#history maker? sTILL SLAPS

[iamjucie]

A History in Lessons

Chapter 2: Light Reading

He grabs the book from your hand.

*SMACK*

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

"What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!" He hisses.

Tav learns the lesson of not touching things that don't belong to her.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.6k CW: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Physical Abuse AO3 link(it is chapters 2 and 3 on there)

Tags: Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual orgasm

(thank you @itsthatpearl for beta reading and my friend mert on twitter for inspo)

@velvolktra photo credit

After a short but successful hunt out in Lower City, you strut down the streets making your way back toward the Crimson Palace. You feel so suave and confident, as you tend to do when you have a fix of blood. Your vampiric powers are so fueled, so enhanced. You feel so- happy. 

And it’s still early! You have even more time to spend with your love before going to sleep for the night. 

You’re antsy to see Astarion and tell him about the time you had. You did so well, he will be so proud of you. He loves to hear about your excursions, sometimes he even tags along with you. Even though he doesn’t necessarily need to feed anymore, he still finds he enjoys the sport of it. Especially being though it’s for him and you alone. You have no master to answer to. 

But tonight, he decided to stay back at the house. He said he has business to attend to. 

You walk up the stairs and go through the entrance to the grand palace you get to call home. Skipping down the hallway, you make your way to the office.

Astarion tends to spend most of the time you’re not in the palace in there reading books, writing letters, signing documents; whatever an all powerful Vampire lord would need to be sitting at a stationary desk for. 

You don’t tend to spend time with him there, though. He usually will have made his way to the bedroom or the den awaiting your arrival. But, being though you had finished your hunt so early you expect him to be there.

The door is open a crack, leaving just enough room for you to catch a glimpse of him intently reading a book. 

You should surprise him. He’ll be so glad to see you home so early.

Based on the spine of the book, it appears to be one of the research journals Cazador had within the confines of his massive library. His eyebrows are furrowed, his hand is on his chin, and his posture is relaxed in his chair with his legs spread apart. 

He only has a face like that when he’s trying hard to retain and understand something. You find that in his new role as the Vampire Ascendent, he is more intrigued to learn about his and your kind. To know the secrets his vicious master knew and kept from him. He must be reading one of the vampirism studies Cazador had in his archives.

Perfect- he is totally distracted.

You sneak your way in, tapping into the adventurer you once were. Tip toeing slowly, being sure to remain in the shadows of the room as to not alert him. Eventually, you manage to stand directly in front of him without him noticing. 

Wow- he must really be concentrating.

You quickly snatch the book from his hands.

“What are we reading?” you ask cheekily. 

Your mood shifts dramatically as you begin to read from the middle of the page it is open to.

“-essentially a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of. Over time, its mind shall diminish. A spawn will learn be to be utterly devo-”

He grabs the book from your hand.

SMACK

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

“What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!” He hisses.

You stand with your mouth slightly agape and your hand resting on the point of impact. Your eyes dart from the furious look in his eyes to the cover of the book he was reading.

“The Uses of a Spawn for its Maker: A Vampiric Study”

You look into his eyes, horrified. Still in shock, you dart out of the room. 

“Darling, wait! I-”

You barely hear him calling after you. His voice trails away with the increased distance away from the office. 

You run into your chambers and dive onto the bed and begin to sob. You’ve never seen that side of him. He has a temper, sure, but he had never taken it out on you like that.

He is eloquent enough to talk through his emotions instead of being so reactionary. At least, he was.

You know him, that’s not him. At least, you thought you knew him.

You’re not sure you’d ever seen that look in his eyes. If you had, it surely wasn’t directed at you. He was… scary. He made you feel afraid. You’ve never felt so small. Even the hundreds- no, thousands of challenges you faced in your adventures leading up to taking down the Netherbrain, you never felt so helpless. 

How could he do this? He’s meant to be your protector. Your lover. He is supposed to keep you from harm. He promised he would.

Oh gods- was this all a mistake? Should you run? What if everything you know is a lie? What if you never knew him at all? What was in that journal? What is he capable of? What if it-

Your spiral is interrupted by a light knock accompanying an opening door. 

He’s here. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel so many emotions that you can’t even begin to try to express them to him. Not now. Right now, all you feel is anger. Rage. Disgust. Fear.

He slowly makes his way in, approaching where you remain motionless laying on your side facing away from him. When he gets to the bed, he sits on the edge close to your back gently, as if to not disturb a scared animal. As if any sudden movement would cause it to bite or run. 

He’s not entirely wrong to assume that to be the case. 

Slowly and softly he places a hand on your back, rubbing it in a soothing circle motion. You don’t move. You lay stiff as a board, other than a slight tense at his touch.

“I know there’s nothing that I can say to make it better. To make it so it didn’t happen…” he begins talking to you without looking at you. 

“I am so sorry for hurting you dear. I didn’t mean it. I-I don’t know what came over me.” he gulps. “The rage I felt in the moment- it seemed so… unbearable. I don’t know what came over me… I-I’m… “ his hand leaves your back and goes to his face as he begins to sob into his hands. “…I’m a monster.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you whip your head toward him and see him slouching forward crying. Instantly, like a switch was flipped, you feel guilt rush over you. How could you make him cry like this? You were so dramatic. He needs you to be understanding, not the silent treatment. You sit up and wrap your arms around him and lean your head onto his shoulder.

“Shh, it's okay love.” You begin to run your fingers through his silver curls the way you know soothes him. “You didn’t mean it.” you stop petting his hair. “See! Look at me.” You put your hands on his wet cheeks and pull his face so it’s facing your’s. “It didn’t even hurt!” You turn your head side to side to show him your blemish-less skin. No sign of injury to be seen.

Despite your effort, the sadness in his eyes remains. He turns away from you and looks down.

He closes his eyes and tears continue to slowly run down his cheeks. “I’m no better than him. I will only end up hurting you.”

Him. The reminder of him and what he did to your lover is enough to send you into a rampage.

Your posture becomes straightened and serious, and your voice becomes stern. “You will never be like him. I will never let you be like him. You know that.” his head remains low but he turns toward you, eyes looking into yours. Like he wants to believe you, but something inside is stopping him.

You take his hands in yours and continue gazing into his eyes. “Besides, I shouldn’t have taken something from you like that without knowing what it is. That was foolish of me, I know that now. Lesson learned!”

He looks away from you again and sighs. “No, you deserve to know. We are partners, yes. But, our relationship has a power dynamic that is very imbalanced.” He turns back toward you and places his hands on his lap. “As soon as you’re capable and strong enough, you will be able to be a full vampire yourself. But until then, I will have the ability to have complete power over you. To connect our minds. Insert myself into your consciousness like the tadpole had never been removed.” His lips quiver slightly. He takes your hands into his. “You can trust me though love, I would never do that to you. I understand it can feel… violating.”

“I know that.” You caress his face. “I trust you. I’ve trusted you so far when it’s been objectively the foolish thing to do. Why would I stop now?”

He smiles gently and pulls you in for a kiss. 

“I’m surprised you even stayed.” your foreheads are pressed against each other. “I half expected you to bolt out the door and never look back.”

“Never, Astarion. You said it yourself, aetherna amantis. Remember? I’ll always be here for you. Besides-” you chuckle “couldn’t you just command me back?”

He rolls his eyes at you and with a light laugh, pulls you into an embrace.

“I don’t deserve you.” he says quietly into your shoulder.

“And I you.” you pull away and place your hand on his cheek, admiring his beauty. “But how lucky are we to have each other anyway?”

After a few seconds of getting lost in his scarlet eyes, your mouth is drawn to his like a magnetic pull. You begin kissing gently, but gradually the connection of your lips becomes more intimate. 

The hand on the back of your head begins to lightly grip your hair, stirring the heat in your core exponentially. The weight of him increases as he begins to shift from a sitting position to being entirely on the bed, your lips never disconnecting. You both lay down and continue exploring each other's mouths, his body on top of yours. The closeness of your bodies fuels your desire tenfold. 

Your tongue penetrates his lips and licks the roof of his mouth. Grazing the back of his teeth, you knick your tongue on his fang. He ferociously licks the slight injury, trying to get any taste of your blood. Once he’s sure there’s no more to taste, his tongue returns the favor by exploring the inside of your cheek. Your kisses grow to be feverish, leaving you both craving more of each other's body.  

He pulls his mouth from yours and looks at you with sinful intent. “Darling, let me make it up to you.” he purrs as his hand slyly grazes your cunt through your clothing. “Anything you want, we can do.” 

Fuck- you can barely think, your lust is flowing from his hand directly to your brain. You remember something that had sparked your interest in the dirtiest way while he was confiding in you before.

“Well I- There was something you said earlier…” you begin “...about how you can enter my mind? Like the tadpole?”

He leans down and starts kissing your neck, unable to resist touching you. “Mmhmm…”

“Well I was actually thinking recently…” he licks your collarbone. You groan, trying to ignore the way he is making you feel in order to continue your thought. “-That I regret not utilizing that connection more. Sexually I mean…” you gulp.

He lifts his head up from his advances and looks at you with a gaze drenched in seduction. “Are you saying you want to feel what I feel when filling you up with my cock?”

You shudder at the image in your mind. Fuck, it’s too much. You need to relax your vivid imagination to remain composed.

“Y-yes. And I want you to feel what it’s like to be full of your cock. At the same time. I want to combine our pleasure…”

He looks at you for a moment, squinting. Thinking about what you’re suggesting. Thinking of the logistics. When suddenly, it clicks- it’s possible. A grin spans his face and he latches his mouth to yours playfully.

He pulls away for just a moment. “I love the way your mind works, pet.”

With unnatural speed, he pulls his shirt over his head and dives into kissing you again while untying your corset top. As if purposefully prolonging the process, he slowly unbuttons your undershirt. 

You can’t handle it anymore, you need him. Your pussy is aching with desire. You push him off you and rip your shirt and the buttons fly in all directions. He kneels where he landed after your recently-fed-strength fueled shove and looks at you adoringly.

“I positively love when you’re feral for me darling.” he growls. 

You lean forward and stalk your way to the bottom of the bed where he resides. You press your newly exposed skin against his, kneeling so that your tits are in his face. “Let me feel how much you love it-” you lean down and your hand drags down the bulge in his pants “...and you can feel how feral I really am.”

The giddiness he feels at your words is palpable, no matter how composed he pretends to be. This must have been a shared fantasy between the two of you, because based on how he is acting you’re sure he has thought of this before. With a smile spread across his face he concentrates on establishing a connection between your minds and bodies, interlinking your senses.

Like a bolt of electricity strikes you, your entire body feels a jolt of- sensation. Pure sensation. Every nerve ending from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet are feeling so much. Twice as much. Double the lust. Double the desire- No. Double the need to be touched. You sit in shock, taking a minute to adjust to the new feeling. Judging by Astarion’s face, he is feeling the same. From this moment forward, you are only feeling the same. You’re both so utterly overstimulated in the most beautiful way possible.

He looks at your body up and down. You can feel what his gaze upon you does to him, you feel what he wants to do to you. You reach your hand to touch his face. His mouth is open slightly in shock, still trying to adjust to the foreign doubled sensations. Once your hand reaches his skin, you feel a wave of heat shoot through your own cheek.

A grin spans across your face. Oh, this will be fun.

He can feel your excitement and lust. And like an infinite undying echo between both your minds, it grows until neither of you can contain it anymore. You reach your hand to begin to undo his pants and he does the same to yours. A wave of pleasure rushes through you as you graze your hand over the throbbing member through the fabric of his pants, making you both moan simultaneously.

Once you’ve finally managed to take both your pants off, you can’t keep your hands off one another. He’s laying on top of you and both of your hands are touching every part of each other; everywhere but the sources of your carnal lust. Eventually, your hands go from his hair to rubbing down his back. You can feel the sensitivity of his scars piercing into your own back like they’re your own.

He brings his hand to your dripping cunt and languidly strokes the outside of your folds making his way to gently rub your clit. He shivers and lets out an airy laugh with delight, you love knowing it’s your pleasure he’s feeling. There’s something so intimate about having the exact same experience.

As he continues to play with your pussy, you bring your hand to his cock. You can feel the pressure he is feeling and you need to see it relieved. Your fingers slowly rub his length, starting at his head and making your way down the bottom of his shaft and stopping at his balls.

You are so utterly overstimulated, you can barely think. No- you can’t think. This is too much. Knowing he is feeling the exact same way enhances the pleasure tenfold. Your hand grasps around his cock and you begin to slowly pump. At the exact same time his fingers enter your cunt, rubbing your inside walls in a way that makes you scream. And you do.

You’re both moaning and riving in pleasure, you’ve never felt so connected to one another. This is more than the tadpole could ever have done, you’re connected by blood. Every nerve, every cell in your body is synced with one another. Every action is synchronized as if you had rehearsed it a million times before. Every desire is shared. You feel his want to dominate you, he feels your want to be dominated. You feel his want to have you full of his cock, and he feels your need to be filled with it.

You share a knowing glance. Nothing needs to be expressed verbally, any need for dirty talk is gone. No need for words when you can feel. He puts a hand around your throat and you position his cock at your entrance. He slowly pushes into you. He needs to adjust to the alien feeling, but quickly gets used to it. Once you’ve both become accustomed to the feeling, you both smile gently at one another. He pumps in and out of you, hitting the spot that fills your mind with light..

This is the single most beautiful sensation you have ever experienced. You can feel the pleasure of your tight walls wrapping around your- his cock. You clench slightly, and you feel the increased grip around him and you both moan. If this continues to feel this breathtaking, this won’t last very much longer.

You feel the pressure building in your- and his core. 

You look like virgins having sex for the first time. Just looking at one another with your mouths agape, him pumping in and out of you. But with the increased sensation, it’s all you’re able to do. It’s hard to concentrate on doing anything special when you’re so overwhelmed with double sensations, the infinite echo of your lust and desires. It doesn’t matter, though- you don’t need anything more than this.

He breaks the silence that has been maintained since your connection was established. “I-we are going to come. Ready?” He manages through pants and hisses of pleasure. All you can manage is a nod.

And like he was awaiting your acknowledgement, he explodes in you. You simultaneously come, your mind and body is filled with otherworldly light. It’s as if you see colors that don’t exist. You’re both screaming and moaning through your shared orgasms. The feeling of his cock spurting inside you, the feeling of your walls pulsing around his cock, it’s too much. 

You’re starting to think you’ll never stop coming. You’re both holding one another, shaking and moaning. He’s still inside you, any movement required to pull out would be way too overwhelming. After a few beautiful minutes, the feeling fizzles out. He’s laying on top of you and you’re both basking in the afterglow of the most incredible orgasm of your lives.

Astarion severs the connection of your minds before pulling out of you and laying beside you. You’re both staring at the ceiling.

“That was…” you say after prolonged silence. “A lot.” 

“Yes it was. I would ask if you enjoyed yourself, but I already know the answer.” he says cheekily.

You chuckle, “You’re right. I can’t even lie to you, you can be inside my head at any time.”

“That’s right love.” he says in a facetious patronizing voice. “You can never lie to me, I will always know.”

You both laugh. 

You roll over onto your side and prop your head on your hand. “So what else can you do to me as my ‘maker’?”

“What ever do you mean, darling?” 

“Like, what other powers do you have over me? You must have learned something in that journal.”

“Well…” he says “I am able to be granted control of you. Command your every movement while you sit in the passenger seat.”

 A pregnant silence follows. You recollect when you grabbed the book from him. 

‘-a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of.’

He breaks the silence and continues, “I would never do that though, of course.”

You sit in another moment of silence until you ask, “Even if I asked you to?” 

His brows furrow. “I- I’m not sure I understand.” he stammers. “Would you… Like that?”

“I don’t know, it could be hot.” You lay your head back on the pillow. “Giving up complete control to you, you know?”

It’s like a fire was lit inside of him, the soul behind his eyes fueled with desire for power over you. He attempts to act unfazed by your confession, but it does something to him. He looks at you differently. Not negatively, just… differently.

“If you’re sure-” he purrs, “...how could I say no? Of course that experiment will need to wait.” He rolls over to wrap himself around you, cuddling you as you both fall asleep. “I am positively exhausted from tonight's experiment.”

“Next time, then.” you say, eyes closed and drifting to sleep.

He kisses the top of your head. “Next time.”

You both drift to sleep in the warmth of each other’s grasp.

Next chapter: "Your Most Prized Spawn" pt. 1

[enquiringangel]

Family Dinner

for @themarginalthinker who wanted Max introducing Lucy to his Boys. Some David/Michael and vague David/Michael/Star because I am weak, lol.

When Max told him of his plans to turn some woman he met and her two kids, David got it. He was lonely once too. Before his boys came along, it had been just the two of them for a good thirty years.  And Max was many things, but entertaining company? Definitely not one of them. It was like living with an undead accountant. By that point David had seriously begun to wonder if it was possible for an immortal to die of sheer boredom.  

In his own way, Max had understood this. Though he got annoyed with him whenever David had been too messy or too obvious with his kills, in the very next moment he would dismiss it as ‘the impetuousness of youth’. And when David had come back to their lair one night unable to stop gushing about this guy he’d met down by the docks and how fun it had been to watch this scrappy kid defend himself with a crowbar against five guys and win, Max had studied him curiously and asked, “Would you like a brother, David?”  

The rest was history. Max had given him Marko, then later Dwayne, then Paul, and boredom and loneliness had become a thing of the past. So yeah, he could understand Max wanting to have someone on his own wavelength for company through eternity. That didn’t mean Max’s whole ‘let’s play happy families’ shtick wasn’t ridiculous though. He didn’t need mothering. That ship had long set sail. 

Still, Max was pretty insistent on them coming along tonight. “I’ve already told her about you,” he said, in response to the Boys’ complaints about wasting a perfectly good Friday sitting around a table and playing house when they could be off doing things that were actually fun. “Lucy said she would like to meet you all properly. And I wouldn’t want to disappoint her by turning up without you.” Despite their maker’s mild words and genial tone, the look in his eye made it very clear that their presence at this family dinner was not a request.  

