#i feel like i’m going to have to copy-paste it all; format it into a kindle book and just read it on my kindle lmao

[fingertipsmp3]

Idk how I used to read insanely long, like 50+ chapter fanfics, on my phone and laptop. Hello eyestrain, will you be staying long???

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers - pt 2

Gif not mine

A/N: Not sure about the formatting, copy and paste didn't quite work out as planned. Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Master list here

You miss your stop.

Not only do you miss your stop, but you end up all the way at the bus depot before the driver notices you passed out in one of the seats. The driver, a kindly older gentleman, offers to give you a lift home since it is the end of his shift anyway. He takes pity on you, perhaps due to your tired and sad appearance. Interestingly, no one seems to notice the red wisps behind his eyes.

You appreciate his kindness, but you are anxious about returning home. A quick look at your phone reveals that it is well past 6 PM and you have missed multiple calls and texts from both of your parents. This is not going to end well. In simple terms, you are fucked. Fortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice your restlessness as your leg bounces nervously as he gets closer to your home.

As you exit the vehicle, you politely thank him and offer to pay for the gas, but the man refuses. His accent changes slightly as he says, "anything to help." You shrug it off, as it is not your concern where people are from. Your focus is on more pressing matters. After closing the door, you square your shoulders and mentally prepare for the absolute shit show awaiting you as soon as you step through the front door.

It shouldn’t surprise you that your father’s booming voice is the first to be heard. “Where were you?”

You start with the truth. “Dad I’m sorry, I was on the bus after my exam, I fell asleep with my headphones-”

”I don’t want your excuses! While you live here under our roof, you will show us some respect, you will follow our rules! You had chores to do today, why didn’t you do them?”

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. You hate being interrupted, and you hate being asked questions when they clearly don’t want the answers. Besides, you are in your twenties, not a child. “As I was saying, I-”

This time your mother interrupts. “Don’t speak to your father like that. He asked you a question, we expect you to answer it!.”

You grit your teeth. “I fell asleep on the bus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Always with the excuses this one.” Your father laments. “Do you think your future employer is going to care about any of that? No. He’s just going to want to know why you weren’t there.”

It takes every ounce of your sanity to not snap that your answer is the reason WHY you weren’t there, and not simply an excuse. Instead you hold your tongue. They aren’t here to listen, they don’t care. They just want to yell at you, and for you to be sorry.

“I tell you, with behavior like that it’s any wonder at all you’d even be able to keep a job. They would probably fire you on the spot, and then you would be right back on our doorstep, our problem once again to pick up the pieces.”

It’s all hypothetical of course - you’ve never been late to any of your classes, but you have not yet had a job, you weren’t allowed to. You are sure you wouldn’t be late to it though if you were to treat it like your classes. You know you can’t tell your parents this however. Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Yes Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Saying sorry simply doesn't cut it! Sorry doesn’t fix the problem that you caused, so tell me, how are you going to make the problem right?” he demands. A vein throbs in his forehead. Absently you think about how he knows he should watch his blood pressure, but that would require him to watch his temper. Y/D/N could never.

You know what he is looking for, he wants you to do your chores now, but it’s after 8PM and your exam is at 8AM. If you do your chores now, that leaves you little time for last minute studying, eating, bathing, sleeping, and then catching the bus back to the university. Helplessly, you look to your mother for help.

“Don’t look at me, this is your mess you’ve created. If you had just done what you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If you had just been good, you could be doing whatever it is you do with your free time right now.”

It had always annoyed you greatly that your parents were unaware of your academic achievements. While it's true that you didn't have the best grades as a child, once you entered university and chose a major, you became a straight-A student, even going so far as to make the President’s list the last three years in a row. However, in their eyes, you would always be the little underachiever they had to take care of.

Tears well up in your eyes. This situation wasn't fair. It was an accident. You had fully intended to come home and do your chores, but you couldn’t have known you would sleep through your alarm on the bus. You had been so incredibly exhausted that you experienced a vivid nightmare whilst awake. You were aware that you needed more sleep, but your degree was your only way out of this miserable place. You couldn't risk losing it all just because you missed a few hours of sleep now and then.

“Please?” You beg. You didn’t have anything else to argue in your defense. “I’ll leave my headphones in my bag this time, I’ll set multiple alarms, I won’t sleep, just please let me go study!”

Your parents look at each other, having silent communication. Seeming to come to an agreement, your mother speaks first. “Y/N we’re sorry it has to be this way, but you have already proven on multiple occasions that we can’t trust you to do the right thing. Tonight, you are going to do your chores even if it takes you all night to do it. Besides, we all know you’re not studying up there. For all we know you’re just up there masturbating in the window or something.”

Being stabbed in the chest would have been less painful. You don't understand why you're caught off guard; it's not like your mother hasn't said off the wall shit like this in the past. It's almost as if she thrives on finding the most hurtful and outrageous statements to throw in your face, as if you deserved them. As if you had ever done any of the things she accused you of. Like you were some sort of deviant, when all you wanted was simply the right to exist.

“What the actual fuck, Mom?!” you scream, having finally had enough. Both of your parents look taken aback. Rare is it for you to raise your voice at them, even more so to curse at them. “I know you’ve been pretty checked out of my life for a while now, but I’ve had a 4.0 GPA for the last three years. I don’t know where you got that… comment… from, but I can assure you that all I want to do is go to my room and study.”

“Now listen here young lady,” begins your father.

"No, YOU listen, Father," your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were right about one thing, and that is I am a gods damned adult. I take my studies seriously, and while it may come as a surprise to you since neither of you have paid any actual attention to my life since I turned 18, though it could be argued you really stopped paying attention earlier except for when I was being an inconvenience, but I am actually a great student. This is my last semester before graduating with honors and again, a 4.0 GPA, and I will have my choice of job opportunities. I will leave this place, and you miserable old bats will have no one to be your punching bag anymore. Then maybe just maybe you can finally take a look at the flaws and fix what's wrong with your own marriage, instead of trying to break ME!”

Your chest heaved. It felt good to speak your truth, but as the silence grew, you began to realize that you might have made a mistake.

Your father has finally gotten out of his chair, looming over you. A resounding slap echoes across the room as your father backhanded you, knocking you to the floor. “You ungrateful, miserable little bitch! I don’t know what lies those ‘professors’ at the university have been filling your head with, but you have no future, and you are lucky your mother and I care enough to let you live under our roof! And so long as you do, you will obey our rules, and show us the respect we deserve!”

Fearful, you scramble back to the wall and attempt to push yourself to your feet. “If that’s the price of living here, then I will happily live in the University’s library. One week, that’s all I need!” You step forward to make your escape from this house, but this time your mother shoves you, and once again you find yourself on your knees.

You raise your hands in self-defense, but your mother sneers, "Do it, Y/N, hit me, and you'll be out on your ass faster than you can blink!" Crying, you lower your hands and prepare to allow her to strike you.

The lights went out all at once, and everyone froze. Has the power gone out? It couldn’t have, you could still hear the hum of the AC unit. So what was wrong with the lights?

The lights turn back on as suddenly as they had gone out, and all three of you look around in confusion. However, despite the lights returning, the room appears darker, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The shadows cast a looming presence over all of you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your home, which you have lived in for around twenty ish years, suddenly feels foreboding, and you wonder if it's too late to flee. It almost resembles one of the nightmares you have been experiencing recently.

Red mist fills the room, a dreadfully sinister voice speaks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

All three of you turn to the source of the sound - the corner of the room, as a red and black leather-clad boot, attached to black leather pants, steps through a portal and into the room. The Scarlet Witch follows, radiating her full glory. She warns, "If you wish to keep your body parts intact, you will never lay a finger on Y/N ever again."

You’re pretty sure your eyebrows have never been closer to meeting your hairline before and yet here we are. You don’t know who this unfamiliar lady is, nor how she seems to know you but God damned if that outfit doesn’t look as if it has been painted onto her. You blush at your sinful thoughts. Now is not the time, and you’re pretty sure you’re having a stroke of some sort. If nothing else, however, you are grateful for the reprieve from your beating.

Meanwhile, your parents had never taken well to being told what to do, by anyone, they certainly weren’t going to now by this costumed stranger. Your mother bristles. “Who is this Y/N? Another one of your little whores?” Completely disregarding the fact that you have never in fact had a partner in your entire life, and you don’t know whether to be pleased that she seems to think you’re capable of having a sex life or affronted that she thinks you’re some type of floozy. Your mother’s words, not yours.

“What? No, I-” You look helplessly from the floor between your parents and this woman you now recognize as the one from your visions, and the same one from your hallucination this morning. Is she here to help, or to hurt you? She has been your savior and aggressor in both; there’s no telling which she has chosen for now. Glancing between them, you are unsure how to de-escalate this situation. There is no way to convince your parents, for their own safety, that this woman is powerful and not to be trifled with. Nothing you could say, they would believe, and you were pretty sure this woman would kill your parents without a second thought if they didn’t tread carefully.

Seeming to sense your struggle, the woman speaks up in your stead. “As I’ve said, you would do well to keep your hands to yourself. I am here to take Y/N with me, and you will not stand in my way. This is your only warning, which I am giving to you out of consideration for Y/N.”

She reaches down for your hand to help you back up. Hesitantly, you take it, ignoring the shock that runs throughout your body, and begin questioning your entire reality. Take you with her? Who even is she? Where exactly is she going to be taking you? You had questions, and you would like some answers, but if you didn’t get your parents to stand down, you were pretty sure she would follow through on her threat. Sure, your parents were trash, but they were all you had. You loved them, and you were certain that, in their own warped way, they loved you, too.

She helps you up and proceeds to give you a thorough once-over, carefully inspecting your injuries. Her intense scrutiny makes you blush. Meanwhile, your parents remain silent, their thinly veiled anger evident as they observe your interaction. How dare this woman speak to them in such a manner? Thankfully, they wisely choose to keep quiet. Perhaps they also sense the dangerous aura emanating from this woman, perceiving her as a true threat. Then again, it could be due to the fact that she just stepped through a literal portal conjured out of thin air moments ago. Maybe they had been paying attention, but even you are unsure of what is real anymore.

Still holding your hand, the Scarlet Witch leads you back towards the portal she arrived through. "Come, Y/N, we have much to discuss." At this point, all you could do was helplessly trail after, hoping you weren't going from bad to worse. At least by leaving, your parents would be out of danger. As for yourself, well... It was clear that the Scarlet Witch wanted something from you. Hopefully, whatever that was would be sufficient to ensure your survival. Perhaps even enough to negotiate with.

At the last possible moment, your mother chooses, whether out of genuine love and concern for your well-being, or fear at the loss of her control over you, to reach out to take you from this bizarre woman. “Mother, no!”

Y/M/N finds herself promptly flung onto the wall behind her, and stuck there, unable to move. You aren’t sure who exactly screamed but you’re pretty sure it was every member of your family. The Scarlet Witch hadn’t even turned to look, the only indication she had even been involved is the raised hand, opposite the one holding yours, with dark, ink-stained fingertips, bent at slightly odd angles.

“Stop, please! Let her go, she won’t do it again, please! I'm sorry, please!”

Unsure of why you are begging for this woman’s life when she has spent the entirety of yours making sure you were miserable. Still, your heart lurched at the thought of anything happening to your mother. You didn’t like her, and if you never saw her again, that was probably for the best, but you certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

The Witch took a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself, before turning to face you.

In the softest voice you had ever heard she whispers “Detka, I-.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times, deciding what to say. To your absolute mortification and delight, she leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, and promises “I will let them live, but I must say my piece.”

You nod, completely dumbstruck at everything happening in this moment. What. The. Fuck.

Y/M/N, still pinned to the wall, whimpers and struggles to move but is clearly unable to. The Scarlet Witch turns from you to face your parents. Another wave of her hand, and your mother slumps to the floor, alarmed, but otherwise unharmed. It is clear whatever the witch did, both she and your father are now restrained.

Footsteps approach the pair, and the lights in the house flickered ominously. Despite your mother being nearly 40 years older than her (or so you assumed, as you had no idea of this woman's age), the power emanating from her exuded confident malevolence. She showed no fear towards them, and for once, although ashamed to admit it, you were glad to see that they were afraid of someone else.

Though she was only about 5'6", the woman knelt before your parents, her voice filled with menacing intent. "I know everything you have ever done, everything you ever could do, and everything you ever will do. I know what you are guilty of. I know what you deserve, and I can assure you that it is not mercy. I will spare your lives and leave you unharmed due to the kindness of your daughter, the daughter you’ve abused for decades." As her head tilts, you can't help but feel that she becomes even more dangerous. "But if you ever try to take her from me again, I will seek retribution on her behalf, and I promise you it will be the most excruciating agony you have ever experienced. Do we understand each other?"

You squirm uncomfortably. This should not be doing things to you, but then again, no one had ever stood up for you. Ever. Gods you needed therapy. It’s fine. Little boxes, and this was for a little box for later.

The witch stood up and once again took your hand, leading you through the portal and leaving your parents behind. Perhaps for good, you weren’t entirely sure, and you suddenly realized you didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here; even if this woman was dangerous, at least for the moment, she seemed to care about you, and that was enough for you to follow her to the ends of the earth.

Again, therapy…

The pair arrive at a massive stone temple, which you would later learn is called Mount Wundagore, the Scarlet Witch's temple. It is built into a massive, rugged mountain with steep cliffs, situated above dense forests and enveloped in mist. The mountain exudes an air of mystique and possesses an eerie atmosphere. Scattered across its walls are depictions of the woman in front of you, accompanied by various runes whose significance you suppose hint at a potentially supernatural importance.

The Scarlet Witch does not make much of an effort for introductions, nor explanations, simply heads towards the entrance to her temple.

“What is this place?” you ask, hints of awe and fear in your voice

“Our home.” 

Your brain stutters. “I’m sorry, what now?” 

“Detka, do not pretend you did not hear me, I don’t enjoy repeating myself. This is our home.” Her accent sounds vaguely Eastern European, and becomes more pronounced the more irritated she is. You wonder when she started trying to hide it.

Your mind balks at the idea of this being your new home, it couldn’t be less foreboding. “Uhhh… this.. is a giant stone temple in BFE nowhere, with ice, snow, and-”

Movement startles you out of your reverie. Beings made entirely out of stone shift from foot to foot, as if adjusting their stance. Their eyes have the same red glow as the woman who leads you now.  

 “Are those rock trolls??” The stone guardians loom threatening, but make no move to engage, they await their Queen’s orders. “Right. Rock trolls. Why is this our home? WHERE is our home? And,” you spin, taking the aesthetic of the temple in, trying not to have an anxiety attack. “What do you mean -our- home? Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

You can’t tell if the faint twitch of the other woman’s lips is in amusement or annoyance at your ramblings, but in your defense, she had let you speak uninterrupted. You were known for getting entire paragraphs out if left unsupervised - it was a talent and a curse. Personally you felt she should be grateful you weren’t jumping down her throat, you didn’t know anyone else who would be taking this half as calmly as you were. Then again, you were still waiting on your Hogwarts acceptance letter at 25. 

“My name is..” she hesitated. “Wanda. I am.. I was an Avenger.”

You looked on blankly, hoping she would elaborate. The fuck was an “Avenger”?

"In my universe," (you filed away the fact that she implied the existence of a multiverse for later, as it was a problem for another time) "the Avengers are superheroes. Well, that's what we called ourselves - Earth's Mightiest Heroes. A bit arrogant, if you ask me. We dealt with threats that the military and ordinary people couldn't handle. We were the last line of defense. We saved the world countless times, but at a great cost of lives. We were vain, thinking we were above it all because we believed we were acting for the greater good. But try explaining that to those who were lost as collateral damage.

I digress. We.. were considered to be heroes. There were several of us, we were a team. A family. We lived together, fought together. Died together. Until we didn’t.”

