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amethystarachnid · 6 months ago

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Hi! 🤍

I was wondering if I could request 14- A Little Christmas Magic with Tony Stark x F!Reader?

I was thinking maybe Tony’s on a mission that was supposed to have him home by December. his fiancé/girlfriend/whatever just got notified that the mission has been extended by a few months and things are not looking good for him. Christmas Eve rolls around with little update on the Tony’s status and she’s can’t help but worry about him. But then surprise! he makes it home safe and sound for Christmas after all!

Feel free to use all or none of my idea. You’re the amazingly talented author not me 😜 thanks!

CHRISTMAS MAGIC

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The living room smells of cinnamon and pine. The tree is already up in the corner, draped in twinkling lights and glittering ornaments, though the star at the top waits patiently in its box on the coffee table. You want Tony to put it up with you—one of the little traditions you’ve built together over the past couple of years. Your phone sits propped on the arm of the couch, playlist cycling through Christmas classics as you hum along, arms full of ribbon and paper. The gifts you’ve been quietly sneaking into the house are finally getting wrapped.

It’s one of those moments where the house feels just right. The kind of warmth and peace that makes you smile without realizing it. Outside the frosty windows, a light snow drifts down. You glance at the weather and wonder if Tony’s flight will come in on time. You’ve been anticipating his arrival like a kid waiting for Santa—counting down days, hours, and minutes until he’s back.

The sound of your phone buzzing pulls you out of the wrapping haze. Your heart leaps with the familiar tone of Tony’s incoming call, and you swipe to answer, eager to see him. The screen flickers, and there he is, a little grainy from the connection but still breathtakingly Tony. His trademark smirk softens when he sees you, and despite the distance, you feel a rush of warmth.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice threaded with that weary edge you know too well. Missions take their toll, and this one’s been dragging for days already. Still, he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

"Tony!" you chirp, setting the half-wrapped present aside. "You have perfect timing. I was just about to start on your gift, but I guess the surprise would’ve been ruined."

He chuckles, a sound that makes your heart squeeze. "Caught you red-handed, huh? Maybe I planned it this way." His expression falters for just a second, a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

"You okay?" you ask, leaning closer to the screen. "You look tired."

"Yeah," he says, but there’s a weight to it. "About that… Look, I hate to do this—especially now—but the mission’s gotten a little more complicated. I’m going to be out here longer than I thought."

The words sink like stones in water. Your heart skips, then thuds painfully, and you feel the cheer of the room dim. "How much longer?" you ask, even though you can hear the answer coming in the hesitation on his face.

He looks away for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably won’t make it back by Christmas."

You sit back, the weight of it pressing on your chest. Christmas without Tony. It’s unthinkable, but the reality of it is staring you down through the screen. "Oh," you manage, your voice quieter than you’d like. "I—I mean, I get it. You’ve got to save the world and all."

"Y/N…" He leans closer, like he wishes he could reach through the screen. "I’m sorry. I know how much Christmas means to you. I tried to wrap things up in time, but it’s just not happening."

"It’s okay," you say automatically, though the lump in your throat betrays you. You don’t want to make him feel worse than he already does, but the idea of spending Christmas alone sends a pang through you. "I know it’s not your fault."

His face softens in a way that makes it harder, not easier. "You sure? Because if there’s anything I can—"

"No," you cut him off, forcing a smile you don’t quite feel. "No, really. I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?"

"I promise," he says, his voice low and steady. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You laugh, though it comes out more brittle than you intended. "Someone’s got to keep you humble."

"Keep the tree warm for me," he says, and his smile is back, even if it’s tinged with regret. "I’ll make it up to you, I swear."

"You better," you tease, though your voice cracks slightly. "I expect something shiny under that tree when you do."

"It’s a deal," he says, and for a moment, you just look at each other, neither of you wanting to end the call. Finally, he sighs. "I should go. But I’ll check in when I can. Love you, Y/N."

"Love you too, Tony." The call ends, and the screen goes dark, leaving you staring at your own reflection in the glass.

The house feels too quiet now. The music still plays, but it doesn’t seem as cheery. You sit for a moment, the roll of wrapping paper abandoned beside you. The ache of missing him settles in, but you shake your head, trying to push it aside. It’s not like you didn’t know this was part of loving Tony Stark. He’s Iron Man, after all. Saving the world comes with the territory.

Still, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.

You force yourself back to the task at hand, wrapping gifts with renewed determination. If Tony can’t be here, you’ll make the most of it anyway. You’ll put up the star, drink the eggnog, and watch the cheesy holiday movies you’d picked out for the two of you. He’d want you to enjoy it, even if he can’t be part of it.

The hours slip by, and the house fills with the quiet hum of your efforts. You finish wrapping the last gift, arrange them neatly under the tree, and light a candle that smells of peppermint. The ache in your chest lingers, but you try to focus on the little things, the things you can control.

Later, as you sit by the fire with a mug of cocoa, you let yourself daydream about what it’ll be like when Tony does come home. You picture him sweeping you up in one of his dramatic airport reunions, showering you with that over-the-top charm that only he can pull off. You’ll tell him how much you missed him, and he’ll tease you for being so sentimental, even though you know he missed you just as much. The thought brings a small smile to your lips.

The snow falls heavier outside, blanketing the world in white. You curl up under a blanket, watching the lights on the tree twinkle softly in the dim room. It’s not the Christmas you planned, but as you sit there, you remind yourself that loving Tony means taking the good with the bad. And no matter where he is, you know he’s thinking of you. That has to be enough—for now.

The week before Christmas is quieter than you expected it to be. The festive buzz around the city doesn’t reach you in the same way it usually does. The joy of decorating, baking, and planning feels hollow without Tony to share it with. You go through the motions, trying to keep yourself busy. Wrapping presents, watching Christmas movies, and even putting up the star on the tree—all of it feels muted. There’s no one to laugh with you when you drop half the sprinkles on the floor, or to playfully complain about the holiday music you insist on keeping on repeat.

You try not to let it get to you. Tony’s doing something important; you know that. You tell yourself that he wouldn’t be away unless it was absolutely necessary. But every time you see the empty space beside you on the couch or pass by the photo of the two of you laughing in front of last year’s Christmas tree, your chest tightens.

He calls when he can, though the timing is sporadic. It’s usually late at night when you’re bundled in pajamas, the house quiet around you. The grainy video calls are the highlight of your day, even if they’re brief. He always has that same soft smile when he sees you, the one that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

On one of those calls, a week before Christmas, you decide to bring it up. You’ve been holding onto the idea of sharing at least a small moment with him on Christmas. Even if he can’t be here, maybe a video call at midnight would be enough to close the distance.

"Hey," you say, trying to sound casual as you lean closer to the screen. "I was thinking… Since you can’t be back by Christmas, what if we video call at midnight? You know, to celebrate together in some way. It’s not the same, but… it’s something."

Tony’s face shifts, and the easy smile falters. There’s something guarded in his expression now, and you feel your stomach twist before he even says a word.

"Y/N," he starts, his tone careful, as if he’s trying to figure out how to soften the blow. "I was going to tell you… The mission’s entering a different phase. It’s more secure now—strictly off-grid. I won’t be able to call you anymore until it’s done."

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you just stare at the screen, trying to process what he’s saying. No calls. No texts. No way to hear his voice or see his face for who knows how long.

"Not at all?" you ask, your voice small and unsteady.

He shakes his head, guilt etched into every line of his face. "Not at all. It’s protocol—classified stuff. I hate it as much as you do, believe me."

You bite your lip, fighting the tears that are already threatening to fall. "So, that’s it? You’re just… gone until whenever this mission’s done?"

"Y/N," he says softly, leaning closer to the screen as if he can somehow reach you. "I don’t want this any more than you do. If I could, I’d drop everything and come home right now. But I can’t. And I hate that I’m leaving you alone during Christmas—especially Christmas."

