell. Whispered your promises to the cracks in the stone. Waited for the sunrise that never came.

And still, you didn’t wake.

Not until three years into his sentence, when the war was over, the dead buried, and the child orphaned.

You had promised to be there when the sun rose.

But this time, time didn’t keep its promise.

you left me no, you left me no choice but to stay here forever. . .

end. masterlist

[bangaveragewhitewine]

so soft like silk chiffon

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Contents: Sickeningly sweet and cosy domesticity. Female reader. Eddie and reader share clothes, but I see her as curvy. Librarian / Bookstore reader x Record Store Eddie. Food mention. Weed mention if you squint. 

Note: This started as a single line in doc, abandoned for months and months. Looking for anything to focus on and any distractions from life, I present the doc formerly known as ‘Eddie Munson makes you dinner while wearing your silky robe. Send tweet.’ Barely edited, certainly not beta’ed. This is as much a surprise to me as it may be to you!

PS - I like to think of these two as the same couple from The Boy Is Mine, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!

The keys in your hand are skin-warmed, digging their teeth into your palm and leaving their tangy metallic bitemarks behind. So eager to get home, you do not feel their weight or their sharp edges. 

Home. 

The thought alone makes you smile. An easy curve of your lips, much more effortless and real than your customer service facade.

Home is more than the hot shower and fresh bedsheets waiting to wash away the day and welcome you home. It is more than the stocked-up cupboards and the cold bottle of wine that calls ‘drink me!’ so sweetly after a long shift. More than the couch that cradles your weight and the records stacked and spinning as you breath in earthy green to unwind a little more, sink a little deeper into the weekend.

All of those things are great, you cannot wait to scrub away the sheen of sweat and the dry feeling that lingers on your hands after hours of stacking returned books and settle yourself into the groove in the couch with a carb-heavy dinner and cold white wine, the perfect remedy for the summer programme planning meeting-induced headache.

Now, home is so much more than simple pleasures and little luxuries. 

It’s the man who kissed you goodbye on the stoop before you turned in opposite directions for work this morning, both sleepy-headed as you set the countdown until you see each other again. Tick tock, tick tock, two whole days together over the weekend.

It is the man who races you back to the apartment, waiting with a triumphant smirk and an invitation to share the hot water, or a smiley face in steam on the bathroom mirror. When you win the race, the sound of his key in the lock and his goofy ���honey, I’m home’ makes your tummy flutter.

Home is more than four walls and a front door; a small apartment at the top of Lakeview, perfectly poised between the library and the record store, with friends and favourite bars dotted around the Windy City. 

You have been playing house with Eddie since you were both gap-toothed with scraped knees, making up magical lands and adventures from morning until the sun set and only re-entering the real world to raid your fridge or eat the sandwiches Wayne made with cold cuts and crispy salty chips. It made sense that you would always be home for each other. 

The final few steps do not feel so arduous when you know he is home before you; the sound of Black Sabbath already playing from the stereo beckons you back into the cosy confines of your apartment. Smiling to yourself again, you take a final step over the threshold, feeling weightless.

Through the shred of War Pigs, Eddie catches the jangle of keys and the quick click of the closing door. He skids on socked feet from the kitchen to the short hallway, smile wide and eyes sparkling. 

“She’s home!” 

Eddie’s arms span out wide, swathed in wide swishing satin. He’s wearing your robe again, half open over his bare chest and boxers. The check print and his inked-up hairy legs are a wonderful contrast to the delicate swish and sway of painted florals. 

When it’s not wrapped around your bed-warm body in the mornings or draped on your lotioned post-shower skin at night, it hangs on the back of the bedroom door like a silky waterfall. That is until the seasons turn and the printed satin is carefully laundered and folded away, replaced with teddy-soft terrycloth until the weather warms again.

It just smells like you, which justifies how often Eddie wears it when you’re not home, and sometimes when you are. It is not just your lotion and perfume, your shampoo and the coffee you mopped up with the edge of your sleeve the other morning. An indescribable essence of you has been threaded through the thin fabric, sewn through satin like a phantom thread. 

And now it smells like Eddie too; the collar holds a musk that you cannot name, other than it is totally Him. 

You can smell it now as he wraps you up, a gentle blend of his and hers. Eddie’s hug manages to drain every ounce of tension and stress from your body, loosening your clenched jaw and tight shoulders with a simple squeeze. 

“Missed you,” murmured against his neck, your cheek pillowed by satin and a spill of curls that escapes his scrunchie. 

“Bad day?”

The slow pass of his hands along your back melts away the tight ache that had settled just beneath your waistband. 

“No, just better now.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his smile, hear it. 

“Aww, you like me or somethin’?” he murmurs, a wisp of warm breath tickling your neck that cries out to be kissed.

Eddie is a weak man, easily tempted at times, and presses three sweet kisses from the collar of your shirt to the base of your jaw. 

“Or something.” 

He feels your smile too, the curve of your mouth against his shoulder. He has to see it, pulls away just enough to sneak a peek at pure sunshine. Your teasing is taken with a grain of salt, betrayed by how down bad you are for him. 

“Hungry?” he asks, gliding his thumb along your cheek with an almost hypnotic gentleness.

“Yeah, are you cooking for me?”

Beyond the shower clean scent of him, you find notes of garlic and rich tomato. Your stomach rolls ravenously, mouth wet at the thought of his pasta sauce.

His coy shrug makes you smile, proud of himself for predicting that you needed a night off dinner duty and an obscene amount of pasta as your week draws to a close. Eddie had noticed the tightness in your jaw, the way your shoulders had crept higher and higher with each working day.

“Just somethin’ easy, carby. That okay?” 

The way your eyes sparkle - something between thrilled and touched by his kindness - gives you away before you can crush into him again, arms winding around the solid trunk of him to squeeze. 

“I love you.”

Your voice is muffled against his chest, but Eddie can feel it; the way your lips form those three words, the adoration that radiates from you into him. He drinks it up. 

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your head, crowning you with his love.

You stand there, in the hallway of your home together, a slow rocking sway, foot to foot.

Before you let each other leave - you to the bedroom to strip off your clothes and wash the day away, Eddie to the kitchen - one more kiss, syrup-slow and sweet, is shared amongst the lived-in clutter. A box of books and clothes to donate, a borrowed amp to return, the rescued-from-the-sidewalk side table holding your keys, a vase of flowers and a framed photo of you, Eddie & Wayne at a barbecue in Forrest Hills.

Slowly you part, coming unstuck from each other so that you can come back together again over plates of pasta and plans for your weekend.