Wanda explains the dynamics of the Avengers team, including how she and her brother Pietro joined. She mentions Pietro's death in the battle against Ultron, as well as the events leading up to and the battle against Thanos. She also covers the events of the “Blip”, and what happened afterward. However, she conveniently chooses to omit the events of Westview, as she didn't want you to know about that just yet.

“That’s.. wow. Wanda, that's a lot. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your powers myself, I wouldn’t believe you. But all of that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. You mentioned your universe as being so fantastical, why would you come here? And what do you want with me? If you’re a hero, why are you here in what totally looks like a villain’s lair and not with your other superhero buddies?” You neglect to mention the unease creeping up your spine.

This is fine. Everything is fine. Right? Right. 

A look of utter despair crosses the witches face as she locks eyes with you before glancing away.

“I mentioned my team before, but I didn’t mention you.”

“…” You slow blink. This was not how you thought your day was going to go, and honestly, you were already getting a bit of a headache. Could she be less cryptic because that would be great. More details, fewer questions. Maybe another nap.

"Y/N, where I am from, you were also an Avenger. You had joined the team before Pietro and I, and were one of the few who made us feel welcome. Despite the fact that we had previously been enemies, you didn't treat us as ticking time bombs. Instead, you welcomed us with open arms. Your go-to tactics were kindness and understanding, which made it hard not to want to get to know you. When Pietro died, you were the only one who checked on me and cared. You taught me that grief is just love persevering. You became my closest friend, and over time, I couldn't help when those feelings began growing into something more.”

You swallow uncomfortably. It sounds like Wanda is telling you that in this other universe you both were an item. It’s not that you wouldn’t be honored to be with such an attractive woman, but it feels weird knowing that that was a different version of you. Someone with superpowers, someone likely more confident by the sounds of it. This feels almost as if you are intruding on something you shouldn’t, yet Wanda is the one telling you this; if it weren’t okay for you to know, she surely wouldn’t be sharing. You don’t really know what to make of this; if she has feelings for this other you, why is she here with this version of you?

“In the battle against Thanos, we learned that the source of your powers was an infinity stone embedded in your skull courtesy of H.Y.D.R.A. experiments, which altered your genetic DNA. Thanos had also learned you possessed this Mind Stone and sought to take it from you by force.”

Anguish on her features, the witch turns to you. “You were going to die, Y/N. We tried, I tried, so hard to protect you, to keep you away from him but at every turn he found you. If he had gotten the Mind Stone, he would have been able to enact his plan to rid the universe of half of all life. You told me.” She hiccups.

“Y-you told me it was okay, that you forgive me. That I needed to.. that I needed to destroy the stone to save the universe. I didn’t want to. I would have given anything else but that. But you held my hand and told me you forgave me, that you only felt me. Then Thanos came, and we were out of time. I was the only one with the power to do it because its magic was so similar to my own. I placed my hand to your head and I-.” She is unable to continue, breaking off into sobs.

Oh. So she had to sacrifice you to save the universe. Well. You agree with the alternate you, you didn’t blame her, and you would definitely forgive her. Awkwardly you try to find some way to comfort her. While obviously you were not the same person she had loved and lost, and you knew from your own experiences with loss that sometimes words just couldn’t cut it. Instead, you shuffle forward, making sure you were heard in case she wanted to refuse you, and pullher  in for a hug.

Wanda tenses in your embrace, as if she can’t decide if she wants to sink into it or send you flying. “The worst part,” she continues, “was that it meant nothing.”

If you were a dog your head tilt might have been cute.

“In the end, Thanos was still able to get the Mind Stone, and you were still dead, by MY hand, and it all meant NOTHING!” Wanda wrenches herself from your grasp, looking positively unhinged. You probably should have been scared. You weren’t. Her wrath did… things… to you. Therapy…

“All because Strange saw supposedly every possible future and CHOSE to let you die to save everyone else. As if there was no other possible outcome!”

Oh, that... that makes more sense. The other you was still dead, and Wanda was definitely suffering from PTSD from her involvement in it. Her little stunt with your parents was probably her way of trying to save you or bring you back to life. But in your universe, there weren't any superheroes, magic, or Thanos to protect you from (that you were aware of at any rate). So what was Wanda doing? This wouldn't bring her version of you back to life. You may have looked and sounded alike, and you might have made similar decisions, but you simply weren't the same person. The lack of the same life experiences meant that you had different personalities, despite having a similar genetic build.

“So we saved the world, and I left to live in exile. After the funeral, Clint handed me your belongings, and in them was a letter. A deed to a plot of land you had purchased in our names where we were going to build a house. I think it was supposed to be a surprise after we defeated Thanos. We had never lost before, not since Pietro - I don’t think it occurred to us that we could. So I drove out to see and.. Y/N I was still so new to my powers. They were still mostly subconscious. I was grieving and... it would be easier if I show you. May I?”

“May you.. what?”

A subtle smile appears on the witches' face at your ignorance. You are tempted to mention how beautiful she looks with that smile. Shaking off the thought, you ponder if she can read your mind, as her smile becomes knowing and a slight blush colors her cheeks. Ink-stained fingers reach towards your temple, but she hesitates, waiting for your consent, and your heart fills with warmth. You nod once, despite not really understanding.

Her charcoal-colored fingers, cold to the touch, make contact with your temple. Just as you're about to complain about the lack of warning, you're abruptly transported into a completely different world, surpassing the immersive experience of any 3D movie you've ever seen. You not only hear and see everything in every direction, but you can also feel and smell it all. It feels as if you are truly present in that moment. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that you are witnessing someone else's memories, to be precise, Wanda's memories.

She starts her memory with the unexploded bomb created by Tony Stark, which sat in the middle of the rubble of the Maximoff residence. In that chaotic scene, there were two children, the twins, hiding in fear under a bed. However, before you could offer any comfort, the scene shifted. The twins had been taken to HYDRA, where they were subjected to brutal experiments. Witnessing their suffering broke your heart, and despite your best efforts, you were unable to interact with your surroundings, although you desperately tried. Repeatedly you threw yourself against the walls of the cells in which the twins were held, hoping to free them from their hellish situation. You observed the twins' powers first emergence: Pietro's as he attempted to reach his sister's side, and Wanda's as she tried to defend Pietro from the scientists.

Scene after scene, each one as traumatic, if not more so, than the last, depicting all the events from Ultron and beyond. And then there's you. Except, it's not really you. You've certainly never possessed the power of teleportation, nor have you ever been so self-assured. This must be Wanda's universe's version of you. With bright eyes and a warm demeanor, you appear as a beacon of light in Wanda's otherwise bleak life. You observe as the version of you in this universe warmly welcomes the twins to the team, a stark contrast as to how the rest of the team treats the newcomers ranging from suspicious to openly hostile.

It’s surreal, watching yourself from outside your own body, knowing this version isn’t really you, but still no less real of a person. Wanda’s memories begin focusing less on missions and more on interpersonal relationships. Specifically, the one developing between yourself and Wanda. It’s intimate and you feel like an intruder watching this unfold. Sadly, as you grow closer, Wanda loses the only other connection she has - Pietro is hit by stray bullets while saving children. A true hero, and there was nothing anyone on the team could do to prevent it. You watch in horror both for the loss of Pietro as a friend, as well as knowing the absolute devastation this will cause your beloved Witch.

You can tell at this point that that’s what she was to you. It hasn't been long, but that bond has clearly already been sealed; you can see the signs in both your alternate self and Wanda. You would have to be blind not to. The loss of her brother does terrible things to Wanda and it’s all your other self can do to try to keep her afloat. “What is grief but love persevering?”

The scene shifts again. Time has clearly passed, and Wanda appears to have healed to some extent. She and the team have become much more cohesive, which delights both versions of you. Your relationship has definitely progressed, if the blush currently gracing your face, extending to your ears, is any indication. You feel the remnants of the emotions from your alternate self. They are not yours, but neither are they entirely unfamiliar. It makes for a disconcerting sensation to say the least. You don’t know Wanda like that, even though this version of you does. You wish you could view these memories dispassionately, free from your alternate self’s emotions that are bleeding through, but you suspect that’s not possible. Once again you try to reassure yourself that you are not the same person, no matter the genetic makeup.

Jarring you from your reverie, next you find yourself in another battle, and this one is massive. There are more superheroes here than you have ever seen before, either in Wanda's memories or in films. This must be the fight against Thanos she had told you about. Dread settles in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you contemplate what it will be like to witness your own death.

Traumatizing, for sure, though not for the reasons you had expected. While you are unable to interact with your environment, you are able to freely move about. Instead of looking at the memory entirely from Wanda’s perspective, you move to stand beside yourself. Wanda stands before you, ethereal, magnificent, yet utterly devastated. She knows what she has to do and pleads with you not to make her. It is unjust for a woman so powerful to suffer such loss, and still you implore her to sacrifice your life, her happiness, for the sake of the rest of the universe. It is unfair. It is cruel. You know it, but you ask anyway.

She never could tell you “no.”

You know the moment this universe's version of you had died when you witness the sheer devastation on Wanda's face. Most people would probably look away, but you couldn't. For some unknown reason, you feel compelled to witness this moment in all its horrifying detail, if only to gain a true understanding of the witch and the immense pain she has endured. There were surely few things more intimate than allowing someone to share their own memories, and here Wanda was, granting you unrestricted access to hers. The least you could do was accept this gift she was offering, no matter how painful it might be.

The images that follow blur together, evoking your personal experiences with grief and a sense of detachment from the world. The funeral is somber, one and all everyone dressed in black and grey. Wanda is present only in body, and you can’t blame her. Clint, the archer, hands her your belongings, including the letter she had mentioned. It unnerves you how detached Wanda appears to be at this moment, despite being surrounded by friends and colleagues. You worry about what lies ahead for her. So much loss in such a short time, it didn’t take a psychiatrist to know this would surely take a toll on her. You prayed that her friends came to check on her, but you had a feeling either they didn’t, or in her grief, she refused them entry.

Colors blend into one another and fade out. You find yourself standing on a plot of land in a town called Eastview, crouching next to Wanda as she collapses to her knees. Her body is wracked with anguished sobs as she finally allows herself to grieve. You wish you could interact with this memory, to hold her and alleviate some of her pain, even if only for a moment. Instead, you sit with her, sharing in her pain as she releases it all into the world. Wanda allows herself to experience her grief in its entirety, no longer burying her feelings beneath a veneer of numbness. Colors leech from the world around her, turning it greyscale. You're pretty certain that even at their strongest, the average person's manifestation of grief isn't supposed to do that, but then again, the average person isn't the Scarlet Witch. Briefly, you wonder what consequences this will have on her world. Your head feels fuzzy, and as your vision fades to black, you suppose you are about to find out.

You regain consciousness and find yourself in a world entirely devoid of color. Disoriented, you blink as the details of your surroundings slowly come into focus. In front of you stands... well... yourself. Or rather, an alternate version of you who appears to be from the 1950s, slightly older but still alive. Seated beside 1950’s you is Wanda, also monochrome and dressed in 1950s attire. Blearily, you rub your eyes. It has been a long day, and you are extremely tired, unsure if this is just an incredibly vivid hallucination or if you have actually passed out somewhere.

Alternate you asks Wanda a question, to which you aren’t listening, and she replies with a quip - you still aren’t listening, wondering where you are and why everything is in greyscale. What catches you off-guard though, is the surround sound laugh track that‘s garnered in response. It’s galling to admit but you jump, startled, and look around. There’s no one else in the house besides yourself, the alternate version of you, and Wanda. Where did that come from?

Alternate you replies to Wanda, and again with the laugh track. This time you are not as startled, but no less unsettled. What fresh hell is this? Could this be Wanda’s doing? It doesn’t seem like you can ask her though, as you’re just a passive observer in this strange situation. The last thing you remember, Wanda was grieving in Eastview at the plot of land which alternate you had purchased to start your life together after retiring from being superheroes. Strange grey wiggly woos (as you were starting to refer to her magic) were emanating from the witch, quite different from the familiar scarlet color you had grown accustomed to.

Perhaps this was her doing, if only subconsciously. You tried to recall, didn’t Wanda mention something about her powers being new to her and mostly unintentional? This could be what she had been referring to. Apprehension made a home in your chest as you found yourself dreading whatever was about to unfold before you. Oh no, Wanda, what did you do?

It doesn’t take long after observing the hijinks and mishaps, for you to realize that Wanda's grief had manifested through her powers. She had transformed the town of Eastview into Westview, resembling a 1950s-style sitcom town. Wanda, along with an alternate version of yourself (if you were truly still alive - that part you hadn't figured out yet), and the entire town were trapped. While it may have started unintentionally, Wanda became aware of it and began actively using her powers to maintain her idyllic town, keeping it isolated from the outside world and preventing the townspeople from leaving. In her grief, Wanda was essentially playing house, holding everyone hostage. However, despite her powers growing stronger, it was clear that the people living there were suffering. If you could even consider their existence as living.

There were even two boys - twins, just like Wanda was a twin. Your heart broke, knowing this could not possibly end well. While technically not "real" and not even "yours" at that, watching these boys be born, live, and grow caused you to cultivate a love for them almost as if they were your own. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest; you didn't want to see how this plays out, but you didn't have a choice.

Despite the dysfunction in your parents, you had always wanted a family of your own. An attempt to break the cycle and bring new life - happy and healthy - into this world. You wanted to raise your kids with the love and care you had never experienced yourself.

You understood the motivations of the witch, but that didn't justify her morally questionable choices. Once again, you are condemned to remain on the sidelines, unable to take any action to resolve the situation. You are forced to witness this charade unfold, hoping and praying that it would end well for everyone involved, yet knowing that it would not. How could it possibly?

Despite your bias, after witnessing everything Wanda had endured, you found yourself wishing for the best outcome for her, in particular. Among all the people you could think of, she deserved a break from the misery that had plagued her life until now.

Eventually, it all came to a head when another witch named Agatha Harkness had infiltrated the town with a book called the Darkhold, attempting to convince Wanda to join her and increase their powers. If Wanda refused, the witch planned to take Wanda's powers for herself. Something about a prophecy regarding a Scarlet Witch.

Meanwhile, the alternate version of you had become self-aware of the true nature of Westview. This version of you pleaded with Wanda to prioritize the wellbeing of others over her own happiness, once again. They urged Wanda to defeat Agatha and free the townspeople, even if it meant losing her spouse and children. It was an impossible choice, and you questioned whether you could have mustered the courage to make the same decision in Wanda’s position.

Wanda defeated Agatha, not that you ever doubted her for a moment. She said goodbye to you, again, and then to her boys, and released her spell. The town was free, but her family.. was gone. Wanda was once again on her own.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you awaken from the memories. It feels like it’s been ages, but from what you can tell, it must only have been minutes since Wanda first began sharing her memories with you. “Oh.”

Cringe. You wish you could have said something, anything more eloquent. Unfortunately, you feel as though you've just been hit by a Mack truck and could nap for a week. It doesn’t help that you were still feeling the effects of lack of sleep for the last couple of weeks. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good, is it okay if I lay down somewhere…?” A quick glance around the temple makes you second guess the question you were about to ask. Stone floors did not make a good bed.

With a tone much softer than she had been using, she replied. "Of course, Detka, you only need to ask." 

An elegant wave of her slender fingers and gone is the stone temple, replaced by a cozy bedroom. At a cursory glance, you can tell it is a sanctuary of comfort and tranquility, featuring a plush, inviting bed. The room is adorned with personal touches, such as framed photographs of you and Wanda, and artwork that is somehow absolutely your aesthetic. Shelves display a carefully chosen selection of your favorite books, each waiting to be explored. These items add character and give the space a feeling that is unique to you, even though you have never set foot in this place before.