"Besides,” Max continued. “Her boys will be there. This will be the perfect opportunity for you to get to know each other better.” 

The four younger vampires had all exchanged smirks, since they felt that they were already getting to know Michael pretty well on their own. But David wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to spend more time with him. There was a wildness hiding behind that Joe-normal façade. A darkness. David wanted to crack Michael open and taste it.  

Michael, he had decided, was even worth sacrificing a Friday night for. When he had shared this opinion with the boys, they had all teased him something rotten.  

Assholes, he thought affectionately as he glanced across at Marko and Dwayne who were crammed in the back seat with him. Paul had called dibs on shotgun to have control over the radio; Max insisted they were all going in his car instead of taking their bikes, but that didn’t mean they had to be subjected to Barry Manilow the entire way. Paul was currently slapping his thigh and singing along to Poison’s ‘Talk to Dirty to Me’. In the interest of keeping the peace, Max endured this in a long-suffering way, other than to keep turning the volume down. Whenever his attention was on the road, Paul would surreptitiously turn it back up again.  

Max drove along a rutted track until they came to a lodge-style farmhouse, the yard decorated with lots of wooden carvings. The boys had been here before of course, when they had dropped Michael home after their fun proved a little too much for his fledgling self to handle. They unfolded themselves from Max’s car, while their maker fussed around straightening out the wrapping on the bouquet he’d brought with him and adjusting his tie.  

The boys were dressed in their preferred style, though Max had demanded Dwayne put a shirt on for the occasion, something that Dwayne had complied with in malicious silence. The black t-shirt was Paul’s, meaning it was a size or two too tight, hugging Dwayne’s pecs. Across the front in white letters were emblazoned the words: ‘GUITARISTS FINGER BETTER.’ Max appeared not to have noticed. 

“Now boys, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to be on your best behavior,” Max warned as he led them to the front door. The thoughts that streamed into David’s head were a reminder of what awaited them should they fail to do so: a few weeks spent clawing at the lining of a coffin buried in a shallow grave, with wild roses laid on the lid to stop them breaking out. Max had a very literal interpretation of ‘grounding’. 

One day old man. One day, David vowed, careful to keep the thought to himself.  

Just as Max raised his fist to knock on the door, who should open it but Michael? 

The half-vampire looked astonished to see them. “David?” he blurted out, ignoring Max’s attempt to greet him as if he wasn’t even there. “Guys? What are...wait.” He flicked his eyes between the four motorcycle-riding punks and the unassuming and badly dressed man in a suit and did the necessary math. “...this guy’s your dad?” In the bond blooming between their minds, David could hear Michael’s confusion over the fact that the gang had apparently been serious when they called each other brothers. ‘They don’t look anything alike...’ 

“We’re all adopted,” Marko put in helpfully, answering the unspoken question.  

Max cleared his throat. He was smiling, but if you knew him you could see there was definitely an edge to it. “That’s correct. Hi, you must be Michael.” He extended a hand in greeting. 

Michael didn’t take it, instead looking Max coolly up and down. “And you must be Max,” he said, sneering faintly.  

Max was spared from further awkwardness by the sound of heels tapping rhythmically on the carpet and the appearance of a smiling woman with short red hair. “Michael? Is there someone at—Oh, hi!” she said, hurrying over. Lucy smiled at him, before turning her attention to the four (seemingly) young men standing on the doorstep. For a moment her smile faltered slightly and as he met her eyes David could hear her thoughts loud and clear. ‘These are the boys who were in the video store a few nights ago...why would Max kick them out if they’re his sons?’ 

This lady’s smart. Guess it skipped a generation, David thought to himself. But Michael was pretty enough that it didn’t matter, he supposed. 

He gave her his most winning smile.  “Hi. You must be Lucy, we’ve heard so much about you. I’m David.” He clasped one of her hands like she was one of the debutantes he had never been allowed anywhere near as a human, and brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles. A quick glance at Michael told him that the other boy looked like he was either going to have an aneurism or punch him in the face again - it was fantastic. 

Lucy laughed, delighted. “My goodness, what a charmer! Max, you’re raising a heartbreaker,” she teased, still chuckling. 

“I try,” David said, smiling impishly. “This is Dwayne, Paul and Marko.” He nodded to each and the boys greeted her in turn, Dwayne with a nod and one of his bedazzling smiles, Marko with a grin and a little wave, and Paul with a brief hug and a kiss to each cheek, continental style.  

“I’m so sorry, where are my manners?” Lucy exclaimed, stepping back from the doorway so that they could file past her. “Please come inside, all of you. Michael honey, are you going out or coming in?” she added. 

Michael blinked; he had been staring at David so intently that when he tore his gaze away there was almost an audible rupture. “Hm? Oh right. Yeah, I was just leaving."  

Michael’s thoughts were full of Star, and it made David grit his teeth. He was not jealous; that was ridiculous. They were both his, and he didn’t mind Michael fucking her. But they could’ve at least had the courtesy to invite him to join them. 

(Okay, so maybe he was slightly miffed that Star had gotten a taste of Michael before him. Just a little.) 

“Aw, you’re not going are you Michael?” Marko asked as he stepped past Michael into the house.  

“Yeah, come on you gotta stay man.” Paul gave Michael a friendly shove, and then was quickly distracted by the novelty of his reflection in the hallway mirror. He drifted over to it. 

“You could give us a tour,” Dwayne suggested, poking at a taxidermied beaver smoking a cuban cigar.  

“That’s a good idea,” Lucy agreed, eager to have Michael stay for dinner with them all. And pleased that they already appeared to know one another and to get along so well. Max presented her with the flowers and she led him off into the dining room to go and put them into some water. 

Michael appeared torn. He wanted to see Star, yes, but the thoughts continuously leaking across into David’s mind revealed that what he actually wanted more than anything else was answers. Star hadn’t actually told him anything, and had in fact protested tearfully that she couldn’t, and that she didn’t know how to help him. But David had done this to him, hadn’t he...so maybe he could help put it right again. 

David looped his arm around Michael’s shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze. “Come on, Michael. Stay. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about,” he said, eyeing Michael meaningfully. His lips curled into a grin.  

After a moment, Michael nodded and stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.  

((The Boys 5 minutes later: *all jockeying for position at the mirror and standing there pulling funny faces and cracking up at the novelty. The line about Max's interpretation of 'grounding' was inspired by @marypsue's brilliant fic 'look for something left in this world'.))

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

She Wore Gardenias In Her Hair - chapter one

a Stephen Strange x Female Reader fan fic

summary: It's an historic day for Stephen Strange, and those that know him best. His wedding day. It must've taken a very special woman to capture the heart of this Master of the Mystic Arts--let's see if the day turns out as romantic as his fiancee is hoping for. And if this once very confirmed bachelor finds the sort of happiness he'd never dared to dream could someday be his.

characters: Stephen Strange, Female Reader/Y/N, Wong, Cloak of Levitation, more to follow in future chapters

genre: pure, unadulterated romance

rating: general...for now 😉

word count: 2.6k

Stephen hadn’t gotten quite the full night’s rest that he’d been hoping for. Well before midnight, he’d seen you to the door of the suite your parents and sisters had taken for the holiday weekend and had lingered as long as he could before kissing you goodnight--tasting your sweetness one last time before the vows to come, which would change both your lives forever. Then he had opted to walk several blocks downtown towards Bleecker Street, just to take the time to reflect upon the momentous step he was about to take. One which Stephen had never imagined actually taking place, either in his old or new life. But one he knew now was as wonderfully inevitable as the fate that had brought him to Kamar-Taj--a broken man who, by virtue of his once unbearable misfortune, had discovered that his true vocation was unselfish service to humanity. Well worth the price of the loss of both his hands’ utility as a surgeon par excellence—as well as the loss of most of his petty vanities.

When convenient, he’d ducked into an unlit alley and portaled the rest of the way back to the Sanctum. Cloak, along with Wong-- who took his responsibilities as Best Man with dedicated relish-- had been waiting up for Stephen in the small study attached to the Sanctum Master’s rooms. In lieu of a bachelor party—the groom had flatly rejected the idea of such an event at the very first mention of such—but knowing Stephen’s educated taste for bourbon, Wong had managed to purchase a seven-year old bottle of Maker’s Mark Weller Special Reserve (certainly with the proceeds from his Shanghai fight club wins, Strange assumed). “A toast to the bride, my friend,” his fellow master told him, cracking the seal on the bottle and pouring out into two antique crystal tumblers that had been part of a gift to the New York Sanctum from Benjamin Franklin--whom history failed to report, had dabbled in a bit of magic himself from time to time. 

“How you ever stumbled upon such a smart, gentle woman with a heart soft enough to tolerate your ego and overlook your usual rash behavior, remains a continual wonder to me,” he announced, and then chuckled warmly, slapping Stephen’s back for good measure, “But I’m damn glad you had wisdom enough to not look the Universe’s gift dumbly in the mouth, and took her up for all that she is worth!”

His glass still raised, Stephen nodded his head in unstinting accord. “I’ve never agreed with you more, Wong. As the most undeserving of men, I can only think I must have done something very right in my…” he framed his next few words in a one-handed air quote, “…‘in my youth or childhood’ to be given the mercy of her love. And I plan to give her every reason to stay by my side, every chance that I’m allotted.” He took a long quaff of the rich, amber fluid, enjoying the good burn as it went down.

“See that you do,” Wong grunted, before swallowing down his own.

Soon enough, Wong capped the bottle, telling Stephen he had promised you to make sure your fiancée’s sleep went uninterrupted; except for the most dire of emergencies, Wong would be taking up the mantle of Sanctum Master until the newlyweds returned from their too-brief honeymoon. Thus, he had practically ordered Strange off to bed, although Stephen was happy to oblige. He had already planned on meditating, hoping it would ease him into a night with dreams filled with only the best of things. With only you.

It wasn’t wedding jitters or a case of cold feet that had denied him his full rest. ‘Twas sweet anticipation of what had longtime been unthinkable for Stephen—pledging his heart in a lifetime commitment to a wonderful soul who understood him as no one in his past ever had and loved him without reservation despite the wealth of flaws he’d been working to overcome since he had had dedicated himself to protect and defend Earth as an initiate of the Mystic Arts. This night, his mind had wandered back to the lucky day he’d first seen you in Metropolitan General’s ER.

Stephen had been there to visit with Christine Palmer—their first face-to-face meeting since he had Blipped back into existence. Both their schedules had been hectic and overfilled. His with attending to shoring up the cascade of fissures in, and allaying the disruptions to, this reality’s stability, in the wake of his necessary tampering with the integrity of Space and Time to resurrect countless lives across the Universe. She with an overwhelming host of medical emergencies brought on by the sudden return of patients that had disappeared five years ago, mid need, and new ones created when those Lost tried to piece together their old lives in a world that had long since moved on. Watching Christine in action, confident, commanding, and compelling in her unique way, had left Stephen aching in places he hadn’t had time to even consider since his return. That old ache, which could never be satisfied, to be a doctor once again, and jump into the fray at her side. And the quiet ache of knowing that he had missed his chance to love her properly—as they both had deserved of him—and build themselves a life together.

Still, Stephen had hung back a while, envying the vital purpose of the doctors and nurses all around him. There were so many new faces since his tenure there had ended, some much younger and more fresh-faced then he ever remembered being throughout his internship and residency. A pretty, dark-haired nurse attending to a crying preschooler caught his eye. The little girl seemed to be lost, having apparently wandered in off the street. He found himself moved by how gently the woman took the child in hand and calmed her down, eventually making her giggles bubble forth amidst the hectic ER. There’s a special kind of magic in that, he remembered thinking; one I never mastered, nor even attempted. But this one makes it look effortless. Stephen had assumed correctly, that you had a background in pediatrics—and was doubly impressed when he went on to discover you were a board-certified midwife as well.

The next time he’d seen you, he’d stopped by the hospital cafeteria to grab a quick cup of coffee with Christine. Touching base only, for she had made sure that Stephen understood she was seriously involved with someone. She’d already been seated when he got there, with a large cup of coffee waiting for him, just the way she remembered he preferred—and was deep in conversation with the pretty nurse from that day in the ER. He ended up sitting opposite you, with his old flame making introductions, but having to dash off a few minutes later at the behest of her pager.

Left alone, the two of you had settled into a comfortable conversation, which went on longer than it felt—a good half hour until you had to excuse yourself to meet a laboring mother-to-be in Admissions. Before that, Stephen eventually mentioned having seen you with the crying child that afternoon—and you dared to ask if he was the Doctor Strange from the Avengers. The hero who had traveled through time to find the solution to set the world to rights. He’d been quite taken by two things at that first meeting: the honest respect in your eyes—not hero worship, but a smart appreciation for the work he did and the painful sacrifices you had intuited he had made in that arduous quest…and the pretty shape of your mouth. The easiness of your smile and the tender looking fullness of your lips. Lips that any man might speculate had been made especially for kissing. Even then, he’d been willing to wager your kisses would be as magical as your bedside manner with that young girl. So that as you rose to say goodbye, he couldn’t not ask for your number—eagerly hoping that you’d agree to see him again, and sometime soon.

Nineteen months later, you were practically living together, as well ensconced in his Sanctum quarters as in his life—and Stephen had never looked back. Not once. Your relationship had grown so naturally, and you had quickly acclimated to the magical aspects of life as a world-famous Sorcerer’s girlfriend, with your feet planted firmly in your work, and your arms ever ready to welcome him home from his extra dimensional travels and supernatural battles. You’d filled his heart with a happiness he had never anticipated could be his, and his bed with the warmth of being well and truly loved—and a passion that brought back the vigor of his youth. Forcing him to set warding spells to soundproof every room of his quarters; you might appear decorous to your patients and co-workers, but you sure knew how to let him know how much you loved him—and how very well he satisfied you.

For Stephen, your relationship was the one good thing that came out of The Blip. If not for those five years, you’d never have met—as you would still have been in training for your dual career. And likely with your age difference, he wouldn’t have given you a second look. The twelve-year gap was a helluva lot better than seventeen. You were mature enough to know what you wanted, without needing to compromise to get it. While being young enough to remind him that life didn’t come to one, hat in hand—one must pursue happiness with the gusto of youth, even with silver at one’s temples. As he had pursued you; as you had pursued one another.

Yes, the two of you were naturals together alright; your softness and compassion, your sly sense of humor and loving heart, the perfect fit with his sometimes snarky and tunnel-visioned angles and edges—and that the deep heart, which he had only come to realize was his since discovering the mystic arts, was most fulfilled when he was doing the right thing. No matter the personal cost.

It was your second Christmas Eve together when Stephen slipped a modest diamond ring upon your finger. By New Year’s Day, you’d set the date, and now it was here. Memorial Day weekend, late spring in New York City, a long weekend that would enable your far-flung family and friends to attend. Stephen’s guests were far fewer in number. Except for an estranged brother, he had no immediate family. He had never had the time or inclination to cultivate a coterie of friends in his old life, although those he’d made among his fellow Masters were loyal and true. He was glad to tailor the wedding plans to your needs, for your happiness had now become his own. Besides, Stephen firmly believed that he was getting the better end of the deal.

His trip down memory lane had soothed him enough to override the low-level beat at the back of his brain, which had grown more and more insistent in the past week. I’ve never been husband material…I’m too cocky and self-absorbed, too impulsive and sardonic, to be the life partner you deserve. And my life’s work now—it’s not at all conducive to domestic bliss. Not when I can’t say with any certainty where in the world, or worlds or dimensions, I’ll be at any given time—let alone the ordinary…tomorrow. Plus, he just couldn’t shake the overall feeling that he simply wasn’t good enough for you. Stephen knew very well how you would answer each of these justly arrived at estimations of himself, with a loving wisdom that dispelled his doubts and reservations as though there were as insubstantial as the ghosts of his past. Seeing himself through your eyes was the sole remedy that made him feel worthy of the love you offered him.

And so, sleep at last overtook him, and when Stephen awoke by habit, just a few minutes before his alarm, he couldn’t remember nodding off, but knew it was thoughts of you alone that had ushered him into his rest. Unlike habit, Cloak was hovering bedside, and even without the physical connection usually required for him to read its emotional state, Stephen could feel that its nerves were near as frayed—for his sake--as a typical groom’s on his wedding morn. “Everything’s going to be fine—I promise,” he chuckled as he swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed, “You know that. Besides, you’ll be with me the whole time, and no one besides Y/N and Wong will even have a clue.” Cloak approximated a nod, and then zipped over to the wardrobe, where Stephen’s suit hung waiting. “It’s hours until the ceremony—relax, please. Keep this up and you’re gonna make me nervous.” Cloak’s shoulders drooped a bit, and it floated over to the window, nudging aside the draperies to let in the sunshine and keep watch until Stephen would be suiting up for ceremony.

A knock upon his sitting room door spurred Stephen to grab his robe before padding over to answer it. He opened the door to find Adept Miriamme with a loaded breakfast tray. A vegetarian omelet, with sides of bacon and sausage, buttered toast, orange juice, and fresh coffee. He could smell the added chicory rising above the rest of the aromas, and his stomach rumbled. “Master Wong wanted to be sure you had a good breakfast, Doctor Strange,” the timid Miriamme squeaked, and Stephen had to refrain from chuckling again. The new initiates seemed to be getting younger and younger these days—or was he simply getting older?

“Thank you, Adept,” he told her, motioning her to put the tray on the end table beside the two-cushion sofa.

She nodded, looking very much in awe of finding herself in the Sanctum Master’s rooms, set it down and quietly headed to the door, before turning back. “Best wishes on the day, Sir.”

He grinned, “Thank you, Miriamme. It’s kind of you to say so.” She smiled back, looking a mite relieved her chore was done, and then left him to his breakfast.

Stephen was surprised at the hardiness of his appetite, grateful for Wong’s wise provision, and ate nearly every morsel--while realizing that the next meal he sat down to would be as a married man. So many firsts to come, so much to look forward to. And he planned to experience each of them to the fullest. Before his life in the mystic arts, he had sleepwalked his way through the simple joys and pleasures of life, always in pursuit of more spectacular things; of fame and accolades, and the considerable fortune that came with them. His vocation in the Mystic Arts had proven to him that a humble life of real service had so much more to offer than that of his medical career. While you had taught him that love—real, honest, head-over-heels, unselfish love—was the key to the exact happiness that had eluded him since he’d set out on his journey as an adult.