When you a shower-damp with hair dripping on the plains of your shoulders, you remember your robe has been stolen by a handsome thief. A wash-worn t-shirt lies folded on the counter with your pyjama shorts, waiting for you beneath the heart traced in steam, oozing with adoration. 

Butter soft beneath your fingertips, you bury your nose in the stretched-out collar and breathe in the scent of him. The scent of home.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Your comments, reblogs and likes are cherised!

[rosebudshifter]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ 𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓇, to my forest of fantasy & fable. ˚𖥔. ᡣ𐭩 ˚.⋆

I am the 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓻 of the girl who dared to dream; who let go of the doubt and embarked on the adventures she always wanted to have. She goes by many names, but her most common is Mary.

Here lies my contents, a map of the forest of such. Peruse to find what you seek. It’s easy to get lost, but don’t be afraid to wander.

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ | ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ | ꜱᴘᴏᴛɪꜰʏ | ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ | ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ

⋆｡°✩ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻-𝓓𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓜𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓸𝔀 ✩°｡⋆

Through the canopy of trees, beams of light peek through to shower gateways that help others reach different realms. (shifting script templates)

Marvel  |  The Summer I Turned Pretty  |  YouTuber  |  Netflix (hub)  |  Disney+ (hub)  |  Bridgerton | Stranger Things | Fantasy | romantic (aesthetic) | pastel retro (aesthetic) | sci-fi/superhero (aesthetic) | adventure (aesthetic) | + coming soon

The stars are resilient little things, they constantly find new openings in the trees so you never know when you’ll discover another gateway.

ʚїɞ 𝓐 𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓸𝓶𝓮 ʚїɞ

In the center of our forest lies the Tome, situated in the trunk of a towering willow. It boasts my efforts as Storykeeper, with detailed accounts of the many adventures of our dear girl.

☽༓☾➵ marvel cinematic universe | masterlist

anisa cook became a founding member of the avengers. after the battle of new york, she now grapples with balancing her new shield responsibilities while maintaining a sense of normalcy, all while falling for the star-spangled man.

☽༓☾➵ fame (actress) | masterlist

world-renowned actress faye nolan makes her triumphant return to hollywood after taking a hiatus at the height of her popularity. she's energized and ready to make history & reclaim her title as the industry's shining star.

☽༓☾➵ f.r.i.e.n.d.s. | introduction

when offered a position on the inaugural team of mattel's new manhattan design office, a young designer packs up in LA and moves to the big apple. little does she know she moved into the same building as an eccentric cast of friends who quickly fold her into the fray.

☽༓☾➵ big bang theory | introduction

a school librarian moves into a new apartment building in pasadena and is consistently roped into the antics of her downstairs physicist neighbors and their colorful cast of friends.

☽༓☾➵ bridgerton | masterlist

when the elusive rose betham returns to the Ton after studying in france & italy, she is quickly named the unofficial Diamond of the Season by lady whistledown and receives attention from all eligible suitors – including the dashing viscount bridgerton.

☽༓☾➵ + more to come...

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓭𝓮𝔁

scrawled in faded ink, tucked into the final pages of the Tome, are the spells to conjure when you might need an aid to find what you need. the spells are old, and thus are prone to error, but i as the Storykeeper will try to refine what each spell shows to make them as accurate as possible.

#Storykeeper’s Log — reblogs #Storytime — Any type of DR post #Keeper’s Ramblings — Even a Storykeeper needs to step away from the manuscript and rant #Storykeeper Says — Q+A posts + shifting questions #rosebud's ___ dr — a direct spell to find posts related to a specific DR. #portrait gallery — moodboards galore; could be dr intros, de-selves, relationships, etc. #Template Spotlight — a more direct way to see the gateways from the meadow #My Husband — …Mary has an obsession with Steve Rogers/Chris Evans, don't judge

[evita-shelby]

The Marigold

Isabel Riley Aramburu (OC) x Henry Absalom Smith (OC)

cw: death, mentions of murder

May Trope Mayhem: Stowaway for the @duckprintspress may challenge

Henry Absalom Smith had been born on the boat called the Marigold to David Smith, son of the late King of the Gypsies, Absalom Smith. He traveled in the Marigold when he was old enough to leave the rowhouse his parents raised him in, then left on a vardo with their kin in Twyford Lane, Nottingham to see every nook and cranny of Britain.

This restlessness led him to sign up to fight in Africa for a king and a cause he couldn’t make himself give a shit for. He fought, discovered true fear and a hatred for all the Empire stands for before being sent to the gallows for he killing a man who thought just because he was an officer he could run his mouth like that a week ago.

The War had changed all of the young men he grew up with, Arthur Shelby, Charlie Strong, Curly and all the boys that went with them. The War had changed them all so fucking much that now there was no fucking place for him in Small Heath if he didn't want to hang for his crimes.

All this he was telling Miss. Isabel Riley Aramburu after he stowed away on the HMS Marigold bound to Rome because he might as well see the world now that he's a wanted man. She had been wearing a dress with marigolds as she lounged on the deck of the ship and yet didn’t scream when she saw him sneaking into deck to avoid being discovered. Instead, she pretended he was her guest and had been since they had come aboard.

She was a beauty, dark hair and dark eyes and he supposed she was the sign he needed to know he'd done the right thing by taking Arthur Shelby’s offer to run away instead of Charlie's advice to face his punishment like a man of honor.

Isabel Riley Aramburu, always prone to rebelliousness and hating constraint as much as Henry did, offered to share her suite with him in exchange for one thing: that he take the empty side of her bed just as he had done the night before.

It was of no mystery to anyone that her triumphant return to Mexico City resulted in a wedding a gunpoint and the birth of a daughter, Felicidad Smith Riley, a scant five months after the newlywed couple moved into a house by the beach in the Port of Veracruz.

There was never a lack of adventure, even when they most exasperated each other and after their youngest, Eva, was born at last to make her father’s hair turn gray at seeing himself reflected in her more so than in her two elder brothers.

No, there was never a lack of adventure, he assures his wife as they lay dying amongst the marigolds they had planted as newlyweds so they would never forget the Marigold.

[scienceninjaturtle]

This June, experience 'Giant-Size Amazing Spider-Man' #1, a must-have one-shot of rousing new Marvel Universe-spanning stories from all-star creators including Kevin Smith, Al Ewing, Chip Zdarsky, Mark Buckingham and more.

by Marvel

This summer, celebrate all things Marvel with GIANT-SIZE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN #1, a first-of-its-kind one-shot bringing together mega talent to tell a range of stories spanning the Marvel mythos! Perfect for fans and new readers alike, this amazing collection of all-new tales encapsulate the heart of Marvel storytelling, all told through the vision of some of the industry’s biggest creators!