“Come,” A glimpse of Wanda and you are surprised to discover instead of her red and black uniform, she is now garbed in an oversized sweater and some cotton sweatpants.

“You have been holding space for others for so long, it is time you took some well-deserved rest. You work much too hard.”

“Uh s-sure.” About to make a comment that perhaps you should also change, but looking down to find that you are wearing your favorite worn Legolas shirt and some pajama shorts.

“Right. Rest.” Part of you wants to ask when you can return to your home so you can finish studying for your exams, but based on previous conversation, context clues tell you that’s the least of your concerns right now, and Wanda probably wouldn’t be too pleased with that topic of discussion right now.

Wanda takes your hand, leading you to the bed and it takes your overworked brain far longer than you care to admit to realize that she means for you both to share it. Your brain short-circuits at all the factors at play here: Knowing that you yourself are touch-starved; this absolute enchantress of a woman dated an alternate universe’s version of you, even going so far as basically playing housewife and mother of your children, and here she was asking you to share a bed. Sure, she wasn’t asking you to sleep with her, but she was still asking you to share a bed next to her and what if you accidentally spooned her in your sleep, and what if-

”You’re thinking too loudly, malysh.”

“What? You can- you’re a mind reader?!” you panic, backpedaling mentally, praying to every deity that existed that you hadn’t had any unsavory thoughts in her presence, and nearly fainting as you recalled that you in fact, had some rather explicit thoughts from the moment you first saw her.. The mortification alone was enough to put you into an early grave. You weren’t sure how you had missed that during everything she had shown you, but you reasoned you were probably more focused on the physical manifestations of her powers. 

"Relax, Y/N. I don't intentionally read minds, at least not anymore. Sometimes, surface thoughts are so loud that I can't help but hear them. Like right now, you're practically yelling them at me," she said, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, while you were no longer freaking out about having accidentally offended the witch, you were now spiraling down a different path. You were agonizing over the pain you had, and likely were still causing her by thinking so loudly. If you remembered any media involving mind reading, the person with the ability usually suffered greatly at the hands of others unintentionally. Naturally, the average person didn't know how to shield their thoughts, and you were afraid that you might be giving her a migraine. To the woman who had only tried to bring you to a safe place and offer you shelter. 

You began to hyperventilate.

Wanda could see that you were spiraling, even without being a mind reader. It was written clearly on your face. However, being able to hear your thoughts helped her identify the source of your anxiety, and she berated herself for not considering that earlier. This version of you lacked confidence, and it was now Wanda's responsibility to help rebuild it. At least, according to her.

"Your parents really did a number on you, didn't they, detka?"

Cool hands gently held your cheeks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, Wanda invades your personal space, and the scent of vanilla fills your nostrils, momentarily distracting you from what was happening.

"We're just going to take a nap, okay Y/N? You don't have to worry about anything. I'm not bothered by any of those thoughts you have." A leering grin unfurls across her face.

“If anything I’m quite flattered by them.” She winks.

Heat flashes across your body, and you can’t tell if you were embarrassed, aroused, or both. Unfortunately, you knew your thoughts were likely betraying you. Gods, if only the floor could just open up right now and swallow you into the abyss. Yes, that would be fantastic.

"However, there is time enough for such things later. It's been years, Y/N, and I've just got you back. Nap with me, please?" The witch's eyes gaze longingly into yours, and well, when she looks at you like that, how could you say "no"?

She leads you to the bed and, with the practiced ease of her time in Westview, pulls you into her embrace as the little spoon. Earlier, you had been worried about accidentally touching her inappropriately or having a dirty dream. Now though, with her arms wrapped so protectively around you, sleep claims you almost instantaneously.

[harley-sunday]

Champagne Supernova

Summary: You literally stumble into Charles Leclerc one evening and somehow end up with custody over his tuxedo jacket? Weird. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.7k AN: Sometimes an idea just *mimics explosion with hand* pops up all of a sudden and won't go away until you write it down (I mean, I was literally in bed already but…). So here we are  Also, written on mobile (eL, don't @ me) so apologies in advance for shitty formatting and for not editing. Also², I live for validation so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! That is, if you like it, of course :)

It’s warm inside the ballroom of the hotel you’re in and so you’re trying to fan yourself with a copy of tonight’s program because now that the formal part of the evening is over it really doesn’t serve any use anymore other than to help you cool down. You’re standing in the corner of the room, close to the bar, observing the crowd - Monaco’s elite; a strange mix of old money and self made millionaires that have come together for tonight’s fundraiser.

You don’t belong to either of those groups but instead are here because the PR agency you work for somehow got selected to promote the event. It meant a lot of overtime in the past two months for the entire team and so your bosses - Olivier and Claire, a happily married couple with two kids, a dog, and a perfect work-life balance (of course) - promised you and your colleagues a seat at one of the tables and thus an open bar for the evening very early on in the process to make up for all the early mornings and late nights. 

Dinner was a drawn out affair with seven small courses, entirely too much red wine, and a slightly boring silent auction reveal that took way too long for your liking. The promise of an after-party kept you from leaving early but it’s Monaco, it’s rich people, and so you could and should have known that their idea of an after-party is more champagne, bragging about who paid what despite it being a silent auction, and a guy with a comb-over and an ill-fitting tuxedo playing the piano, dragging out “Les Lacs du Connemara” way beyond the six minutes the song usually takes.

Next to you, Olivier and Claire are having a small domestic because Claire, slightly intoxicated, wants to stay but Olivier, scarily sober, has promised the babysitter they’d be back before one. Your other two colleagues are trying to persuade (read: threaten) the piano guy into playing “Sweet Caroline”, and you are feeling more miserable by the minute - one of your shoulder straps keeps sliding down, there’s a headache coming on, and your feet hurt like crazy in the stilettos you had no time to break in, so to say you are over it and ready to go home would be an understatement.

You wait for a lul in Olivier and Claire’s argument before you turn to them and tell them, “I’m heading out, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olivier nods but Claire starts to protest and grabs your wrist, “Babe. Stay.”

You shake your head and try to free your hand but Claire doesn’t let go. Looking at Olivier for help you tug again but her fingers remain deadlocked around your wrist and you know it’s because she’s drunk and wants someone in her corner when Olivier decides to stand his ground and make her go home in about five minutes or so, but it is annoying as fuck and so you pull a little harder and start to walk away. “Claire,” you warn her, “let go.”

She still doesn’t.

Until all of a sudden she does and it makes you stumble forward and bump into someone and then everything seems to happen at once - you flail your arms trying not to topple over, reaching out for something- Anything you can hold onto. It’s the arm of the guy you bumped into but as you steady yourself against him he loses control of the drink he’s holding, a quiet, “Oh, merde,” your only warning before-

“Holy shit, that’s cold!” You jump backwards in shock, fingers plucking at the fabric of your dress as you try to stop the liquid from dripping down in between your boobs while quietly cursing your best friend who made you wear this stupid dress with its stupid plunging neckline in the first place. The fabric is already clinging to your skin, your chest and stomach absolutely soaked and you look around for an easy exit, first to the toilets maybe, to save yourself from the horrified looks around you and any further embarrassment but then you see a stack of white napkins appear in your field of vision and before you know it you are being pat down by the man who’s drink you’re now wearing.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbles while trying to dry your dress but the napkins are white and your dress is black and so all it does is leave a trace of little pieces of fluff all over your stomach but before you have a chance to say anything he’s grabbed a new stack of napkins and goes for your chest-

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” You shake your head and take the napkins from him, gently pushing his hands back with a smile, “I got this.”

“Shit, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair and is blushing like crazy, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him as you’re blotting yourself now. “I mean, I’m the one who bumped into you, right?” The napkins really aren’t helping and so you give up with a frustrated sigh, looking up for the first time then, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” when you see the man standing in front of you. Jesus Christ, he’s hot. And apparently still upset because he stares at you with his beautiful green eyes as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Even though you’re the one who could enter, and maybe even win, a wet t-shirt contest this very second which you think is ten times more embarrassing. 

“Let me at least do something to help,” he tries, reaching out his hands to you again but then thinking better of it. “Really. Anything. I mean, I will pay for the dress of course, but-”

He seems so flustered that you can’t help yourself, “Well, considering you almost went to second base just now-” you say with a wide smile and a pointed look between his hands and your chest, “-it would be nice to at least know your name.”

This makes him chuckle and earns you a smile in return, “I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles,” you say, meaning every word of it, and then introduce yourself. When you lick your lips you taste the champagne he spilled on you and can’t help but laugh, “What a waste of that Veuve Clicquot, though, huh?”

“I’m more worried about your dress, to be honest,” he counters with a grin.

“What? This old thing?” You motion for him to come forward and when he does you put your mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Between you and me, I think the champagne was more expensive.”

He chuckles again when you pull back and you can’t help but fall for him a little, the way he scrunches his nose something so- Adorable? Hot? You’re not sure. Either way, you want to see more of it, you decide. Charles still looks as if he’s ready to go into purgatory and so somehow you’re not really surprised when he tries again, “I mean it though. Anything I can do to make up for this.”

You look around then and even though most of the crowd has gone back to their smalltalk there are still some curious onlookers that seem way too invested in this, making you feel very exposed all of a sudden, and so, well, if he insists… “Maybe you could lend me your jacket for a hot sec and escort me out of here?”

“Of course,” he replies, already taking his tuxedo jacket off. He hesitates for a second but then drapes it over your shoulders anyway, “There.”

Instead of a ‘thank you’, a distracted, “Uhu,” comes out because it’s only now, when you see the way the white dress shirt is stretched across his arms and chest, that you see how muscular he is. He’s- Not broad but definitely athletic and you wonder what kind of sport he’s into. Before you have a chance to ask though he’s absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and you can feel your mouth go a little dry at the sight of his tanned, veiny forearms and hands. A fleeting thought of just how much you could make him apologize with those long fingers gets quickly pushed back when he holds out his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Come on,” he says and nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” He guides you through the room with ease and doesn’t stop when you reach the foyer, instead making you follow him outside where he nods at the valet.

“I didn’t drive here,” you start, because somehow you figured it’s your car he wants them to get.

“I know. Well-” he chuckles then, “-I don’t actually, but I’m making him get my car so I can drive you home. Or your hotel. I mean, I don’t want to assume-”

“Home,” you quickly reassure him. This time you remember your words and your manners, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He leads you down the front steps when the valet pulls up with his car, a black Ferrari Pista Spider that you can’t help but silently admire, and doesn’t let go of you until you’ve reached the car and he’s opened the door for you.

You try to keep the wet part of your dress from touching anything inside the car as best as you can, offering a quiet, “Sorry,” when Charles slides into his seat.

He tuts, “Don’t worry about the car, ma chérie." 

And, oh- That’s- Nice. And a complete one eighty from how flustered he was mere minutes ago. Huh. Interesting.

If he does notice you clearing your throat to distract yourself, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Instead he starts the car, the engine absolutely purring to life, and turns to you with a grin, "Where am I taking you?”

Right here and right now please, you almost say, but you don’t think that’s what he meant and so instead you tell him, “Take a left at the stoplights and then a right at the next.”

As you guide him through the streets of Monaco you find out he’s an F1 driver with Ferrari who was actually born and raised in Monaco. He tells you how he’s on a three-week summer break until the end of August when the second half of the season starts with a race in Belgium. In return you tell him how you moved here three years ago when, after college, you got offered a job by Claire and Olivier.

All too soon, because sometimes Monaco really is nothing more than just a small town on the French Riviera, he pulls up in front of your house with an almost apologetic smile, “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” you echo with a nod. It’s silent for a moment before you decide to just put yourself out there, something about doing it now or forever wishing you had, “Would you like to come in? I could get changed and give you your jacket back? You might want to wash it though, I think there’s some wine- It probably needs to go to the dry cleaner’s, right? I don’t think it can go in the washing machine-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you close your eyes for a second and try again, “What I meant was: Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I would love to but- I can’t,” he says and there’s something about him that makes you believe he’s telling the truth and that he’s sorry about it. “I have some auctioned pieces I still need to sign and I have to take a photo with the highest bidder in-” he looks at his watch and lets out a humorless laugh, “-ten minutes.”

“That sucks,” you tell him because apparently you’re now just speaking your mind without being eloquent about it.

He nods slowly, “It kind of does.”

Oh. Ok.

“Take the jacket,” he says then, “I can come pick it up later.”

Wait. What?

“Later tonight, or?”

He shakes his head, “No. Later as in, next week or something.”

“Oh, ok, yeah, that’s- Yeah, makes sense.” No need to stumble over your words, you think, you took your chances and it didn’t work out. It’s fine. It’s just that the 'or something’ kind of hurts.

He must see the disappointment on your face because he quickly adds, “I mean, so I can see you again. Later. When I’m not in a rush and you’re not covered in champagne.”

You can’t help but laugh, your mind once again too quick for your own good, “Who says I won’t be?” You let the words hang in the air with a raised eyebrow and it takes a few heartbeats but then Charles laughs as well, a burst of laughter that you want to hear again and again. You grin at him, “What?”

“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head. He reaches for his phone then, unlocks it, and hands it to you, “If you add your number I could maybe call or text you?” There’s a shy smile playing on his lips then, “About the jacket, I mean.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”

“No, that’s ok. My brothers are at the party as well. I can just take one of theirs.”

“Sure?” You try one last time.

“Sure.”

“Ok.” Your fingers fly over his screen then, adding yourself to his contacts before you hand him the phone back. Locked. A wicked grin on your lips, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” You lean over the center console then and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You will,” he says with a bad attempt at a wink, which so far seems his only flaw.

“Thank you for driving me home,” you say as you climb out of the car while trying not to flash anyone even though there’s no one around. A kind smile then as you close the door, “Drive safe.”

“Always.” He gives you a quick wave and then he’s off, the rumble of the engine echoing through the almost empty streets of the city.

***

He doesn’t call. Or text. And so his jacket moves from your living room, where it was draped over a chair for the first three weeks, to the guest bedroom slash your home office, this time draped over your office chair. Every now and then you catch a hint of his cologne  and so you still aren’t able to really forget about him.

At the beginning of November you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably won’t see him again, that you probably made a bigger deal out of it than it was, that he probably doesn’t even remember you - your name just another girl added to his contacts because he was simply trying to be nice - and so at some point you move the jacket to inside the closet in the guest bedroom, telling yourself that the only reason you won’t throw it away is because it’s Armani and expensive as fuck. 

You’d like to say you’ve forgotten about both the jacket and Charles once December rolls around but that would be a lie. You’ve actually started to follow the remainder of the F1 season and saw him come second in the World Driver Championship. A warm feeling settling somewhere inside your chest whenever you see him getting doused in champagne by his teammates or rivals, taking you back to the night you met. 

He’s been on your mind more than ever and when your phone rings one night, an unknown, private number calling you, you somehow know it’s him and so you answer with a cheeky, “The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.”

He lets out a laugh, that same laugh you drew from him in his car all those months ago, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “Salut, ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc,” you say as you take another bite of the apple you were eating.

“Our?”

“The jacket’s and mine,” you reply. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Is that so?”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah.”

“I’d like to come see that for myself.”

“Hmmm,” you draw out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”

Your doorbell rings then and you hear it both in your house and echo through your phone and- Oh. Shit.

Charles chuckles in your ear, “Now?”

===

AN: I am so sorry for this very unsatisfying open ending. It was the best I could do for now... *sends hugs to those affected*

[howgalling]

Hey everyone!! Personal update under the readmore. Prefacing this- this isn’t meant to be negative, and I’m not asking for financial support, just informing you all of a life change!

Also thank you so much to everyone who came to my stall this weekend, I had a lovely time meeting all of you!! :DDD

it always makes my heart warm when someone says something like ‘oh! I recognise your art from insta/tumblr!’ ^^ thank you so much for your support!!