Enrapt in these pleasant musings, feeling the sweet butterflies of anticipation for all that he was gaining today, Stephen checked the time before jumping in the shower. He smiled to himself as steam filled up his bathroom, knowing that his wedding gift to you would be delivered soon. Imaging the beautiful smile that would light your lovely face once you finally opened it.

This story is being undertaken in collaboration with @annesthaeticc .Please visit her blog for a sample of some of her fabulous works!

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[qqueenofhades]

I feel more and more like this portrayal of extreme violence against women and also the idea that people in the middle ages were dumb/didn't know what they were doing (of which imo horrific childbirth gore is an example--I know it happened but also it still does!) is very much in line with the idea that history is an always linear progression upwards (dumb to smart, no human rights to many of them you get the drill) so in a way these "realistic" depictions make sense to most people probably because they assume that whatever is happening to women now, it must have been Worse for them back then, and because they're aware women didn't have too many rights until recently (a d even that is debatable) that has only ever been worse in the past too unless they were Joan of Arc

And this is why primary and secondary school history education needs a complete overhaul

*same anon, I just wanted to add to the linear history thing real quick. It also writes off the men as idiots who don't know morals, and humanity in general as stupid, rather than a complex evolved system of thinking which simply is different from contemporary white western civilisation. It just... Feels a lot like the way colonialists looked at the people they called savages.

I mean, yeah. I've written (and ranted) extensively about all of this in the past (as I said, this whole conversation is like being dead-fish-slapped in the face with approximately-2014 Tumblr). I have too many posts on this subject to possibly link and/or remember them all, but my medieval history and women in history tags both come to mind as places where some of that stuff can be found.

Also, either the makers of HOTD or the people writing the Hollywood Reporter article actually used the overturn of Roe v. Wade as a "reason" for it being "important" for the show to depict the "fact!!!" that premodern women "often" died in childbirth (one of the showrunners even came out with some imaginary-but-weirdly-specific statistic about it being a "50-50 chance" for a woman to survive giving birth. Thanks for that, Noted Medieval History Expert, Guy Who Makes Television Shows For HBO!) And like... does any woman in America right now think that what they really need is some mediocre-white-man entertainment executive making a high-budget infomercial about why childbirth is dangerous? Like they suddenly discovered that fact three seconds ago and are like ZOMGZ MORE PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW THIS? When the possibility of women dying in preventable ways due to pregnancy complications has once more become a grim reality, like... we also really need to see this in entertainment now? Because something something realism!!!?

Either way, the overturn of Roe alone should put paid to any serious attempt to argue that things have only gotten "better" for women throughout history, have never gotten worse, and that "human rights" only proceed forward on a chronologically based idea of liberal morality. If the "progress" of history is real, why do we have a literal fascist movement in America that is mouthing all the old and supposedly discredited tenets of fascist thought? Why is that happening again, if we learned back in the 1940s that racist nationalist fascism was bad, fought a pretty major war over it, and then supposedly moved past it for good? Etc etc. People create social attitudes and legal rules according to what they find useful at the time and in response to their needs and fears. As I have said, they also don't live long enough to have any real historical memory or sense of just repeating what has been done in the past, because a) they don't learn history, b) they don't believe it, and c) it hasn't happened to them, they treat history as only the parts of it that they like and which support their point of view, and therefore just go around and around in circles and never actually learn their lesson. Blah.

Anyway, conservatives and the alt-right like the idea that there was supposedly a time when women "knew their place" and weren't treated like people and had no rights and only existed to please their menfolk and Serve God, because that lends "weight" to their attempt to do the exact same thing right now. Liberals like the idea that the Past Was Always Bad For Women because it implies that modern liberalism happily solved that problem and provides them with endless ways to disparagingly call the fascists "medieval," which isn't helpful either and distracts from how modernity has developed and nurtured these toxic ideas for its own purposes. So. Yeah.

[psalacanthea]

WiP Whenever

something from the other fic (with small bits deleted for spoilers) because I love a good argument full of massively conflicting feelings and HISTORY and tension.  Thanks for the tag, @kirkwalls-dumbest​

...

Phoebe could feel what remained of her composure crumbling away like the edge of a cliff underfoot, threatening a deadly plunge.  “Now!  Now, of all times, you decide it’s a fine time to bring up the man that betrayed me.”

“That isn’t all Thomas was, or even was to you,” Nathaniel protested, voice controlled and even.  So calm, so damnably composed.  His lack of volume only made her more frustrated.

“It’s all he was at the end!  And he never was the man I thought he was, so maybe it is all he was!”

“He was my brother!” Nathaniel replied, hard and cold.  He grabbed her by the shoulder, and pulled her around, glaring down at her.  His grip was secure, but not punishing.  “No, perhaps he wasn’t the man you thought he was, but he was still my brother.”

She was furious with him, hurt and frustrated, but when he pulled her around her head tilted up to meet his eyes, hoping for some hint of understanding.  Praying to the Maker that he wasn’t doing what she thought he was.  “And that is more important than what he did, or-”

He shook his head, voice low and strained.  “That isn’t what I’m saying.  I am saying despite that, he will always be my brother, and that-”

The words broke through whatever haze of hope was clouding her head.  Her hands came up, shoving him back with all of her might, forcing him to stagger away.  “Is more important than me!  Well, perhaps you’re more like him than I thought!  For he certainly chose your father over me, didn’t he?”

“Phoebe,” Nathaniel said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice now.

“If what you want is to force me to confront the memory of what your brother did to me again and again, then I will have to change my mind and execute you.  As I am done!  Letting the Howe family make a victim of me!”

His jaw was tight, posture unchanged, but she could see the anger blazing in his eyes.  “Right now, the only person making you a victim is yourself!”

The visceral slap of her hand striking his cheek cracked through the air like lightning.

The blow shattered the knot of strange twisted emotions between them, his head flinging to the side, her palm stinging with the impact.  Suddenly clear-headed, she inhaled sharply, eyes going wide.  W-what was she doing?

What were they doing?

With averted eyes, he lifted his hand to his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth.

Nathaniel stared at the smear of blood on his thumb, and then glanced up at her.  She held her ground, jaw tight.  His face was unreadable.  When he inclined his head towards her gently in a courtly acknowledgement, she lifted her chin.

“I overstepped, my lady.  My apologies,” he said, coldly stiff.

It wasn’t regret that overwhelmed her– he deserved it.  But she still couldn’t help the instinctive spike of concern that had her stepping in, lifting a hand.  He caught her wrist before she could touch his lip.  It wasn’t a harsh grip, though, despite their fight.

“Is it very bad?” she asked in a whisper.

“No, it’s only a small cut,” he reassured her.  His voice went oddly soft, catching lightly.  “An…earned one.”

“I wasn’t going to argue that.”  She pulled her hand back and he released her wrist.  Frowning, she stepped back again and averted her eyes.  It was frustrating how unstable her emotions were around him, how conflicted her heart was.  She turned away from him, pacing towards the fireplace.  “It would be better if I hated you.”

Nathaniel laughed quietly, bitterly.  “You speak my thoughts so easily.”

[cleoenfaserum]

Kissinger: A war criminal with a Nobel Peace Prize.

CLICK BELOW OR ON LINK TO LISTEN AND READ…

865 LINK: https://ok.ru/video/7383346055731

By Ahmed Twaij (a Freelance journalist and filmmaker focusing mainly on US politics, social justice and the Middle East.) Published on December 2nd, 2023

The former US secretary of state left behind a legacy of bloody policies still embraced by US officials.

“No hay mal que dure 100 años, ni cuerpo que lo resista”, a famous saying in Spanish which translates as “There is no evil which lasts 100 years, nor a body that can bear it”. The former US national security adviser and secretary of state, Henry Kissinger, may have tried to prove it wrong, making it past his 100th birthday, before finally meeting his maker six months later, on November 29.

(There is also another Spanish saying which I, (Cleo), consider is applicable here in this article about Kissinger, “No hay mal que por bien no venga” which translates “There is no evil from which some good cannot be derived from” or “every cloud has a silver lining.” Whether you consider Kissinger a monster or not, which I do consider him a monster, the fact that we are talking about him making history, for better or for worst, cannot be denied. Nero is still being spoken about, isn’t he.)

Following his passing, there was a flood of obituaries and encomiums in media outlets around the world, some calling him “controversial”, others praising his legacy.

Amid these attempts to whitewash Kissinger’s atrocities, we must not lose track of who he really was.

This is a man, who, through his actions, was directly responsible for the murders of between three and four million people during his eight years in office between 1969 and 1977, according to Yale University historian Greg Grandin’s book Kissinger’s Shadow. The bloody policies he promoted paved the way for America’s never-ending wars in later years.

Kissinger was seen as the architect of the United States efforts to contain the Soviet Union and communist influence around the world. To achieve this, he introduced the “bombs over diplomacy” approach, pushing for some of the most brutal bombing campaigns in modern history.

This approach was first applied during the Vietnam War when the US was trying to stop communists from taking power. Kissinger, who at that time served as President Richard Nixon’s national security adviser, pushed for carpet bombing not only Vietnam itself but also neighbouring Cambodia, where both Cambodian and Vietnamese guerrillas were operating.

In 1969, the military assault was approved secretly and proceeded without Congress being informed. In declassified Pentagon reports, it was stated that Kissinger personally approved 3,875 air raids which dropped some 540,000 tonnes of bombs in Cambodia within the first year of the campaign. To this day, innocent Vietnamese and Cambodians are being killed by remaining unexploded US ordnance.

Needless to say, the carpet bombing did not stop but rather facilitated the Vietnamese and Cambodian communists taking power. In Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge emerged victorious in the country’s civil war and went on to commit countless atrocities, including a genocide of between 1.5 and two million people. As TV chef, Anthony Bourdain, famously wrote, “Once you’ve been to Cambodia, you’ll never stop wanting to beat Henry Kissinger to death with your bare hands”.

For his role in the war in Southeast Asia, Kissinger was abhorrently awarded the prestigious Nobel Peace Prize in 1973. A war in which he secretly helped Nixon sabotage peace talks between the US administration and Hanoi. A war, in which only regret was that he had not applied more brutal force to secure US victory.

The peace prize was a slap in the face for the victims of Kissinger’s brutality and has been yet another affirmation that the West refuses to hold its own war criminals to account.

Kissinger’s crimes stretch beyond Vietnam and Cambodia. In South Asia, worried about a Soviet-leaning India causing the collapse of Pakistan, a US ally, Kissinger gave support to Islamabad as its forces were carrying out a genocide against the Bengali population of East Pakistan, today’s Bangladesh in the early 1970s. Despite receiving multiple warnings from US diplomats about atrocities being committed, Kissinger approved shipments of weapons that perpetuated them.

In 1975, Kissinger also gave the green light for the Indonesian invasion of East Timor in order to topple the communist-leaning Fretilin government. In approving the unfolding genocide, which resulted in more than 200,000 slaughtered, Kissinger advised Suharto, “It is important that whatever you do succeeds quickly.” It is estimated that up to a fifth of the Pacific island’s population perished in the Indonesian occupation which lasted until 1999.

Throughout Latin America, right-wing forces and coup plotters could also count on Kissinger’s support. In 1973, Salvador Allende, Chile’s democratically elected president, was overthrown in a coup with full support from the US and its secretary of state. Three years later, after the army overthrew President Isabel Peron in Argentina and established military rule, Kissinger gave the green light for the horrific human rights abuses it perpetrated.

In 2016, then-US President Barack Obama expressed his regret over the US’s role in the “dirty war” in Argentina. But within two months of this shallow apology, his administration gave the chief architect of these policies a “Distinguished Public Service” award.

LINK: Look Into It - REX 84 TRANSCRIPT AND SOURCES: http://www.corbettreport.com/?p=7170

Kissinger also proved to be a spoiler for peace in the Middle East. He not only sabotaged proposals for a settlement between Israel and Arab states that came from Moscow, but undermined even those that came from within Washington.

Drawing a controversy: Victor S. Navasky traces the radical roots of political cartoons and their power to provoke | Street Roots

While being a staunch supporter of Israel, Kissinger showed shocking disregard for Jewish life. In a conversation with Nixon, he was recorded as saying: “The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy … And if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern.”

After he left office as secretary of state, Kissinger did not stop pushing for death and destruction across the world in books, interviews, articles and advice to US officials.

As an Iraqi, I find the criminal role he played in the Bush administration’s decision-making in the war on Iraq, particularly disturbing. Bush leaned on him as he rolled out his “shock and awe” strategy, deciding to carpet bomb Iraqi civilians, despite the bombing campaigns failing spectacularly in Cambodia and Vietnam.

Kissinger’s advice to the president in 2006 was simple, “Victory is the only meaningful exit strategy.” So Bush resorted to a US troop surge which led to a sharp spike in the number of civilian deaths. My own family in Baghdad had their homes raided by US troops in Baghdad and many of them had to flee to neighbouring Jordan and elsewhere.

Henry Kissinger, War Criminal—Still at Large at 100

Even while living his last days (peacefully, unlike his many victims) at his home in Connecticut, Kissinger could not stop himself from promoting war. In an interview with Politico following the October 7 attack in Israel, Kissinger proclaimed full support for the brutal Israeli war on Gaza, saying: “You can’t make concessions to people who have declared and demonstrated by their actions that they cannot make peace.”

The legacy Kissinger leaves behind is truly horrific. He shaped American politics and policy-making to entrench the belief that bloody and violent imperial policies pay off, that it is OK to defend the “national interest” at the cost of millions of lives. Today — as we are witnessing in Gaza — US officials continue to be convinced that carpet bombing and mass killing of a civilian population can yield the desired political results.

If Kissinger never faced justice, can we expect Israeli officials to ever be held to account?

Indeed, the real tragedy of his life and death is that he proved the powerful can get away with killing millions and still be celebrated after peacefully passing.

source: Kissinger: A war criminal with a Nobel Peace Prize | Opinions | Al Jazeera

[terra-arts]

"are you watching, suguru?"

[redorich]

"Hello, Mr. Blade," Quackity says.

Techno inwardly groans. He knows that tone of voice; it usually precedes some awful joke, or indicates that Quackity's about to take off all his clothes and attempt to sell cocaine to people again. Possibly both. In a desperate attempt to avoid whatever shitstorm is coming his way, Technoblade resolutely reads his book and pretends he does not hear Quackity. He holds out for a whole five minutes, until Quackity starts autotune-singing about how much he and Techno love doing exceedingly nasty things with each other. When Quackity breaks out the guitar, Techno snaps his book shut.

"What do you want?" the piglin grunts.

Quackity shapeshifts into a cute little yellow duckling, presumably to persuade Techno with the power of cuteness. "Break into MCC with me," he says.

That is such a bad idea on so many levels. Challenging, sure, and very interesting...

"What's in it for me?" he says.

"I want to put a whoopie cushion on Scott's chair," the duckling quacks. "That means we've got to break into the admin room, and you can mess with the admin control panel."

Techno raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You want to break into the most secure room in the most secure event in recent history.”

Quackity nods. “Exactly!”

“To put a whoopie cushion on Scott’s chair.”

Technoblade puts his face in his hand and mourns the collective IQ of the Dream SMP, because surely Quackity lowers it just by breathing. The shapeshifter, still in duck form, hops up into Technoblade’s lap, then turns into a human so he can risk death by daring to suggestively straddle the piglin. He immediately gets shoved onto the ground.

“I’m going to regret this...” Technoblade says. “Let’s do it.”

---

Getting into the MCC server is the easy part. They’re both whitelisted, and it would be a hassle to remove everyone on the whitelist only to add them back later each time there’s another championship, so they have indefinite access. The moderators would surely come up with a way to keep everyone out if they knew about the two Dream SMP men’s plan.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Quackity complains loudly.

Technoblade slaps a hand over Quackity’s mouth and looks around quickly. The shapeshifter responds by licking Techno’s palm, and Techno retaliates by removing his slobbery hand from Quackity’s face and swatting him upside the head for the childish behavior.

“Be quiet, we don’t know who’s here,” Techno says. “And yes, I know where we’re going. The admin room is below the map. There’s a secret passageway around here somewhere...”

The two sneak underneath the bridge to the arena, locating a lever that opens a hallway inside the main gate. The inside of the hallway is mostly quartz and concrete. Obviously, the map-makers put more effort into the bits that were supposed to be seen.

They reach a fork in the hallway: they can either go left or right. Techno points to the left. When they turn the corner, they come face-to-face with another person. Quackity and Technoblade both freeze in place at the sight of Grian leaning on the door to the admin room, fiddling with his phone. When he hears the two intruders, he looks up, squinting at them from behind the thin frame of his glasses.

Why is he here?! Techno thinks. We’re gonna get in so much trouble!

“I didn’t know either of you was an admin,” Grian says casually.

Technoblade sweats. How does he pretend to be an admin?

"Uh, yeah," he says, wrapping his arm around Quackity in a gesture that's supposed to look friendly but is a bit too tight. "My friend's code is, uh, glitching really hard right now."

On cue, Quackity shapeshifts into a moaning pile of limbs, then a duck, and then his normal state again, flickering between human and limb-pile.

"It's time sensitive, so if you could please let us through," Technoblade continues.

Grian raises a singular eyebrow, totally unimpressed. "Is it, now."

Quackity begins to foam at the mouth. Technoblade hopes that that's a shapeshifting trick and not some weird disease Quackity's picked up. Grian steps to the side, allowing the other two men to pass through the door to the admin control panel room.

As soon as they’re on the other side of the door, Technoblade leans heavily against it, pressing a hand to his his chest and exhaling. “He actually bought it,” the piglin says incredulously. Meanwhile, Quackity waltzes over to Scott’s spinny gamer chair without a care in the world, placing a whoopie cushion on the seat. For good measure, he also duct tapes an air horn to the bottom of the chair, so that when Scott sits down it’ll go off.