Today, get your first look at this grand tour of the Marvel Universe, including the electrifying debut of an all-new super hero—RAPID! Here’s what’s fans can look forward to:

The iconic Kevin Smith makes his triumphant return to Marvel, teaming up with acclaimed artist Giuseppe Camuncoli for an instantly classic Spider-Man and Fantastic Four team up that will have your heart beating in overdrive and your sides hurting from how much you’re laughing.

Meet RAPID, a hot new hero who throws Spidey for a loop and whose adventures in the Marvel Universe is only just beginning in a tale from superstar creators Chip Zdarsky and Cafu!

The day Kid Venom fans have been waiting for finally arrives! Be there when acclaimed writer Mitsuyasu Sakai & Marvel mainstay artist Gerardo Sandoval bring the breakout symbiote superstar to the present day main Marvel Universe!

It’s a mind-bending journey that can only come from creators Al Ewing and Mark Buckingham as Spider-Man is thrown into the very fabric of Marvel history—packed with reality-shattering revelations and exciting guest stars, including Wyn from G.O.D.S. (2023)!

[heckcareoxytwit]

A preview of Giant-Size Amazing Spider-Man #1

GIANT-SIZE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN #1

Summer starts with a bang with Giant-Size Amazing Spider-Man #1! Kevin Smith makes his triumphant return to Marvel with a Spider-Man story that will have your heart beating in overdrive and your sides hurting from how much you’re laughing. As if that wasn’t enough, Al Ewing and Mark Buckingham spin a decade-spanning adventure with Spider-Man and some of his best friends! And if that weren’t enough, Chip Zdarsky and CAFU introduce a brand-new character who will play a big role in the future of Marvel Comics! Don’t miss it!

Written by: Kevin Smith, Al Ewing, Chip Zdarsky, Mitsuyasu Sakai Art by: Giuseppe Camuncoli, Mark Buckingham, CAFU, Gerardo Sandoval Cover by: Greg Capullo Page Count: 48 Pages Release Date: June 11, 2025

[getindumdums]

Hiya! I’ve recently started watching 87 tmnt (out of order, but so far haven’t run into any issues with that), and I was wondering if you had any specific episodes you’d recommend? Whether it’s because it’s got really good writing or it gives a good understanding of a specific character or it’s just generally enjoyable - whatever the reason may be, I’d be interested to hear. So far it’s been a really fun time and I’m excited to keep watching!

Ohhh! Ok. So let’s see… you definitely want to watch the 1st season, it’s only 5 episodes. I think I’m gonna recommend too many here… But!

Splinter No More

The Big Blow Out (has my favorite Brains and Brawn moment) though you may need to watch the previous episode or two since this is a season finale and you might be a bit confused

(Enter the RatKing, Enter the Fly, Return of the Fly, Invasion of the Punk Frogs, Leatherhead Terror of the Swap, 50 Foot Irma, Casey Jones Outlaw Hero, Yusagi Yojimbo, Michelangelo Meets Mondo Gecko, Raphael Meets his Match (Mona Lisa), Slash the Evil Turtle from Dimension X, all seem like good episodes since you see these characters in other iterations.)

The Making of Metalhead (I really like this one)

Take Me To Your Leader, The Four Musketeers, Leo vs Tempestra, Leonardo Lightens Up, Beware the Lotus

Splinter Vanishes

Cowabunga Shredhead

The Big Cufflink Caper

Donatello’s Duplicate, and Night of the Dark Turtle (also the episode with Triceratons)

Dirk Savage Mutant Hunter, Combat Land, Invasion of the Krangazoids, Shredder Triumphant

I love a few of the Red Sky episodes like Cry H.A.V.O.C! And Cyber-Turtles! But they do attempt more of a serialized story here. So I would watch from the beginning.

-

There’s a bunch of other episodes I want to see like Raphael Knocks Them Dead, Back to the Egg, Adventures in Turtle Sitting, Michelangelo Meets Bugman, Enter Mutagen Man, What’s Michelangelo Good For, BugMan, Planet of the Turtloids part 1&2

-

I’ve referenced The Ninja Sword of Nowhere, Raphael Turtle of a Thousand Faces, and I plan to reference Donatello Makes Time, sort of in a future chapter

@iztarshi @snoftshell-snurtle @yellowhollyhock @pumpkinpie59

In case you want to add some ideas!

[fates-calling]

As much as I love Gale becoming a professor and returning to Waterdeep post game, I adore him becoming an adventurer.

Hear me out.

Gale, learning spells that he never would have touched while he was in Waterdeep & with Mystra, spells like Witch Bolt & Magic Missle. Unimpressive and built to do one thing, hurt your enemies. He relizes quickly he had a nack for these kinds of spells, spells that Mystra would have never been impressed by. They're crude and simple.

He feels bad at first, for finding accomplishment when he preforms them well. Mostky, because he has never been too fond of hurting people. Though, he finds himself enjoying watching evil crumble. But these feelings slowly fade faster than he thought they would.

Whenever Karlach yells "Fuck yeah! Fireball!" During the heat of battle and begs him to teach her (which he as kindly as possible refuses to do) as adrenline & pride rush through him. When Wyll claps a hand on his shoulder after a hard won battle, and grins at him saying: "You're a life saver" and he feels utterly triumphant, and a bit smug.

When Astarion pulls him into a suprise hug, out of sight from everyone else after killing Cazador: and simply tell hims when he pulls away, "I didn't know you learned Sunbeam." And his heart leaps woth a fuzzy-warmth he would never associate with the vampire.

When Shadowheart presses a hand to his forehead for a Cure Wounds after he got a bit too close to the battle and affectionately calls him an idiot for it.

When Lae'zel gives him a wicked grin as his Lighting Bolt downs enemies by the handful without breaking a sweat. Utterly impressed, and perhaps, a bit turned on: making him flush fiercly.

With every battle he wins,every drop of blood he sheds: Gale moves further and further away from the man he was. Further and further from the man who was willing to die for Mystra's forgiveness. He becomes a hero. He becomes a man who craves power - his ambitions & passion once more relight, more so than he ever before as he spots that crown ontop of the Netherbrain.

A man, that by Act 3 is enthralled as he sneaks with Astarion, dodging deadly traps to raid one of the most famous wizard's in Baldur's Gate safes. Read knowledge that had been kept from him, and thousands others. Be able to face the goddess of magic herself, and essentially, tell her to get fucked. To be able to apeak his mind to her instead of rolling over and taking it!