You want to tell him it’s okay, that you understand. But the words stick in your throat. It doesn’t feel okay. Not at all. Christmas is supposed to be about togetherness, warmth, and love. And now the one person you want to share it with is being pulled away even further.

"I know you have to do this," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it feels like… like everything is just slipping away this year. First, you’re not here, and now I can’t even talk to you? It’s—it’s a lot, Tony."

He looks down, his jaw tightening, and when he speaks again, his voice is heavy with regret. "I know. And I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could make this easier for you—for us. But you have to know how much I love you, even if I can’t say it every day. That doesn’t change."

Your heart aches at his words. You know he means them, but it doesn’t stop the pain. Tears spill over despite your best efforts, and you quickly swipe at them, not wanting to break down completely in front of him. "I just miss you," you say, your voice cracking. "I miss you so much, and it’s hard knowing I won’t even have you for Christmas."

Tony’s face crumples, and for a moment, he looks as helpless as you feel. "I miss you too, more than I can put into words. And when I get back, I’m going to make this up to you, I swear."

"When?" you ask, though you know he doesn’t have an answer. The uncertainty stretches between you like a chasm.

"I don’t know," he admits quietly. "But as soon as I can. That’s a promise."

You nod, though it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s so much you want to say, but the words get caught somewhere between anger and sadness. Instead, you stare at him, memorizing every detail of his face—the way his eyes soften when they meet yours, the faint stubble on his jaw, the warmth in his gaze even now.

"I love you," you say finally, your voice trembling. "Even if it hurts right now."

"I love you too, Y/N," he says, his voice breaking just a little. "Always."

The call ends not long after, and as the screen goes dark, the silence of the house feels suffocating. You press your hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache that feels too big to contain.

Christmas is going to be harder than you imagined.

The house is quiet, almost too quiet for Christmas Eve. You sit curled up on the couch in your coziest pajamas, the flickering lights of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows around the room. A holiday movie plays in the background, but you haven’t been paying attention to it for the past hour. Your phone sits beside you on the coffee table, its screen dark, a constant reminder that there’s no call coming this time.

Your friends had called earlier, trying to coax you into joining them for a little Christmas Eve celebration. They’d promised laughter, food, and distraction from the heaviness that’s been weighing on you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go. The thought of smiling and pretending to be okay when your heart feels so heavy didn’t appeal to you.

Instead, you’d stayed home, trying to cling to the smallest fragments of holiday spirit. But it’s hard. The room feels too big, too empty without Tony. Midnight is only minutes away, and with every passing second, the ache in your chest deepens.

You glance at the clock—11:59. In one more minute, it’ll officially be Christmas, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like any other lonely night, only worse because it’s supposed to be magical. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over you, and you take a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry.

The clock ticks over to 12:00. Christmas. You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip hard to keep the tears at bay.

Suddenly, a knock echoes through the quiet house.

Your heart leaps, then immediately sinks. You tell yourself not to get your hopes up. It’s probably a neighbor or someone who got the wrong house. Still, you stand, your steps hesitant as you move toward the door.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

"Coming," you call, though your voice is barely above a whisper.

You unlock the door and pull it open, and the breath rushes out of you.

"Tony," you whisper, staring at him in disbelief.

There he is, standing on your snowy doorstep, looking tired and a little disheveled but very much alive. His hair is tousled, his jacket dusted with snow, and there’s a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

"Surprise," he says, his voice warm and full of relief.

For a moment, you can’t move. You just stare at him, your mind racing to catch up with what your eyes are seeing. Then, before you can stop yourself, you throw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you can.

"You’re here," you choke out, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "You’re actually here."

He wraps his arms around you just as tightly, burying his face in your hair. "I couldn’t stay away," he murmurs. "Not for Christmas. Not when I knew how much it meant to you."

Pulling back slightly, you look up at him, your eyes searching his face. "But the mission—you said you couldn’t call, and I thought—"

"I wrapped it up faster than expected," he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "I pulled a few strings, worked a little Stark magic. There was no way I was going to let you spend Christmas without me."

The tears you’ve been holding back all night finally spill over, but this time, they’re tears of relief. You laugh through them, shaking your head. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

"Oh, I have an idea," he says, his tone teasing but his eyes soft. "Because I missed you just as much."

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It’s warm and full of all the things neither of you can quite put into words.

When he pulls back, he glances past you at the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. "Looks like I made it just in time," he says, his smile widening.

"You did," you say, wiping at your cheeks. "You really did."

He steps inside, kicking the snow off his boots, and you close the door behind him. The room feels different now, brighter and warmer, like the Christmas magic you’ve been waiting for all season has finally arrived.

As he shrugs off his coat, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out a small box, holding it out to you with a grin. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d make it up to you. Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

You laugh, taking the box and opening it to reveal a delicate necklace with a tiny, shimmering star charm. Your breath catches, and you look up at him, your heart full to bursting.

"It’s perfect," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, pulling you into another hug. "You’re perfect," he murmurs.

For the first time all season, it finally feels like Christmas. And as you sit together by the tree, your heart full and his hand warm in yours, you know this is a moment you’ll never forget.

You curl up against Tony on the couch, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminating the room as the faint crackle of logs fills the air. His arms are wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wants to let go. For the first time in weeks, your heart feels light, the ache of missing him replaced by the steady comfort of his presence.

But there’s a lingering curiosity in the back of your mind, one that’s been nagging at you ever since he showed up at your door. You lean your head back to look at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

"Okay, spill," you say, narrowing your eyes playfully. "How did you really get here? Last I checked, your mission was supposed to be classified and impossible to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re here, but I know you, Tony. You don’t just pull strings. You rip them right out of the piano."

He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you as he shifts to meet your gaze. "You know me too well," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Fine, you want the truth? It’s a little embarrassing, but here goes."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "I’m all ears, Stark."

He takes a deep breath, his lips twitching into a smirk. "So, the team I was working with… Let’s just say they weren’t exactly operating at peak efficiency. A lot of standing around, too much red tape, and way too much talking about doing things instead of actually doing them. After about three days of that, I hit my limit."

You bite back a laugh, imagining Tony’s frustration. "Let me guess—you took matters into your own hands?"

"Of course I did," he says, grinning now. "I’m Tony Stark. I’m not built for inefficiency. I started doing my own research, cross-referencing every bit of intel we had, building my own models, running simulations. And guess what? Turns out, when you stop waiting for a committee to make a decision, you can actually get things done."

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. "You solved it, didn’t you?"

"Five days," he says, holding up a hand like it’s a trophy. "Five days, and I had the bad guy’s location, his entire operation mapped out, and a strategy to take him down. I handed the team my findings on a silver platter and told them to execute it while I booked it home."

"Unbelievable," you say, your laughter mixing with genuine admiration. "You’re a genius, you know that?"

"Yeah, but it’s nice to hear it from you," he quips, pulling you closer. "Although I’ll admit, my motivation wasn’t exactly pure."

"Let me guess—me?" you say, teasing but already knowing the answer.

"Of course you," he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. "I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here, alone, on Christmas. I know how much this time of year means to you, and the idea of missing it… missing you… It wasn’t an option. I had to make it happen."

Your heart swells, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and lingering. His hand slides to your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepens. The warmth of the fire blends with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself melting into him.

His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear that always sends shivers down your spine. His hand moves to your waist, fingers brushing against the edge of your shirt, and your breath catches.

"Tony," you murmur, your voice a mix of hesitation and longing.

"Hmm?" he replies against your skin, his voice low and teasing.

You pull back slightly, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. His eyes meet yours, darkened with desire but immediately softening when he notices the hesitation in your expression.

"Wait," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to give you your gift first."

He blinks, surprised, then sits back, tilting his head as he studies you. "My gift? I thought I already got it when you opened the door and let me in."