Getting to meet friends and even make new friends, meet my favourite artists ever, it’s been a wonderful weekend, I’m very excited for next year. :) when I first came to TFNATION in 2022, I didn’t know anyone there at all! Yet just walking up to people and getting to know them has found me a lovely group of people to befriend, and I’m so happy I found the courage to do so!! :) thank you all!!

I’ve had a big news, not positive but expected!

my families financial situation is about to change massively, we are going to be moving house and downsizing everything! likely this year! It has been a long time coming, situations change after all.

I feel I have been able to live an amazing lifestyle for a very long time, it makes sense that it would not always be this way! ^^

Anyway, why I’m telling you this, I was going to open commissions, but I’m going to be spending the next couple of weeks working on getting our house ready for sale, it’s going to be very complicated and require a lot of physical labour as I live on farmland and it needs fixing up, haha, we have a lot to sort through!

I was actually going to be opening up a dog grooming business here, but it looks like we will be moving to the other side of the country (cheaper!) so it’s going to be a bit of an overall reset. I’m actually quite, I’m not sure, excited? It’s something we’ve been aware of for a while, and I’ve been working really hard on my overall perspective on life. After my autism diagnosis last year, I was able to re-contextualise a lot in my past that was giving me grief. (some of you may have seen the occasional loss of composure on here HAHAHAHA) im doing much better, in fact I think this is going to be my new stage of life!!! I’m going to be tagging along with my family of course, but I think getting the news after this lovely weekend was the best possible time to receive it haha!

Just thought some of you may be interested. I was going to jump into new art topics, but as I am a little stressed, I will likely be returning to humanformers designs.

It is very comforting art topic to work on for me, and I was asked at the con for a potential volume two to the humanformers collection zine I created for the transformers convention!

It sold very well, and I was delighted by the reactions to them :) Simon furman bought a copy after visiting my table, he really liked them 😭😭💖💖 we met last year at a different con, before I had ever tabled and got the chance to have a really nice chat at an artist dinner (I wasn’t tabling at the con, my friend was ^^) He’s a lovely person :)

I may be changing the format a little, I have been so excited to learn that people have been using my designs for cosplay ideas!! So I was thinking I could do a detailed breakdown of the outfits for the characters too, to give people a clearer idea of what goes into the look!!!

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Bit of a late update! Was playing cod lmao

Went into this chapter not knowing what to do with the two idiots, but the moment I put them in a room together, they just start writing themselves...

Also, the formatting on Google Docs decided to fucking change out of nowhere and it really annoyed me.

Price frowns at the three of them, displeasure and concern flitting in his eyes as he examines the state they’re in. Ghost is sure they’re quite the sight. Soap’s head is covered in blood, his eyes red from crying and with a pale skin, he looks like a bad cosplay of a zombie. Ghost is so tense he feels like his bones will snap, his muscles about as cooperative as a stone wall. Gaz is faring better appearance wise, but the Sergeant has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they landed.

“Well? I assume you’ve found something.” Price squints, still unsure of what he’s supposed to do with his soldiers.

Ghost takes it as a signal for him to begin debrief, and he stands up on shaky legs, muscles screaming in protest, “no intel, two revenants extracted.”

The Captain sighed, clearly hoping for more. The other 2 teams haven’t found anything, the PMC disappearing like it usually does, “any hostiles?”

Now there’s something major they can give Price, “undetermined amount, non-human, sir.”

Price’s attention is caught, the previous frustrations gone, “explain.”

“They don’t have a face, take several headshots to kill, and turn to some sort of smoke when taken out.” Ghost resumes, “they all communicate somehow, the moment one of them spotted Soap, all of them rushed to him.”

Price strokes at his moustache, “I fear we’re not working against a PMC here, boys. This could be the work of one very sneaky revenant.”

Ghost has heard of similar powers in the past - corpse manipulation, illusions, mirroring. None of them exactly fit what they fought, though.

It seems they know even less than what they started with.

“What’s the status on the two revenants?” Price asks.

Ghost looks over at Gaz, who snapped out of his thoughts to answer, “unconscious, both of them. Medics said they’ll wake in a few.”

The Captain nods, “we’ll get them to questioning once they’re up for it. They’re our only lead for now.” he turns to Soap, expression softening a tad, “you solid, son?”

Johnny’s eyebrows raise, and he nods slowly, “aye, it healed already.”

And that means he’s miraculously fine, Ghost internally scoffs. Price obviously heard that, as he says, “take the day off, MacTavish. And get yourself clean, for goodness’ sake, you’re gonna scare a Vaquero to death and Alejandro will hunt me for sport.”

The Scot chuckles, “copy that, Cap”

“That goes for the rest of you muppets, I don’t want to see any of you before the revenants wake up, that clear?”

“Crystal.” Ghost grumbles.

After everyone else exited the room, Ghost made eye contact with Price. “Found a lead on Soap’s Reaping.”

Price’s brows furrowed, “there’s a reason it’s redacted, Simon. I can’t just go around and investigate every military cover up.”

Never stopped any of us…

“I’m trying to keep heat off of you, not endanger you further.” Price crosses his arms.

Ghost huffs, “with all due respect, sir, that’s a load of crap if I ever heard it. You know I’m not gonna forget about it, and I know you’re going to help me in the end.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Price groans, “what do you have for me, Ghost?”

He smirks under the mask. Can always trust Price to come through, “not enough, just a name.”

The Captain raises an eyebrow.

“Konchar. Supposedly, Johnny killed him after he downed his squad, but the Sergeant wasn’t… too coherent at that point.” Soap’s screams still echo in the back of his mind, the way memories have ravaged his Sergeant… it leaves a gaping hole in his chest.

“I’ll talk to Laswell, see what she can do. Don’t be surprised if she finds nothing.”

“I know not to expect good outcomes at this point in life.”

Ghost shuts the door behind him, clocking in a presence on the wall near it. He turns around to find Soap leaning on it, still as bloody as he was in debrief.

“Thought Price ordered you to clean up”, Ghost comes to stand in front of him, trying not to let his Sergeant see just how much his legs are shaking.

Soap gives him a lopsided smile, “decided I look better covered in blood and dust, some people are into that y’know.”

He probably saw Ghost’s unimpressed eyes, because his smile drops, and he looks away for a moment, “wanted to wait fer ye.”

Fuckin’ hell, he hopes Price can’t feel how his chest warmed up like someone lit a firework in his gut, “let’s get you to the showers then, no one is attracted to your stench.”

Johnny pushed off the wall, “I’m sure there’s at least one”

Ghost starts walking besides him, “don’t count on it-”

His left leg decided to give out at that exact moment, and Ghost inhales sharply, fully expecting to have a very up close and personal meeting with the floor, when two hands grab him.

Johnny pulls him back up, “shit, Ghost! Ye didn’t tell me yer fuckin’ broken!” he leads Ghost to lean on the wall.

“I’m not-fuck…” Ghost hisses as his leg muscles convulse, “not injured… Limbo was trying to get you, had to hold it back…”

Flames lick at his biceps, and he wants to close his eyes and indulge in how they relax his aching arms.

Soap doesn’t look convinced, and he gives Ghost a determined look. “Let’s go to yer barrack, closer than the showers.” He wraps Ghost’s arm around his shoulders, and makes him lean on the Scot.

Warmth spreads throughout him, “Johnny, I can fuckin’ walk-”

Soap starts walking, “aye, I saw how that worked fer ye before, haud yer wheesht.”

Ghost retorts, “English, Sergeant.”

“Shut yer mouth and let me help ye.” He takes them slowly to Ghost’s room.

“Much better.”

Soap looks up at him, annoyed, before he breaks character and laughs. It almost distracts Ghost from the pain in his limbs.

Johnny lets him off on the lower bunk bed, and turns around to close the door. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room when Ghost pats the space beside him.

Soap joins him and Ghost exhales, lowering himself further into the bed. He takes stock of the various degrees of discomfort coursing through his body, and feels his Sergeant shift.

“I’m uh… sorry fer what happened there.” Ghost lifts his head to frown at him.

“You’re sorry for getting shot in the head? Fuckin’ hell Soap-”

Johnny twists his body to face Ghost fully, “fer not recognising ye! For shouting and demanding shit, fer making ye deal with teenage me, Reapers know he was a feckin’ idiot.”

Ghost lifts himself back up to tower over his Sergeant, “you wanted me to leave you alone?”

Soap’s face scrunches up in confusion, but his eyes… they shine brightly with his radiant fire, “I- didn’t want you to… see that.” he breaks eye contact, looking away a little flushed.

“I wouldn’t let you go through that alone, Johnny.” He looks at the familiar flames brighten, “no running away, remember?”

Johnny’s features crumple, and slowly, telegraphing the movement clearly, he places a hand over Ghost’s forearm, moving up and down gently. Ghost is fixated on the motion, his world reducing to the point of contact, the heat it emanates.

“Aye, I remember.” Johnny almost whispers, his face still pained, and Ghost doesn’t understand why. Fuck, he wishes he could read minds like Price. “It’s just… I didn’t want ye to see it… but I think I needed it.” 

Ghost nods, as if he has the capacity to contain everything going through him at the moment.

Johnny finally meets his eyes, “I’ve never met anyone like ye, Simon. Ye make me think I’m human.”

Simon’s heart beats twice as fast at hearing his name whispered like that, and he swallows deep buried confessions, words that should never be let out to the air between them, “you are human.” 

“No. And neither are you. But we could pretend, right?” Johnny gives him a smile, and removes his hand from Simon’s. He wants to chase the heat, but knows better than to try and claim something so luminous such as that.

Simon closes his eyes, as if that would help the temptation, “we could pretend.”

When he opens his eyes again, he notices the stains of red still marring Soap’s head. Simon groans as he stretches towards the side table next to the bed, rummaging through one of the drawers.

Johnny leans in, “what are ye lookin’ fer?”

He grabs the pack of wet wipes and groans again on his way back to his previous position, “bring your face here, Sergeant.”

Johnny raises a brow but follows Simon’s lead. He opens the pack and fishes out a couple wipes, “stay still.”

Simon takes Johnny’s chin and turns his face to the side, bringing the wipe up and cleaning his temples with the same concentration and accuracy he would use in the field to line up a sniper shot. He uses up several, leaving a pile of pale pink wipes on the bed between them, but once the right side is clean he turns Johnny’s head again, observing how he closed his eyes.

He puts too much trust in him, Simon thinks to himself. He can’t help but feel comforted by the fact.

He cleans the left temple, following the small rivers the blood made on Johnny’s cheek. Once he’s done, he takes a few seconds to just… gaze at Johnny. He doesn’t avert his eyes when Johnny’s flutter open, the bright blue completing the vision he is.

They sit in silence for what feels like hours, just looking for the sake of it, just staring because they can. Because they both survived today.

A yawn from Soap breaks the spell they were both trapped in. “You still reek, Sergeant. Get yourself to showers and fuckin’ sleep.” Ghost gathers the used up wipes from the bed.

Soap hesitates, and gets up. “Aye sir. I… thank ye. Fer everything.”

Ghost doesn’t look at him, “don’t mention it.”

The door clicks behind his Sergeant, and Ghost makes to lay down. He’s too fucking exhausted to drag himself to the top bunk.

He settles in, staring up at the bars supporting the mattress above him. For once his mind is calm, his chest is warm, and all he can think about is the phantom feeling of flames caressing his forearm.

Ghost supposes he was dead tired, as he falls asleep more easily than he remembers he was ever capable of. 

He startles awake to the feeling of multiple hands grasping at him, “FUCKIN’-” Ghost jumps away from the bed, watching the hands return to the ground.

He suppresses a shiver while he notes the sun starting to set. Did it really take the bastards of Limbo several hours to try that shit on him?

Maybe his good mood leaked to them. He won’t look a gifting horse in the mouth.

Price’s voice fills his mind, “glad you feel better, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ‘em, Lieutenant. The revenants woke up.”

Ghost opens the door to see the Captain smoking on a half-spent cigar. “You really have nothing better to do than stand and wait for me to get up?”

Price takes another breath of smoke, “I know when you start waking up, Simon.”

Right, Price probably knows his own brain better than himself.

“That’s for certain. Let’s move.”

When they reach medical, Ghost unfortunately spots Graves out of everyone looking around the beds. The fuck is he searching for?

“Revenants are in the back, behind the curtain. We wait for Soap and Gaz here.” Price informs him privately, before calling the American, “Graves, lost a soldier in medical?”

The man whips his head around, covering a surprised face with a shitty smile, “John! Just making sure none of our forces got hurt in the latest mission.” the bullshit couldn’t smell stronger, Ghost rolls his eyes.

Johnny and Garrick open the doors, and Ghost watches Graves’ face curl into shock for half a second before returning to its usual, easy going smile. Strange tosser, that one. Ghost wouldn’t trust him with a dart gun at his 6.

“Ghost”, Johnny approaches him, and he immediately turns his attention to his Sergeant, “you solid?”

“Affirm” he walks nearer to him, standing at attention.

Price nods to Gaz, probably exchanging a couple of words through his power, and addresses the group, “Vargas and Parra are busy with managing the base, they let us know we can go ahead and speak with the revenants. Keep questions to a minimum, they’re likely still disoriented from the entire ordeal.”

The soldiers nod and walk to the back, staying a step behind the Captain as he slowly moves the curtains to the side.

Ghost analyzes the two sitting in their beds. One man, light brown hair and moustache, fit, dog tags peeking above his hospital gown. Soldier, American, if Ghost had to guess. The other, a woman, instantly locked eyes with the captain, a band holding her long dark brown hair back. Her skin glistens oddly at the setting sun’s light, her brown eyes piercing and alert.

He looks back at Price, and is surprised to see shock over his features. He’s about to ask what’s got him like that when he starts talking.

“Commander Karim?”

The woman’s face relaxes, giving the Captain a sharp nod, “Captain Price. I would prefer if we stopped meeting this way.”

Shoutout to forestshadow-wolf for guessing correctly who the revenants were! I was impressed haha

[reading-stains]

hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names. 

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.  

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out. 

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore. 

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a  Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion. 

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. 

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process. 

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings,  Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards. 

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it. 

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

[sugurus-fave-monkey]

Okay, so I’ve never actually put one of these out there. But I went on a little kick of how I think JJK men would fuck, and I really liked both of my Geto Drabbles . It’s kinda just thoughts, but I might make an actual thing with like plot. I’m honestly just copying and pasting them from Snapchat, so apologies for formatting, spelling etc. Feedback is appreciated, as well as if you think something else should be added to the CW please let me know. Anyways, smut under the cut.

Cw/Tw: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Degradation. Spit. Choking. Name calling. DubCon(???), Voyeurism, Exhibitionism ( Geto uses you in front of his cult), oral (both), vaginal sex, arrogant Geto.

Geto: oh god since he’s currently my obsession (what is with cult leaders) number one: in front of his cult. Geto could fuck whoever he wishes to, but when it comes to showing off for his followers, you were always it. It was humiliating the first time, but you had become used to it. You knew the routine by now, get on the stage, sit on his lap, and let him start to touch you over your clothes. He knew just where you were sensitive, and it doesn’t take him long until your grinding on him, trying to relieve the sensation in your crotch. He smirks at you and addresses the crowd. “See how she begs for me? Truly I must be a god. And if so, then she is a goddess.” The crowd watches how he has utter control over you. He slowly strips you down, and starts touching your bare skin, making you whine, and grind against nothing. He finally touches you, slowly tracing his finger around your opening, before roughly inserting and curling two fingers. The sensation is enough to have you close. “Ah ah not yet, pretty. Wait til I tell you to.” Your mind is reeling. You want to explode on his hand but you know if you can’t hold out, there’s going to be trouble. Finally he gets on his knees and adds his tongue into the mix. You grasp a fistful of his hair, and practically scream. “G-Geto, please!” Geto pulls away, a string of your juices still connected to his lips. He smirks again. “Should I let her cum?” The crowd nods. “Very well then, go ahead.” And finally you let it out, and he doesnt stop, not until you’ve cum three times. Once that happens he grabs a fistful of your hair, forces you on your knees, and facefucks you. He wouldn’t allow his followers to see that part of him, nor would he allow you to have his dick inside you. When he finishes, he busts on your face, and kicks you off his stage.