And in the end?

He finds out that he is simpky Gale. And that Gale is good enough. That Gale likes adventure and danger. Oh, will he miss Waterdeep and his mother, but he can always visit! Send letters home. He cant quite give up on all of these new things he has discovered. He doesn't need the crown, or Mystra. He doesn't rven need big fanyc illusion magic as he forces reality to bend to his will with the Weave, though, he still loves and pratices it.

No.

This time - reality is enough. He is enough. And sure, reality isn't always pretty. Sometimes reailty is Lea'zel handing you bloody scrolls you know she plucked off a body. But she knew you would want them. Sometimes, it's trying to make a dinner for five (and you) straving adverntures with nothing but potatoes and a cheese wheel you plucked off of goblin corpses.

But it's yours. And it's you for the first time.

Also.

Someone has to keep Astarion in check, and help the rouge protect the Sword Coast with Wyll serving Avernus. And who better than, a master of the Weave like Gale to help him protect it from the shadows, and tell him no. Sometimes.

[actuallyevilgay]

The Apathy (Part 1)

Astarion x Male Reader/Tav

DNI if you are a minor. Dead dove don’t eat. Please read my about before replying. Content: Astarion x Male tav, spoiler warning for act 3 and epilogue.

Summary: After the final battle, Tav disappears, perhaps to mend his broken heart. The adventure has done more damage to him than everyone thought at first. Notes: Astarion is the vampire ascendant, Tav is not a heroic figure. Contains headcanons for several characters, contains headcanons for illithid brain alteration but not evolving. Tav uses daggers and magic. Astarion is an Arcane Trickster Rogue. Content Warnings: Tav suffering from depression / ptsd, self-neglect. A/N: This is my first fic idea I wanted to explore. Some of these elements are inspired and used from my oc, I won’t overly describe Tav, but I wrote it with a long-living race in mind. So Elf, or Half Elf, or Tiefling and such. Tav would not age very quickly.

. . . . . .

The adventure had been.. Brutal. From the day you awoke on the nautiloid, all the way until you fought the nether brain. Without much peace in between the night, the fighting, the plot thickening, you remember every horror and every threat. You were not a hero, you’ve told Wyll that much. When he pleaded to hurry after the father that abandoned him, or when Karlach asked you to beat the shit out of some fake paladins.

You were not a hero, even as you helped up Shadowheart from the sands, or saved Gale from the portal or fed him a useless ring.

You told them, time and time again. Especially Astarion and Lae’zel, whose eyes pierced yours with a silent kinship. You did not trust any of them until they somehow managed to crawl into your heart.

Saving the tieflings wasn’t so bad, but everything went downhill from there.

And yet you still helped every friend you made, you kept promises and fulfilled them. You swallowed your pride as you consumed the powers from tadpoles, feeling the illithid magic take from you, childhood memories you might have once cherished. It made you numb, like you lost something- The ability to understand your own experiences. You could not put words to it, perhaps it scratched away the small bits of morality you harboured a very long time ago.

Jaheira certainly was stupid enough to trust you despite your lack of caution to the tadpoles. It wasn’t until the emperor revealed himself that you realised power comes at a price. For a moment, sense returned- you killed the very thing that promised you evolution with a stomp. No, you would not let this adventure take more than it already had.

Perhaps it was too early to think that it could not take more. Baldur’s gate had come. And everything was horrible. You remember the dread as you led Shadowheart back into her cult, to slay the woman who had raised her. You dread with every fibre of your body as Orin kidnapped Gale, you fear for his life. You remember Karlach’s heartbreak at the corpse of the man she once trusted most in the world. As unheroic as you claimed to be, you still helped save Wyll’s father.

And then.. Vampires. The night raid on the camp. It was time to face Astarion’s nightmare. You were in love with the pale elf. Sharing stories of your past as you struggled to keep it together. You needed to be strong for all of them, not just him…

Leading this band of adventurers into the mouth of hell, time and time again, coming out victorious and triumphant. You don’t remember if you were smiling, but you remember their faces clearly, when you let him ascend.

It had occurred to you that you were sacrificing 7000 souls. But you didn’t care about the cost, beaten and broken from the fight. The colourful edges of once rich, lively looking eyes staring down the back of your lover.

Cazador’s screams were delightful. The agony, the pleasure of taking from him what he wanted most and giving it to the person who had been your entire world the past few months. It was everything.

And you were berated for making the choice.. Your friends wouldn’t fight you on it, so close to the end. It wasn’t until Jaheira pulled you aside and fussed over your mental state that your numbness subsided for a moment.

Are you even a good person? ..Does it matter?

The memory of Astarion’s sultry voice thanking you for your actions and talking of a reward was blurry, like it wasn’t real.

‘’What can I do for my dearest pet?’’

‘’Huh?’’ You looked up at him, as if shaken from a dream.

‘’Darling, there must be something you want? Don’t be dense..’’

There was silence, before you opened your mouth again. ‘’I’m sorry, all I can think about is sleep.. We’ll have to face the netherbrain soon. Gods.. I’m tired.’’

You barely remember the rest of that conversation. Astarion wanted something from you and expected you to know what it was, but all you could think about was how exhausted you were.

He hurt you with words, and you hurt him with silence. It numbed you so bad the memory was lost in the sea of nightmares. You don’t remember why you broke up. You don’t remember why, but it hurt you so much to even look at him. It hurt you so much to be around these people.. These people you loved. These people who were your dear friends. After it all was over.. When Karlach and Wyll descended into Avernus and Lae’zel flew away on a red dragon, you just looked to the sky absently. Barely hearing Shadowheart’s suggestion of sharing a drink. You could feel Astarion’s eyes staring into your back as you left without a word, leaving the remainder of your friends bewildered and confused. You couldn’t hear Gale calling for you as you disappeared into the streets and left Baldur’s gate for good.

All these memories were scarce and incomplete. Like a long distant echo of a time you wanted to leave behind. You disappeared like you never even existed, and even the city itself seemed to have forgotten about its saviour.

……

Six months later, your old friends gathered together to talk about their lives, a party organised by Withers himself at your dear old camp.