"Nice try," you say, laughing softly. "But no, this is something I’ve been working on for a while, and I’ve been dying to give it to you. Just… wait here, okay?"

He nods, his curiosity piqued. "You’ve got my full attention, sweetheart."

You climb off the couch and hurry to the bedroom, where you’d hidden the gift beneath a pile of blankets in the closet. It’s wrapped neatly in glossy red paper with a gold ribbon, and your heart races as you carry it back to the living room. This wasn’t just any gift; it was something you’d poured your heart into, something you hoped would show him how much he meant to you.

When you return, Tony’s eyes light up as he sees the package in your hands. He sits up straighter, reaching out as you hand it to him.

"Wow," he says, turning it over in his hands. "Fancy wrapping. Should I be worried about what’s inside?"

"Just open it," you say, settling back beside him and tucking your legs under you.

He tugs at the ribbon and carefully peels back the paper, revealing a sleek leather-bound book. He flips it open, his eyes scanning the pages, and you watch as his expression softens.

It’s a scrapbook, filled with photos, handwritten notes, and little mementos from your time together. There are snapshots of the two of you at galas, on lazy mornings in the kitchen, and on spontaneous road trips. You’d included ticket stubs from movies, pressed flowers from a trip to the countryside, and even a napkin with a doodle he’d once scribbled during a coffee date.

"Y/N," he says softly, his fingers brushing over a page where you’d written a heartfelt note about how much he meant to you. "This is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you shrug, trying to downplay the nerves bubbling inside you. "I just wanted you to have something that reminds you how much you’re loved. Especially when you’re off doing Iron Man things and we can’t talk. So, even if we’re apart, you’ll always have this."

He looks up at you, and the emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. "This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten," he says, his voice thick with sincerity. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

You smile, leaning against him as he pulls you into a hug. "I’m glad you like it," you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

"I love it," he says, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I love you."

"I love you too," you say, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

This time, the kiss is slow and sweet, a promise of everything you’ve shared and everything still to come. The fire crackles in the background, and the snow continues to fall outside, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the magic of Christmas.

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lovemadethemdoit · 1 year ago

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Hiii!! I have a prompt: The final mission but they don’t shake hands but actually kiss and confess their feelings.

No problem if you don’t want to do it or don’t feel like it or don’t have time for it, will gladly read anything you will write!❤️

Thank you for the prompt! Hope you enjoy. 🤗

Jake pulls off his helmet and presses his head back into the backseat, letting out a relieved laugh. He got there in time. Mav and Rooster — Bradley fucking Bradshaw –are safe, and back on deck in one piece. From where he’s still sitting in his own cockpit, he can see Bradley half hang out of the wrecked F-14. He and Mav are being crowded from all sides by what looks like the entire ship. He takes a deep breath and tries to brace himself for his own climb down the ladders. Jake’s heart hasn’t calmed down since he heard about Rooster’s E-SAT going live, and he needs a moment to get his shit together.

Bradley is alive.

Somehow that’s all that matters.

Their disagreements, the way they had hurt each other in the past, the way they both dug into where it hurt the other the most – it’s all irrelevant now. It’s all something they can work through, Bradley and him. Jake knows it with his whole being: This is the second chance he always ached for.

He isn’t going to let it pass by.

He pushes the button for the canopy and finds the eyes of his best friend down next to his jet. Javy’s the only one standing close, as he looks up at Jake with a wide grin and knowing eyes.

Jake makes his way down, his legs feeling like jelly. Javy pours his arms around him when he steps onto the tarmac. Jake gets embraced in the tightest hug he’s ever gottem, no words needed.

Javy pulls him along to join the celebrating crowd, everyone stepping to the side and opening a path for Jake to make it into the middle where the Daggers are celebrating and yelling to their hearts’ content.

They are all alive.

They somehow all made it back. It’s a miracle.

Bradley’s eyes meet his, and the ecstatic expression on his face transforms into a slow and wonderous smile.

Jake freezes in place and then it’s like they’re the only two people in this place. Everyone else falls into the background, gets tuned out.

Jake sees Bradley swallow, sweat sliding down from his hairline to dampen his flight suit. There are cuts there at his neck and Jake’s heart squeezes, a frown taking over, his fingers tingling with the need to check him over, feel him under his hands, alive and breathing.

Bradley shakes his head a little, drawing Jake’s eyes back up to his own.

He’s looking at Jake like he used to look at Jake.

With utter love. With his whole, entire focus on Jake.

Bradley takes the last couple of steps over to meet him where his feet seem to have grown roots. His hands find Jake’s hips, steadying him.

Their foreheads press close.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Bradley soothes him, voice quiet and rough, and Jake lets out a shuddering breath. Hearing the pet name fall from Bradley’s lips so easily makes his chest squeeze tight. He’s missed this, can’t even begin to imagine how he managed without it all these years.

He lifts his arms around Bradley’s shoulders.

It’s natural to lean up and kiss him. Their lips slide together. Jake’s breath is taken away for a moment. It’s like they never stopped doing this, like it’s instinct.

If they had enough sense they wouldn’t be doing this here, where everyone’s eyes are on them.

But that’s something they will deal with later.

For now, Jake threads his fingers into Bradley’s curls, angles his head where he wants it and licks deeper. Bradley lets him take control as they kiss and push into each other.

The crowd erupts around them and it may be about them, it may be something else.

They couldn’t care less at what’s happening around them, taking the time to assure each other of their aliveness. Of them, somehow, being worthy of another chance – both at life, and at the two of them.

Jake and Bradley.

“I love you, you absolute asshole,” Jake breathes against Bradley’s lips, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment at remembering the hour he sat in his jet, believing the love of his life to be dead.

Bradley chuckles fondly, cupping Jake’s cheek and waiting for Jake to open his eyes again. When he does, he finds Bradley looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world.

How could he be, when Bradley already is?

Jake is brought back down to earth at the thought. He realizes that Bradley’s shaking in his arms. How Jake is shaking, too.

He catches a glimpse of medics nearby and starts to pull back. Back to himself, Jake realizes they need to be checking Bradley over. Make sure that Bradley really is okay.

Bradley doesn’t let him get far though. Not before he presses the best words Jake’s heard in a decade against Jake’s lips. “I love you more.”

Jake shakes his head, smiling, eyes tearing up. “Shut up,” he says, sounding fond and exhausted. “You’re never gonna win that argument, Bradshaw.”

Brasley’s expression turns serious. “I’m going to try, Jake. Every day from now on.”

The words punch Jake square in the chest. He nods his okay and leans up for another kiss before he finally lets the medics do their job.

#hangster #sereshaw #writing #ltfirecracker

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shanastoryteller · 2 years ago

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Happy Pride! Can I get some trans content<3

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

He can’t be pregnant.

The curse mark on his arm tells him that he is living in this body on limited time. Eventually, he will die, the string keeping him inside Mo Xuanyu’s body snapping like a string and sending him back to wherever she summoned him from.

He’d let himself forget, a little. The body he inhabits is so different than the one he woke up in. He’s made her stronger, grown her golden core into a fearsome thing, worked and worked muscles until they swelled and hardened.

It had begun to feel like it belonged to him, liked he’d carved his body from Mo Xuanyu’s. The differences from his old body hadn’t felt important, and still don’t, it’s about how this is the body he worked for and made from the one given to him.

But Mo Xuanyu is dead and her body isn’t his to keep.

If he wants to have this baby, then he must betray Mo Xuanyu and her sacrifice. If he wants to bring Lan Zhan’s baby into the world, he cannot kill Jin Guangshan.

Completing the mission she retrieved him for will sever the connection and he will die again and so will the life he’s growing.

His only hope is that maybe, maybe the thread binding him here will hold long enough for him to both deliver this child and kill Jin Guangshan.