“We don’t have all day, man,” Quackity chides. “Go do whatever admin thing it is you’ve got planned.”

Right. He’d forgotten about that. Technoblade boots up the admin control panel. The text glows brightly, most of it in Galactic Standard. It would take too long to bother deciphering it all, not to mention it would overtax Techno’s attention span. The piglin skims the characters on the screen just enough to the point where he can locate “automated_messages.txt”. This file, if he is correct, should be the one that the main script references. If he just alters this one bit right here, then heads over to “display_messages.cpp” to alter a few corresponding lines of code... There!

“I’m done,” he says.

Quackity, who’s been climbing the wall as a hot pink lizard, drops to the floor and comes back up as a human again. “Nice, now we should probably get out of here before that Grian guy realizes we’ve done something. What’d you put in the code, by the way?”

Technoblade stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. He can’t suppress his smirk, though. “Oh, nothing much-- every time a game is chosen, instead of saying the name of the game, the system will say ‘subscribe to Technoblade’.”

Quackity groans, heading to the door. He’s about to say something, but when he opens the door, the two see exactly what they don’t want to see.

Grian is still waiting for them when they exit the room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall casual as you please.

He tilts his head. "You two got that issue sorted out?"

Quackity beams, nodding rapidly and speaking even faster. "Oh yes, I'm completely better now! Technoblade fixed me up; it was difficult and scary but it worked perfectly, I feel so much better now! All he had to do was give me a true love's kiss--"

The shapeshifter is cut off by Techno's elbow digging into his ribs.

Grian nods. "That's good, that's good." A pause. "For the record, code isn't glitchy. It's either buggy or it's corrupted, usually corrupted. You're a really bad liar, Technoblade."

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Techno deadpans. When in doubt, deny all knowledge of the evidence!

“Team with me,” Grian demands. “I want to win the next MCC.”

Quackity immediately agrees, “Deal.” At the Look that Techno strikes him with, he simply shrugs. “Hey, I want in on this too.”

---

Grian, Technoblade, and Quackity team with Philza. They win in a landslide and Technoblade gets banned from MCC for a month. It’s worth it.

[storiesbyjes2g]

I had a dream about Hunter. We played together like we used to and went for long walks, but he followed me everywhere. I found him at work, the maker's space, and everywhere I took my children. He never engaged and remained in the periphery. He even kept watch even as I slept like a guardian angel. I guess I just miss him a lot. Shiloh too. I think it's definitely time for another dog. Because the children may live here soon, I'll get them involved in the decision-making process.

After work that night, I met my kids at the same restaurant from our first weekend together. I think this Friday night dine-out thing is quickly becoming a habit. I don't mind, and the kids' certainly do not.

Luca was texting furiously when I arrived. Heh, I remember those days when my friends and online presence were my entire world. When my parents got married, Mommy offered me an opportunity to change my last name to Crenshaw. But I was already @kiki_p everywhere. Some kids at school even called me that. I could have easily changed to @kiki_c, but the thought of changing my identity was devastating despite how much I loved my daddy and wanted to have his last name. It's crazy what's important to us at that age.

We walked into the restaurant and waited for the host to finish making reservations for someone on the phone before requesting a table. He was incredibly handsome. Like, he had no business being that old and that fine. I'd always heard people talking about silver foxes but had never met an elderly man I found extremely attractive until now. He had such a pleasant face and looked like a genuinely nice guy. I imagined he'd never cheated on a test in school, helped old ladies cross the street, and all that stuff from the movies. Hopefully, he has a bunch of grandchildren running around because the world needs more of his genes.

When he greeted us, I heard a familiar accent and asked if he was from Sulani, and he said yes. We spoke briefly about our histories, and it turns out he knew my mother. Of course he did. Mommy knew everyone on those islands. Talking with him, I was a bit more smiley and giggly than I wanted to be, and I felt super silly when I saw my kids making eyes at each other. I hope they don't think I want to date him or anything. I was just caught completely off guard! To make matters worse, he told me his name was Duane. That was enough to wipe that silly grin off my face. I swear the universe is dead set on me figuring out my feelings. Whoever you are up there pulling the strings, I'm doing it! Geez! I don't need to be reminded every other day!

"We are very busy tonight," he said. "I hope outside is ok."

He seated us near the table we sat at the first time we were here. Hopefully, the weather holds up because it had been overcast all day. Thankfully, the weather in Willow Creek is still pretty mild late fall, so it wasn't too chilly.

As soon as Duane disappeared into the restaurant, my children wasted no time hammering me with questions. I honestly didn't think they would. I figured they'd let it go and talk about it between themselves later. It's weird. I mean, I didn't mind them asking, and I'll never lie to them. I just never imagine I would discuss my feelings for another man with my children. Like, I know I'm divorced, and I've gotten used to my new normal, but now and then something happens that kinda slaps me in the face and reminds me the life I'm living is completely opposite of what I wanted for us.

"You like that guy, Mama?" Luca asked.

"Right? She was totally cheesing," Alessia said.

How embarrassing!! "Guys, chill. I just thought he was handsome. You can appreciate someone's good looks without liking them, you know."

This conversation highlighted so many things, and dread washed over me. One day, we'll have to talk about woohoo and other things they should know. I... I can't. I don't know how I would even begin a conversation like that. Maybe Ali will talk to Luca. I hope Alessia can be patient with me.

"Did you and daddy talk about us living with you yet?" she asked.

Luca chimed in. "Yeah, what did he say?"

"Uhh...no. Not yet. But I promise we'll talk soon."

"When?? It's soooooo boring over there!"

Suddenly, some things became clear. I thought she lived on the monkey bars because she had so much energy and needed to expend it. But maybe she spent so much time climbing because that was literally all there was to do at Ali's house. She might not even have an interest in sports, but I'm not gonna give up on that yet.

"I know, baby. Trust me, I want you to live with me. I've always wanted that. But this is a sensitive matter, and we can't rush it. Your dad and I both love you so much, and we each want you to live with us. It's not as simple as you think."

I knew they would have 1000 more questions, but this wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in public. Luckily for me, the food came...and the rain.

[solliewriter]

Archery for Writers

In this post, I'll basically tell you the small stuff: e.g., what your archer will complain about to other archers, how different bows sound, what it's like shooting in the rain or snow, finding the goddamn arrows, etc. I’m also going into technical details and will discuss the legendary Robin Hood shot.

If you want a good basic primer, T.S. Strange on Instagram did a pretty good job https://www.instagram.com/p/COat-W1rQ7o/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

But, if you're ready for beyond the basics, I've got you covered.

To be clear, my knowledge of archery is primarily Western traditional archery. PLEASE research the history of the type of bow you choose as they’re all unique. There’s a reason why Mongolian bows are so different than English longbows.

I have primarily shot in thick, brushy forest (not parks, actual wilderness), so when you read, that I'm talking about that setting unless specified. My favored bow is a reflex/deflex, which is basically a recurve/longbow hybrid. I have also been doing archery for as long as I can remember, so yes I know how to shoot.

SOUNDS

Different bows make different sounds. Recurve bows are loud. They make this twangy sound when you use them, unless you put a silencer on the string. This silencer is usually a fluff-type thing that is woven around and through the string. The silencer doesn't make them perfectly silent. It's more of a muffler than a silencer.

Longbows are quieter, but they still make noise. It's short, grunt-like hum that usually only the archer and their immediate compatriots can hear.

For Your Character (FYC): a recurve archer and a longbow archer will very likely pester each other about noise.

SIGHT, pt1

You can shoot blind. Sorta. No, you can't put on a blindfold and still hit your target, but you can and will extrapolate what you see. As mentioned, I've done almost all of my shooting in the forest, in the mountains. Visibility is  less than perfect. You have to aim through hundreds of branches, and the likelihood of hitting a branch and sending your arrow flying into No Man's Land is very likely as a beginner and amateur. Shooting through the forest isn't like in Lord of the Rings or Hunger Games, unless that forest is a well maintained park with marked trails made by things other than deer and bear. (FYI, bear trails are perfect for humans.) Half the time, if you move an inch the wrong way, your arrow will be way off target. Missing by an inch means missing by several feet, which is really far in archery.

More than once, you see your target at one angle, but can't shoot it at another. I've experienced this frequently because my Viking sized dad will pick targets that I, his 5'2" daughter, am too short to see. I have to stand on tip toes to see his target, then lower myself into almost a crouch to shoot. I still hit the target.

FYC: Besides the obvious banter that comes from discussing height differences, there are a few other things to note. In the forest, it can be hard to find two good angles to shoot something. This can lead to frustration, complaining, attempts to get the other archer out of the way, and etc.

SIGHT, pt 2

I’m talking about recurve/longbows, so there are no actual sights to look through. 

This is where things are controversial. There’s a gap shooting and an instinctive shooting. Gap shooters guess the distance, then aim. Instinctive shooters just sorta ... wing it.

I’m not going to throw shade at either method. But here’s a key reason why one would use one style or another: gap shooting is largely ineffective in mountainous, forested terrain when you can’t really see much. So, if you have an archer from a prairie and an archer from the mountains, it’s likely they use different aiming styles.

Side note: Flu-flu shots are unique and fun shots that use big feathery arrows. You shoot nearly straight up in hopes of getting your arrow on top of the target rather than straight toward it. When doing this, you can either look at the target or look at your arrow angle, but you can't do both at the same time. You have to shoot blind. Flu-flu shots aren't good for killing creatures, but they are pure fun. This is a good example of using instinctive shooting rather than gap shooting. Also, flu-flu shots are prone to being highly effective by the wind, and it’s very easy to get them stuck in a tree for all eternity. There’s a shooting area my roving family calls “The Valley of Lost Flu-Flu’s.” It’s called this for very good reason.

SMELLS

Bows don't smell, unless you've just added beeswax to the string (strings fray, wax stops that). Arrows smell for about a day after you paint them and glue them.

Leather, however, smells and remains smelly forever. I personally like the smell (though I suppose I'm actually smelling the oil, not the leather). It's very hard to describe, partially because I have so many memories involved. Unfortunately, I have to leave this to you. Just note, leather from armguards, quivers, and pouches don't smell the same as couches and your typical urbanite materials. Find your hippie friend and ask them to make you a leather bracelet or something. That'll teach you the smell.

FYC: Your archer will have very strong memories associated with the smell of leather and beeswax. They will be warm fuzzy memories.

TOUCH, aka shooting in the cold weather

All right, it's cold, and your character is wearing a big coat. Big, puffy sleeves to fit all those layers beneath. No biggie, just nock the arrow, draw, and shoot ...

FWAP!

The string hits the character's coat sleeve. The arrow goes about ten feet before falling limp to the ground like a sad puppy.

To fix this, you need to tie a thick band around your character's sleeve. Easy peasy.

Now, your OC tries shooting again. Unfortunately, it’s been raining, so to their dismay, they've noticed that their turkey fletchings (standard in the western US states) have flattened and shrunk. It looks like there is barely any fletching at all. Fear not, the arrow will still fly. It'll just make aiming a bit harder, but not terribly worse. Those fletchings are just stabilizers.

Your OC goes home. When they take off their shooting glove/tab, they notice their fingers are yellow. Oh no! Don't worry, your OC is not sick, the dye has just come off the leather in the rain. It'll wash off, but it'll probably happen every time the leather gets wet for the next few months unless your OC makes a new glove/tab that isn't dyed.

LEFTIE VS RIGHTIE

It is extremely uncommon to find a left-handed archer. This is because even if someone’s right-handed doing their day-to-day things, it doesn’t mean they’re going to be right-handed for archery.

In archery, whether you shoot left or right handed is determined by your eye dominance. Most people are right-eyed dominant, so much so it’s very hard for a left-eye dominant archer (such as myself) to find new bows. And I mean really hard. Go anywhere and there’s a severe shortage of left-dominant archery gear simply because it’s that rare (hah I’m special- jk).

BOWS

There are manufactured bows (lame), and there are good bows. Yes, there’s a huge difference.

I’m not sure of the technical terms, but here’s my experience.

Manufactured bows, i.e., the cheap bows you find at a renaissance fair, are typically made from a type of plastic. Good traditional bows, from almost any country, are custom-made from wood that the bowyer (bow-maker) has shaped, treated, and glued.

Bows are a lot like musical instruments. Essentially, manufactured bows (or guitars, violins, etc.) are poor quality because they’re made of cheap materials which make the shooting quality less than superb (more on that later), and because they aren’t given the attention they need, which makes them of lesser quality because they’re just ... eh. Special treatment makes for a better bow.

Like musical instruments, there are a lot of different types. Most websites say there are only four (recurve, longbow, compound, and crossbow), but that’s not quite true. These acknowledge the four general shapes of a bow, but not the subtypes. For example, Mongolian bows are recurves, but tend to be shorter than Western recurves because Mongolian recurves are meant to be shot on horseback.

SHOOTING QUALITY 

So, what is it like shooting a good bow?

Again, I’m speaking from experience with recurves, longbows, and reflexes.

A good bow has good speed. It moves the arrow faster than slower. This is a relative scale because recurves shoot arrows faster than longbows, and reflex/deflex tend to shoot faster than longbows but slower than recurves.

WEIGHT

Is it possible for people to have pulled 100 pounds of weight in a bow back in the olden days, or are people just confused?

Yes, it’s possible.

My dad, who used to do archery once or twice a week, had a 100 pound bow that he shot fairly regularly. That was before his shoulder injuries and, y’know, age. 

Also note that he’s practically a Viking.

I pulled 50 pounds at 28 inches when I was doing it regularly, although now I probably have to go back to 45 pounds.

BASIC SHOOTING FORM

This is going to be heavily effected by your character’s culture, bow, and upbringing.

There’s the English, upright stance for shooting a longbow. The archer stands very straight, and their pull hand goes to anywhere between the lip and the ear.

There’s the forest stance, which is my own, and that’s slightly bent over to avoid string-slaps, finger to cheekbone. Also, I made up the forest stance, so don’t Google it.

Then there’s Walt Wilhem, who, due to physical disability, had to shoot from the hip and was still one of the best archers in the world. Watch the video of him and his brother:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np8u69YfSA8

THE ROBIN HOOD SHOT

This is actually very attainable. I’ve done it six times. My dad has done it about 30 times. I have a friend who did it about 25 times.

In order for this situation to realistically happen (if you’re writing something unrealistic, you really shouldn’t bother reading all of this), the character needs to prep a few things.

1. Years of experience. At least six, and that’s assuming your archer shoots at least seven hours a week, without missing an hour.

 2. At six years the archer might get a few Robin Hood shots. Very likely, it’ll be at a shorter distance and the arrow they’re shooting will be cross-wise instead of straight down the shaft.

3. At ten years, it’s quite likely your Robin Hood has shot straight down the shaft a few times.

4. Your Robin Hood must seek to improve every week.

SOME QUICK TIPS

unless you’re Walt Wilhem, you always pull from your back, not your arm

you never fire an arrow

back quivers are quieter and more mobile than hip quivers (suck it hipsters)

it takes practice and long fingers, but it’s quite doable to hold both a bow and an arrow in one hand while shooting

there is a system for very fast nocking 

beginners have no clue what this system is and so take several minutes to nock their arrow.

contrast, it takes a second for an experienced archer.

someone who doesn’t take long to aim is often called a snap shooter, and this isn’t exactly complimentary.

This ought to take you far in your journey of writing an archer. I’ve been sitting on this post for about a year now, but still need to add to it. PLEASE google the following in case I don’t get to sharing the info.

arrow breakage

bow breaking

materials for arrows

types of wood for bows

types of wood for arrows

arrow spine weight

bow tuning

bow shelfs

different forms

holding a bow

stringing a bow

bow at rest

temperatures + bows

fletching types

aerodynamics 

quivers

moving around

how to find the goddamn arrows

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

I posted 6,975 times in 2022

That's 1,720 more posts than 2021!

937 posts created (13%)

6,038 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@doctorstrangeaskblog

@elennemigo

@strangelock221b

@ben-locked

@fanartka

I tagged 6,332 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#stephen strange - 925 posts

#strangebatch - 699 posts

#benedict cumberbatch - 694 posts

#doctor strange - 679 posts

#doctor strange in the multiverse of madness - 627 posts

#fanart appreciation - 532 posts

#trials & tribulations of a writer - 288 posts

#defender strange - 275 posts

#beautifullystrange - 256 posts

#loml - 244 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#at the end if the summer they used to give out tee shirts with that summer's theme on them to kids & adults alike - if you filled your sheet

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

She Wore Gardenias In Her Hair - chapter one

a Stephen Strange x Female Reader fan fic

summary: It's an historic day for Stephen Strange, and those that know him best. His wedding day. It must've taken a very special woman to capture the heart of this Master of the Mystic Arts--let's see if the day turns out as romantic as his fiancee is hoping for. And if this once very confirmed bachelor finds the sort of happiness he'd never dared to dream could someday be his.

characters: Stephen Strange, Female Reader/Y/N, Wong, Cloak of Levitation, more to follow in future chapters

genre: pure, unadulterated romance

rating: general...for now 😉

word count: 2.6k

Stephen hadn’t gotten quite the full night’s rest that he’d been hoping for. Well before midnight, he’d seen you to the door of the suite your parents and sisters had taken for the holiday weekend and had lingered as long as he could before kissing you goodnight--tasting your sweetness one last time before the vows to come, which would change both your lives forever. Then he had opted to walk several blocks downtown towards Bleecker Street, just to take the time to reflect upon the momentous step he was about to take. One which Stephen had never imagined actually taking place, either in his old or new life. But one he knew now was as wonderfully inevitable as the fate that had brought him to Kamar-Taj--a broken man who, by virtue of his once unbearable misfortune, had discovered that his true vocation was unselfish service to humanity. Well worth the price of the loss of both his hands’ utility as a surgeon par excellence—as well as the loss of most of his petty vanities.