‘’I did not expect you to be here, out of everyone.. To be honest with you.’’ Gale arrived early, to be met with Astarion who wore his prideful new garments with much flair. ‘’Ugh, you look like a mess Gale. No offense.’’ He eyed the wizard up and down. ‘’I would’ve liked to be fashionably late, but I prefer doing things differently.’’ Astarion added, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

Gale laughed a little. ‘’Ah, I thought I was running late myself.. But yes, I should’ve taken my time before coming. These are my teacher’s robes!’’ He nervously scratches the back of his head, making a faint smile. ‘’It doesn’t take that much time to make an effort. You could’ve tried at least.’’ Astarion speaks in a familiar tone, ‘’But,’’ He takes a breath, ‘’ You were the clumsiest out of everyone, it reminds me of the many times you’ve slipped on your own ice spells, Tav would complain about it a lot. I shouldn’t expect too much from you.’’ His tone remained friendly. Astarion grew tired of the conversation. Pondering when his lost love would arrive. He had so many questions for him.. The memory of his departure haunted him.

‘’And this is why you are never getting married, Mr Dekarios.’’ Tara nearly startled Astarion as she spoke up. ‘’Tara! I do my best alright? Six Months is not enough to recover from several near death experiences, having a netherese orb extracted from- and.. and I’ve only just landed this job!’’ 

The mind numbing conversations continued as every guest slowly made their show. Even as Wyll and Karlach were magically transported to this familiar place, as shadowheart and Lae’zel joined hand in hand, declaring their relationship. They would not shut up.

Jaheira, Halsin, and Minthara were here too. Even Minsc! Everyone.. Except..

Astarion stared into the night sky, expecting Tav to arrive any moment now. Withers let out a loud ‘’ahem’’ as he made a toast.

‘’Where is Tav?’’ Astarion interrupted. ‘’Are you still expecting him to come, fanged one?’’ Jaheira interjected. ‘’Is that the only reason you are here?’’ Everyone grew quiet.

‘’Oh, I am here for the drama alright.’’ Astarion snarled back at Jaheira. ‘’Do you have the faintest idea why he isn’t here?’’ Astarion’s voice had a growl.

Jaheira’s expression softened. ‘’Don’t blame me, I tried to follow after him as you were satisfied with your diabolical ascension and crimson palace.’’

Astarion wanted to do many things, but arguing was not one of them. He waited for Jaheira to continue speaking.

‘’I could not find him, I tried. It’s like he erased himself from existence. He doesn’t want to be found.’’ The harper spoke with a melodic sadness, but also acknowledgement. 

‘’Why did you come, Astarion? Did you want to gloat in front of him?’’ Shadowheart added.

‘’No.’’ Astarion’s reply was quick. ‘’I don’t know why, anymore. Why did he leave? After all we’ve been through?’’ He masked his desperation, not wanting to appear weak in front of his old friends. He knew they judged him for his actions. For the way he spoke to Tav when they broke up. For the way he lied bitterly through his sharp teeth when Tav needed him most.

‘’Perhaps,’’ Karlach’s voice broke slowly. ‘’It was all too much for him, wasn’t it?’’ She turned to withers, expectantly for an answer. The old skeleton shook his head. ‘’His soul remains on the mortal plane.’’ Everyone’s eyes widened.

Jaheira shakes her head. ‘’The question remains, is it even a good idea to search for him?’’

‘’Well.. If I were him, I would want my friend to know if I’m doing alright. Oh- and I am doing quite fine, don’t worry.’’ Gale’s reply was met with an eyeroll of both Jaheira and Astarion.

‘’Maybe he’s fighting battles elsewhere. He was a good leader.’’ Lae’zel suggests, but it doesn’t stop everyone from theorising.

Minsc and Wyll both came up with ridiculous suggestions, from bounty hunting kobolds to slaying giants. Something, something, with dragons? Gods. Shadowheart thought maybe he left to start a new life somewhere, perhaps as a labourer, but it bothered her that he wouldn’t write a letter at least.

Everyone had their own ideas and fantasies about what the hell Tav was doing, coming up with one new thing and the next. Travelling. Carpenting. Exploring the underdark. Farming. Solving murders, painting nobles, crafting potions, writing songs. Astarion could not picture it at all. The idea of not knowing after all this time stressed him out.

If he wasn’t dead, and still in this plane.. He had to be somewhere.. Working, living. Breathing? He had to be doing something.

‘’You did pass him your invitation letter, correct?’’ Astarion eyed Withers intensely.

‘’Yes.’’ A crude response, but it offered no further suggestions to the whereabouts or well being of their old friend.

‘’Then you know where he is.’’ Astarion’s glare expanded. ‘’Tell us.’’ The silence grew heavy. Withers’ dead eyes looked over the vampire, noting the hidden concern in his voice.

‘’Neverwinter. I will not say more.’’ 

‘’Why in the hells is he in Neverwinter of all places?’’ Astarion questions. ‘’He is baldurian..’’ 

‘’Perhaps to get as far away as he can, from you.’’ Jaheira’s remark bit through Astarion’s side, but he swallowed his pride and did not bark back.

‘’Baldur’s gate did take quite a hit..’’ Gale looked excited at the prospect of visiting Neverwinter. ‘’Maybe.. If I divine a little.. I could find him, or at least, scry on him?’’

‘’Guys- Guys! We shouldn’t just turn up or.. it might be different. Perhaps he’s.. On an undercover mission!’’ Karlach tried to hide her excitement. ‘’Oh- But I do miss him.. Maybe-’’ The idea of joining in on an adventure to find their lost friend was refreshing, only to realise she still needed to pay Dammon a visit before she could even consider it. And as a result, miss out.. She let out a loud sigh,

‘’..You can scry on him? Why haven’t you?’’ Astarion turned to Gale, who stuttered in response.

‘’Well.. I.. Tried, but something blocked me out. I think he pushed me away.’’ Gale’s reply did only make the matter more concerning.

‘’Push you?’’

‘’You remember when we had those parasites? It was kind of like that.. I only just locked in on him, and felt a harsh push.’’

‘’I’d be godsdamned if he turned into a mindflayer after all-’’ Wyll interrupts, the panic finally hits him too. ‘’After all he’s been through-’’ Everyone exchanged looks and glances, expressions ranging from horror to helplessness.

‘’No.’’ Withers interrupted. ‘’His soul remains.’’ The rising tension calmed immediately.

‘’But you did see him?’’ Astarion turns back to Gale.

‘’Barely, I’m sorry.’’ The wizard shook his head.

Astarion huffs. ‘’I had enough. Forget about the toast.’’ He leaves the party, pondering about all the information he had just learnt, replaying the scene of his departure in his head.

The tadpoles. The god damn tadpoles. He remembers that night, after he ascended. His dearest Tav, barely keeping his eyes open. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ His drained eyes, scattering over the floor. ‘’Gods, I’m tired.’’

He remembers his spat. His little.. Unfortunate mistake. No, the biggest mistake. The yelling, the hurtful words. Tav barely responded, his eyes said so much and yet so little.