Geto scenario two: Geto has so much anger and you’re his release. “Strip and get on your knees.” He commands, you do so. “Good girl. Open your mouth.” You do so and he bends down and spits in your mouth. He pushes your mouth closed, so you can swallow his spit, and open it again, this time it’s his dick that’s going in there. He sticks it in soft, and holds your head in place as it gets hard. He smirks at you as you struggle to take it all, eventually he eases up knowing you’re not going to be able to swallow all of him. He lazily pulls your hair, at a pace he likes, allowing you to breathe every so often. At one point he finally figures you’re good to go then rams his entire length down your throat, and chokes you while slowly face fucking you, and you feel like you’re going to pass out when he finally pulls out. “You’ve gotten better at taking me.” When you don’t respond he tells you to get on your hands and knees. You comply, and SMACK, he brings a hand down on your ass, it stings, and your face gets hot. “What are you supposed to say when I give you a compliment?” SMACK. “Th-thank you Geto.” SMACK. “Thank you Geto.” Another few rounds of that and then he’s flipping you over onto your back. He finally disrobes, and strokes himself a couple times. He uses a thumb to rub at your folds. “Pathetic, you’re already dripping for me?” You feel shame, because it’s true, just his gaze is enough to have you soaked. He shoves two fingers inside of you, probing you like an expert. He uses his other hand to rub your clit, and the pressure builds. You orgasm, and you end up squirting. “Thank you Geto!” You manage to squeak out. “Disgusting.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, and slams his dick into you. He fucks you with such hatred, and it feels so good. He flips you onto your hands and knees, and takes his nails down your back. “T-thank you Geto.” His response is to pull your hair and fuck you even harder. He toys with your clit again, and you orgasm again. “Such a filthy monkey. It’s that easy to make you cum huh?” He pulls out of you, and pushes you onto the table, he has better leverage this way, and it really stretches you out. You’re incoherent, you’re overstimulated, and all you can see are those hate filled eyes, staring daggers at you, as his tips away your dignity. He sounds almost animalistic the way he’s grunting and groaning. He finishes inside you, and he notices it spilling out of you when he pulls out. He pulls your hair and shoves your face in it. “Clean up your mess.” Afterwards: who knows. He leaves, probably to go kill some random ass people.

ETA, I expanded on the second Drabble. Part one is here

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I’m gonna try to answer the other anon’s question about asexuality so you can post it and not have to answer yourself. (also I’m on mobile so hopefully the formatting is ok, if not I’m ok with my ask being copy and pasted to be more readable) I’m asexual but I’m only one person so my experiences with my sexuality is not universal. Asexuality is a HUGE spectrum that includes:

sex repulsed asexuals (what most people think when thinking of aces)

demisexuals (those who only feel sexual attraction towards those they have gotten to know. Usually in a romantic or platonic setting.)

asexuals who want and enjoy sex but don’t feel sexual attraction to others (a lovely analogy I’ve seen for this form of asexuality is when you’re hungry and open the fridge but nothing is actually appealing despite feeling extremely hungry)

asexuals who have no issue with having sex its just something they can easily live without and feel no real urge to have sex.

and then there’s people like myself who go through phases. Personally I’m usually sex neutral but on rare occasions I crave it or when something triggers my ptsd I can become sex repulsed.

Some people refer to asexuality that isn’t sex repulsive as being grey sexual but it still falls under the asexual umbrella. I hope I explained this well enough and I highly encourage other asexuals to speak about their experiences with their sexuality if none of my examples fit you. And please take a break from tumblr if this discussion is at all frustrating to the point it’s effecting your mood offline. Your comfort is important!

This is perfect.

And im starting to think i should, its starting to affect my mental health now

[lenievi]

spones - older fics recs

seeing that people are interested in older fics, let me link some more that are not on ao3 but on personal websites (sometimes the formatting is a bit... you’d better just copy it into some text editor in order to read it comfortably) and that were written prior to 2010, but mostly in early 2000s. It’s not all of them (of course), I’m just linking those I at some point in the past three years enjoyed and that are long-ish. They can be a bit dated and sometimes a bit weird. Most of them are mature to explicit. If you want more warnings, you can message me.

Diagnosis and Treatment of Ply's Disease (explicit-ish at the end) - it deals with a disease, obviously, so proceed with caution if it isn’t something you want to read. Mention of McCoy/OC(m)

The Prayer of St. Francis (E) - I haven’t actually read this one, but one day I want to. The summary is “the triumvirate as we know them”, but it’s spones flavoured. And it’s spones who are bonded. It spans the series up to Spock’s death.

The author’s page in case you wanna read other fics by them.

Nets in the Wind - mirror!spones, has Sybok, set after Spock kills Kirk, in case you mind. It’s a bit open ended.

The World Bewitched - mirror!spones, interesting world building imho

The Other One (E) - “After the encounter with the Mirror universe, both men have some problems they have to deal with.” (I actually don’t remember this one, but I have it saved... but don’t judge me if it’s weird; read the author’s notes) sequel Sugar Magnolia. These were written in 1998.

On Vulcan genomic engineering and love - this one though is a bit weird (proceed with an open mind), but the premise is quite interesting - McCoy becomes a half-Vulcan (I think this was actually the only fic I’ve read with that theme). “Spock has wanted for a long time to become fully Vulcan and finally devices a formula to allow him to manipulate his genetic structure to do just that. But in a freak accident, he injects McCoy with the formula, causing the Doctor to become half-Vulcan. Now with pon farr on Spock's heels, he must help the doctor learn to deal with his Vulcan half, while the two of them both try to live with their feelings for each other.” some hints at McCoy/Vulcan OC(m)

My Little Town - takes place after TUC, I’m personally very fond of this one for some reason. It has a completely different background for McCoy than what’s common. “McCoy’s mother just died, and McCoy goes to deal with the house. Spock tags along.” McCoy’s parents had a huge age gap, so if you’re bothered by it, maybe don’t read it.

stories by Tempest - Blackbird has trans!McCoy, Yon t'Ashaya - McCoy and Spock both serve on a Vulcan ship, Spock goes into pon farr [these two fics are what stuck with me after reading them three years ago, but the author has a lot more]

now you can also go through this list, but a lot of the links are broken, some can be accessed through wayback machine, some can’t.

and then you can also look through the Spiced Peaches list, which has fics from 2005 and up. Just in case you’ve never heard of the online spones zine.

---

also a bonus tos!mirror!mckirk because why not. It’s a wip, unfortunately, but it’s still worth it because it’s tos!mckirk~ And like most other mirror verse fics on this list, it isn’t as dark as what’s written these days. It’s actually pretty tame. It’s by the same author as The World Bewitched and Nets in the Wind above.

The Getting or the Having & Dust - “In the Mirror-Universe Kirk finds out that his counterpart has a sexual relationship with McCoy. This makes him thinking things over.”

[12-seconds-to-live]

(Un)Lost: ‘Till the end of the line

Pairing: F12022/3!Grid! x Fem!Driver!oc

Warnings: DNF’s, angst, a little bit of love, episodes of anxiety, Seb’s retirement, harsh words.

DRIVE TO SURVIVE S.5 EP. 10

END OF THE ROAD

“So, What are your plans after Abu Dhabi?”

“I have a few things in mind, I’m officially unemployed. What are you gonna do without me?”

“Not much, for now we hired Charlotte as class clown, she’s is pretty funny. The other day she talked a lot about you”

“What did she say? Hope she didn’t reveal any secrets” Daniel showed a smile

“She looked sad, you know why?”

“Yeah. She’s the type of talent you saw on the track and your mind already click on what’s coming next, like, the next big thing. I told her that the events that happened on McLaren aren’t gonna affect our friendship”

“So, you’re good with the decision?”

“This is a sport that If they’re not happy with you, you’re out, you just have to remember the good days, enjoy the butterflies. I told her that she’s so powerfull, to surround to people who cares about her and then continue with their feet on the ground and let go the idea that you have to be the best or do the most to be worth something”

“You’re a good friend and we’re gonna miss you. What’s the next thing for you?”

“I don’t know. I guess we have to wait ‘till next season”

“Hello Charlotte”

“Hello Netflix, what’s up?”

“Good, how’s the media treating you?” I moved my head as saying no

“Like always, I haven’t been near my phone the past week, so Lando has to knock everyday at 5 am to wake me up”

“That’s a hard job” I laugh

“It’s discipline, I force him to go to the gym with me. Just to start the day with energy”

“Ready for the last race? This has been a incredible season, better that Hamilton’s”

“I don’t like to compare but yeah, the expectations has been high, for everybody, I also have a lot of responsability with me, Alex too. The team has helped us in a way that we feel in another level, even If we’re not longer be together, I’m gratefull and I hope to race aginst them next year. I mean, there was always a 50/50 situation and a lot of rumours and criticism but I just focused on what I wanted rather that follow people bad advices”

“Who gave you a bad advice?

“Daniel, he just told me to tell them F.E.A.”  

“What’s that?”

“Fuck them all”

“Inspiring” I laugh “And who gave you a good advice?”

I started thinking “Probably Carlos, he’s been helping me a lot, he just said don’t crash, pretty good advice”

“Hey, just wanted to wish you good luck”

“You too” I kissed Lando on the cheek

“I don’t like it there” I laugh and hug him

“Carlos is looking in our direction and his mom just took a photo”

He laughs “Family dinners are going to be fun with me in there”

“Funny, go get ready, love you”

“Love you too, my world champ”

“Let’s see” I looked around and the Sainz and my dad we’re smiling “Weirdos”

My get closer to my dad and hug “You’re mom is so proud of you, I know you’re going to be world champion, zero doubts, mind focus and have fun. Even if this is your job, remember those days when everybody just said that a girl, my little baby, can’t do it and now you’re proving them wrong, you always do that. We’re so proud”

“I love you dad. Mom’s still here” I said with tear on my eyes

“She is” I gasp “Carlos, let’s go. See you after the race” 

“Good luck, my favourite sister” I formed an “O”

“Ana and Blanca are gonna get so jealous, haha. See you on the podium or at the party”

“A little party sounds good” He laugh and I walked to my garage. All of the members looked happy, I took my balaclava and helmet and walked to the circuit to get in the car.

God, if this is my moment, please make it a good one.

“Radio check”

“Copy, ugh, I’m going to miss your voice”

“I already have the file of your radio in your inbox”

“You’re definitely the best race engineer in the world”

“Doing my best for you. Six minutes to formation lap”

“Copy, I remember that you’re going to McLaren with me, ups”

“Haha, nothing like a chaotic driver ‘till you decide to retire”

“Welcome to the last race of the season, here in Abu Dhabi. The story is repeating itself. Max Verstappen is going to be fighting for this year title with Charlotte Robyn-Jone, today as a Williams race driver and tomorrow she’ll be officially part of McLaren. There’s a lot going on in both garages. Red Bull has set up everything to a back to back and Williams has done the same for the girl. She’ll be the greatest, first woman to get through all the categories and win, hope that she do the same today and mark history”

Everybody is ready in their positions after the formation lap.

Five seconds to breath

Four seconds to be gratefull

Three seconds to blink

Two seconds to feel a champion

One second to be one

“And it all comes down to the last lap and no, Verstappen has braked and Charlotte has passed the Dutchman with ease and what a girl, she is three more corners away from being the first, mark history AND SHE HAS DONE IT, SHE DID IT. We have the first woman world champion in formula one. Remember her name, Charlotte Robyn-Jones is a world champion. Oh my God, I’m so happy”

“YEAAAAAAAAH, WE DID IT”

“YOU DID IT. What a race. We are so proud, Your mom is happy for you. This has been your year, champ” Everybody can hear the screaming coming from the Williams garage

“Thank you to all the members of Williams, I’m so happy. I hope we have a party tonight ‘cause everybody is invited. Call Kimi, Adam” 

“I don’t have his phone number and...”

“But I do, look for my phone. Oh my God, freacking champion. YEAAAAH”

Charlotte parked in front of  the P1, Max on P2 and Lando on P3. Due her excitement, she took off her helmet and balaclava faster than ever and run to Lando

“You did it. I’m so proud”

“So proud to deserve a kiss”

“As many as my girl want” And that kissed marked one of the most shared photos of the new crowned champion.

Little thing nobody knows. Happiness never last long.

Taglist: @evans-dejong @omgsuperstarg @bibissparkles @hoely-maria @mochimommy2002 @noope306 @eugene-emt-roe​ @80sloverry​ @rens-daylight @honeydanny​

part one

part two

part three

[ughigottaheadache]

Once again reffing this post

This is a list of jobs/hobbies I could see Tommy doing

(This was copy pasted from my notes so forewarning on formatting, I will be editing these as I make this post) I wrote these while brainstorming the story ideas and how I could use Tommy’s job to add to the theming or plot.

Delivery man (canon)

Packager

Shelf stocker

Car detailer (car reseller? Mechanic??)

Electrician

Furniture/appliance restorationist

Book maker (hand making and binding books) (hobby more like)

Tiler/mosaicist

Plumber

Pool cleaner

House cleaner

Janitor

Dog walker

Carer for Martin Preston (canon)

Researcher (would have to work at a slower pace bc tech can break)

Editor (as said above, would have to work slower)

Factory assembly line worker (canon)

Receptionist (as said above, slower.)

Assistant

On call handyman (extension of electrician plumber pool cleaner)

Baker (bakes food in early shift and gets food out at record times)

Food service (waiter, food assembler)

Sous chef

Search and rescue (urban and rural)

Macrame item maker? (I got rlly into watching macrame videos, and hey, it’s smth tactile to do I could see him liking) (also more a hobby)

Card making/scrap booking (hobby)

Dishwasher

From here it’s jobs he can more easily do with the constraint of looking after Martin, as is obvious with how it starts out:

Things that he can do late and night, or super early while Preston would be asleep

Shelf stocker

Janitor

Prep/opening shift baker

24 hr night shift fast food

Packager

Delivery man

Early morning dog walker?

Researcher

Editor

Macrame artist/maker

Dishwasher

{this all truly was balls to the walls ideas that were on the top of my head but I genuinely see Tommy as someone who has great work ethic when he stops playing the goofy guy, especially when he has people depending on him. Feel free to comment any of your ideas bc this fic idea is still very much in zygote territory, lol.}

(Edit on 25 august: what if, to keep him in the hero sphere but also delivery guy sphere, should he be an organ transporter? Like, he could run critically necessary blood and organs to hospitals to save ppl? Being a speedster is probably perfect for that job. I’m sure there are quite a few qualifications that he’s need to go thru to be able to do it but if he did it under a his Speed persona only it could work?)