When convenient, he’d ducked into an unlit alley and portaled the rest of the way back to the Sanctum. Cloak, along with Wong-- who took his responsibilities as Best Man with dedicated relish-- had been waiting up for Stephen in the small study attached to the Sanctum Master’s rooms. In lieu of a bachelor party—the groom had flatly rejected the idea of such an event at the very first mention of such—but knowing Stephen’s educated taste for bourbon, Wong had managed to purchase a seven-year old bottle of Maker’s Mark Weller Special Reserve (certainly with the proceeds from his Shanghai fight club wins, Strange assumed). “A toast to the bride, my friend,” his fellow master told him, cracking the seal on the bottle and pouring out into two antique crystal tumblers that had been part of a gift to the New York Sanctum from Benjamin Franklin--whom history failed to report, had dabbled in a bit of magic himself from time to time. 

“How you ever stumbled upon such a smart, gentle woman with a heart soft enough to tolerate your ego and overlook your usual rash behavior, remains a continual wonder to me,” he announced, and then chuckled warmly, slapping Stephen’s back for good measure, “But I’m damn glad you had wisdom enough to not look the Universe’s gift dumbly in the mouth, and took her up for all that she is worth!”

His glass still raised, Stephen nodded his head in unstinting accord. “I’ve never agreed with you more, Wong. As the most undeserving of men, I can only think I must have done something very right in my…” he framed his next few words in a one-handed air quote, “…‘in my youth or childhood’ to be given the mercy of her love. And I plan to give her every reason to stay by my side, every chance that I’m allotted.” He took a long quaff of the rich, amber fluid, enjoying the good burn as it went down.

“See that you do,” Wong grunted, before swallowing down his own.

Soon enough, Wong capped the bottle, telling Stephen he had promised you to make sure your fiancée’s sleep went uninterrupted; except for the most dire of emergencies, Wong would be taking up the mantle of Sanctum Master until the newlyweds returned from their too-brief honeymoon. Thus, he had practically ordered Strange off to bed, although Stephen was happy to oblige. He had already planned on meditating, hoping it would ease him into a night with dreams filled with only the best of things. With only you.

It wasn’t wedding jitters or a case of cold feet that had denied him his full rest. ‘Twas sweet anticipation of what had longtime been unthinkable for Stephen—pledging his heart in a lifetime commitment to a wonderful soul who understood him as no one in his past ever had and loved him without reservation despite the wealth of flaws he’d been working to overcome since he had had dedicated himself to protect and defend Earth as an initiate of the Mystic Arts. This night, his mind had wandered back to the lucky day he’d first seen you in Metropolitan General’s ER.

Stephen had been there to visit with Christine Palmer—their first face-to-face meeting since he had Blipped back into existence. Both their schedules had been hectic and overfilled. His with attending to shoring up the cascade of fissures in, and allaying the disruptions to, this reality’s stability, in the wake of his necessary tampering with the integrity of Space and Time to resurrect countless lives across the Universe. She with an overwhelming host of medical emergencies brought on by the sudden return of patients that had disappeared five years ago, mid need, and new ones created when those Lost tried to piece together their old lives in a world that had long since moved on. Watching Christine in action, confident, commanding, and compelling in her unique way, had left Stephen aching in places he hadn’t had time to even consider since his return. That old ache, which could never be satisfied, to be a doctor once again, and jump into the fray at her side. And the quiet ache of knowing that he had missed his chance to love her properly—as they both had deserved of him—and build themselves a life together.

Still, Stephen had hung back a while, envying the vital purpose of the doctors and nurses all around him. There were so many new faces since his tenure there had ended, some much younger and more fresh-faced then he ever remembered being throughout his internship and residency. A pretty, dark-haired nurse attending to a crying preschooler caught his eye. The little girl seemed to be lost, having apparently wandered in off the street. He found himself moved by how gently the woman took the child in hand and calmed her down, eventually making her giggles bubble forth amidst the hectic ER. There’s a special kind of magic in that, he remembered thinking; one I never mastered, nor even attempted. But this one makes it look effortless. Stephen had assumed correctly, that you had a background in pediatrics—and was doubly impressed when he went on to discover you were a board-certified midwife as well.

The next time he’d seen you, he’d stopped by the hospital cafeteria to grab a quick cup of coffee with Christine. Touching base only, for she had made sure that Stephen understood she was seriously involved with someone. She’d already been seated when he got there, with a large cup of coffee waiting for him, just the way she remembered he preferred—and was deep in conversation with the pretty nurse from that day in the ER. He ended up sitting opposite you, with his old flame making introductions, but having to dash off a few minutes later at the behest of her pager.

Left alone, the two of you had settled into a comfortable conversation, which went on longer than it felt—a good half hour until you had to excuse yourself to meet a laboring mother-to-be in Admissions. Before that, Stephen eventually mentioned having seen you with the crying child that afternoon—and you dared to ask if he was the Doctor Strange from the Avengers. The hero who had traveled through time to find the solution to set the world to rights. He’d been quite taken by two things at that first meeting: the honest respect in your eyes—not hero worship, but a smart appreciation for the work he did and the painful sacrifices you had intuited he had made in that arduous quest…and the pretty shape of your mouth. The easiness of your smile and the tender looking fullness of your lips. Lips that any man might speculate had been made especially for kissing. Even then, he’d been willing to wager your kisses would be as magical as your bedside manner with that young girl. So that as you rose to say goodbye, he couldn’t not ask for your number—eagerly hoping that you’d agree to see him again, and sometime soon.

Nineteen months later, you were practically living together, as well ensconced in his Sanctum quarters as in his life—and Stephen had never looked back. Not once. Your relationship had grown so naturally, and you had quickly acclimated to the magical aspects of life as a world-famous Sorcerer’s girlfriend, with your feet planted firmly in your work, and your arms ever ready to welcome him home from his extra dimensional travels and supernatural battles. You’d filled his heart with a happiness he had never anticipated could be his, and his bed with the warmth of being well and truly loved—and a passion that brought back the vigor of his youth. Forcing him to set warding spells to soundproof every room of his quarters; you might appear decorous to your patients and co-workers, but you sure knew how to let him know how much you loved him—and how very well he satisfied you.

For Stephen, your relationship was the one good thing that came out of The Blip. If not for those five years, you’d never have met—as you would still have been in training for your dual career. And likely with your age difference, he wouldn’t have given you a second look. The twelve-year gap was a helluva lot better than seventeen. You were mature enough to know what you wanted, without needing to compromise to get it. While being young enough to remind him that life didn’t come to one, hat in hand—one must pursue happiness with the gusto of youth, even with silver at one’s temples. As he had pursued you; as you had pursued one another.

Yes, the two of you were naturals together alright; your softness and compassion, your sly sense of humor and loving heart, the perfect fit with his sometimes snarky and tunnel-visioned angles and edges—and that the deep heart, which he had only come to realize was his since discovering the mystic arts, was most fulfilled when he was doing the right thing. No matter the personal cost.

It was your second Christmas Eve together when Stephen slipped a modest diamond ring upon your finger. By New Year’s Day, you’d set the date, and now it was here. Memorial Day weekend, late spring in New York City, a long weekend that would enable your far-flung family and friends to attend. Stephen’s guests were far fewer in number. Except for an estranged brother, he had no immediate family. He had never had the time or inclination to cultivate a coterie of friends in his old life, although those he’d made among his fellow Masters were loyal and true. He was glad to tailor the wedding plans to your needs, for your happiness had now become his own. Besides, Stephen firmly believed that he was getting the better end of the deal.

His trip down memory lane had soothed him enough to override the low-level beat at the back of his brain, which had grown more and more insistent in the past week. I’ve never been husband material…I’m too cocky and self-absorbed, too impulsive and sardonic, to be the life partner you deserve. And my life’s work now—it’s not at all conducive to domestic bliss. Not when I can’t say with any certainty where in the world, or worlds or dimensions, I’ll be at any given time—let alone the ordinary…tomorrow. Plus, he just couldn’t shake the overall feeling that he simply wasn’t good enough for you. Stephen knew very well how you would answer each of these justly arrived at estimations of himself, with a loving wisdom that dispelled his doubts and reservations as though there were as insubstantial as the ghosts of his past. Seeing himself through your eyes was the sole remedy that made him feel worthy of the love you offered him.

And so, sleep at last overtook him, and when Stephen awoke by habit, just a few minutes before his alarm, he couldn’t remember nodding off, but knew it was thoughts of you alone that had ushered him into his rest. Unlike habit, Cloak was hovering bedside, and even without the physical connection usually required for him to read its emotional state, Stephen could feel that its nerves were near as frayed—for his sake--as a typical groom’s on his wedding morn. “Everything’s going to be fine—I promise,” he chuckled as he swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed, “You know that. Besides, you’ll be with me the whole time, and no one besides Y/N and Wong will even have a clue.” Cloak approximated a nod, and then zipped over to the wardrobe, where Stephen’s suit hung waiting. “It’s hours until the ceremony—relax, please. Keep this up and you’re gonna make me nervous.” Cloak’s shoulders drooped a bit, and it floated over to the window, nudging aside the draperies to let in the sunshine and keep watch until Stephen would be suiting up for ceremony.

A knock upon his sitting room door spurred Stephen to grab his robe before padding over to answer it. He opened the door to find Adept Miriamme with a loaded breakfast tray. A vegetarian omelet, with sides of bacon and sausage, buttered toast, orange juice, and fresh coffee. He could smell the added chicory rising above the rest of the aromas, and his stomach rumbled. “Master Wong wanted to be sure you had a good breakfast, Doctor Strange,” the timid Miriamme squeaked, and Stephen had to refrain from chuckling again. The new initiates seemed to be getting younger and younger these days—or was he simply getting older?

“Thank you, Adept,” he told her, motioning her to put the tray on the end table beside the two-cushion sofa.

She nodded, looking very much in awe of finding herself in the Sanctum Master’s rooms, set it down and quietly headed to the door, before turning back. “Best wishes on the day, Sir.”

He grinned, “Thank you, Miriamme. It’s kind of you to say so.” She smiled back, looking a mite relieved her chore was done, and then left him to his breakfast.

Stephen was surprised at the hardiness of his appetite, grateful for Wong’s wise provision, and ate nearly every morsel--while realizing that the next meal he sat down to would be as a married man. So many firsts to come, so much to look forward to. And he planned to experience each of them to the fullest. Before his life in the mystic arts, he had sleepwalked his way through the simple joys and pleasures of life, always in pursuit of more spectacular things; of fame and accolades, and the considerable fortune that came with them. His vocation in the Mystic Arts had proven to him that a humble life of real service had so much more to offer than that of his medical career. While you had taught him that love—real, honest, head-over-heels, unselfish love—was the key to the exact happiness that had eluded him since he’d set out on his journey as an adult.

Enrapt in these pleasant musings, feeling the sweet butterflies of anticipation for all that he was gaining today, Stephen checked the time before jumping in the shower. He smiled to himself as steam filled up his bathroom, knowing that his wedding gift to you would be delivered soon. Imaging the beautiful smile that would light your lovely face once you finally opened it.

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215 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#4

MCU Stephen Strange as a Dad:

with Peter Parker/a son: 

He’s sometimes gonna be a hardass because he knows how much potential Peter has, and he wants to nurture that for when he’s not around to look after him--but most of the time Stephen tries to calmly reason with him. He admires Peter’s big heart, especially because it couldn’t have been easy having lost his parents so young, and then his father figure, Uncle Ben, and his mentor, Tony Stark. 

And when The Kid does the right thing, all on his own (which Stephen quickly realizes is as natural to the young man as his brown eyes and fair skin)--and even more when he surpasses Stephen’s expectations--Dad!Strange is so flipping proud of his boy, to the point where he’ll get all choked up and instructs his son ‘just don’t tell Wong about this, he’ll never let me live it down’.

with America Chavez/a daughter: 

Stephen would start out all ‘okay young lady..’ and ‘you’re gonna get a stomach ache’ and ‘didn’t I try to warn you not to...’, but pretty soon he’d be all soft and doting and want to spoil her because she’s had a rough life, and he can see she’s much braver and stronger than she gives herself credit for. He’d be the Dad that waits up for her when she’s out late with her friends/gf, but pretends to be asleep in his chair when she comes home a few minutes past curfew, letting her believe she got away with it, while he’s just happy she’s home safe and tried her best to respect his wishes. He’d love to accompany her to the Father-Daughter dance, but only if she asks without any prompting, because to suggest it himself would be very uncool. 

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247 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#3

Here is a Stephen strange prompt for you that I wrote down for my one shots thought it would be cool to see your writing for it. "Broken Cup" reader or character a coffee shop worker sees Stephen with his shaky hands struggling with the cup and he drops it breaking it. Or could be them two alone at home when she hears the cup break.

Hope you have fun dear!

I wrote this part before I got really sick--though it doesn't contain an actual broken cup, the spirit of it's there. Since I'm not sure when I'll feel up to finishing it, I figured I'd share what I already came up with. Hope you enjoy it @ravencatart xx

pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

rating: wee bit of angst, mostly fluff

word count: 1.2k (so far)

His tremors were pretty bad today. She couldn’t help but notice-–and given the precipitous fall in temperature the past couple of days and the scent of the coming snowstorm in the air, she really wasn’t surprised. Because she’d been feeling it too. In the bones of both ankles, broken years ago and patched up with metal plates and multiple screws. And in scars of her own, which she painstakingly hid from the world, as they symbolized the weakest and most desperate time in her life.

Since mid-November, when the first serious frosts had settled over the Village, he had taken to wearing gloves with the fingers cut off at the second knuckle. She had guessed he chose to keep the ends of his fingers exposed to allow him better control in gripping things; it made sense that he would want direct contact with his skin to be certain he had objects well in hand. But even those gloves couldn’t hide the painful looking scars that ran the length of his fingers, and in the months since he’d been coming into the coffee shop (usually two or three times a week, and sometimes even four) whenever she got close enough, she made sure not to stare. It was more than common courtesy—her own scars, which she went to painstaking lengths to conceal, had taught her just how it felt to get the curious, and worse, pitying looks they summoned from strangers.

Silver Fox—that’s what she had named him, based not only on the white streaks of hair at his temples, but because he struck her as the embodiment of the word distinguished…and because he was the finest looking man she’d ever seen.

Looks that had a movie star quality about them. Cheekbones fine enough to out-pretty most super models. An endearingly crooked sort of smile, that started on the left corner of his mouth and—if he had reason to smile broadly--spread gloriously to fill his handsome face, like sunshine filling the sky after a sudden spring downpour. Plush lips, full and tender looking, like they were made for kissing, surrounded by a well-trimmed moustache and goatee. She often wondered how he managed that, with the way his hands trembled at times. Maybe he had a significant other who helped him with that; she knew he probably wasn’t married, as he wore no wedding ring.

And his eyes. Breathtaking, really. Pale, crystalline blue in the vivid sunlight that came through the plate glass window of the store front, though at times she could swear there were swirls of green and even gold in their depths. He seemed a keen observer of the world, like his exotic, mesmerizing eyes didn’t miss a trick. Sometimes she caught him watching her, and she always blushed, wondering if he discerned that she’d developed a wicked crush on him.

Today, Silver Fox had ordered a chocolate croissant (one of his favorites; he clearly had a sweet tooth) and instead of his usual black coffee laced with chickory, hot chocolate with a double shot of salted caramel. Elise—the new girl—had served it to him in a ceramic mug. She didn’t know any better, and apparently he hadn’t thought to ask for a disposable cup instead, as she herself would’ve known to fill out his order.

He had placed both palms around the mug, probably enjoying the heat of the beverage upon his damaged hands, and his eyes were closed, as though he was concentrating hard. She watched him take a deep breath and exhale hard, like he was bracing himself for a difficult task. And her heart went out to him as he lifted the mug barely an inch, lowering his mouth to the shaking beverage to take a single sip. That was never going to do. She just had to help him, somehow.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she set the slice of white cheddar-topped apple pie in front of another regular patron and turned without a word to grab one of the thick, cardboard to-go cups and filled it to the brim with the sweet chocolate, hit it with two shots of salted caramel, and then topped it with a generous spray of whipped topping, the finishing touch a drizzle of caramel over the cream.

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253 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

#2

Can someone please explain to me why my heart does a little lurch when I see him this way? I mean, I don’t even know 838 Stephen, and yet I love him and wanna protect and cuddle him. 

What is this power that Stephen and so many of his Variants have over me? Is it the witchcraft of Benedict Cumberbatch? Or perhaps because my love for Stephen Strange has taken on a life of it’s own?

259 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

For the Stephen Strange x Female Reader prompt: how about a cute fluffy little thingie where the question comes up whether Cloakie ever needs to get into the washing machine?

I hope you find this cute & fluffy, Nonny. Thank you for the prompt, it feels good to stretch my writing muscles, and I'm hoping it helps get me in the writing groove again!

pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader, established relationship

characters: Stephen Strange, Reader/Y/N (also a practitioner of the Mystic Arts), Cloak of Levitation

rating: general audience, fluff with undertones of mutual longing

word count: 1.5K

You had left Stephen to sleep in this morning. As happy as you were to have him safely home at last (and having proved both your relief and delight to him three times in all, throughout the very delicious, velvet dark of night) you had awakened to watch him sleeping peacefully (his battle wounds already on the mend from the healing spells you’d cast when he finally stumbled through the portal from Crete), and had resolved to make him take some much deserved downtime for at least a day or two.

And so, you had silently slipped from his bed, loathe to leave his warmth behind, but fully intent upon spoiling him rotten in even the most mundane ways. Sorcerer Supreme he may be and a heroic, selfless servant to humanity, but he was still a flesh and blood man, and he deserved every ounce of the love and attention you planned to lavish upon him. You soon had his favorite, non-magical, breakfast foods prepared and left warming in the oven for once he was awake.

Next, you had gathered his discarded, slightly bloodied but heavily battle-singed tunic and leggings from the bathroom floor (where they’d fallen when you’d peeled them off of him the night before) for a thorough laundering, and once they were clean and dry, you worked the restoration spell yourself, instilling each magical stitch with protective charms and all the love that bloomed anew within your heart each day you were blessed enough to call yourself his woman. Though Cloak was in obvious need of a good washing too, it had flitted off the very moment that Stephen had let himself sag into your arms, and you hadn’t seen a flash of it since. You decided to track it down later, determined to relieve its Master of that chore as well.