After the netherbrain fell, that look on his face remained. Lightless. Dull, empty. Broken.

The job was finished. He must’ve walked without much thought. Astarion curses under his breath as he makes his return to Baldur’s gate.

He should’ve gone after him before. But now he knows where to find him.

[hautsreadsmarvel]

Marvel’s first mutant… and VICTOR VON DOOM!

“The Man in the Sky!” (1961)

Much like the Ant-Man stories so far, The Man in the Sky does not have its own solo printing. I wanted to show the cover for the whole thing because, well, “Amazing Adult Fantasy” sounds like something your adblocker is supposed to get rid of, not a “magazine that respects your intelligence”. Putting the lie to that tagline is the “most unexpected surprise ending” of the leading story, Beware the Giants, which is that the story is told from the perspective of leprechauns and the giants are humans. Duh. Sorry to spoil, I know y’all were clamoring to read that one in $curYear. Here’s the REAL cover for The Man in the Sky:

First Marvel hero I’ve never heard of, “Tad Carter”. Perhaps his name will not echo across history…

...but this appellation will! Behold, Marvel’s first mutant! (Apparently Namor is often said to be Marvel’s first mutant. I didn’t see anyone calling him that, though, so this is the guy as far as I’m concerned.)

Thru his childhood, he develops telekinesis and mind-reading, and when he tries to “teach” these abilities to others, first by proving that he has them, the others react with fear and attack him for reading their private thoughts. He is then rescued by a distant, unseen enclave of mutants who make themselves known to him, and cause him to fly to their secret realm.

Neat-o! I can’t wait until the first actual X-Men story. It’ll be in… 75 issues, according to this reading order. Phooey.

“The Fantastic Four” (1961, issue 5)

DOOM! Surprisingly, DOOM is actually pretty recognizable by today’s standards. He lives in a castle, he has a time travel machine, he is a master of the sciences and the mystic arts, he’s an arrogant egomaniac blowhard (granted, this is true of all villains so far, excepting Namor : )), he uses Doombots, he and Reed were collegemates… the only things that are missing are Latveria and wanting to best Reed specifically.

Oh, I don’t like that. Put. Put your nasty-ass hands in some gauntlets already. Ew, gods

I wonder if, at this time, the writers were seriously thinking about unifying the canons of all these runs or not. Maybe at this time they were like “the Hulk is fictional in the Fantastic Four’s ‘verse”, or maybe they were thinking of making a Marvel Graphic Universe already, or maybe they were just foolin’ around and any crossovers would just be one-off fun little rewards to readers of multiple series. Anyways these two are always five minutes away from beating the stuffing outta each other.

Asbestos makes its triumphant return. If you ever need to inconvenience 60s-era Torch, you can just claim [object] is asbestos. Gosh, that miracle material, what can’t it do? (You or your loved ones may be entitled to financial compensation…)

DOOM has a shark-copter, and apparently “contact[ing] the netherworld” is a “forbidden experiment”, implying it’s a subject which warranted serious scientific consideration in the first place. DOOM correctly identifies the Invisible Girl as the most harmless member, and takes her hostage to secure the compliance of the other heroes.

He wants the heroes to time-travel back and secure Blackbeard's treasure chest, which apparently contains the mystic gems of Merlin, and will therefore enable him to conquer the world. The rest of the adventure is pretty fun. In the past, the Terrific Trio get taken in by pirates - find the treasure - and replace the chest's treasure with heavy chains to dupe DOOM. I’ll highlight some alternative power uses, like the Torch skimming the water around a pirate ship to raise clouds of steam and prevent it from seeing another ship, or Reed turning himself into a really long gangplank.

Another great and terrifyingly relatable moment from the Thing. I love him so much already : \

Tragically, a storm sinks Blackbeard’s ship, and with it, the Thing’s hopes of being a pirate king. He reunites with the others, they return to their normal time, Sue is useful and saves them from asphyxiating in a trapped room, and they chase off the devilish Doctor.

[reelvibes91]

Frame by Frame: From Classic Animation to Modern Animation

For most people who grew up in the 80s and 90s, they waited with eager anticipation for those new episodes of their favorite animated series. Whether it was Spider-Man, Batman, TMNT, Dragon Ball Z or X-Men, there was always that excitement for what came next.

In the 2000s and 2010s, we saw a shift towards studios wanting to push live action versions of our favorite animated series growing up. We saw several failed takes at TMNT, there have been multiple live action Batman takes, and Transformers tried to appeal to a new generation.

For so many people, these shows defined their childhood and rightfully so. Back in a time when if you didn't rush back from the commercial, you missed crucial scenes. That was hectic. You had 2-3 minutes to refill the drinks and snacks while your friends or siblings stood watch at the television.

Recently, we have seen a shift back to animated tv projects, and they seem to be alleviating some of the genre fatigue. Projects such as Invincible, X-Men 97 and My Adventures with Superman have brought some of that nostalgia back for all of us who missed it.

The success of Into the Spiderverse to me is a big reason why all of this was capable. It brought the younger generation into the mix and showed them what 80s and 90s kids already knew. Animation is just as cool if not cooler than live action. The feats that can be accomplished within animation are phenomenal, and only recently have we seen live action stuff that is equivalent. Even the 80s and 90s live action superhero content is very campy in comparison to what animation was doing through those decades.

You can point the finger at various staples along the way that changed the game for animation. In the 80s, there were transformers, He-Man, and others that set the stage for the 90s, which is arguably the best era for animation. It is great that animation is making a fierce and triumphant return while not giving into becoming contemporary messes. They are still opting for hard-hitting themes and not trying to complicate things with modern messages. The age of amazing animation seems to be upon us once again. I truly implore those who have an interest in animation to explore those that set the trend. Perhaps now they will look a little dated, but as with everything else, it is hard to appreciate where something is without respecting where it came from.

[phytochorion]

How the Forest Finds the Island

Chapter Fourteen - The Polymath

It was close to a year later when Nathair made his triumphant return. He had sent no word of his arrival and it was a happy surprise for all at the fort.

The commotion spread like wildfire as news went round, everyone assembling in the large nest that had become the fort's meeting hall. Cullodena rushed to her son right away, hugging him close, and only releasing him so he could embrace Glen and Gawain too. Kai bombarded him with questions about his experiences and Belek went to make tea.

It was only as the babble began to die down that they saw he wasn't alone. An elegant woman in dark, simple clothes stood some way off. The skin on her face was pockmarked with a faded rash, as though testament to disease long recovered from. She gave them a smile from behind a lacy veil, jagged wings unfolding above her head.