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

so. i like character associations! i think they’re fun and can lead to a lot of neat ideas! so i made a list of associations to fill in with any blorbos i choose. and since i’m going to be making multiple self indulgent posts about this, i figure i’ll share the list if anyone who sees this wants to do this too

also, since i’m primarily doing this with gravity falls characters and using the stan twins as examples, i’ll be putting this post in those tags (it can and will be used for non-gravity falls things too, though)

(this is designed to be copy-pasted into a new post!)

anyway, here’s the format i’ll be using:

character name:

color association:

plant association:

animal association:

asterism association:

general-thing-in-space association:

cryptid/mythological/supernatural association:

song association:

specific lyric/s association:

season association:

mineral association:

eyetrees periodic table/random association:

*this last one is basically a random oddness space. is the blorbo associated with wind from the ocean? maybe dreams and nightmares? flesh or space? flesh in space? non-Euclidean geometry? sand specifically from paths that creeping devils have made? anything goes, as long as it’s somewhat unusual or oddly specific

below the cut i have my associations with ford and stan! (and categories can be added or removed depending)

character name: ford :]

color association: blue

plant association: yellow rose

animal association: barn owl, screech owl, great horned owl, cat

asterism association: cetus, gemini

general-thing-in-space association: saturn

cryptid/mythological/supernatural association: gryphon

song association: Misery Meat by Sodikken

specific lyric/s association: ‘oh, what you are is hard to find. you could teach the deaf, or you could lead the blind, just by the shock of your touch, yeah, i know how it feels. or the knife in your stare, and the way that it peels me- over and over, ‘til i’m skinned to the core, i found a hole in my heart that wasn’t there before. i’m just a pale little boy, looking out for myself, but i start shaking for you and nobody else. yeah, i’d like to be just simple and dry, but it rains like a storm, and i can’t fight the sky’

season association: winter, autumn

mineral association: diamond, pyrite, obsidian, ice, fordite

eyetrees periodic table association: floating out in space, black ink, the starry sky over the ocean, sea glass, rain at midnight

///

character name: stan :]

color association: red

plant association: red snapdragon

animal association: shark, grey wolf, maned wolf, fox, coyote

asterism association: hydrus, gemini

general-thing-in-space association: mars, jupiter

cryptid/mythological/supernatural association: werewolf

song association: All That Glitters by Noisemaker

specific lyric/s association: ‘i died at 5:45. yeah, it says so on a sign. and my mother’s crying out her eyes- or is the radio telling lies? juvenile sinner, car crash winner, don’t let the devil take you out for dinner’

season association: winter, summer

mineral association: coal, sunstone, opal, carnelian

eyetrees periodic table association: specifically orange and red fire, sea glass, the thing about the creeping devils, leaning against a car at dusk, finding things that are dustier than you remember them being

///

there are more of these to come :] !

[walking-mf-dead]

I was on the brink of having a breakdown and needed to redirect my energy to something else so I went to my notes app and uh… yeah. A shitty little drabble. Enjoy ☺️ (May be cross-posted to Ao3!) ((also the format looks funky because I wrote this in my notes app and copy/pasted it onto here via phone))

Pairing: Daryl Dixon/Reader

Relationships: Rick Grimes/Reader (Adoptive Daughter), Negan Smith/Reader (Biological Daughter)

Warnings: The Walking Dead typical violence, thoughts of death/suicide, self-deprecation, Canon Divergence, Death/Murder

________________________________

A Warning

I can't hold on anymore.

It feels like the pit in my chest is getting deeper. The lump in my throat getting bigger, harder to swallow down and ignore.

My eyes burn with unshed tears and my clenched teeth hurt my jaw.

The palm of my hand is being indented with the ragged nails I had chewed and bitten off overtime with my anxiety taking over me.

Never did this thought of death feel so appealing until now. Not until we got to Alexandria and it all went to shit. I knew it was all too good to be true.

My knees are aching on this forest floor.

Negan starts his little song, his voice vibrating up my spine. Giving me goosebumps. Forcing bile into my mouth as his bat points directly at my head.

I follow the bat up to his eyes.

“Well darlin’! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He kneels down and gently grabs my chin, forcing me to keep eye contact.

“I’m almost tempted to skip you darlin’. You can come home. Mm? Wanna come back home to Daddy?”

The venom on my tongue is searing, “Fuck you Negan.”

“That’s no way to talk to your father, kid.” His face steels has he stands up.

I smirk up to him, “Go on Daddy. Do it. Like you do to every one else. Swing.”

“Do NOT fucking do this. Do you really think I want to bash in my own kids head? Huh?” His eyes look wild, as though his psyche is breaking slightly. Only slightly.

“How about, we try this again, hmm gang?! Let’s try this again and if it lands on this lovely lady then so fucken be it!” He yells out to his loyal subjects who break out into cheering.

“Eeny… Meeny… Miny… Mo. Catch… a Tiger… By… His Toe. If… He Hollers… Let Him Go. My Mother… Told Me… To Pick… The Very… Best… One. And you… Are… It.” He drawls out once more but this time, this time it was with purpose. The bat swings by me and points to Abraham. No.

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boys other eye out and feed it to his father. And then we’ll start. You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell… You’re all gonna be doing that.”

CRACK!

The bat brutally hits into Abraham’s skull.

But he sits back up, his face mangled.

“Would you look at that! Takin’ it like a champ!”

WHACK!

Oh God.

Abraham’s blood is splattered on my face. I still. My body shaking and I lose focus on where I am and what’s happening.

Before I can clock it, I’m standing, barreling into Negan while Abraham’s dead body lays beside where I was. His head melding into the ground below.

I wail all of my force into punching my fathers face. He quickly overpowers me and throws me off. He stands up, grabbing Lucille from the ground and in pure rage he slams the bat into my abdominal area.

My scream echos into the surrounds and I feel my body and clothes tearing as the barbs pull back up on the bat.

My hands shake as I hold onto my stomach, looking up in pure fear at Negan. And he stares back, the same look of fear on his face.

“Baby, baby no. No no no. Fuck. FUCK.” He kneels down and pulls up my shirt despite my denial, and assess the wounds.

I look over to Daryl. His face is ghost white. “Daryl… Honey I love you.”

“Consider this a warning.” Negan announces, standing up.

“A big fucken warning. I’ll be around in 2 days to settle an arrangement. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Negan. Perfectly clear.” Rick strains out.

Negan gives me one last look before calling his men away to go back to The Sanctuary.

Rick and Daryl rush over to my side. Daryl brushing my hair from my face and giving me a solid kiss on my lips.

I look to Rick. “Will I be okay?” He nods. But I don’t know if I believe him. Not yet.

Rick, Carl and some others return to Alexandria to plan what’s happening with Negan while Daryl, Glenn, myself and Maggie head to Hilltop to use their medical services.

Daryl clutches onto me, hoping I make it through the next few days.

[crystalromana]

Apocryphia Bipedium- Ian Potter

[FIXED THE WONKY MOBILE EDITING. >.< IT LOOKED FINE ON DESKTOP]

[I am obsessed with this short trip so I had to bring it to Tumblr. Yes I did just copy and paste this page by page out of the pdf and formatted it. I think about it all the time. Anyway.

Apocrypha Bipedium takes place in the gap between Time of the Daleks and Neverland. Enjoy]

A Suggestive Correlation of The Cressida Manuscripts with other Anomalous Texts of the Pre-Animarian Era as proposed for Collective Consideration by Historiographic Speculator Anctloddoton.

In my selection and placement of the following extracts from the literature of the extinct worlds, I have attempted to draw suggestive parallels between some of the Problem Texts of the humanoid cultures. Obviously, the records of those times are now so fragmentary that any conclusions we draw from the surviving evidence must remain speculative. We cannot know what evidence we are missing, thus the linking of events posited by the presentation of these documents must remain a tentative hypothesis at best.

HS A From The Primary Cressida Document – Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Mysteria Press Original, 2973 CE.

The past is another country, the Doctor used to say. By which I suppose he meant it’s a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there, and you can have real problems with customs when you arrive.

I grew up in the future myself, which makes living in the past tricky at times. Liverpool was a great place to grow up if you were into the past though. It was full of it; the Campus Manor theme park, the castle, the Beatles Memorial Theatre, The Saint Francis of Fazakerley Museum, the Carl Jung Dream Tour, Post-Industrial Land and all those cathedrals, you were tripping over history everywhere. Mummy’s parents came from there too, so it was practically like we knew reallife olden days people.

It was much better than Liddell Towers where we lived in New London – most of the history near there seemed to be about some silly girl who’d let a professor of sums take photos of her and fell down a rabbit hole, or about those awful Daleks wiping out Southern England with mines and things. Much duller and hardly any variety in the rides at all.

Here in the actual olden days there’s not much past anywhere, just loads of future, and the rides are even less fun, all carts and donkeys and hardly any roads. We’re moving again, you see, dear diary. Even though the conquering Greeks don’t really seem to want to colonise any of Asia Minor themselves they don’t seem to want any Trojans settling back down anywhere round here either. They’ve occupied what’s left of the city, I suspect mainly so Menelaus can find all the expensive bits of Helen’s jewellery she seems to have mislaid, and seem keen we don’t hang about too nearby. Mymiddon Hoplites apologetically move us on now and again, clearly wondering when they can decently be allowed back home to start fighting amongst themselves again, and so we pack up and move. Some of their chaps are still feeling rather tetchy for no good reason apparently. Troilus says there’s a silly rumour going around that some terrible woman, probably a goddess, went around whipping up aggression amongst the Greeks a few years ago by magic, leaving marks on their necks that mean they can’t calm down!

It doesn’t make any sense to me. I think I might just be getting the cleaned up version of a soldier’s tale actually. I think that happens with me a lot. People treat me like a silly little girl sometimes, which isn’t really fair when I come from the future and know all sorts of things they don’t. I’m an adult now, even if not being born yet does make me about minus four thousand officially.

I don’t think Agamemnon’s Greeks really know what to do now to be honest, and after a decade’s anticipation I don’t think the trade routes or the princess they were sacking Troy to get are quite as good as they were hoping. I think they’re just hanging around stopping us settling down and looking for lost costume jewellery until they can think of something better to do. Some of the Ithacans are moaning it’ll be another decade before any of them get home at this rate. Bless them.

Running out of room, dear diary. Will write more when I have some new goats’ hides.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It! The True Confessions of a Ka Faraq Gatri not just written for the money when trapped on a primitive planet and needing cash to buy parts by ‘Snail’, Boxwood Books, 300 AGB.

Of course the hairy kangaroo had been at the mind rubbers and didn’t even realise the sword was there! How we laughed. Terrible namedropper, Zodin, but worth her weight in soufflé all the same

Naturally enough, mention of name-dropping reminds me of another anecdote, this one relating to dear old Bill Shakespeare, one of the finest writers and most atrocious spellers of any age. I’ve met him several times now and hope to again if I ever get off this pre-warp- engineering dustball. The last time was during that sticky business with poor Kitty Marlowe and those Psionovores from Neddy Kelley’s old scrying glass that I related in Chapter 9, but perhaps our most awkward misadventure together was the time I introduced him to some of his own characters, who included, as it happened, a dear, dear friend of mine.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress by Charlotte Elspeth Bollard, Library of Kar-Charrat. The work, having suffered some worm damage in the Great 2107 AD Cock Up, is presented here in the Elgin decorruption.

Travelling with Wilf and the Doctor was a curious experienced already felt somewhat out of sorts with time, having discovered my very existence was making history split in two, but sharing a home with a boy from the 16th Century and a man who seemed to come from nowhere so much as his own imagination, merely heightened my feeling that I no longer belonged to any era.

We three fellow time travellers had so very little in common beyond having all read the plays the boy had not yet written that the small talk had been small indeed, and, after a few days of the Doctor failing to get Wilf home, the atmosphere had become a little tense.

Wilf, it further transpired, had difficulty reading anything written in more modern Anglish than his own, which meant there had been little of a literary nature to distract him during his sojourn with us once he had read and re-read the Doctor’s picture books about Frinchs, Sneetches, Ooblecks and Cats in Hams.

Thankfully, towards the end of Wilf’s stay with us the Doctor had discovered a futuristic version of Lido called Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration that we could enjoy playing together and those last long hibiscus-scented afternoons in his music room passed pleasantly enough, without young Wilf having to constantly relate the escapades of besocked foxes to us.

The Doctor always won our games, usually coming from behind implausibly late in the day, and nearly always using some devious subterfuge to gain victory. Indeed, it was observing the childlike joy on the Doctor’s face at his underhand triumphs on the Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration board that I first realised just how much of Peter there was in his nature. Naturally, we loved him enough to pretend not to notice his cheating (I sometimes think the whole universe did) and at times towards the end we three had so much fun that I almost forgot I was a paradox, unpicking creation like Penelope at her tapestry in the heroic age we had just left.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur – works attributed to William Shakespeare collated by Heinrich Von Berlitz and Leopold Kettlecamp, Ampersand and Ampersand, 85 AH.

This passage from The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy – fragmentary foul papers of a naive work once attributed to the very young Shackspur, is worth quoting in full.

Act 2, Scene 1. A room within the box. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Here at last! Our journey finally through. In fifteen hundred and seventy two. Young Will, regard the ceiling viewing dome – Stratford on Avon, the Hathaway home.

Will. But sir, on those bare hills, no swarths do roll. And no houses nestle ’twixt those craggy knolls – The sun burns with a fierce un-English light And that beach there is not a Warwick sight! That’s not Stratford displayed above us

Char. – Lest the Avon’s turn’d to sea, ’Od love us!

Many scholars have disputed the authenticity of this piece of alleged Shackspurian juvenilia, pointing out, fairly, that it does appear to be the only one of his extant works that the Bard biroed in a twentieth-century school jotter otherwise festooned in swirly ink blots and doodled hexagons. However, if Shackspur did travel in Time, as several scholars suggest, this objection falls away. A more compelling argument for its inauthenticity is the verse style, experimenting uniquely within the Shackspurian canon with strict iambic pentameter composed entirely in rhyming couplets. Whilst dreadful, it is nothing like as appalling as that in Shackspur’s earliest known adult writing

***

From Tales from the Matrix – True Stories from TARDIS Logs Retold for Time Tots by Loom Auntie Flavia, Panopticon Press, 6833.8 Rassilon Era. Part of the Wigner Heisenberg Collection, The Mobile Library, Talking Books Section. Location currently uncertain.

The Doctor flicked the temporal stabiliser off and pulled down the transitional element control rod taking him out of the Vortex. Quite the wrong way to actualise and quadro-anchor even a Type 40 Time Capsule, isn’t it? Exiting the interstitial continuum at the perihelion of a temporal ellipse can cause serious buffering in your harmonic wave packet transference and sever your main fluid links, can’t it?

‘Here we are, Stratford on Avon, 1572!’ announced the Doctor proudly and wrongly. If he’d ever bothered to use his Absolute Tesseractulator to pinpoint his dimensional locations he wouldn’t have made these kind of mistakes, of course, but the Tesseractulator had never come out of its box, had it?

Charlotte Pollard, the Doctor’s friend, came over to him and flicked on the ceiling scanner.

A friend’s an Earth thing. It’s a bit like having a colleague or fellow student you co-operate with, but without any exams or project targets at the end to make the co-operation meaningful. There was a fashion for having them on Gallifrey at one time, ask some of your older cousins about it, they might remember.

Charlotte squinted at the view outside. It didn’t look like the Stratford she’d visited, with neither alien enslavers nor half timbered tea shops anywhere in sight. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

‘Positive. Ish,’ replied the Doctor. William Shaxsberd, a young man they’d promised to drop off in 1572, put down his coloured crayons and came to join them.

‘It does not look much as it once did, Doctor,’ said William, looking at the ceiling and cricking his neck.

The Doctor followed suit. The dustbowl outside was certainly not Warwickshire in any era he’d visited, ‘No. Indeed not,’ he admitted. ‘I think the rift in the Vortex is introducing a random element into my calculations.’

Do you remember the rift in the Vortex, from last time? That’s right, the Doctor made that too! It was due to the paradoxical interaction of two paravertical chronostreams further complicated by three retro- temporal augmented causal feedback loops, wasn’t it?

‘Another random element?’ asked Charlotte, ‘More random than the way you play “eeny meeny miney mo” with the buttons?’

‘Ha, Charley,’ said the Doctor. ‘Tres amusent.’