He looks from Jiang Yanli to Jiang Cheng, their fierceness and determination the closest he’s felt to home in a long time. He shouldn’t be letting them do this, shouldn’t be sinking into the comfort of their protectiveness when they think he’s someone he’s not, but he can’t help it. It makes him feel even sadder for Xuanyu, to think that they would have done this for her, if only she’d let them. Hadn’t Jiang Yanli reached out to him that very first day while he was a confused and terrified mess? And here she is now, offering to shield him from his husband, offering to help Mo Xuanyu choose her own path and either continue the pregnancy or have it end here.

He takes a deep breath, trying to stem the flow of his tears. Jiang Cheng’s hands on his shoulders feel like the only thing keeping him in place, like he’s pressing Wei Wuxian’s spirit into place in Xuanyu’s body.

He presses a hand against his stomach, thinking of the life shifting in his womb as the first lotuses that had sprouted from muddy mountainside. If he could grow flowers in the burial mounds, he can grow a child in a borrowed body.

But does he want to?

This isn’t what he’s here for. The best case scenario is that he leaves Lan Zhan behind to raise a child alone, the husband and child of the woman who murdered a clan leader. The worst case is he leaves Lan Zhan behind to mourn a wife and child and he dies without avenging the wrongs done against Mo Xuanyu. Or he can end this here, remove the potential child from the equation and kill Jin Guangshan as subtly as possible, something he has the time to arrange when he isn’t pushing his connection to this world to the brink. Then Lan Zhan will only be the widower rather than the husband of a murderer.

There are no good choices.

But he’s used to that.

He breathes in, holding it at the top of his lungs and letting out slowly.

A-Yuan had been the brightest light in the burial mounds. Anytime he wavered, aching for the life and the people he left behind, it wasn’t Wen Qing or Wen Ning of Granny who hardened his resolve once more, but A-Yuan.

He’d loved being a parent. He’d wished he really could grow siblings for A-Yuan like he’d grown turnips.

Wei Wuxian’s legacy is one of failure, of loss, of destruction. All those he tried to protect fell. All those he had protected turned against him. The last thing he will do on this earth is kill again, even if it is a man who has earned it.

He does not want to leave behind a legacy of only terrible things.

It could all end horribly. But he’s always been foolish enough to hope for better than he has.

He finally meets Jiang Cheng’s steady gaze.

“I’ll talk to Wangji.”

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #untamed

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star-crossed-fates · 23 days ago

Text

Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 14: They Only Hunger

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different from in-game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

Rain needles down in silver threads, stitching ghost-light across the skin of the city. Dark windows stare like black sockets, drinking in stars and blinking at nothing. Pavement gleams like oil-slicked obsidian, each footfall a wet slap.

Erratic metaflux scuttles along your spine, pulsing out of time with your body’s rhythm. It writhes like language never meant for flesh.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Nina insists beside you, dodging a puddle. “If the metaflux turns out to be a false alarm, we should at least get coffee out of this. Mission reward. Espresso-grade.”

“Great,” Casey mutters. “We’ll all die caffeinated.”

“I’ll take that over dying cold,” Leyra throws over her shoulder. “Or dying while listening to Casey complain.”

Bastien huffs a sound that might be laughter. You’re about to issue another order when you hear Ethan behind you, his steps adjusting just slightly to match yours.

You glance over. “What.”

His jaw works once before he says, “I wanted to talk to you. About… your boyfriend.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You glance forward, checking on the team’s spread. There are no gaps, and everyone’s moving well. Then you shift your weight and tilt your head toward him.

“Well?”

“I…” He frowns. “I don’t know. I just get a weird feeling around him. Something off. Before you say it, I know that sounds vague.”

“It is vague,” you murmur.

Ethan hesitates. “I think I’ve heard his voice before.”

That slows your steps. “What?”

“That night at the fundraiser, I heard his voice and—” He breaks off, brow furrowing. “It was like déjà vu.”

You’re about to press him—Where? When?—but you don’t get the chance.

The metaflux slams through your senses like a pulse of lightning, warping the space around it in waves of nausea and noise. Your Evol flares up in response, and your skin prickles like someone dumped static down your spine.

You snap to attention. “Positions—now.”

Nina’s already beside you, fists glowing faintly. Leyra and Casey fall back to cover Bastien’s side. Ethan, eyes wide but focused, lifts his sidearm and nods.

The breath before violence arrives is always the loudest.

The first one slithers from the fog like a wrong-shaped dog, hunched and stuttering, its limbs half-formed and lashing against the pavement like wet rope. It doesn’t scream, but the air around it howls, caught in the distortion of its body.

You raise your gun without hesitation and shoot it clean through the shoulder. It doesn’t drop, but it jerks, stutters sideways, and that’s enough for Nina to dart forward and finish the rest with a kinetic burst that snaps its bones like dry wood.

“Eyes up!” You shout, already pivoting.

Six of them now—low-tier, malformed, and twitching. One lunges from a side street, and you duck, roll, and fire twice into its chest. It collapses, twitching, but the burn in your shoulder tells you it nicked you first.

Ethan holds his ground like he’s supposed to, clearing your flank. Leyra goes down hard under a twisted Wanderer, but Bastien shouts, flares a heatwave from his palms, and burns it back enough to drag her free.

Nina crashes in, launching a ripple that hurls two of them into a wall so hard you hear concrete crack. You shoot another in the eye socket. It twitches once, then melts into a slurry of flux-stained sludge.

By the time the last one falls, your ribs ache where you took a blow. Bastien is limping badly. Nina is panting beside you.

You lean on your knees, spitting blood. Rain sheets over your back. “Status?”

“Still here,” Nina gasps. “Mostly.”

“Leyra’s not moving,” Bastien mutters. “I think she’s just out cold.”

“I’m out of suppressants,” Casey growls. “Burned my limiter on that last pull.”

The metaflux spikes again, and you spin. Looming between buildings, a humanoid silhouette crawls forward. Its joints bend wrong, and its skin looks like stitched leather. It moves fast for something that size. Bastien barely ducks in time, and the Wanderer’s hand slams through a brick wall, carving a crater where his head used to be.

“Draw it left!” You shout, syncing with Nina as fast as your Evol will let you. “Do not let it separate us!”

You feel her then, blazing through your nerves, kinetic force thrumming like a loaded spring. You jump, vaulting off a crumbling ledge, spin, and fire.

It barrels through Casey, sending him flying into a wrecked vehicle with a sickening clang.

You grit your teeth. “Hold—!”

“Anira!” Nina calls, charging her next strike. “Now or never!”

Her Evol screams through your body, your own pushing it up, up, until the whole street feels like it’s braced for impact. Nina drives her strike into the Wanderer’s chest with pure kinetic devastation.

It staggers, and you leap with it. Air whips past your ears as you soar, legs kicking free of the earth, sights aligned, your fingers slick on the grip. You fire—once, twice, thrice—and they hit. The neck. The inner shoulder. A strange glowing pocket near its sternum.

It howls and falls like a thundercrack against the concrete.

And that thud—

—it rips you backward.

In the inky suspense between time, falling becomes flight’s forgotten twin. The world swallows your momentum and spits out grief disguised as ground. Breath vanishes as if bartered away, and your teeth meet like flint sparking against fate. The air shouldn’t carry petals on its breath, and yet it does.

Always, the flowers return to the ruins.

You claw your way upright, yet the world refuses to settle. Reality sloshes sideways, and the world buckles, unsure where to place you. You sway, caught between two skies, neither one still.

Each blink is a betrayal. Sight hiccups forward, then back. Seconds snag, unravel, and re-stitch reality in crooked seams. The world slowly redraws itself in feverish strokes of colours that no longer know where they end or what they were meant to hold.

Where the earth still smokes, he lies crumpled in the crater’s heart, like a storm stilled mid-motion. His hair clings to his skin, and blood stencils heartbreak through the cracked terrain like wet calligraphy.

You sprint until the sky tilts, until your knees remember sorrow better than standing. Your legs give out, and you crawl, knees carving memories into the dirt. You reach him with hands not made for holding death, gathering what’s left of him into your arms. He’s still warm, but not in any way that means staying.