Tiptoeing into his bed chamber, you found that Stephen had flipped onto his stomach, his arms tucked beneath his pillow and the sheet nestled around his waist—so that you went all soft inside, biting your lip against a longing sigh at the sight of his warm, inviting flesh. His broad shoulders that carried so many thankless responsibilities. His perfectly toned expanse of back, marked here and there with battle scars, which ever drew your loving attention, as though you would give him the sweetest, most gentle gratitude, which an unknowing world owed him for the protection he provided it. Aye me, you thought; the lover’s sigh of Juliet often came to mind when you looked upon his beautiful form, amazed in knowing that his heart belonged to you as much as yours did to him.

“I can feel you watching me,” he mumbled into his pillow, his sleepy voice so rich and deep that a thrill ran through you and settled in your solar plexus. You had to tighten your grip on the laundry basket, defying the sudden urge to jump his bones.

“I wasn’t sure if you were awake yet,” you tried to reason, blushing as much from the fib as from the spark of desire he had conjured without even trying. “I didn’t want to disturb you, darling…”

Stephen gave a sinful sounding groan, and with some effort and a wince or two, turned onto his back. Obviously, he was still feeling the effects of his struggle to cast a trio of immature Lamias back into the Shadow dimension from whence they had escaped; likely he needed another rubdown with the charmed salve you had treated his muscles with last night. “I was hoping you had every intention of disturbing me, honey,” he replied, smirking wickedly and patting the mattress beside him.

“Stephen,” you tutted, setting the basket with his clean robes on the foot of the bed. “You needed your rest, and…well…” you shrugged, looking away from the warmth of his gaze, trying to maintain a semblance of decorum, “…so I decided to…putter…”

His smirk grew into his trademark, shit-eating grin. “Putter?” he chuckled, “Pray tell, my saucy sorceress, how exactly did you putter?”

When he looked at you this way, it got harder and harder to concentrate on whatever task was at hand, let alone expressing yourself cogently. You knew for a fact that Stephen enjoyed how flustered you got when he turned on the charm, and how easily you turned to putty in his hands. You squared your shoulders, trying your best to keep your cool. “I’ve got breakfast keeping warm in the oven, and…I took care of your laundry…”

“You didn’t need to do that, honey,” he replied softly, sitting up and patting the bed again, looking touched by that modest tender of your affection. “I don’t expect you to take care of me that way, sweetheart.” Stephen reached his hand out to you, the heat of the moment quietly banking, as a sort of wonder filled his gentle blue eyes.

Of course, that was enough for you to take a seat and slip your hand into his. “I know you don’t, but…but I like taking care of you, darling. It makes me happy. And since I can’t be with you when you go into those…dangerous situations…” Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, remaining as resolute as ever to keep him from seeing how much you worried about him when you couldn’t be there to protect him even a little. “Since I can’t help you fight your battles, the least I can do is make your life…comfortable, and…well, worry free.”

He raised your hand to kiss your knuckles. “You already make coming home the best part of any day, honey. Which is the surest motivation for me to give whatever enemy I’ve gotta face, a swift and mighty kick in the ass.”

Though you rolled your eyes, you allowed yourself to take his loving assertion to heart, then leaned in to brush your lips to his, lingering as you asked, “So, um…you ready for some brunch?”

“Not until you’ve given me a proper good morning kiss,” he husked, and cupped your jawline in his free hand. At his prompting, you parted your lips, allowing Stephen to deepen your connection, well beyond what anyone would consider ‘proper’. You hummed contently when he finally released you, and then opened your eyes to catch him grinning as he teased you, “Yup- I’m definitely…famished…now.”

You gave a little shiver at the innuendo, considering it a promise of later satisfactions, and stood up to hang his sorcerer’s kit in the closet and put away the rest of his clean clothing. Stephen slid out of bed, clad in his comfiest pajama bottoms, and pulled a well-worn, gray cotton tee over his head. You caught a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, as Cloak ducked its collar just inside the doorway. Noting your attention, it zipped away, leaving only a swirl of air in it’s wake, while you called after it, “Hey! I was looking for you this morning. You’re due for a good wash up before you leave the Sanctum again.”

Stephen came up behind you and planted a kiss just beneath your ear, while sliding both arms around you. “Yeah, not a good idea, sweetheart,” rocking you gently, “Unless you’ve got a degree in cat-herding I don’t know about…”

“I’m sorry- what?”

His breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he chuckled, and you felt his amusement in the soothing vibrations of his chest against your back. “I discovered early on that Cloak prefers to see to its own…maintenance. Except when it’s experienced some kind of physical damage that requires magic—or a tailor—to repair…”

“Seriously?” You wondered for a moment if your boyfriend was teasing you again.

“Absolutely,” he assured you, “For some reason I haven’t been able to decipher—since it’s an open book about everything else—Cloak is a creature of privacy when it comes to…bathing.”

You had to giggle at that. “And I suppose it prefers to shower when you’re not around?”

“God, no,” he laughed, urging you into the hallway and on the way to the third-floor kitchen, where brunch awaited, “Once we’re out of the way, Cloak is gonna indulge in a good, long soak in my bathtub. So, we need to steer clear of my chambers for, um…about an hour…”

You smacked his shoulder lightly, “Now you are teasing me!”

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654 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[a-tale-of-legends]

Team Fate reporting for duty!

I recently gotten interested in pmd, and have started playing Explorer of Sky and currently having a blast ( and hating Diglett for constantly killing my run for Wigglytuff's special episode). So I figured it was time for me to give a quick introduction of my hero and her partner so far( I just reached chapter 10). Things might change since I'm still playing through the story, but I hope you enjoy these two idiots( affectionate)!

( made with L'Atelier de Lunarim on picrew)

Name: Imogen

Species: Human Piplup

Age: 18-21( still deciding)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Bio:

Once a human, now a Piplup, Imogen awoken on the shores of Treasure Town with no memories other than her name and that she was once human. After the initial shock and confusion ( and accidentally slapping a very confused Chimchar), she agrees to help him not only get his relic back, but band together in joining Wigglytuff's Expedition Guild! Oh and apparently she has weird time- vision powers. She tries her best not to flaunt.

Personality:

Imogen is often described as " quirky", both in due to her fashion taste, and in her obliviously blunt nature. In other words, she tends to come off as a smartass, never not eager to show off her skills and problem solving skills. She doesn't brag, she just gives gentle reminders. There's a difference. It doesn't help that she tends to be pretty confrontational- she just won't stand around and let things happen. If she does have to stand around, she will make it known of her displeasure. She also tends to be.... oblivious to those around her. Not that she's only thinking of herself, she rarely is, but if someone asked her out, she would respond " Out? Out where? Like on an expedition?". Yeah. She can be pretty dense.

Despite her flaws, Imogen is a kind compassionate leader, even if she can be a bit of a smartass. And despite her ego, she actually prefer to listen to others, hearing their stories and experiences. They always bring a smile to her face. She's actually quite introverted, preferring to keep to herself unless addressed to. She cares deeply for her friends, and always have their interest in mind.

( made with Fantasy Character Maker on picrew)

Species: Chimchar

Age: 18-21( undecided )

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Bio:

A young Chimchar, dejected by his own cowardness, goes on the beach to watch the view and make himself feel better. And it does! That and having his special item with him. But in the corner of his eye he see's an unconscious body on the shore. In a panic, he goes over and tries to get the unconscious pokemon up. He gets slapped in the face. But oddly enough, the slap to the face was the birth of something wonderful.

Personality:

Alev can be best described as nervously ambitious. He tends to doubt himself a lot, and beat himself up over his own fears. But his dreams are always more than those fears, so he conquers them one step at a time. It's been much easier with Imogen, given her confrontational manner of things.

Alev tend to not think about what he's doing, until is fears come creeping up on him. As in he's the type to rush into something head one, not realizing what's in store until the actually happens. It's ironic, given his tendency to back down from thing, but what can he say? He gets excited.

Alev is a bit of a history nerd, often going on and on about ancient relics, pokemon- you name it! He never really had someone to really ramble to, so he's pretty self conscious about it, but Imogen always listens and ask questions which is ....nice. He couldn't ask for a better friend. Best friend actually.

Both Imogen and Alev are smart and capable pokemon. They're also idiots. They tend to not think things through, and would get into the stupidest arguments with each other. But honestly? They wouldn't have it any other way :)

( @namelessbaron , since you were curious )

[triptuckers]

Sleepwalking - Anakin Skywalker

Request: yes! “Can I send in a request for Anakin Skywalker in which the reader is in a secret relationship with him and she fails to tell Anakin that she has a history of sleepwalking? The way he finds out is he wakes up during the night hearing noises coming from the kitchen and when he checks to see what it was, he sees the reader trying to cook herself a meal but doesn’t realize she was sleepwalking until he comes closer to her. When he realizes this, he helps her back to bed and than asks her about it the next day. 😂” Pairing:  Anakin Skywalker x reader Summary:  Anakin wakes up to you making a mess in the kitchen, and is very confused when you don’t remember it the next day Warnings: none Word count:  1.6K A/N: I read that people who sleepwalk often... keep their eyes open?? imagine seeing someone look at you while sleepwalking no no no not for me. I can eat entire meals while watching criminal minds and grey’s anatomy but I draw the line at people keeping their eyes open while sleepwalking. I had so much fun writing this. thanks for the request and enjoy reading!

It takes a while for Anakin to realise why he woke up. Just as he’s about to turn over and get back to sleep, he notices a stream of light coming from the kitchen. He frowns and looks over at your side of the bed, which is empty.

Sure, he got hungry too, but in the middle of the night?

Now that he’s awake, he doesn’t get why the noise you’re making didn’t wake him earlier. You’re not exactly trying to be quiet, while getting a snack.

Anakin sits up and rubs his eyes in an attempt to wake himself some more. He pushes the covers off of him and gets up. While walking to the kitchen, he runs a hand through his hair.

It’s not unusual for either of you to wake up during the night. Most of the times, nightmares haunted your memories and kept you from sleeping. Still, it was enough to just be able to lay in each other’s arms. It wasn’t often you got to spend the night together, and Anakin preferred to spend it asleep than getting a midnight snack. 

He reaches the kitchen and wants to ask you what you’re doing, until he looks around the corner and notices you’re making yourself an entire meal.

Or rather, you’re trying to.

The entire kitchen is covered in various pieces of food along with some spices. There’s even some mess on the floor, and you’re standing in the middle of it, your back to him. 

Even if you would just get up to get a snack, why would you turn the kitchen - which isn’t even that big - into a realistic miniature battlefield? 

Anakin watches you for a while as you mess around with the food. He notices you’re not being careful at all. The longer he watches you, the more confused he gets. Were you making some kind of experimental meal? You’re combining foods and spices he’s sure aren’t going to taste good.

He wants to ask you what in maker’s name you’re doing, when you turn around. Your eyes are open, but it’s like you don’t even see Anakin. It’s like you’re looking right through him, at the wall behind him.

‘Y/N?’ he says carefully.

‘No, we don’t need the blue ones. Put them back.’ you say.

Anakin frowns but can’t help but to laugh as well. The blue ones? What were you talking about?

‘What are you saying?’ he asks you.

‘She couldn’t make that jump. Look, she’s got tiny legs.’ you say.

At this point, Anakin is completely confused. You’re not making any sense. Cooking a meal, getting stains everywhere and making a mess. While saying things that he can’t wrap his head around.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks.

‘No, Rex, ask him. He’ll tell you. Or not.’ you say.

Anakin frowns as he looks at you. You still seem to look right through him. He carefully moves closer and lays his hands on your shoulders.

‘Y/N?’ he says.

As an answer, you let out a string of rambling he’s sure isn’t even a language. He softly shakes your shoulders, his eyes fixed on yours. The odd look in your eyes disappears, and your eyelids seem to grow heavier.

‘Ani?’ you say, suppressing a yawn.  ‘Are you alright?’ he asks you. ‘Hmm?’ you close your eyes and slightly lean forward. ‘Yea. Tired.’ you say.‘Alright.’ says Anakin. ‘Let’s get you to bed, then.’

While slightly worrying about your state, he guides you back to the bed. Your back has barely touched the bed before you’re already asleep. With one wave of his hand, Anakin turns off the kitchen lights and moves closer to you, falling asleep as well.

He wakes before you do, which is rare. When Anakin opens his eyes and looks over to your side, you’re still fast asleep, your face buried in your pillow. He leans over to your side to kiss your cheek before he gets up.

The kitchen is still a mess, he didn’t clean it yesterday. Anakin starts to clean up the mess, and he’s almost done when he hears you moving around in bed. A couple minutes later he hears footsteps and feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

‘What happened here?’ you ask. ‘Did you try to make breakfast and managed to explode the kitchen in the process?’

Anakin looks over his shoulder at you and chuckles softly. ‘I didn’t make this mess.’ he says. 

You frown at him. ‘I didn’t turn our kitchen into a warzone, if that’s what you’re implying.’ you say.

‘You tried to cook a meal last night.’ says Anakin.

‘You mean when I made us dinner? I didn’t leave the kitchen like this.’ you say while gesturing to the mess in front of you.

Anakin looks at you, a frown on his face. ‘You... don’t remember?’ he says. ‘Do I not remember what?’ you say. 

‘You tried to make a meal in the kitchen last night.’ says Anakin. ‘I woke up, saw light coming from the kitchen and I heard all sorts of noises. You weren’t beside me so I figured you were just getting a midnight snack. But when I got to the kitchen, you were standing here in the middle of all of it.’

You look at the mess and try to remember. Surely you would have known if you’d woken up in the middle of the night to make yourself a meal? Suddenly, it all starts to make sense. You look at Anakin with a smile on your face.

‘Did I say anything to you?’ you ask him.

‘That’s the weirdest part. You turned around and had this weird look in your eyes, as if you could see straight through me. And then I called your name and asked you if you were alright and you said the strangest things. You were talking about how we didn’t need the blue ones, that someone couldn’t make a jump because of her tiny legs, and then you seemed to be talking to Rex. You weren’t making any sense, so I took you back to bed.’ Anakin tells you.

You chuckle at his story and move past him to help clean up the last of the mess.

‘I was sleepwalking.’ you say. 

‘You were what?’ says Anakin, helping you clean up the mess.

‘Sleepwalking. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and walk around and do stuff. I’m not aware of it, though. Most of the times, like today, I don’t remember doing anything at all. But I do indeed keep my eyes open but aren’t aware of anyone around me. I can move around objects when I know they’re there, though, like the kitchen. I know where everything is, so I could manoeuvre around it even when I’m asleep.’ you explain.

‘But you said some things, too.’ says Anakin.

‘You talked to me, right? Sometimes when I’m sleepwalking and someone is with me, and they talk to me, I can respond. Most of the times it’s nonsense, though. Sometimes there’s actual words, but I never remember.’ you say. 

‘You never told me about this.’ says Anakin.

‘Why do you think I lock the doors every night? It’s not just to prevent Ahsoka from walking into your quarters when I’m there.’ you say.

Anakin looks at you. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t lock the doors you actually leave your quarters.’ he says.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to go to sleep in your quarters and wake up in the council room.’ you say, getting up and throwing a dirty cloth on the counter.

‘You woke up in the council room?’ chuckles Anakin, moving to make you both a cup of caf.

‘Yep.’ you say, hopping on the counter. ‘Went to bed, woke up in the council room. Luckily Obi-Wan was the only one there. He entered the room and found me asleep in one of the chairs. I told him I probably wandered there while sleepwalking, and he proceeded to call me sleepwalking Y/N for over a year.’

Anakin laughs and hands yo a cup of caf. ‘So, you lock the doors in case you start wandering around the temple in the middle of the night. What can I do when, like last night, I wake up to you making a mess in the kitchen?’

‘Well, sometimes I get back to bed on my own. And if I don’t, I usually find somewhere else to sleep. If you’re awake and I’m sleepwalking, just guide me back to the bed. And if I’m not next to you when you wake up, make sure to look at the floor so you don’t trip over me.’ you say, taking a sip of your caf.

‘I honestly don’t believe this.’ says Anakin, laughing softly and moving so he could stand in between your legs. ‘Of all the stories you’ve told me, this is by far the weirdest one.’

You smile and lean in to kiss the tip of his nose. ‘Finish your caf.’ you say. ‘It’s still early, I can sneak back to my own quarters in time.’ 

‘You sure you can find it on your own without making a mess in the halls of the temple?’ says Anakin while smirking and you playfully slap his arm. ‘Yes, Skywalker, I’m pretty sure I can find my own quarters.’ you say.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[cherripeach]

Chapter 10

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:5 i’m jared 19 and i never learned how to read

Warnings: Curse words, implied sex jokes

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

You three made it to homeroom right before the final bell rang, meaning none of you were late which was boring in your opinion. Being fashionably late especially on the first day just shows character. 

The classroom was full of caldrons like from Harry Potter but also full of lab coats like a science lab. There were also just shelves with glass covering them full of plants that you have never seen before and ones you hoped to never touch because you are 100.69% sure they can kill you. Then, there were just shelves of bottles of potions like in the movies which you also did not want to touch not for fear of death but because they could turn you into a frog or something which sounded kinda cool now that you thought about it. Still, you were not going to do it.

Your teacher, however: a hottie. He obviously knows about style and fashion if his dual colored hair and his fur coat are anything to go by. He also had a perfectly shaped face with sharp eyes that you just couldn’t look away from. The whip in his hand told you enough about his life outside of school, and the collar at the end of it also told you enough. This man was def not someone to disrespect, and ngl he could yell at you. That’s for another time; you just hoped you could stare at the man for the entire class. 