Charlotte turned to William to explain, ‘That’s French, Will, for “I’ve been banged to rights, Miss Pollard”,’ she said.

‘I somehow knew,’ William replied.

‘Really?’ asked Charlotte. ‘How?’

‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Charley,’ said the Doctor, ‘and yes it would be awfully de trop to ask how it works.’ Or at least that’s whatCharlotte thought he said. William heard something quite different of course.

Well, let’s get out there then,’ said the Doctor, opening the doorswithout taking any proper readings.

‘Er, why?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Because until we know how far out the rift has shunted us in spaceand time we won’t know how to get to Stratford, 15 diddlydiddly...’explained the Doctor, waving his hand vaguely as he searched hismemory for the end of the four digit number he’d lost interest in.

‘Seventy-two,’ prompted William.

‘The very same.’ The Doctor beamed, ruffling the young man’s hair in a way that, thanks to the TARDIS telepathic circuits alone, seemed endearing rather than insufferable and over familiar.

William and the Doctor headed for the doors. Charlotte was troubled though.

‘Won’t my temporal instability cause untold problems to wherever we are?’ she asked, quite sensibly, all things considered.

‘Oh, very probably, I expect,’ replied the Doctor airily, ‘but if you spent your whole life worrying about the consequences of your actions you’d never get anything done and the consequences of that would be unthinkable, wouldn’t they? Faint heart never bowled a maiden over,you know.’

Charlotte scowled. ‘Mind,’ added the Doctor as he stepped out of the control room, ‘neither did Katie “the Beast” Davies, if I remember my22nd-century Wisden correctly.’

That was an allusion to the Earth game Cricket, wasn’t it? It was the Earth’s planetary sport, despite the fact that humans were the worst players of it in the galaxy if you remember.‘

Doctor, I find your words confusing,’ said William as he followed him out.‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Will,’ Charlotte whispered. ��You’ll get used to it.’

* * *

From The Primary Cressida document

New hides! This keeping a journal business is awfully tricky when you’ve no paper around, but before mummy died, she did make me promise I’d write one when I eventually settled down. It’s a family tradition that’s been handed down for generations apparently, not that I ever saw mummy’s.

Anyhow, Troilus is still very eager to settle soon, but where? I’ve ruled out going east to the Holy Land because from what I remember from history and my travels we’ll get no peace there and the rest of the Med and Adriatic has already been bagsied. Troilus reckons Aeneas will have already have set up somewhere by now and we should have gone off on his boat when we had the chance. I just nod, and try to explain wave particle duality to the little ones.

I have a vague feeling I learned something about Aeneas from the UK-201’s didactomat box way back in the future. I think he ended up with Dido in Carthage for a bit, which confuses me because I thought Dido’s music was Late Classical, which must be after this period, surely. I’m sketchy on the details to be honest. I only remember it was Dido and not Sister Bliss because the planet we crashed into on the way to Astra was named after her.

Funny thinking about Dido, that was the place I’ve called home longest in recent years. I’ve been a nomad a while really – split between London and Liverpool as a girl, never knowing whether to talk posh and southern or not, emigrating to off-Earth with daddy, hopping about through Time with the Doctor, and now traipsing around Turkey with Troilus and his mates before its even called that or has any tourist facilities to speak of. I think I must have ‘space travel in my blood’ as one of those Baroque composers put it!

I’ve been wondering when I should discover electricity and plumbing a bit recently, these fleeces don’t clean themselves like proper clothes, so the sooner we can invent the twin tub the better. Are we before or after that Monk who invented things too early here, I wonder? I don’t want to mess things up like he did, but I’m shocking on dates. I just paid attention to the stories in the history books really, not the order they happened in. If I’d known the way round history went was going to be important I would have had the machine teach me it. Of course, as a child you never expect all that history around you is going to run away into the future like it has, do you? I’ve decided I’ll probably start with a steam engine and see if that messes up my memory of the future. The way I see it, it’ll be impossible for me to invent anything that’ll stop me being born so I can’t do too much harm.

I casually suggested making things out of iron the other day, which I know is a big step forward but everyone just laughed. Too brittle and hard to work compared to bronze or tin, they said. I suppose they’re right. You have to do something to it to make it strong, I remember that. I just don’t remember what that something is. For all I know my quad physics equations and could still compose a cogent analygraphfor the fall of the Mallatratt Protectorate, I’m a bit rusty on a few of the basics. Going to take us years to get garlic bread and sound radio at this rate.

Of course, I had a bit of training for life without the mod cons on Dido, so I can cope, but what makes things really fiddly at the moment is that my future’s past is catching up with my present, which is complicated enough to write down, let alone experience.

We’ve just bumped into the Doctor as a young man, and I’m sure it’s really bad form for me to let on I recognise him when as far as he’s concerned he’s not met me yet.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

My plan was pretty much the usual one, to go out and see if we could find out the year and our whereabouts in a way that wouldn’t arouse any suspicions, and then hang around until nightfall to get a better fix from the position of the stars. It may sound dull but I’ve found if I do that I usually find something or other to get embroiled in before sunset.

We stepped circumspectly out of the Ship and set off in search of the nearest habitation, ready as ever to improvise any number of cover stories to explain our presence and strange garb. As luck would have it we soon ran into one of the locals, and were able to subtly winkle out the info we needed on route to his encampment.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

People say you should never look back of course, advice we’ve been ignoring since Orpheus and EuroDisney, but I can’t help thinking that if the Doctor hadn’t landed us in the aftermath of the Trajan War a lot of that beastly business with the Time Lords might have been avoided later.

As usual the Doctor rejoiced in dropping straight into the middle of things without a moment’s forethought. Impossible, exasperating man,I tried to protest but somehow he just brushed my complaints away with a smiled shouldn’t have let him, but he did have such a lovely smile.

* * *

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 3, Scene 2. Another part of the hillside. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Yoohoo! Mister Goatboy, excuse me please, Could you tell me what time and place is this? Char. Discreet as ever.

Enter a Goatherd.

Doct. Yes, but awfully brave. Young man, there is information we crave. What land is this and what year are we in? We’ve lost track of both in our travelling.

Char. Oh I give up, you’re so inconsistent.

Doct. Just smile prettily, act like an assistant.

Char. But I never know what trick you’ll pull next!

Doct. Just grit your teeth, smile and stick out your chest; Magic’s best tricks work by misdirection.

Char. So I’m just here to stir his –

Will. Affection?

Doct. Quite so Will, a pretty face inspires trust. True, I’m afraid, if not awfully just. This chap will tell us the time and the place And Presto well head straight back into Space!

Goat. Eleven eight three BC is the year This is Hisarlik in Anatolia. I expect you’re traders from Phoenicia To be garbed and garbling here so queer. You’ve been ship wreck’d and concuss’d I’ll be bound. Which’ll be why you have no goods around. We must offer you shelter at the least Pop back home with me and well have a feast.

Char. How can he know he lives before Our Lord?

Doct. It’s just a translation device that’s flaw’d. It’s an awfully clever mechanism But it causes the odd anachronism. Kind goatherd, we would love to share a meal And watch the evening stars above us wheel. For by such means we will precisely know Our station now and where we next must go. Exeunt Omnes.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘Do we really need to do this?’ asked Charlotte as the band trudged wearily after the herdsman in their impractical shoes, ‘Surely the date and location he’s given you is enough?’

‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor replied, ‘but studying the stars will allow me to be more accurate. Besides, I’m famished. We haven’t eaten for minus three thousand years, bear in mind.’

So the Doctor and his companions blithely headed off into further temporal confusion, unaware that the goatherd had seen the TARDIS arrive and knew full well who the Doctor was already.

There’s a lesson there for anyone who thinks it’s clever to keep their TARDIS in one form, don’t you think? The Ionic Column factory preset might look nice, for example, but when using it means every Grun, Za and Caius in the Cosmos knows who you are immediately, it rather defeats the point of a chameleon circuit.

From The Primary Cressida document

One of our herdsmen saw the TARDIS arrive in the next valley this afternoon and instantly recognised it as the mobile temple that had prefigured the city’s fall, and the Doctor as a younger version of the old man from my tales.

He sent his mate back to tell us so we all had time to prepare ourselves and could all pretend we believed the Doctor’s implausible story about being a trader from Phoenicia when he turned up an hour or so later.

It’s definitely him, probably about 40 years before we met. He dresses similarly, his hair is curlier and darker and his face looks a bit different, but the years are never kind, are they? Amazingly, he’s almost as vague as a young man as he was when old, if not quite so ummy and erry. I’d always assumed that was because he was getting on a bit.

Thankfully, no one here’s too thrown by the idea of time travellers after me relating all my adventures to them, though one of the boys did ask me why the Doctor didn’t walk and talk backwards when his past was in the future. I was very clear why not when I started explaining it, but I must admit I got a bit confused as I went along. He hasn’t recognised me of course, dear diary, and we’ve invited him and his friends to have tea tonight.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Well, imagine my embarrassment when we arrived at the fellow’s encampment and who was in charge but my old friend Vicki (now calling herself Cressida of course) and her new husband Troilus, who I’d never actually met, due to quite heavy escaping commitments around the time they got together.

I realised with a start that young Bill Shakespeare was due to write a play about this couple in a few years, and that unless I was careful thismeeting would almost certainly be what inspired it, thus complicating Bill’s already tortuous history further and bringing yet another new paradox to mine. I’d only let Vicki go away with Troilus at Troy’s fall because once I heard she was calling herself Cressida I’d assumed it was predestined (well, I was young, I believed in that kind of thing), I knew there was a play about the couple by Shakespeare and thought I was helping history take its course by hitching them up. Now, if I’d only done that because my future actions would one day bring that play about, I’d accidentally made a big chunk of my past dependent on my future, which, as you know, isn’t really the accepted way of going about things.

I reasoned it was vital for the tidiness of the time line that I kept Bill from learning the background of Troilus and Cressida in any detail, ideally forgetting as much of their present as he could too.

To complicate matters further, Vicki had actually seen Bill as an adult on my time telly, the Time Space Visualiser. She was never the most historically careful of girls, and I feared that if she found out who he was, she’d probably tell him all about his future at the court of Elizabeth and getting the commission to write The Merry Wives of Windsor and the inspiration for Hamlet on the same day and how he’d sprained his wrist in his rush to write both.

All it might take, I thought, would be one slip from any one of us, accidentally mentioning the words TARDIS or Zeus Plug over dessert, say, and causality would be tangled up like President Pandak’s kittens in twine, quicker than you could explain what you pop in a Ganymede socket.

Luckily, it seemed Vicki hadn’t spotted how anachronistic our garb was and hadn’t realised I was her old friend, seeming to completely swallow my inventive tales of sea faring, despite Charley’s rather fanciful insertions about hook-handed pirates.

I had, of course, underestimated her, as a quick and entirely accidental glance at her diary before dinner proved. Not knowing I could regenerate, she had taken me for my young self in my first form and thought she was protecting me from foreknowledge!

This, of course, suited my purpose. All I reckoned I had to do now to save Time from chewing itself to bits was keep Will busy and make sure Vicki didn’t relate her history to any of us over dinner.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when tidy temporal strands we try to leave.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Mr and Mrs Troilus seemed a sweet couple, he a lanky chap with a curly beard and a well-meaning expression and she a rather enthusiastic young thing with big eyes, yet the Doctor had become rather shifty from the moment we met them. I knew he was preoccupied by something, but I had, at that time, no idea what. After some fun, improvising tales of derring-do on the high seas to prove our credentials as traders, he took me to one side and explained that I had to get Wilf as squiffy as possible at the feast that night for reasons it was simpler at that moment not to explain. He said history depended on me getting the boy so drunk he could neither speak nor remember his behaviour the next morning. I’m normally quite good at that kind of thing, it was hardly my fault the Bawd was a functioning alcoholic at the age of eight.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 4, Scene 1. An encampment in the mountains. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow, Young Will, a goatherd, Troilus, Cressida, divers villagers and guards severally.

Doct. Hello. (Aside) Her! ’Tis Vicki, I should have guess’d. I never with good geography was bless’d Hisarlik is the modern name for Troy. Quite a temporal tangle, boy oh boy! (To Cress.) Ha ha, my hearties! We here are sailors three. (Aside) I can but hope she does not see ‘tis me.

Cress. (Aside) Deceit upon deception! Can this be The Doctor who I first took it to be? Is this him when young as I assumed? Or must deeper deceit be presumed? I’ll play along until the truth I know. (To Doct.) Good mariners, welcome and hello.

Will. (To Char.) What’s this strange accented charade about?

Char. (To Will) Who knows, we’ll be, I bet, last to find out.

From Tales from the Matrix

Yes Time Tots, exactly! The first thing any of us would have done would have been to get out of there quickly before we compromised the causal nexus. Staying for tea and imbibing too much ethanol, which you’ll recall the Doctor had a particular weakness for on his mother’s side, doesn’t strike any of us as sensible!

From The Secondary Cressida document (a transcribed fragment allegedly found at a Church of Rome jumble sale) – Even More Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Hatper-Mysteria- Ellerycorp Press Original, 2977 CE

My ruse worked, the robot’s read my carefully exposed diary and thinks I suspect nothing! He’s so obviously not really the Doctor it’s not true, but he doesn’t know I know that yet, so we have the advantage. He’s definitely a Dalek robot double like that other one they sent after us.

They’ve probably made him the young Doctor this time to make it less obvious. He does look a bit like he could be him sometimes if you’re not paying attention, but if you look closely his face is all wrong and his voice goes a bit funny sometimes like that other robot’s did, almost doing my accent at times! I think he’s probably feeding on my jumbled memories or something.

We’ll overpower him and his companions at dinner tonight and destroy them, they won’t expect me to know how to deactivate them.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

I’ve always been keen on wine, particularly the heavier oaky reds, though I find there is a rather tiresome tendency for them to be drugged by villainous blackguards sometimes, rather impairing the subtleties of the flavour, but wine in the Homeric era was quite a different proposition. What can I tell you about it except that it tasted awful but did the job?

It wasn’t the heavily resinated stuff the Greeks later went in for, thankfully, nor indeed that watered-down muck the ancient Romans used to dish out at parties, but I think it’s telling that the most flattering thing Homer had to say about it in the whole of The Iliad was how like the sea it was in hue. When you bear in mind he was blind, you can tell he’d had to ask around a bit to find anyone with something positive to say about it.

The food wasn’t much better either. It can be terribly hard eating out when you travel like I do. These days at home, I generally try to eat only things that don’t have a central nervous system, or that I’ve knocked up in the food machine, but sometimes, when you’re a guest, qualms like that have to go out of the window, particularly on worlds ruled by intelligent plants, where you’re best advised not to ask for a celery stick and to just stick your toes in damp soil like everyone else at the table.

Even then I try to stick to my principles and not eat anything with a sense of self, parliamentary democracy or sultanas in it.

This dinner was a particularly awkward affair; Charley acting like a slightly sloshed pirate queen, Vicki acting like she didn’t know me, Bill acting up, singing lewd madrigals that officially weren’t due for invention yet in his rather reedy girlish voice, and all the while me worrying about causality falling apart around me rather too much to fully enjoy the dolmades.

Suddenly, half way through the proceedings, the impossible happened: it took a turn for the worse. Vicki shouted out ‘Now!’, and lunged at my chest and started tearing at my waistcoat.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

My recollections of the ensuing events are somewhat hazy; I had been struggling to match young Wilt measure for measure, you might say, when I saw the Doctor being attacked. I launched myself at his assailant and missed, I’m told, briefly losing my dignity and consciousness in the process.

A shocking melee ensued by all accounts, with Trajans tearing at our clothes with cutlery and all the usual business with tables being turned and the like breaking out; I’m only glad I can’t remember the full details, because what little I do makes me blush quite enough.