His blood does not spill—it sings, low and aching, like a dirge coaxed from bone. It threads down and pools in your palms as if it’s looking for a place to die.

You press your hands to the torn place in his chest like a child trying to mend a cracked sky. Your palms, altar-flat, beg the body to obey, to remember its shape, to forget the part where it broke open, to forget the unmaking already underway.

“Sylus? Sylus, please—”

His lashes twitch. A breath of movement. Eyes open, just enough to catch the scarlet radiance of a vanishing sun. Dim. Drifting. A star burning out behind glass.

“You have to get up,” you protest, your voice barely holding shape. You grab at him, desperate, as if motion could anchor him to this world. “Please—”

He stays folded into the earth. One hand rises, shaking. Not strong enough for anything but this. His fingers curve behind your neck, pulling you close, pressing a breathless kiss to your brow like a memory trying not to vanish.

You cradle him while his dying breath fans your forehead, and his heartbeat stills beneath your palms. In the hollow of after, you find yourself stranded, wondering how to hold absence. How do you keep a soul tethered to a world that no longer wants it? How do you catch a shadow before it vanishes into nothing?

“No. No. No—”

Your sobs unravel like torn ribbons of sound. You clutch him tighter as if anchoring a ghost, your body the last lighthouse in a sea that’s already swallowed him. Time distorts, slips sideways, as if the moment is trying to erase itself before you can scream loud enough to stop it.

Then the universe commits its final cruelty.

The shape of him loses conviction. Particles lift from him like ash caught in no wind, drifting. His skin loses texture. His bones forget their shape. The ridges of his spine that you know like scripture—gone, fading into a soft smear of dust across your stained palms.

“Stop.”

You trace his face like a star map with trembling hands, committing every shadow and curve to the cathedral of your mind. Already the cracks are blooming across his skin, and time—insatiable time—begins to peel him away from you.

“I’ve got you,” you lie, again and again.

You clutch harder. As if love were enough. As if you might will the cosmos into mercy. But he begins to dissolve anyway—first his fingertips, then the hollow of his throat, and the ridges of his cheekbone. You press your face to his before the last of him breaks apart, and for one aching second, you imagine you could follow him.

But the gods are not kind.

The universe has plucked him from your arms, but your body defies it. You hold fast to a warmth already evaporating, a heartbeat already stolen.

“The stars are still out, Sy. You promised you’d stay until they went dark,” you whisper into the hollow where his breath used to live.

You are still kneeling, though the ground beneath you is not earth anymore. It is memory. It is ash. It is all the moments that will never be. You do not rise. You fossilize. Desolation settles in your spine like wet cement, hardening with every breath you don’t want to take.

Time and fate, those elder architects, do not mourn what they dismantle. They bear no covenant with compassion, no ledger of remembrance. They do not pause to witness the wreckage, do not linger in the stillness they create.

You are left to mourn in a dialect the constellations do not understand, your heartbreak too human for the heavens to echo.

Because time does not stop. Fate does not break.

They only hunger.

You come back to yourself in the wreckage of sound, but not all at once. Your mind drags behind your body like a half-buried anchor. The Wanderer is staggered, and the depression where it landed still hemorrhages steam.

You’re on your knees, but you don’t remember falling. Your hands stay curled, icebound in the pose of trust, as if the fall never happened. His warmth lingers, sewn into your fingers, into your wrists, into the hollows of your arms.

Phantom weight. Phantom breath.

Somewhere, someone is shouting your name, but the voice is muffled. The world has stopped screaming, but something inside you still howls, caught in sorrow too deep to shed.

You still carry the sensation of his unmaking, how he sifted away between your fingers, too old for death, too sacred for survival. Shaking, you kneel, caught between one world where he died in your arms and this one, where you are still trying to remember how to stand.

Ethan’s hand is a flare in the dark; a breath, a plea, a summons. “Anira! Come back.”

You blink, and the rain scripts lines down your cheeks. Ethan is crouched beside you, bleeding from a split along his temple. He nods toward the crater.

The Wanderer is moving again. Its limbs crackle with fractured light, one arm dragging, molten dark leaking from the place your bullets found home.

Your body heaves upward as if rejecting its weight. Pain flares up your nerves in violet arcs, but your hands remember the ritual—up, brace, reload.

The team is scattered. Casey is limping. Bastien’s still throwing pulses of flame, but he’s flagging, one arm clutched to his side. Leyra still appears to be out cold. Nina is getting back on her feet.

You level your gun.

The Wanderer’s eyes find yours.

There’s no pause. No prayer. Only movement.

You run.

The ground slips under your boots, your balance off by a hair. The Wanderer lurches, maw fracturing wider with that awful rattling wail. A wrongness that hums across your teeth.

Nina draws its attention, flinging force in bursts. Her movements are precise, but slowing. You rise and zigzag, counting steps—five to the left flank, three for elevation, now. You vault a slab of broken scaffolding and take the high ground, breathing with the rhythm of the gun.

Aim. Fire. Shift. Fire again.

Bastien blasts its leg from below. Ethan lobs a concussive charge, and you feel the shockwave in your bones. Together, you stagger it.

Nina throws everything she has left into a kinetic burst and slams into its centre mass. It lurches back, off-balance.

The rain slashes sideways across your vision as you leap and soar, twisting midair, lining up the shot. You fire three rounds in tight succession—two to the softened core, one through a splintering joint behind its shoulder.

It crashes down with a sickening thud, and for a heartbeat, everything stills.

You hit the ground, roll, and land on your knees. Your fingers scrape gravel. Breath rasps in and out like rust through a sieve. Around you, no one speaks. The silence is fractured—panting, groaning, the hiss of dying behind you. You don’t turn yet. You’re watching your teammates.

Casey is upright, leaning on one knee. Bastien is limping toward Ethan. Nina sinks to the ground, chest heaving. You stumble to where Leyra is tucked away and check her pulse, relieved when you feel it flutter against your fingertips.

The edges of the moment ripple, not to memory’s tide, but to the rawness of now catching in your throat.

The aftermath.

You sit on a broken curb, elbows braced to your knees, head bowed low. The barrel of your weapon rests against your thigh, still warm. It should be enough to tether you.

It isn’t.

The wind brings with it a charred, metallic tang. You gag before the nausea catches you, eyes stinging. You don’t know if it’s the wounds, or the grief, or the way your breath keeps missing rhythm with your heartbeat.

You close your eyes, and it’s still there.

Sylus's body broken in your arms, his lips against your forehead. Memory doesn’t grip. It inhabits, blooming behind your sternum like roots fed on agony, twisting where your lungs once lived.

You watched him come undone in your hands—not broken, not lost, but unmade into stardust and silence.

Your fingers flex around nothing now, but your hands bear the bruises of remembrance. They remember the collapse, the impossible tension of trying to keep him from slipping into myth. They remember the tremor of no.

The warped, broken note your heart struck when his went still hums in your chest. Each beat a cracked whisper of his name, each silence a wound reopening.

Around you, voices murmur. Someone calls your name. Maybe Nina. Maybe not. You can’t lift your head yet.

The cosmos didn’t just steal him. They made you watch.

You press a hand to your chest like you can silence the ache, but it rattles loose again, scraping up your throat like a buried scream trying to crawl to the surface.

You could be born in a thousand skins, and still his absence would echo. The wound walks with you in each one, dressed in different shadows.

“I wasn’t ready,” you whisper, barely audible.

Not to remember.

Not to carry this. Not to lose him again.

Linkon folds in smeared greys and empty intersections, each turn sharper than it should be. You drive like the devil’s behind you. Or maybe inside you. Hard to tell tonight. You white-knuckle the wheel, gripping it not to steer, but to keep from being pulled into the dark between moments.