Once you and your three friends put the lab coats and goggles on and went to your seats (you assumed because Ace and Deuce dragged you there), the gorgeous man started to lecture, “I see you’re the fresh new faces who will be joining my class today.” He walked around the classroom and gazed at everyone’s figure. “Hm~ What an unusual hair color. Not bad at all, I say. Be careful not to take too long to finish, understood?” He made it to your group of seats near the back and stopped, “My name is Divus Crewel.” His gaze was caught on you for a couple of seconds until he returned to walking around the classroom, “You shall refer to me as Master Crewel, if you please.” He had the most miniscule smirk when he turned back to meet your eyes. 

You turned to Ace with your wide eyes and muttered, “Please tell me he gets you hot and bothered too.” 

Ace just glared and spat back at you, “Only you are dealing with those feelings.” 

Master Crewel clapped his hands twice, “Come, settle down. It’s time for class to begin. First off, a few disclaimers.” 

The entire class ceased the side conversations, and you even placed the weight of your chin on your hands with your elbows on the desk so you could balance your newfound crush for him.

The magnificent man just lightly placed the edge of the whip on his desk, “I shall have your tiny brains remember hundreds of names of medicinal herbs and poisonous plants. And mushrooms are a whole different topic. I’ll have you remember them so that you don’t accidentally poison yourself if you eat some when you go for a walk. Dogs love to eat anything they see, after all.I don’t want to see anyone getting a failing mark during the exam, so I shall be as strict as I can.”

You don’t even remember what he was saying, but you just nodded the entire time. This was a class you knew you were going to stay awake in. Your eyes were still stuck on his figure, and you knew just from looking at him that you may not have a failing grade because you bet you were going to ask for help. 

Your three idiots were seemingly having a conversation next to you while your brain was stuck in your fantasies of after school tutoring. 

Your mind was stuck in your fantasy until the end of class when someone had to use his textbook to smack the back of your head, “Ouch!” You spun around only to find Grim and Ace behind you with a textbook in Ace’s hand. 

 Grim snickered out behind you, “You deserved that, Prefect. Even I, the Great Grim, was paying more attention in this boring class.” By the end of the sentence he sighed all of it out. 

“Come on. Let’s not be late.” Deuce grabbed his stuff and motioned to your group to leave. 

You lightly and neatly put up your lab coat and goggles because male Cruella De Vil was still situated at the front of the class, and you had to look good in front of him. 

“Have a great day!” You gushed out while frantically waving at the man to give him a proper farewell. 

Ace slapped your hand down once you exited the room, “Can you please stop? It’s getting real disgusting.” 

You blew a raspberry at him while the four of you were on your way to your next class, “Oh, shut up and let me be a simp.”

“A what? You know what I’m ignoring you.” Ace shook his head and sighed at your comments. 

The conversation stopped after that when you began to make your way up stairs to get to your next class. You had to go up two flights of stairs which ended with you leaning along a wall, red-faces, and out of breath by the middle of it. 

“Hurry up, supervisor,” Deuce advised. 

You hissed, “Shut up.”

The three of you arrived at your next class which Decue said was “something-something history.” And you were actually kind of excited because you have no clue what has happened in this world, and it is gonna be so different with magic and everything.  

You three took seats near the middle of class, so all of you could still concentrate but still talk some. This class room was structured much more like a lecture hall than the past one with a chalk board at the front behind a teacher desk and desks being on different platforms going up, and so your group had to go up a couple of stairs to get to where you claimed were your seats. 

The class all took their seats and shut their mouths once an older man without a uniform came into the classroom carrying a cat. 

The cat had your full attention for this class because you now have the human desire to pet and love the cat as one should. 

Once the professor sat down with the cat on his lap, he introduced himself, “I am Trein, the professor in charge of Magical History. And this is my familiar, Lucius. I shall have you learn the history behind the magic that you are using now.”

Lucis, the cute little black cat who had a hint of white on his front right under his head, confirmed Professor Trein’s previous statements with a “Meow.”

It took a couple of seconds for you to process the Professor’s words, but once you did you turned to Deuce who was located to the left of you and blurted out, “Wait, is Lucius a real cat? What's a familiar? Can I not pet him? OMG, what if he can understand what I’m saying. That cannot be it-”

Professor Trein cut you off midway with another Lecture (Deuce was just gazing at you with disappointment in his eyes), “I do not only grade by your reports, but also by how you behave in my classroom. I will not tolerate sleeping in class. Now then, please turn to page 5 of your textbooks. This is related to the magic stone that was discovered inside the Dwarf Mines.”

You were taken aback by everything, but you also realized that you did not have a text book. You didn’t even have a book bag or pens, so you turned to Deuce to only flutter your lashes and pout at him until he shared his textbook with you and gave you lose leaf and a pen. 

Lucis decided to bring his voice into the conversation, “Meow.”

“The discovery of this jewel led to magical energy being able to spread worldwide. It could also be considered as the 1st year magic was made possible.” Professor Trein continued his lecture, and you were actually actively taking notes because this was like some wack anime and you had to know the full plot line.

“Meow.”

Ace yawned into his hand when you gazed at him. 

And Deuce was taking notes but his eyes were also beginning to close, “Oh…! The Dwarf Mines, huh… Oh…! Magical energy, huh…” You had to kick him to keep him awake.

Grim rested his head on the desk, “Ugh… I want a more explosive and flashier magic class!”

You could only sigh at the three idiots not paying attention while your pen kept on writing. 

By the end of the class and the lecture was over, all three of the spots next to you were occupied with asleep idiots. You put your stuff into your pockets and got up to nug Grim on his shoulder for him to wake up. His head slowly lifted up with his eyes still closed, so you decided to just carry him to the next class. He was in your arms by the time you got everything together and moved onto the other two idiots asleep. 

You kicked Deuce in the calf who jumped up immediately and rushed to get everything together, and then moved onto Ace to pull his hair. Ace stayed still until you found a certain spot of hair closest to his neck and pinched it and tugged on it. That had him reaching for your hand to stop your actions and had him awake and ready to move. 

“Get up, class already ended.” You let go of his hair to move to the walkway of the classroom. 

Ace shook his head to wake himself further up, “Okay.. but why did you have to pinch me so hard?”

“Were you gonna wake up by yourself?”

“No.”

“I think you see my thought process, then.” You shrugged your shoulders while the two remaining boys got their things together. After that all three of you were off to your next class, causing you to walk down stairs and through hallways until the three of you made it to a field outside.

The boys made you drop off your stuff, which wasn’t much anyway, and Grim in order to go and change into a P.E. uniform. Apparently, in the locker room, there were some extra uniforms for you to change into. 

The locker room stunk of mold and fungus from somewhere in the corners of the room, but Deuce led you to a bin of uniforms. He just pulled the first one from the pile and gave it to you. It was a bright green shirt with a dragon or lizard on it. Then, he gave you a black jacket with yellow stripes on the sleeves and a pair of pants with a faded royal purple stripes on parts of the pants. Seems were also ripped out of certain parts of the uniform with most of the colors being lightly faded. Looking at the uniform as a whole, it was definitely going to be too large on you. 

You thanked Deuce while he was walking away to the right side of the locker room, and then, you got moving. You observed the locker room to see if there were any bathrooms and to your luck, toward the back there was another door which led into the bathroom. You entered the next room to find no line and no one in the last stall. On your way to the stall, you passed up a bulky male with silver-white animal ears on his head in a yellow uniform who was washing his hands. You set foot in the final stall to only find the toilet flooded and writings all over the wall, causing you to let out a sigh and shut and lock the door just happy you did not have to use the restroom. 

Once dressed, you took your cloak and other clothes and walked out of the stall to wash your hands. Looking in the mirror was not on your to-do list, so you kept your eyes stuck on the faucet and your hands because the headache from the rat’s nest on your head and the slight pain from parts of your face gave you all the information you needed. You left the restrooms and found a deserted area where many lockers were empty. You threw your clothes in one of the middle lockers, closed it, and took account of the number of the locker. 

You left the locker room to see that you were one of the final people to get dressed and get out of the locker room. Grim, Ace, and Deuce were seated on the ground near the back of the group, and you made your way to them with many different eyes on you. 

The hulking man blew his whistle to get everyone in the class and started a speech, “I’m Vargas and I’m in charge of watching over your physical education.Excellent magic starts with excellent bodies! Behold…! These muscles that I train every day! A magician with no stamina is unspeakable! First, do 20 laps around the field! And then, 100 sit-ups!” He blew the whistle again and threw his pointer finger out the motion for you all to start your laps.

The three of you jumped up from your spot on the ground and slowly walked over to the track. 

Ace grimaced at the teacher, “Eh… I don’t hate exercise, but I can’t handle teachers like him.”

“I have confidence in my physical abilities,” Deuce had his hands on his hips and was twisting his torso around to stretch it. 

Grim shook his head, “What's so fun about running around? I’m not a hamster, yanno?”

You just sighed and joined the group of students starting to run. Ace, Deuce, Grim, and you slowly joined the middle of the group in a jog around the field. 

You were left pondering for a second about everything and anything and your mind went straight to how you could get out of the stuffy cloak because even if you did look like an adventurer you could not stand to wear it in the heat all the time. So you started up a conversation:

“Yo, Deuce,” You bumped arms with him, making Deuce’s eyes slowly drifted to your figure, “Do you know where I could get a school uniform? Is there like a store or something nearby?” 

Deuce contemplated your question for a couple of seconds until he snapped his fingers, “There is a shop on campus that has everything. We could stop there after school today.” 

“Well, that’s one thing covered,” Your feet were still in a constant jog, but they started to cramp in some areas, “I hope they have a clearance section.” 

The rest of PE was much more strenuous than you expected. This teacher thought that all of you were Olympic Athletes with all the work he is making you do, but looking at some of the students here (the green shirt-green haired fellow who is racing down the track whenever possible and the furry male who you saw in the bathroom earlier). Everyone was doing better than you. Even Grim. 

However, the exercises were soon over and you were all allowed to go back to the locker rooms and change. You were for now stuck lying on the ground wheezing from the physical activities you just completed in the past hour. Ace and Deuce went back to get changed and Grim is asleep on the grass behind you. 

“You okay?” A male’s voice could be heard from somewhere above you, but you were too drained to even move your eyes to see who it was. 

You groaned, “Don’t mind me. I’m just slowly decaying.” 

The male was speechless for a second and did not respond until your eyes fluttered open the slightest bit, “Do you want water? Or the nurse?” 

“No, oh gracious savior, but I’d rather you leave me here to be eaten by the birds.” You shut your eyes, listening to Grim groan besides you.

“Um...okay. Please get better,” The male’s footsteps could be heard walking away. 

You stayed there for about another hour in your head just trying to breathe in and out and maybe even fall asleep until a kick was landed on your side. 

“Get up, you lazy ass.” Ace was blessing you with his presence and his torment.

You hurled your body forward and up to grip Ace’s foot which was making its way to your side again, “Don’t you have a sense of common courtesy to not kick someone when they are dying?” 

“You aren’t dying, but you are wasting our break time.” Ace groaned and pulled his foot out of your grip, “So go get dressed.”

Rolling your eyes, you gathered yourself and stood up to make your way back to the changing rooms. You left Grim to be with Ace, so you hoped those two would not cause problems. The rest was a lack of oxygen and lack of water blur until you found your three idiots out in the hallway and began your track to your next class. You decided to take your time a little because you had a ten minute break before the next class. 

Deuce was looking around the hallways for the next class, “Let’s see, the next class is..”

Ace was pouting next to you, “For a magic school, it doesn’t really feel that much different from a normal school, huh… It’s a lot more… ordinary than I thought… Guess I don’t have to worry much even without magic.” His body shifted to turn to your side, “Dontcha think so, too, Grim? Hm…” 

You gazed at where Grim last was which was to the left of you and let your eyes focus and blink for a couple of seconds, “Are you fucking kiddin me?”

A gasp was heard from Deuce in front of you, “Look outside the window! That fluffball running in the Courtyard…” He pointed out Grim’s exact spot in the middle of the large area. 

Once you began your sprint to him, you could hear him cackling about how he did not deserve to listen to boring lectures all day. 

You stopped your run when you realized that you would never be able to make it farther due to PE kicking your butt, “If I have to go to school, then, so does he.”

Deuce and Ace were arriving right behind you.

Deuce crossed his arms, “Running away on the first day…” He shook his head, “That guy just doesn’t learn, huh.” 

“Being negligent on the first day, are we? So, d’ya want us to help you catch Grim?” A smirk bloomed on Ace’s face. 

You scrunched your nose, “If I have to be here, then so does he.”  threaded your hands together and squeezed your eyes shut and bowed, “Please, please help me.”

“I want some chocolate croissants from the canteen!” 

Deuce blurted in agreement, “Then, I shall have some café latte from the cafeteria.”

You rose from your bow, “Perfect, perfect. Thank yooou!!” not even thinking about how you were going to afford that. 

Ace and Deuce pulled their magic pens out of their pockets and joined each other in front of you to start their hunt for Grim. 

Ace smirked at Deuce, “And that’s a deal! Alright, shall we go help out our helpless prefect, Deuce-kun?”

Deuce narrowed his eyes and rolled back his sleeves of his jacket, “Sure thing, Ace-kun. I’m most looking forward to lunchtime.”

“I’ll be in the classroom once you catch him.” You waved the two off while they began their hunt for the cat. 

By the time you made it to your next class, the three showed up with sweat dripping from their faces, their clothes in disarray, and the teacher right behind them. 

This would surely be a great year.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Ah yes, Hollow Crown. Aka let’s give our favorites Eret and Tubbo so much pain and suffering. Excellent. I’d love to hear all your headcanons for this!

*slaps roof of Hollow Crown

This bad boy can fit so much angst for all the characters for it

Want some headcanons/concepts? Here’s a few. Also, all of them are angst for all the characters. We are going to make all the characters have angst.

-Tubbo is like the equivalent of 16 in this au, he’ll turn 17 by the end but it means that the fate of L’Manberg is in the hands of a child and a very stressed out one in fact. He has to fight against infected people and animals and god he has to make sure that he can save everyone he can.

-You know how Void is allegedly said to not have any emotion or something like that? Well that doesn’t apply to Eret as they were dipped into void and transformed into it. So now we got Dream wearing them down until he submits to Dream and the infection Dream made

-Tommy almost fucking dies in the Colosseum of Fools. A Mawlek fell on top of him and Wilbur had to be restrained from getting his brother again. It was only because of three wanderers that he survived

-The wanderers are George, Sapnap, and Punz. They know that their ancestors worshipped someone but they can’t remember who. They are recurring bosses (though only fought one at a time) for Tubbo like Niki is and all have different Dream Nail dialogue whe Dream Nailed, usually all sad and confused and sometimes worried for the kid.

(George: Who are we looking for? Why do we wander so? When will it end?

Sapnap: KILL IT. how much longer? KILL IT. when can we rest? KILL THE VESSEL. when can we all go home? KILL THE EMPTY ONE. i just want to go home.

Punz: Is it worth being here anymore? I’ve seen what this infection does to people. Should we even continue? I don’t want to lose more of my family.)

-On the bright side, every time you fight them, you get a new nail art. You get angst though so yeah.

-Yeah that’s right we’re going to get Sapnap get slowly infected. Is it a choice whether you can kill him or not? Yes. As long as you know what you’re doing.

-For added angst, we get Punz who was actually apart of the same group who still had remnants of Dream in a way. Mainly with speed and the people’s fast fighting skills. Then the infection hit and killed everyone there but Punz. George and Sapnap found him when he was quite literally burying the last of them.

-For even more angst, we got George who is a skilled mage. Then he got trapped in the Soul Sanctum and was almost harvested for Soul before being saved by Sapnap. It traumatized him and now he can’t stomach using magic.

-Skeppy gets infected and you have to fight him :)

-Skeppy’s leave went and made Bad distraught and almost got him to submit to the infection as well. It was only because of Ant and Sam that he didn’t.

-We get Wilbur and the Blue Lake and luckily he is found by Phil, a relic seeker but god it was scary for Tubbo to hear all of that

-Niki used to live in Deepnest before it got taken over by the infection. She had to leave her family behind and her people.

-Fundy is a wandering historian and map maker who wants to preserve the history of L’Manberg before it gets lost to the infection. He doesn’t want the world to forget the people who lived there and what they fought for.

-Jack is a lonely blacksmith who didn’t really had much company. He was hoping that one day he could have cut the infection down with the most powerful weapon he made but now? He’s just feeling hopeless. Tubbo thank god just guides him to Niki and those two became friends fast.

[fiction-fun]

Loving in Color

That's right! It's time! This probably will have 3 parts so keep an eye out for the second part!

Fandom: Power Rangers (Dino Thunder)

Pairings: Tommy/Jason, Conner/Ethan, Kira/Hunter, Trent/Oc

Words: 12068

Warnings: fighting, light swearing(as with most of my stories) and homophobia (trust me it makes me iffy about even posting this but the scene is breif)

She blinked at her reflection in the mirror and glared at it. With a huff she reached over and grabbed her favorite bandanna, the green looking nice when tied into her hair. She carefully rolled the article and tied it around her hair brushing her hair back into place.

“Kaley! Come on, or you won’t have time for breakfast!” Kaley heard the shout and looked towards her door.

“I’m coming Poppa!” she called as she grabbed her leather jacket and her backpack heading to the door.

She walked downstairs and gave her Poppa a hug before slipping past him and into the kitchen, beelining right for the coffee maker.

“Not you too, look if you have coffee you have to eat real food too!” Her Poppa said walking over to her and reaching up for a plate.

She nodded and offered him a smile.

“Dad only come up from his lab long enough to get a shower and a cuppa?” Kaley asked looking at him.

Her Poppa nodded and handed her the plate he had made her. Moving back to the table where his own plate sat.

“I don’t understand how he can work all night and then teach during the day.” Her Poppa said.

Kaley smiled and laughed as she sipped her coffee.

“Wasn’t it you and Uncle Billy who told me Dads a determined caffeinated workaholic?” Kaley questioned lightly as she started eating the pancakes.

Her Poppa nodded and sat back.

“Yes, but I was hoping, SOMEONE, would lighten up on the work over the years, clearly not.” He said as he drank his juice.

Kaley laughed as she heard a thump.