"Oh, this is Morwenna!", Nathair announced. "She very kindly flew me back here."

Morwenna approached Cullodena, curtsied, and spoke in tones so soft, everyone else struggled to catch her speech.

"You have a remarkably bright young man in Nathair. I do hope he is furnished with everything he requires to achieve the potential I have seen in him."

Cullodena blinked. "Aye, he's a smart lad…. exactly what were these books you were writing over there, son?", she asked, swivelling back to Nathair.

"I am sure he will fill you in once he is ready," Morwenna affirmed in the same quiet register. "Now I must depart. My regards to you all."

She was gone as inconspicuously as she had arrived.

The hall fell silent. Nathair stood there, fumbling.

"You want me to tell ye now?"

"Of course!", chorused everyone.

"But Morwenna just said… och, alright."

They gathered on the wooden benches that Elei had expertly carved from fallen sticks and seed pods. Nathair cleared his throat.

"I worked on a total of three books whilst there," he intoned, "on the topic of magic. One has been completed, the others are in progress."

"Hang on, tell us about their castle!", interrupted Kai.

"Yeah, what does Phonso get up to when he's not looking down his pimply nose at us?", posited Askarya.

"Ye dinnae want to hear about the book? Put a lot of work into it."

"Like, we know how to use magic already," pointed out Jess, then quickly fell silent with a glare from Cullodena.

"I'll be happy to hear about it later," encouraged Glen, and Nathair turned fondly to him.

"Us too, and mama of course," agreed Aliwen, putting an arm round Gawain. "Until then, regale us with your adventures!"

"Very well," laughed Nathair.

He proceeded to hold forth about his visit to Schuppenbaumer Schloss. Phonso lived there with his parents and extended family, Morwenna being his aunt. There were also two moss fairies, Timothy and Sigismund, who served as butler and bookkeeper to the family, respectively. The latter had worked closely with Nathair during his time there, granting access to his insightful records that had taken stock of the family's fortune since time immemorial.

As Phonso had said, the basis of the fort was a hollow Lepidodendron trunk, open to the air at the top but ringed with floors and ceilings on the way down, creating comfortable quarters for the family and their servants. Nathair had been very well received, dining with the family most evenings and getting to know their individual eccentricities. Phonso's father, Ekbert, was an avid painter, and his eye for detail had got Nathair thinking about how even small differences between plants could set them on new evolutionary trajectories. His mother, Dinika, had noticed that a species of small jimmylegs had begun to roost near the schloss, and was attempting to selectively breed them. Of Phonso himself, Nathair had seen very little. His family didn't seem to know where he disappeared to, sometimes for weeks, but never appeared concerned. "If he really needs us, we'll know," Nathair recited, though admitted he wasn't sure what they were implying.

Questions came thick and fast, and Nathair could barely keep up, but he enjoyed the opportunity to showcase his knowledge. Eventually, with everyone worn out, they gathered in the fort's eating area for refreshing sips of dewdrops.

The hall had fallen silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Sen was making plans for the most suitable planting grounds he could lay claim to once the ginkgos could reliably reproduce. He should plant them in line with the island's prevailing winds, to ensure that pollen would drift from one stand of trees to the next. Which direction did the prevailing wind come from? He should ask Jess.

Jess had departed soon after Nathair's tale, and nobody knew where to, so Sen headed outside. He pushed through the curtain of leaves that concealed the upper entrance. Sirichai, arriving from the opposite direction, pleasantly surprised him.

"Admiral! You're back!", Sen chirped. "How was- whoah!"

Sirichai pulled him into a hug that lifted them both momentarily into the air. Setting him down on a petiole, the Admiral chuckled at his flustered face.

"No need to look so shocked, Maidenhair, we're pals now! And you don't have to always address me as "Admiral"."

Sen thought for a moment. "What about… Mr Ituá?"

Sirichai broke into a great grin.

"Who have you heard call me that?"

"Aliwen. It's a nickname? What does it mean?"

Sirichai shook his head. "You'd have to ask her. Where were you going just now?"

"Looking for Jess. And where are you coming from?"

"Well, looks like we're not the only ones to put down roots here," Sirichai stated, sitting on a broken stipe.

"The Schuppenbaumers?", replied Sen, sitting opposite.

"What? They're here too?"

"Why, who did you meet?"

"The Candocks!", Sirichai informed him. "Simon and his sons are building a big pontoon on that delta out yonder!"

"Well, they're keeping themselves busy," Sen smiled. "When did they get here?"

"Few years after us, by the sound of it. The area's still mostly marshland, but they plan to afforest it."

"Afforest? But none of them represent trees, do they?"

"Oh, Simon's brother Wesley is there with them."

"Really?!"

Sen sat bolt upright.

"Um, yeah?”, shrugged the admiral. “Spoke to me awhile when I stopped by."

"I've always wanted to meet him." Sen shifted excitedly. "What's he like?"

"I dunno. He's fine, I guess. Why don't you fly over and see for yourself?"

"I reckon I'll do just that. Tell Askarya where I am!"

With barely a wave goodbye, Sen catapulted himself off the petiole and made for the coast.

[cooledtured]

Back in the Game: Kazuma Kiryu’s Epic Return in “Like a Dragon Gaiden”

Hey there, Yakuza enthusiasts! Get set for a wild ride because the one and only Kazuma Kiryu is back in action with “Like a Dragon Gaiden: The Man Who Erased His Name,” hitting the scene on November 9, 2023. This gaming gem from SEGA promises an epic adventure set between the events of Yakuza 6: The Song of Life and Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth.

Day-One Xbox Game Pass Access: Playtime for All

And here’s the scoop, The Man Who Erased His Name is hitting Xbox Game Pass on day one, while being accessible to gamers on PlayStation consoles as well. Major props to Microsoft for this move, ensuring both the old guard and newcomers can easily jump into Kazuma Kiryu’s world.

Kiryu’s Resurrection: The Mysterious Joryu

Now, let’s talk Kiryu’s comeback — he’s rocking the enigmatic name Joryu this time, and we’re in for a ride unraveling the layers of the former Tojo Clan chairman’s life. “The Man Who Erased His Name” delivers that classic Yakuza gameplay we adore, spiced up with sleek visuals, speedy load times, and a ton of content that screams Yakuza goodness.

Combat Throwback: Kiryu Unleashed

The beloved beat-’em-up combat style makes a triumphant return in Like a Dragon Gaiden, a nod to the early Yakuza titles. Kiryu’s skills are on full display, mixing old-school fighting mechanics with the new Agent skills. This means you’ve got a toolbox of combat strategies, including summoning a drone strike for that extra layer of chaos.