You cut toward the N109 Zone like a bullet looking for something solid to shatter against. The barrier flashes red, then gives up. Even the security AI doesn’t try to stop you tonight. The buildings get taller. Stranger. More shadows. Less people. You park like a criminal—diagonal, crooked, too close to the curb. The engine ticks as it cools.

You exhale, finally step out, and run.

The lobby slips by in a blur of polished floors and startled security bots. The elevator doors glide closed, and the silence cages you.

You pace.

Then stop.

Pace again, hands twitching at your sides, then gripping the railing, then running through your hair, then back to pacing. The doors haven’t even finished opening before you shove through the gap and nearly barrel into Kieran and Luke, both of whom were clearly not expecting a soggy tempest to come sprinting out of the lift.

Luke makes a sound between a yelp and a swear, dropping whatever snack he was holding. Kieran’s hand twitches toward the knife at his hip before recognition kicks in.

“Shit—Anira?” Luke blurts. “What the hell happened to you? You bleeding?”

“Yup!” you toss over your shoulder.

Luke scoffs. “That’s not…reassuring?”

“Sylus,” you snap, spinning on your heel. “Where is he?”

Kieran frowns. “Workshop.”

You take the stairs two at a time. Cold metal bites into your soles. Sharp turns, narrow landings. You slip once—catch yourself on the railing with a jolt that stings up your arm. You don’t slow down. Don’t breathe. Don’t let yourself think. The hallway down to the workshop stretches long and dim, lit by those soft gold strips Sylus likes—warm light, like dusk in a world that no longer remembers sun.

It should feel safe.

It doesn’t.

Your palm slams the access panel. The door hisses open, widening just enough for you to wedge yourself through.

“This is a nice surprise, kitten,” he drones with his back turned to you.

The room smells of smoke and solder. His hands are buried in the guts of a half-assembled mech.

“Sylus.” Your voice cracks over his name, frayed and soft and wrecked.

He turns, and his eyes snap to yours, then down. Soaking wet. Bleeding. Shivering. The way your shoulder slants like you’re hiding an injury. The flecks of ash still caught in your lashes.

“Anira—”

You fold into him mid-syllable, a collision of memory and flesh, holding him as if your bones remember the hour he turned to ash. He jolts under you for a breath. Then his arms close around you with the surety of someone who’s caught this fall before. His hand comes up instinctively, cradling the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-slicked hair. His other arm curls around your waist, firm and grounding.

Your cheek presses against his throat, skin cold to heat, and he feels how chilled you are. How hard you’re shaking.

“The stars were still out, Sy,” you murmur into the hollow of his throat, the words bruised and unfinished, as though some part of you is still watching him die.

His breath catches, and he stills for a heartbeat. Then his grip tightens, hand slipping to your back, pressing you in closer like you’ll dissolve if there’s space between you.

“I know,” he whispers, words catching in the gravel of his throat like regret too petrified to soften. “I’m sorry.”

You sag in his arms, all the fight bleeding out of you. Knees give just a little, but you don’t fall. One of his hands is already under your thigh, supporting you before you can hit the floor.

In the stillness that follows, you know he hears it too—the ache of a vow too old for language, a silence shaped like endings, and the breath caught between incarnations.

But beneath it, the certainty: not even oblivion could unweave the thread strung between your souls.

You close your eyes against the weight of it.

And in the dark behind your lids, you feel the stars watching.

Not with wonder.

But with grief.

Chapter Masterlist

A03 [Cross-posted]

Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76, @harmonyrae, @for-hearthand-home, @redseablooming, @morrigan87, @babyx91

#love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #dragon sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #sylus smut #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x oc #sylus x you #sylus qin

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krankittoeleven · 6 months ago

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AO3 Wrapped (author edition)

I was tagged by @softest-punk. Thank you so much friend, your output this year was stunning as always!

in chronological order, the fics i posted this year are:

we were hungry before (E, JJK, Nanago, slow burn, mutual pining, getting together)

i wish it were me inside your veins (T, JJK, Nanago, whump, hurt/comfort, curse effects/mission gone wrong)

what it tastes like (E, JJK, GetoNanaGo, pwp, getting together, somehow Gojo is the well behaved one?, WIP - UPDATE SOON!)

my life would suck without you (T, JJK, Nanago, feelings, emotional hurt/comfort, depressed!Nanami, angst with a happy ending)

just desserts (E, JJK, Nanago, pwp, humor, slightly feral Gojo)

that's how the light gets in (T, JJK, Nanago, humor, fluff, slice of life)

escape (the pineapple fic) (M, JJK, Nanago, Accidentally Stoned Gojo, humor, domestic bliss, marriage proposal only Nanago could pull off)

the sparking of the outlaw nanami kento by the right and honorable judge higuruma hiromi (M, JJK, Higunana, Cowboy AU, Judge!Higuruma, Outlaw!Nanami, WIP)

your heart that's a hole (E, JJK, GetoNana, GetoNanaGo kind of, cheating, toxic relationship, voyurism, jealous!Gojo, Baseball AU i guess lol)

and i'm feeling good (M, JJK, Higunana, flirting, first meeting, salaryman era Nanami)

nights in lonesome october (Various Ratings, JJK, NanaGo, jjktober ficlet collection that I didn't get far on but I want to finish)

committing to the bit (E, JJK, Getonana, beginning GetoNanaGo, fake relationship, getting together, College AU)

party favors (G, JJK, Nanago, slice of life, fluff, a silly ficlet to commemorate NanaGo reaching 3k fics on AO3)

*SECRET FINAL FIC* My last fic of the year is currently anonymous as it was written for a Secret Santa Exchange, when it is publicly revealed I'll add it here.

*****

Stats

Works Published : 14

Work Subscriptions: 253

Kudos: 3190

Comment Threads: 224

Bookmarks: 885

Word Count: 121,868

*****

top 3 fics (of all years) by kudos:

(544) we were hungry before (E, JJK, Nanago, slow burn, mutual pining, getting together, 2024)

(427) just desserts (E, JJK, Nanago, pwp, 2024)

(352) i wish it were me inside your veins (T, JJK, Nanago, whump, hurt/comfort, curse effects/mission gone wrong, 2024)

*****

top 3 fics (of all years) by word count:

(86,992) water of life (E, AC Valhalla, Ubba/Vili, emotional slow burn, getting together, hurt/comfort, incomplete but I swear I want to finish it, 2021)

(30,965) we were hungry before (E, JJK, Nanago, slow burn, mutual pining, getting together, 2024)

(21,811) but like a refugee (E, Trigun 98/TriMax, Vashwood, fix it, 2023)

*****

top 3 ships:

Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento

Geto Suguru/Nanami Kento

Geto Suguru/Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento

Yeah, that checks out LMAO

*****

top 5 tags:

Humor, Banter, Fluff, Kissing, Hurt/Comfort...............I can't believe fluff was one of my top tags this year...WHAT HAPPENED? LMAO

*****

Thank you everyone that read, commented, kudos'd and reblogged my stuff over the year. I've be having a blast going mental over NanaGo and JJK. *cries* Thanks especially to @brasideios for the awesome beta work they've been doing for me. Literally life changing advice!! Also thanks to @uchihaprodigy and @ftld42 for being awesome people who just let me fill their discord DMs full of inane fic and JJK rambling. LMAO

i will tag @brasideios @beelzebby666, @madnessmadness, @ftld42, @togaki-kun, @lifewtr, @arquiving, @hopethepope26 (seriously just had a meltdown cuz I forgot you aren't anixit here and I thought I was going insane LOL), @findusinaweek, @aeide, @satonthelotuspier, @kentozone, @loveleffie, @sukunaaaah and of course any writers that i missed. No pressure of course!

Also, I'm still working on the WIP ask meme, I haven't forgotten about the submissions that are left!!