It’s quite possible I told someone I loved them, and was sick later too. I’ve never been brave enough to ask. The next thing I remember clearly was being in the main tent with the Doctor explaining a lot and me apologising a bit, just in case.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 5, Scene 2. At dinner beneath the stars.

Cress. Take that, false Doctor! But where are your wires? In sparks and puffs of smoke you should expire. Could it be that you are the Doctor true?

Char. Get your claws off him, he’s mine, you wild shrew!

Will. Oh, Pillicock sat on pillicock

Char. Will you stop that terrible singing, Will? The Doctor and I are under attack From this Troyan host, while you’re supping sack. Join in the scrap and cease your carousel Lewd songs, anyhow, douse all arousal.

Doct. Vicki, Will, Charley, all, put down those knives! You’re all making the mistakes of your lives.

Cress. Vicki, you say? You should not know that yet. If you’re the young Doctor, we’ve not yet met.

Doct. Vicki, the reason that I know your name Is that inwardly I am still the same Man who left you at Troy some years ago, I can change my looks, if you didn’t know. Char. Doctor, do you mean that you know this wench?

Doct. We travelled together many years hence. I think it’s time I explain’d the full truth Of why I’ve deceived you all, forsooth.

Will. If she’s an old friend then tell me why You did keep that fact from Charley and I?

Doct. This is an old friend, Will, but, what is worse, She features, in decasyllabic verse, In a drama that you shall one day pen That means I shall leave her with this Troyan, If you only write it because you’re here Chronological conundra appear. Effects and causes whirl and spin about, Go through the wringer and turn inside out. The egg that hatches out your chicken Does in that self same chicken thicken.

From Tales from the Matrix

Then in direct contravention of fifteen universal laws of Time and two local statutes, the Doctor sat down and explained everything that had happened, and, in explaining it, he brought all the things he was worried about happening that hadn’t into the open, didn’t he?

Of course, it turned out that some of the things he was worried about were of no concern at all, but as a result of relating them he brought worse problems about.

I expect most of you have read stories about the Doctor in other books, and I expect some of you think he’s quite clever, even though he breaks a lot of rules, don’t you? Well, you’re right! In a crisis, he’s just the kind of person you need around, he can come up with ideas almost no one else could. The only problem is, when you’re not having a crisis, he’s just the kind of person to cause one.

From The Primary Cressida document

How embarrassing. It turns out the Doctor was the Doctor after all, only older and with a new face for some strange reason. The girl who drinks too much is his latest companion and the little boy with the dirty songs and the voice like a girl is William Shakespeare! Nice enough lad, no wonder he ends up in the theatre with that voice though, perfect for all those drag roles they gave boys. We had a lovely chat about Dido and Aeneas and told each other about our scrapes with the Daleks, and I let slip the odd thing I knew about his future.

He’s told me we should go and settle in England. Apparently there’s an old book he’s read by a chap called Geoffrey that says relatives of Aeneas were the first Britons I think it’s a super idea, ’ I know Troilus will like it in England, and I think we’ve persuaded the Doctor too! Just think! could be one of my own ancestors passing on my secret diaries for years and years, a bit like mummy’s family did! How smashing would that be?

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Of course I decided in the end that honesty would be the best policy and that as long as everyone knew the full facts, and swore not to be influenced by them, we could probably darn the hole in causality in such a way that it wouldn’t show. I sat everyone down in the central tent and explained. Well, what a Charlie I looked!

*** From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Ridiculously, the Doctor had been worried about Wilf getting inspiration for the play Troilus and Cressida from meeting the real Troilus and Cressida! I protested that Wilf had already read his own plays in the future anyhow, but the Doctor countered that they’d have been corrupted playing texts and in a court of law it would be hard to prove that was down to him, whereas if Will had got any of the plot or characterisation directly through his adventures with us that was a bit more serious.

That was when Will started laughing.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Tray Act 5, Scene 4. A tent in the camp.

Will. But Doctor, I did not invent the tale Of Troilus and Cressida’s love that fail’d. Why, Geoffrey Chaucer told it years ago! I cannot believe that you did not know. Have you read even half of what you claim Or do you just like dropping well-known names? Cressida’s tale is part of tradition Not the result of my precognition Of future perfect past present events, If you will forgive me my mangled tense, And my quondumque futures version Should have put you off this girl’s desertion.

Char. You should have read your Brodie’s Notes on Will. The phantom threat you feared from his quill Was nothing but an insubstantial shade, And there’s a real spectre here I’m afraid. I’m half a ghost of Christmas yet to come, Remember, I’ve made history come undone. You’ve got paradoxes enough to be Getting on with, as far as I can see, So why do you search for new ones instead That only exist inside of your head?

Doct. If I had known the work of me laddo Would I have found menace in my shadow? I here resolve to watch much less TV And be the reader I do claim to be. For half my erudite orations Come straight from books of quotations.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘What was Helen of Troy actually like then?’ asked William Shaxberd as he helped himself to more wine.

‘Is,’ corrected the Doctor, prissily.

‘She’s a good egg by all accounts,’ said Vicki, politely not mentioning the fact she thought her looks had gone, ‘and Menelaus was happy enough to have her back, even after all the bother, so she must be quite nice when you get to know her, I suppose.’

‘Well, she would have to be a good egg really,’ said William, ‘Her father was a swan supposedly.’ Like most young human men of his generation, he knew the salacious bits of Greek Mythology surprisingly well.

‘Half human on his mother’s side?’ smiled the Doctor, thinking himself clever. ‘Aren’t we all?’

‘No, just men,’ said Charlotte through a falafel.

‘She has two birthdays they say, one when the egg came out of her mother and another when it hatched,’ Troilus revealed, leaning forward over the table and whispering in that conspiratorial manner people sometimes do when divulging well known but dubious trivia.

‘It would have been an easy birth if she was born an egg,’ said Vicki ruefully, one hand on her stomach.

‘An easy lay, you mean,’ William corrected.

‘So Paris said –’Troilus began, his eyes a twinkle.

He was shouted down by his wife seconds later, barrack room tale untold, and one of those awkward silences ensued that dinner party guests in all cultures and times know only too well.

‘Have you actually read Troilus and Cressida, Doctor?’ asked Charlotte a little later.

‘You ask me, who had a hand in some of Shakespeare’s finest work – who put the mixed metaphor in the “To be or not to be” soliloquy, who hired the bear for The Winter’s Tale, and who really shouldn’t have passed on the story of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, if I’ve read Troilus and Cressida?’ replied the Doctor, rather over-egging it in that way he usually did when he was on the defensive.

‘Yes!’ they cried as one.

‘Well, no,’ admitted the Doctor. ‘It’s supposed to be one of the better ones, and well, you know, I’ve been busy. I’ve still not managed to tune the Time Space Visualiser in to catch all of The Golden Girls and I’ve been trying for decades.’

‘She doesn’t end up with Troilus in it, she ends up with Diomede, andit’s set during the war not after it!’ said Charlotte patiently.

‘Diomede! That was Steven!’ Vicki laughed.The Doctor looked confused. ‘Vicki and Steven were just friends,weren’t you? Just the odd haircut and getting locked up together, Ithought.’

‘Yes, that’s right, how many times do we have to go through that?’Vicki explained, giving a petulant Troilus a peck on the cheek.

‘Well the legend must have got a bit confused by the time it gotwritten down I think Chaucer got it from a foreign book,’ said William,draining his goblet.

The Doctor beamed, thinking he’d got away with his tinkering again.‘So Troilus and Cressida weren’t predestined after all!’ he said

‘Well, only because of your lack of reading,’ snorted Charlotte.

‘Oh that is a relief,’ said the Doctor taking the wine jug from William and helping himself without asking.

‘Now what about this business of giving us charts to help us reach this Britain young Will spoke of?’ asked Troilus, passing the Doctor a goat’s cheese nibble.

‘I really shouldn’t,’ explained the Doctor. ‘If you go there, on the basis of the frankly dubious history of Geoffrey of Monmouth then Vicki is in danger of becoming one of her own descendants, which is at least as badas the things I’ve been trying to prevent all day.’

‘Oh go on Doctor, please!’ begged Vicki. ‘We could mine tin in Cornwall and I’d promise not to invent anything I shouldn’t as long as I lived, not even roller skates!’

‘I don’t think I should. I’ve made enough of a mess looking after young Charley here, the repercussions of me sending you to Britain because the unborn Shakespeare suggested it could be horrendous,’ said the Doctor, finally being responsible for once in his lives.

‘Oh go on Doctor, I’m unborn too, remember, so that shouldn’t matte rmuch,’ said Vicki.

‘And I’m only half here,’ said Charlotte grimly ‘Why stop messing about now? You should have stayed at home watching these Golden Girls of yours if you weren’t prepared to get involved in real people’s lives. They’re messy and not always in the order you’d like and sometimes too short, and they’re not always better for having you in them, but you either face that or hide away somewhere, don’t you?

’The Doctor kissed her.

‘What was that for?’ asked Charlotte.

‘To shut you up,’ he said. He tapped Vicki on the nose and smiled,’Come on, let’s carry on the party, and in the morning, when rosy-fingered Dawn has done her bit, we’ll sort out a good map of Europe for the Trojans and get them started on their boats. Any consequences which haven’t happened yet we can worry about later!’

Some of you will be shocked at just how naughty the Doctor was in this story: jeopardising the stability of all those will-have-might-have-been futures out there depending on him by interweaving all those strands of destiny connected to the Dalek race and all on the basis of a whim.

The Doctor already knew Dalek causality was partially snagged in a loop in Time and his friend was the focus of a temporal anomaly, but of course he had spent a jolly long time in the Vortex, hadn’t he? That meant his causal connections to events future, past and maybe- somehow were a great deal more jumbled up than most people’s and he was quite good at judging just how likely to snaggle the Web of Time his whims might be.

Or so he thought.

The Doctor believed in two very wrong things you see; firstly, in something he called personal morality that he thought was more important than doing the things simply everyone knows are right, and secondly, that he was cleverer than everyone else and could always sort things out.

He deserved what happened to him next, didn’t he?

Document from the Braxiatel Collection Shakespearean Ephemera wing, a note found in the effects of William Shakespeare by literary assessor Porlock. It is not believed to be in Shakespeare’s hand though it bears some graphological similarities to the disputed Scarlioni Hamlet manuscript.

List of things not to mention

The Daleks,

That you’ve met me before when we meet next (because you didn’t mention it last time, you know),

That you’ve read half your plays already

That I wrote all the good bits in Hamlet, [‘good bits’ later amended to ‘rubbish bits’ in a different hand]

The idea of cigars (until Raleigh gets back from abroad),

That cigars will end up named after some of your characters,

That someone called Raleigh will go abroad,

That Troilus and Cressida had a lovely marriage and lived happily ever after in Mousehole, no matter how the story goes in Chaucer,

Oh, the places you’ve gone and the things that you’ve seen

[mamaz00m]

So. Plans for the future. Let’s talk about it.

Going back through this fic and finally writing the last chapter opened the floodgates for me, in a way. As I said in my last post, I’d been wondering about what Gabe and Eli in the future would be like, what their lives would look like. I wrote a glimpse into their future back in 2019 in A Name of My Own. But I still feel like there’s more to uncover, more to learn, to discover.

Finishing Raise Hell felt monumental for me. When I completed the last chapter, I sat staring at the final line for fifteen minutes, asking myself if I could do this—if I could finally publish it. If I was ready for this all to be over. Because this fic had started out as a coping mechanism for me. When I’d began writing it, I identified pretty heavily with Eli—like I wanted so desperately to have someone come rescue me. Someone who knew how to care for me while also pushing me to be my best in ways that felt challenging, but not scary. Weirdly, it felt difficult to essentially ‘let go’ of that time in my life, that version of me.

Weirder, still, is the fact that just like Eli, I essentially got exactly what I wanted. I moved in with my best friend. We’ve built a life together. I’m happy, and I’m finally beginning to thrive instead of just survive. I clicked publish. I decided to let go of the 24 year old version of me.

And by the next day, (nearly) 34 year old me had an idea for a second Gabeli story—a road map unfurled in my mind, the journey these two men could take stretching out before me. I have the notes written down for a second story, ready to begin writing.

What does this mean for RH?

For Raise Hell as it currently exists? Probably nothing.

In its current form, Raise Hell has a few problems—tense-shifting, for one, a couple Boosh/Mint Royale references that would need changed if I were to publish it. I have copy/pasted the whole of the fic into my favorite writing program and am slowly combing through it, fixing the problems with tenses, formatting it, etc. I do have plans to eventually get it up for sale in its new form (with a couple extra scenes included), but that’s in the future. If you loved it, I’d download it now so that you’ll always have access to it in its original form because it might not remain forever on AO3.

What is Heaven & Earth?

The sequel I’m planning for Raise Hell. It will be set roughly two years after the conclusion of RH and will follow one major plot and two minor subplots as we follow the boys further into their relationship.

We’ll see how Jen, Ben, and Kat are doing and we’ll find out more about Spuds, James, and Alan, too.

We’ll uncover more insights about Gabe’s past and his parents, and we’ll see some things from Eli’s past get wrapped up as well.

Will you be posting H&E to AO3?

Yes! Any Gabeli stuff I work on will be posted to AO3 first and then be made available in other formats, reconfigured, improved, etc. later.

What is Hereafter?

The long and short of it is I don’t know yet! Coming back to finish a fic (and then go on to continue it) for what appears to be a dead fandom is a…weird experience, to say the least. I’m convinced at this point that I’m only continuing this for my own benefit at this point, but I think I’m fine with that.

I think once I’ve finished with H&E, the picture will become clearer for Hereafter. Or Hereafter may become just a collection of oneshots only on AO3—random snapshots of Gabe and Eli’s lives at different points. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when the time comes.

So. That’s it for the updates for now.

Thanks again.

<3

[obeymekarasu]

Can you reference where the canon material is from? This would help a lot, and you wouldn’t have to always reply to those who ask where this info is located.

An example would be the chapter lesson and number, chat room and name, the call title, or the devilgram.

// tldr: no, I like it this way and it works for me, limiting source requests to asks encourages ppl to interact with me, and prevents potential copycat OM lore accounts from stealing/benefitting too easily off my hard work. If you’d like to change the format then by all means create your own format.

Some rambling under the cut

//Answering this more completely , this account is supposed to be a “fun fact!” sort of account and not an encyclopedia. I only keep records because I claim everything I post is true and it is, so I have the receipts when asked.

Also let’s be real there are 600+ facts in the bot at the moment and counting, and although I have all of them in my own personal database, I would rather spend my energy adding new lore in the current format instead of having to go back and undertake the project of editing every single postable fact in the bot to the new format you’re suggesting. I haven’t even gotten to Nightbringer lore yet. I have SUCH a large backlog in OG alone and I have a bunch of events and DGs and etc still need to comb through.

The only thing I haven’t been keeping track of regarding location of lore is chat conversation names. But the conversation participants are in the screenshot. But otherwise I provide events, DGs, chapter location etc etc.

Also I *like* fetching facts for people. I’m the person who likes feeling useful and I get excited when people actually care about the lore enough to ask, even if I’ve pulled up the same lore piece for someone else before.

Dumping all my sources and hours of hard work into putting the source directly in the bot post is a waste of time for me, and it also allows people to copy and paste into a new bot too easily if they wanted to make another ObeyMe lore bot, therefore taking credit for my hard work and time invested. Which obviously would make me feel crappy.

So I don’t wanna.

And if you REALLY want to know lore facts you can still ask. People who are truly interested in the lore will go out of their way to ask me for sources, I won’t cater to people who don’t make at least minimum effort (demonstrating their active interest) since I’ve already put so much time and energy into this bot.

Hope you can understand where I’m coming from.