“Someone call me?” her Dad asked as he came up the stairs wiping his hands on a washcloth pressing a kiss to her head and her Poppas cheek.

“I was more speaking in general, dear, but you two both have to get going, or you’re both going to be late.” Poppa said.

Kaley stood and put her empty plate in the sink, reaching over and grabbing a napkin and a pancake she carefully placed a couple stripes of bacon and a few pieces of eggs inside before drizzling the syrup on top and rolling it up in the pancake and the napkin around it.

“Here, dad eat. But I do have to go. Love you Dad! Love you Poppa!” She called as she handed her dad the breakfast wrap and kissed both parents on the cheek.

“Kaley! Training after school?” her Poppa asked.

Kaley tuned and put her hands on her hips.

“If you’re home, I’ll meet you in the park.” She said and he winced slightly.

Her Poppa walked over to her.

“I know I’ve been working a lot, but I’m trying to make it so I can be home more.” He said hugging her.

She nodded and sighed as she hugged him back.

“I know, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She said softly.

Her Dad came over and hugged them both before looking at the clock.

“Jason, we have to go if we want to be on time, Kaley I’ll drive you today or you won’t make it.” Her Dad said smiling at them.

Her Poppa laughed.

“With you driving, Tommy, neither of you will make it on time!” Her Poppa said laughing lightly.

“Hey! I’ve gotten better about that!” Her Dad replied.

Her Poppa just smiled and shook his head nudging them both towards the door.

“You both have a chronic problem with not being on time. Now go, I love you both.” Her Poppa called out smiling and waving.

Kaley and her Dad waved back calling responses as they climbed into Tommy’s Jeep.

“All buckled?” Her Dad asked her.

“Yeah! Let’s go Dad!” She said with a nod and smile.

Tommy nodded and put the Jeep in gear bringing it around to face the dirt road leading to their house, he ate the last of the wrap and passed her a green travel cup of coffee his black one already in the cup holder, and hit the gas. The normally forty-minute ride to the school was done in twenty and Kaley leaned over and hugged her Dad as they parked.

“I’ll see you later Dad, I love you.” She said smiling.

“I love you too.” Her Dad said hugging her back.

She opened the door and grabbed her cup and bag, heading straight for the office.

*Two months later*

“He’s your best friend and you haven’t even seen?” Kira asked looking at her.

Kaley choked on her drink, coughing lightly.

“Kira, seriously not here.” She said looking around to see if the person was around.

Kira rolled her eyes.

“He’s not here today. Remember? It’s what you were complaining about all last period.

Kaley felt like she could slap herself.

“Yeah, right. And no, I haven’t, I just enjoy spending time with him. Besides he hasn’t either.” She said sitting back.

Kira sighed.

“Girl, you’re insane! You have too!” she said with a huff.

Kaley shook her head rapidly and waved her hands in front of her face.

“No, no I don’t! I don’t want my Dad’s to kill him!” she said lowering her voice a bit.

Kira sighed again and stood.

“Kay, all I’m saying is don’t let him go, before you know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go play some music.” She said grabbing her guitar and heading towards the doors.

Kaley stood up quickly tossing her trash.

“I’m coming with you.” She said as she grabbed her bag.

Kira nodded and slung an arm over her shoulder with a big smile.

“That’s my girl!” she said with smile directed at her.

Kaley laughed and nodded, going to pull her jacket from her bag she paused.

“Crap, I must have left it in Winslow’s, I’ll just be a minute you go get started.” Kaley told her friend as she turned and ran back to the school.

Kira laughed as she walked to a picnic table and sat down to start playing, Kaley shook her head at her friend’s laughter but kept running. Getting into the school and turning down the history and science department halls she slid to a stop outside her History teachers’ class and knocked.

“Come in!” was called.

“Hey Mr. Winslow, I was wondering if you saw my jacket? I can’t find it.” She asked ducking into the classroom.

Mr. Winslow paused and then nodded.

“Yes, its still at your seat I believe.” He said offering her a smile.

She sighed in relief and ran over to her chair, grabbing her jacket from where it had gotten stuck in the little basket.

“Thanks Mr. Winslow! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Kaley called as she ran out of the room and back towards the yard.

She had almost made it when Three kids surrounded her.

“What do you want, Benson?” she asked looking towards the obvious leader of the group with a sigh.

He huffed and looked at the other two.

“Look at that guys, she thinks she can talk to me like that!” He said with a cackle.

Kaley sighed and waited, watching them as they laughed. Benson got up into her face.

“What freak? Not entertaining enough for you?” He asked snidely.

Kaley rolled her eyes and placing a hand on the center of his chest and shoved him and his foul breath away from her.

“No, I’m just waiting for you to get bored so I can go back to what I need to do.” She said her voice soft and bored sounding.

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as Benson, in classic bad guy movie fashion, snapped his fingers and the other two jumped grabbing her arms as he punched her in the face. Kaley rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that it? Because, that was rather weak.” She said even as blood dripped from her nose and split lip.

Bensons goons tightened their hold on her, and he came up and punched her a few more times, once in the eye, once on the cheek and once in her stomach, she huffed a bit but didn’t do anything else.

“What freak? Not going to yell out?” Benson cackled.

“No, why would I when none of that hurt?” She returned the question, as she felt her face and stomach throb.

Benson huffed and walked back a few steps back turned to her, before he spun and locked eyes with his buddies and her.

“You just don’t want to worry your freaky fag dad.” He said.

And that was one thing to many. In the blink of an eye, the two holding her where on the ground in various forms of pain. Kaley herself was sat on Benson beating the ever-loving daylights out of him.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Call. My. Dad. That. Again!” she screamed each word punctuated with a punch.

Benson couldn’t even respond, he just kept trying to block the hits, but blood was spraying everywhere, and he looked more like raw-meat then human. Just as she was about to punch him again a pair of hands wrapped around her and pulled her off him. She turned her glare onto the one who had stopped her only to freeze when she came face to face with her Dad, Principle Randall behind him with Kira and two others.

“I think it goes without saying that she has at least a weeks’ worth of detention.” Randall said looking at her Dad.

He nodded a pinched look on his face.

“Kaley, go straight to my room.” He said setting her down on the floor.

“Dad…I...” She tried but her Dad gave her a soft glare.

“Go. Now.” He said firmly.

Kaley nodded and with a mumbled “Yes sir.” She turned and headed back down the hallway, stopping at her Dads room she opened the door and closed it softly, moving to sit at one of the tables, she huffed sitting down. She looked down at the floor, feeling both tired now that the adrenaline was leaving her, and upset that she had upset her Dad by doing what she did. She looked up for a second before dropping her eyes again when she heard the door open. Her Dad pulled a stool from another table and sat in front of her.

“I managed to talk Randall out of suspending you. But you do have Detention starting today for the next two weeks.” He said softly.

Kaley nodded not trusting her voice as she sniffled wincing at the pain in her face. Her Dad sighed and lifted her head, carefully wiping the blood and tears from her face.

“You never fight like that, especially when you don’t know if the other person has had any training. What caused it?” He asked her.

Kaley sniffled thickly.

“He insulted you, and I got angry.” She said softly.

Her Dad smiled gently at her, hugging her tightly.

“Oh sweetheart.” He said softly.

She wrapped her arms around him trying not to stain his jacket.

“I’m sorry Dad, I just…I got so mad. He doesn’t know you! He can’t say that!” She said crying softly.

Tommy rubbed her back and kissed her head.

“I know Sweetheart. I know. But you can’t do that at school, or anywhere. Fighting is never the answer. What’s our rules with training?” Tommy asked her gently.

Kaley sniffled and sighed.

“Martial arts are only for defense never to attack, never escalate a fight.” Kaley said softly.

Tommy nodded.

“Exactly. Although it looks like you tried not to escalate things.” He said softly.

Kaley nodded.

“No, he punched me four times and insulted me a bunch before I even reacted. Not that I really could at first with his buddies holding my arms.” She said agreeing with his statement.

Her dad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know we have to tell your Poppa.” He said gently.

Kaley nodded.

“I know. I really am sorry I got into a fight.” She said just as softly.

He nodded and hugged her again, before pulling her to her feet.

“I know you are.” He said gently.

*a few hours later*

“And here are your delinquents, your personal one included.” Randall said as the group of four walked into the room, and took seats.

“Really, I wanted to go to the museum.” Her Dad said looking at her.

“Good, take them with you educational and boring perfect.” She said walking quickly from the room.

Tommy groaned before turning to face them.

“Alright guys, let’s head out.” He said grabbing his suitcase as the kids grabbed their bags.

Kaley grabbed her bag and walked towards the door. Looking back at the others with a sigh she headed towards the parking lot.

“What’s her problem?” she heard the jock ask, glancing back she saw the one with the computer always present shrug.

“She got into a fist fight, got hurt and got in trouble. Why don’t you be nicer.” Kira said with a huff as she picked up her pace to catch up to Kaley.

“Hey, just let them go. They don’t know me its fine.” Kaley said softly as she threw her bag into the front seat of her Dad’s Jeep.

Kira tossed her bag in the back seat before looking at her.

“Still its not right that they’re talking about you, you’ve got enough stuff going on.” Kira said looking at her.

Kaley shrugged and climbed into the jeep.

“Wait, why does she get the front?” the jock asked again.

Kaley shot him a glare.

“It is my Dad’s Jeep.” She said with no room for argument.

“One fights enough for today isn’t it?” Her dad asked as he climbed in.

She nodded and turned back to the front as the other all got in the back. With that Tommy started the Jeep and took off headed towards the museum. Most of the time spent in silence and when they arrived her dad let out a long sigh.

“Looks like its closed.” He said looking around.

“Oh, well looks like that’s it, detentions over and we should really be getting back.” Kira said turning back towards the Jeep.

Tommy turned and looked at her with that smile on his face that meant he had a plan. Kaley sighed and rolled her sleeves up a bit knowing where this was going to go.

“Alright, how about you guys look around, try to find anything even remotely historic and I’ll cancel detention for the next week. While I try and figure out why the museum is closed.” Tommy said muttering the last bit to himself.

The others groaned even as they took off towards the side of the museum, Kaley hanging back for a second.

“Just don’t break in, I don’t think Poppa wants another call about one of us in trouble today.” She said with a small smile as she moved to follow the others.

Her Dad turned and gave her a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to look for any information.” He said.

She nodded and turned to the path. After a while of listening to the boy’s bicker, she huffed and walked passed them.

“Hey what’s your rush, sweetheart.” The jock called.

Kaley froze at his words and spun around; in three quick steps she was standing in front of him. She raised a hand and poked his chest backing him up with each poke.

“Listen here, I don’t care who the fuck you are. But my name is Kaley. Get it fucking right or I’ll make what I did to Benson look like child’s play.” She hissed softly.

He put his hands up and nodded. She sighed and turned back around. They kept walking for a few minutes before Ethan the one with the computer spoke up louder than before.

“Fine but don’t look at me when you fall into a sink hole or something.” He called out as Conner the jock walked on ahead.

Conner shook his head when there was a rumble and the ground collapsed out from under them. They landed in a heap at the bottom, except for Kaley who as soon as the ground dropped, she tucked and hit with a roll. She stood up and looked at the others.

“Are you all ok?” she asked them, as they started to stand up.

They nodded and started looking around. After a few seconds Conner looked at them all.

“I’ll climb up the wall, go get Dr. Oliver and be back soon.” He said looking up at the wall.

Kaley snorted as Ethan gave him a look.

“Why are you going?” he asked.

“I’m the most athletic.” Conner said puffing his chest out with pride.

“Alright Mr. Tough guy. You go ahead and climb the wall and when you fall, I’ll tell you why you failed.” Kaley said with a soft snort and a laugh.

Conner shot her a glare as they backed up and he started climbing up the wall. Very quickly he fell back down landing hard on his back. Kaley moved to stand over him.

“One, its old rock. Two, its old sandstone making it weaker than other stones from time and erosion. Three, you’re not the most athletic, you’re just the one who plays sports on a school team. Now can you stand, or did you break yourself?” she asked looking down at the boy still on the ground.

Conner groaned but rolled to his feet standing up.

“Good, now let’s try and find another way out.” She said turning towards the tunnel at the far side of the cave.

“What did you mean, I’m not the most athletic?” Conner asked a little bit later, after gaining Kira’s wrath by calling her babe.

Kaley shot him a look and rolled her shoulders.

“I’ve been doing Martial Arts since I was five. Could I have even made it out of the hole? Maybe. But most probably not. The stone was to old and the ground to wet. But that’s not important. The fact is I am much more athletic then you I just don’t believe in the institution that is school sports.” Kaley said as she slipped her hands into her jacket pockets.

“Oh.” Conner said trailing off.

They walked in silence for a while longer before coming to a cave or a control room. Everyone looked around.

“This must be like the mothership for you dude.” Conner said looking at Ethan.

“Normally id be insulted. But when your right your right and right now, your right.” Ethan said dazedly.

Kaley was to busy looking at the consoles to pay much attention and she huffed out a sigh, she’d know these monitors anywhere.

“Guys look!” Kira called.

That drew everyone’s attention to a central raised pillar, where four stones sat. the four of them walked down to it and looked at the stones that were there.

“What do you think they are?” Kaley asked looking at the to her grey stones.

The others shrugged and Conner reached out to grab one by him, Ethen tossed his hand out.

“Dude what are you doing?” He asked looking at Conner.

Conner shrugged and looked at the other three.

“Look I’ve been in enough Science classes to know those things are major prehistoric.” He said.

Kira bit her lip.

“I hate to agree with him, trust me I do. But I’ve already missed one practice so.” She said reaching forward.

Kaley took a deep breath and reached out too.

“I’ve got another week beyond you guys anyways, but I can’t miss study sessions with Trent and training with Poppa because you’re nervous, Ethan.” Kaley said softly.

With all three of them against him Ethan nodded and together they took the four gems that sat there.

“What are they?” Conner asked voicing the question again after the gems glowed slightly.

Ethan shrugged looking at his gem.

“I don’t know, I can get on the computer later and look them up?” He suggested.

Conner faked a gasp.

“You, on the computer? Let me put on my surprised face!” He said voice heavy with sarcasm.

Kira turned and walked away.

“Hey where are you going?” Kaley called looking at her.

She turned back and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to see what kind of freak lives in a place like this.” She said as she turned back to walking.

The boys nodded and headed after her. Kaley taking an extra second listening in the silence. Above her she could hear footsteps and soft talking. She shook her head.

“Hey you coming?” Ethan called as he stuck his head back around the corner.

She nodded and moved to follow them.

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure we didn’t trigger alarms or anything.” She said as they walked down the path.

They figured a way out and started back through the forest when they started to be followed by weird creatures. With a nod they all took off running through the forest, Kaley and Conner leading the pack with Ethan next followed by Kira, who fell in a ditch. The others doubled back and helped her up. As they where running Kira fell again and they were to far away to do anything. Kaley turned and jumped up kicking off a tree to try and get closer, but Kira let out a loud piercing screech. Kaley landed in a crouch near her and covered her ears. They all decided to ask questions later and got Kira back up as they ran back through the forest. Kaley turned and got separated from the others.

“Not good.” She said as she went into a guarding stance seeing creatures all around her.

Without a thought as the monsters came at her she jumped and dodged their hits, skidding across the ground she flipped seeing the monsters close in on her she threw her hands up. Two large tornado strength winds flew from her hands and knocked them back away from her, she jumped up and looked at her hands for a second before looking around smiling and shaking her head.

“Time to play.” She said throwing her hands out again, this time lighting shot from one hand and the other caused branches and things to slam down into the enemies.

“That was so cool!” Kaley cried out with a grin as she took off running to try and find the others.

She cleared the forest and found Conner.

“Oh, goodie it’s you, any idea where the others are at?” she asked.

Conner shook his head.

“No, they must still be in there.” Conner said.

Kaley looked back at the forest.

“With those things.” Kaley said nodding at the monsters on the ground.

With that they ran back into the forest finding Kira and Ethan unharmed and just finding each other.

“That was.” Ethan said looking down at his arms.

“Incredible?” Kaley suggested.

“Freaky?” Kira said.

“Cool.” Conner said with a nod.

Ethan nodded.

“All of the above.” He said in amazement.

Kaley laughed and shook her head as the group started back towards the road.

“We don’t tell anyone. Right?” Conner said looking at the rest of them.

They all nodded just as they found the road.

“Hey guys, any luck?” Tommy asked looking at them.

They all glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

“No, no luck.” Conner said speaking for all of them.

“What about you Dad?” Kaley asked looking at him.

He shook his head.

“No, come on. We should get back.” He said and they all headed back to the car.

After a while they were back in town and dropping the others off.

“Dad wait! Please? He wasn’t in school today.” Kaley said pointing to Trent.

Her Dad nodded and parked the car.

“Make it quick, ok?” He said looking at her.

She nodded and unbuckled her belt as she ran from the Jeep.

“Trent!” Kaley called running towards him.

He turned and looked at her, with a smile. Kaley wrapped her arms around him.

“Are you ok? Where were you? Why weren’t you in school?” She asked pulling back slightly.

Trent laughed and shook his head.

“I’m ok. I was home. I woke up and wasn’t feeling great you know how my allergies are.” Trent said looking just passed her.

Kaley’s mind flashed back to what Kira had said earlier, and she looked down at the ground.

“I probably won’t be able to make our study sessions for the next little while.” She said softly.

Trent shot her a look.

“What? Why not?” He asked her.

She shrugged and looked up giving him the first proper look at her face with the bruised cheek, busted lip and slightly swollen eye and nose.

“I got into a little fight today at school.” She said looking passed him.

Trent reached up and ran a hand gently across her cheek.

“Little fight?” He asked.

“You should see Benson.” She said with a dry humorless laugh.

Trent sucked in a breath and pulled her in close.

“You ok?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“Nah, I hurt. I have detention for two weeks, Dads disappointed and I’m sure Poppa is too. Just been a long day.” She said softly.

Trent nodded and looked passed her.

“Hey, looks like your Dad wants to go.” He said.

She turned and waved to her Dad before turning back and nodding.