#my writing #my fics #nanago #getonanago #higunana #getonana #jujutsu kaisen #year in review #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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lgcmanager · 8 months ago

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SIDE EVENT 022

a reminder on side-events; they are non-mandatory occasional events that your muse can choose to participate in or not. while missing an event might mean missing out on points, be aware that choosing to take part in it could have positive or negative consequences for your muse. there is also no telling which part of the event will have consequences either since they will be tailored to make it difficult to guess what could impact your muse. while the final consequences are decided at the same time as the event is created, we will only reveal them after the deadline. so choose wisely: are you willing to make a gamble with your muse?

** we are aware that HALLOWEEN can be a sensitive time for some. while making your threads and posts, please make sure to properly identify possible triggers at the top of your post. also, please refrain from posting an image that could be considered as a trigger straight on dash! you may link to it or put it under a read more if you desire, once again with all triggers tagged **

ET TU, ALICE?

the princes of mischiefs are back for this HALLOWEEK, but have decided to forgo hosting HELL WEEK this year. some might celebrate, while others might be disappointed to go yet another year without the threat of surprise prank being pulled on its unsuspecting target (a.k.a you). or perhaps this false sense of security might be a trap that DBSD members are just waiting for you to fall into. who knows?

but, certainly, not everything is all right at the company, as stickers of WHITE BUNNIES WITH CLOCKS have appeared at various places within the company. furthermore, anywhere they are, PLAYING CARDS are hidden neaby. and while all the cards are QUEENS OF HEARTS, instead of the usual drawing of a queen at the center, each card has any of the following words written on it: 'EAT ME', 'DRINK ME', 'TAKE ME' or 'OPEN ME'. maybe you should pick on up? again; who knows...

LEGACY ENTERTAINMENT HALLOWEEN PARTY

on the week of OCTOBER 14, every trainee and artist of the company received an invitation to LEGACY ENTERTAINMENT’S YEARLY COSTUMED HALLOWEEN PARTY. since halloween falls on a thursday, the event will be hosted on NOVEMBER 2. unless stated otherwise in missions posts, everyone’s schedule will be cleared from 12PM to leave time for preparations.

the festivities will begin around 8pm and end at 3am. servers will be passing through the venue during the entire evening with finger foods and non-alcoholic drinks. a dj will be in charge of music, while a host will hold different events during the night ( examples include a dance contest, noraebang battle, and more ) and will crown the person with the best costume!

every year, legacy is known to host the biggest marketing event on that one day. brands compete ferociously to be the one that the company chooses! this year, it’s none other than NINTENDO that won the bid. since the press, lgc staff and higher ups and nintendo representatives will also be present at this event, trainees, actors, models, and idols alike are reminded to have fun but still keep it professional! additionally, on the day of the party, every attendee will be invited to walk the CHALLENGER APPROACH CARPET to enter the venue and join of the FACTIONS once inside!

CHALLENGER APPROACH CARPET

the red carpet is slowly becoming a tradition of its own! NINTENDO decided to bring it back, but of course, with its own flavor! just like during the previous 2 years, professional photographers and 200 lucky legacy fans will get to see the trainees and artists arrivals in person! this time, each arrival will be marked by the famous horn blare of SUPER SMASH BROS' new challenger announcement.

while no challenge will need to be completed this year to gain access to the party proper, all attendees are REQUIRED to wear a costume from any NINTENDO FRANCHISE. with such restrictions, it is likely that characters might be picked more than once, as such, those who wish to costumize/put their own spin on a character are welcomed to do so ! princess peach in pink denim? why not !

( important note: only up to TWO people can arrive at the same time. pairs can be idols in the same permanent group; models and actors of the same gender; participants of a project that has happened/aired in the last 12 months (dramas, plays, lgs girls and lgc spring boys); and trainees of the same gender. )

FACTIONS

instead of the usual halloween decorations, this year, the venue will be full of colors, reflecting nintendo's image. in each corner of the venue, GAMING STATIONS have been set up for multiple people to play either solo, but preferably in groups. each corner has a set theme (and games); ANIMAL CROSSING, POKEMON, SUPER MARIO BROS and SUPER SMASH BROS.

while attendees are free to play at any of the stations (or none), everybody will be asked to pick one FACTION from the four franchises mentioned above before the end of the night !

( important note: up to TWO people can pair up for this activity, without gender or occupation restriction, however, make sure to keep it professional! it’s up to you if the two muses got assigned randomly or decided to do the task together ) REQUIREMENTS

CHALLENGER APPROACH CARPET: OPTION 1 make an edit of your muse’s halloween costume and aesthetics. OPTION 2 write a 200 word solo or headcanon about the costume picked by your muse, any alterations they have made and the reason they went for this costume. completing either option will grant you +4 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE and +6 NOTORIETY !

AND

ET TU, ALICE: write a 300+ word solo or 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread looking for cards and/or finding one (make sure to mention which card your muse got) for +10 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE and +4 NOTORIETY !

FACTIONS: write a 300+ word solo or 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) about anything happening during the party (make sure to mention which faction your muse picked) for +6 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE and +8 NOTORIETY !

make sure to tag all your threads with lgc:halloween2k24. to validate your skill points and collect your notoriety points, please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog before DECEMBER 7, 11:59PM EDT.

(pick the form accornding to the requirements you've completed)

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ HALLOWEEN 2K24 - CHALLENGER APPROACH CARPET: +4 ( skill points distribution ), + 6 notoriety [ LINK ] - ET TU, ALICE: +10 ( skill points distribution ), + 4 notoriety [ LINK ] - FACTION: (specify which faction your muse picked during the party)

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ HALLOWEEN 2K24 - CHALLENGER APPROACH CARPET: +4 ( skill points distribution ), + 6 notoriety [ LINK ] - FACTIONS: +6 ( skill points distribution ), + 8 notoriety [ LINK ] - CARD: (specify which card your muse found)

#lgc:halloween2k24 #lgc:event #lgc:q42024

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sshbpodcast · 6 days ago

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Discovery Season 2: Mystery boxes all the way down

By Ames

I was so proud of myself for writing up a wrap-up post for Discovery season one in which I tried to keep as objective and unbiased as possible. You can barely tell I’m not a big Discovery fan! This season, I don’t know if I can pull it off. Sure, there’s a lot to like about the sophomore season of Discovery, but dang y’all. There’s also just a lot. Period. It’s an overwhelming season if you’re trying to follow all the tangled plot threads and new characters that mostly get dropped and twist after twist after twist until I’m catatonic, propped up in front of the sensory overload of a season finale, muttering to myself and drooling.

But I said I was going to try to be objective and unbiased, especially since not all the A Star to Steer Her By hosts share my distaste with this very convoluted time-traveling plot. So like last time, instead of our normal top and bottom episodes (there are only 14 in total this time!), we’re going to discuss some highlights and lowlights from this Red Angel season. You can read on below or listen to our impassioned debate on the podcast (blast to timestamp 1:02:45 for the season chatter) to see if you, unlike me, can make any sense of this plot before you’re sent 900 years into the future.

Highlights

More science, less war!

If last season’s overall plot felt dark and bleak, this season does more embracing of exploration and science. This is a show called Discovery, after all; it’s nice to see them discovering things. Setting things up by investigating a scientific phenomenon certainly helped. The whole sphere story in “An Obol for Charon” is a great example of using the show to tell stories that feel like the kind of optimistic science fiction that people were really looking for and not finding in season one.

It’s also a breath of fresh air to see Starfleet officers being more ethical this time around. They immediately jump to help May’s people in “Saints of Imperfection,” a far cry from torturing tardigrades and calling prisoners animals a year ago. We’ve also got to praise “New Eden” for giving us that episodic Trek nostalgia of going on an away mission and objectively investigating a new culture, even if Michael was condescending the whole time.