Dive into the Yakuza World: Sotenbori and Isezaki Ijincho Awaits

Ready to explore? The open-world canvas spans Sotenbori in Osaka and Isezaki Ijincho in Yokohama. Keep an eye out for The Castle, a converted offshore container ship turned into an adult amusement park — a spot for classic minigames. Roam vibrant streets, engage in over-the-top brawls, and soak in that chaotic charm we adore from the Yakuza series.

Substories and Surprises: Kiryu’s Unseen Depths

Adding some narrative spice are the substories playing out through Kiryu’s interactions with Akame, a character with more tricks up their sleeve than you’d think. These side tales lead to unexpected encounters and reunions with familiar faces, giving you more bang for your gaming buck.

This innovative new chapter in the Yakuza series promises to give fans a refreshing experience, led by the legendary Kazuma Kiryu himself. If you’re craving an immersive narrative in the style of the Like a Dragon franchise, this spin-off is a must-play. Get ready for the gaming legend’s grand comeback!

FERNANDO ORTIZ | Writer POP-COOLEDTURED SPECIALIST cooledtured.com | GROW YOUR COLLECTION

[keycomicbooks]

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[novankenn]

Alexander was at his wits end. He felt, and was the odd man out. He knew so little about his daughter, and by association his granddaughters. He wished he had been a better father, but fear of doing something wrong, and the shame of not being the man he should have been for Pyrrha's mother... kept him at a distance.

Yet here he was, about to sit in on a time honored tradition that he never completed with his own daughter. So he did the only thing he knew he could succeed at, hanging back and being akin to that feeling of being watched. Unnoticed, overlooked and invisible, to all but that extra sense that kicked in to tell you that you were being watched.

Thorfinn, Silk and Satin all waited anxiously. Their parents knew each other. They spend many a vacation and a holiday as guests of the Arc household. But it was more than that. It was because Jaune was someone they dreaded to disappoint. He was a part of their lives, and in that almost second father way.

When Thorfinn at the age of five, was going to miss out on a "father-son" camping trip due to his own father's illness... it was Jaune that stepped in. The blond goliath making sure that the son of his friends and teammates got to have an adventure, and to hear stories of his dad told with such enthusiasm and love. Jaune didn't steal the spotlight from Ren, he expanded it, and made it shine brightly, and joined Thorfinn's father in the very special place as a man to strive to be like.

For Silk and Satin, Jaune was a hero. A straight up, kick evil's ass and save people hero. Their moment came when they were ten. Their mom, Coco had taken a mission. A mission that everything went wrong on. Jaune had just returned from his own assignment and without hesitation, upon hearing that his friend was missing, turned around and headed out to find Coco. For three weeks the Scarlatina family lived at the Arc homestead, being comforted and cared for.

On the start of the fourth week, a bullhead landed unexpectantly in the backyard, drawing everyone's eyes. It was then Silk and Satin saw their hero. Standing tall and triumphant. Their mom seated on his shoulders yelled and crying.

So it was safe to say that out of any other the other paramours these three had the most anxiety to control. They all took a deep breath when Jaune Arc entered the room. He was a giant of a man, having grown from his 6'1" during his Beacon years, to now pushing 6'11", with the toned bulk to match someone of his health and stature.

"Don't take them from me!!!!" Jaune wailed as he rushed the trio, who all gasped in absolute fear, as a set of arms, arms that Thorfinn's mom once told them crushed a beringel, encircled them. "Please!"

The trio struggled, gasping for breath as Jaune lifted them all from the floor. Now there was a hierarchy to the hugs given by the varied members of the eclectic group... well there was Jaune, Nora, then everyone else. Currently the trio was suffering a Jaune hug the likes they had never felt before.

Pyrrha and her girls were enjoying some polite conversation, discussing particulars for the polyamorous outing when the side door of the study opened and the greying reddish haired head of Pyrrha's formerly estranged father poked through.

"Um... help?"

"Is something wrong?" Pyrrha asked as she hopped to her feet.

"I'm not sure, but I feel like I could use some help with this." Alexander replied.

"If Dad is being mean... I'll... I'll never forgive him." Cassandra stated, her voice strong and full of determination.

"Nope. Not being mean." Alexander countered, before looking back into the room for a second. "Nope not mean... more cuddly?"

"Cuddly?" Chrona asked.

"Shit!" the third of Pyrrha's daughters shouted as a terrible thought popped into her mind.

"Caliope! Language!"

"DAD'S HUGGING THEM!!!!" Caliope shouted completely ignoring the reprimand from her mother.

"FUCK!" Pyrrha swore as she dashed towards the study.

The Sequel!

(A/N - Let's see what we can do with this!)

It had been 14 years since his one and only son had been born. The auspicious day heralded in a new era for the Arc clan. The baby making had ceased. The combined might of the mothers of his children deciding it was time to focus on raising and educating their brood over just expanding it.

But the hints were still there, Everyone was still hale and hearty... and once his oldest started moving out on their own... they may start the process over again. But however that was beside the point. His 9 oldest had decided with some urging from their mothers and aunts and grandmothers to bring home their boyfriends or girlfriends... to meet the family.

While Jaune knew that his children would never let ANYONE hurt or disrespect any member of the family, as the father... he had an age old duty to fulfill, but due to the sheer size of the undertaking he called in assistance. So there seated on three couches in the massive living room, sat the 9 would be paramours.

Across from them the father of their love interests. Before Jaune his 14 year old son, with his shoulder length dark brown hair put up in twin-tails, while wearing baby blue tights, a pink sundress and black flats. stood. Jaune knew after this... meeting... he was going to have to talk to his brood again about playing dress up with their brother.

Flanking Jaune was his reinforcements for this task. The grandfathers and grand uncle of the family. To his left stood Qrow and Taiyang. To his right Ozpin and Jaune's father. Behind him using his imposing size stood Ghira.

But there was one other, that even the assembled group of men was a little shocked at seeing. Standing behind the collected young men and women seeking approval to continue their relationships, was one Jacques Schnee, flanked by a squad of SDC security drones. One for each of his granddaughters and half-granddaughters.

Jaune's mind remembered something about Willow enlisting Salem's help in putting Jacques straight, and for several years the man had been banned from family outings. But then sunlight broke through those dark clouds, and the Schnee Patriarch proved his "worth" b y not only restructuring the SDC, but also himself.

Jaune: So... *Jaune's support as smirked... sinisterly* ...you want to date my daughters...