Sonequa acts her ass off

This series threw everything and the kitchen sink at Sonequa Martin-Green and she rolled with it! Especially in the emotional roller coaster “The Red Angel,” in which she battles with the idea that she’s going to turn out to be the titular Red Angel, learns the truth about Project Daedalus from Leland, has to go through some absolutely bananas torture and death scenes, and then gets reunited with her mother absolutely out of nowhere (or out of the future, I guess). Does Michael cry too much throughout the season? Yeah maybe, but she just does it so well!

Pike is instantly likeable

Considering that Anson Mount was given the herculean task of portraying the legacy character Captain Christopher Pike, we were onboard from the first introduction. Pike has climbed to the top of a lot of people’s Best Captain lists because he is so charismatic, he treats his crew like people, he’s always cool as a cucumber (who else can pull off taglines like “Hit it”?), and his compassion is off the charts. When we see in “Through the Valley of Shadows” that Pike accepts the distressing fate we all know awaits him per “The Menagerie,” we can rest assured that this is a leader who will do what’s right for the good of the many.

Ethan Peck had some big ears to fill

Our other legacy characters in Spock and Number One were also handled pretty dang well. Especially Spock, who had the added constraint of skirting elements of the canon, sometimes with success and sometimes less so, as you’ll see in our Season Lowlights section. But Ethan Peck still nails Spock’s curiosity, reserve, and dual nature. The way his relationship with Michael develops throughout the season, from contentious and cruel to supportive and loving, was actually one of the better-paced elements of the back half of the season. And how damn pretty was he with that beard? I just wish he could nail the eyebrow.

Saru is still the GOAT

Our collective fave from season one is even more interesting in season two! Doug Jones is always a treat, and his acting in Saru’s near-death scene in “An Obol for Charon” is stunning. Even if you know they’re not about to kill off a main character, you forget for a minute that he has plot armor. And after his threat ganglia have fallen off, Saru’s character journey begins its new chapter. What was a character who used to be afraid of everything all the time and advocate much safer plans (usually running away!) is now a character who is learning to become more impulsive with a new perspective on how to perform on a team.

Unbury your gays

Another character who is learning a lot about his new self is Hugh Culber, who is back from the dead. The manner in which he comes back in “Saints of Imperfection” is absolutely ludicrous (I didn’t follow a word of the technobabble surrounding the spore cocoon thing), but we must admit that it was nice of the writers to undo the bury your gays trope that left a lot of people with a sour taste in their mouths. This opens up a lot of substantial character work for this doctor who, admittedly, had almost nothing to do in season one except die. Witnessing the scenes in which Wilson Cruz beautifully portrays Culber’s struggle with identity was phenomenal.

An engineer with a side of sass

We loved Jett Reno! Whenever an episode didn’t have Jett Reno, we were definitely asking, “Where’s Jett Reno?” There was not enough of Tig Notaro’s sarcastic yet brilliant engineer this season, but what we did get was a whole lot of fun. Unlike some of the comedy that comes out of various other characters, her jokes have the greatest tendency to work. She’s also just plain brilliant, able to keep her Hiawatha crewmates alive with duct tape and gumption. And you just can’t turn down more representation of LGBT characters in Trek! Happy Pride, y’all!

Amanda isn’t just a trad wife

Though we’ve seen little bits and pieces of Amanda Grayson over the years, it’s almost always been in service to either her husband Sarek or her son Spock. Getting more dimensions to this human among Vulcans colors in more of her character. She’s not content to just sit idly by while Spock is in danger, as we learn in “Light and Shadows” when she has him holed up in some caves to keep out of the hands of Starfleet or Section 31. Plus look how well dressed this wife of an ambassador is. Desperate Housewife she is not, but fashion icon she definitely is.

More Kelpiens = more good

We meet Saru’s sister Siranna in “The Sound of Thunder” and she’s immediately really cool. The whole Kelpien race fascinates me, and their relationship with their predator species introduces some interesting elements to the show. It allows Saru and Pike to debate the Prime Directive a bit, something we always love doing on this podcast. What else is the Federation around for if not to help oppressed people? And the Ba’ul’s whole drama queen vibe proves just so fun to watch, from their boggy design to their guttural language to the way they always know how to make an entrance.

The other bridge characters get something to do!

Okay, this one was a low bar, but last season we didn’t even clear it. The rest of the bridge crew were practically interchangeable, and if they had names, no one knew them. But now Joann Owosekun gets another trait in “New Eden” when we learn that she hails from a community of luddites (which is so interesting we wish it got explored more!). The little montage of people, including Owo and Detmer, writing farewell messages in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 1” also gives them some much needed characterization. And Airiam having to upload her individual memories to the cloud in “Project Daedalus” was practically Black Mirror levels of sci-fi… but we’ll get back to her later.

We get to make googoo eyes at the Enterprise

We gushed last season over the aesthetics of the Discovery, but when the Enterprise rolls in, we realize that’s what we really want. The uniforms are way better than the Discovery uniforms, coming in the bright departmental colors we’re all accustomed to from The Original Series. You can tell what division/rank everyone is more easily with the colors and the bars on the sleeves (when they remember to CG them in) instead of on the combadge, which was a damn mistake.

The ship itself is a loving update to the familiar design. We’ve talked up this version of the Enterprise before when we covered Starfleet vessels, but this one is definitely a highlight. The bridge is definitely an improvement over the Discovery’s giant, dark cavern of a set. When we see it in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 1,” we definitely find it more intimate and bright, though the colors and lights do make it feel like you’re inside a pinball machine.

Back to the future!

The choice to end the season by going to the future is commendable. Some could argue that’s where they should have started this whole show from the onset, but that may just be me. Prequels are just inherently hamstringing. The established canon can really limit your options; and conversely, breaking canon always results in alienating fans. So we’re looking forward to what options for creativity have opened up for our heroes 900 years forward. Having more advanced technology will make more sense. We’ll be able to explore more alien cultures without wondering why we’ve never met them before. The galaxy is their oyster. Yum yum.

—

Lowlights

1+1+2+1…

While I just praised this season for sending us into the future at the end, I struggled the hardest of any Trek to follow the rest of the time-traveling plot arc. Some of the confusion can probably be blamed on the switcheroo of showrunners that happened in the middle of things, which sure didn’t help. And due to the usual pacing issues of a lot of streaming television (Surf Dracula, anyone?), the episodes careen headlong to an ultimately exhausting ending. Everything is explained at breakneck speed so that you can’t think about it because if you do, you’ll be three scenes behind.

So… somehow seven red signals appear simultaneously despite being across many lightyears AND then again later for the Discovery to visit individually AND then again whenever the Red Angel appears? Somehow it’s all convenient and convoluted at the same time—which is the real magic of time travel! It’s both a bootstrap paradox and an alternate timeline at the same time!!

Who’s the biggest Mary Sue in Star Trek?

Michael Burnham gets a lot of flak for getting buffed into the Most Important Character in the Universe™, especially starting this season. One day we’ll have the debate on the podcast over who the biggest Mary Sue in Star Trek is (my money’s on Sisko or Spock), but the writers aren’t doing Burnham many favors when time and time again everyone gushes about how important she is.

Regardless of if you think Burnham’s a Mary Sue or not, her crewmates sure act like she is! In “Project Daedalus” Airiam tells us Michael is at the center of all this; Spock and Michael decide she’s the lynchpin in “The Red Angel”; Control inexplicably lures Michael specifically to the derelict Section 31 ship because she’s so vital in “Through the Valley of Shadows”; and Spock basically praises Michael as the messiah all throughout the two parts of “Such Sweet Sorrow.” Even when we learn that the Red Angel is Gabrielle Burnham in “Perpetual Infinity,” somehow Michael is still the better Red Angel because she saves the day so miraculously that even the wormhole aliens would find it contrived.

“Make it look like a movie”

I said this last season too and I could pretty much cut and paste the same lesson here: less is more. The aspect ratio this season has even widened from 2:1 to 2.39:1 to make it look more like a movie. But why? Not only are all the camera tricks dizzying and distracting, but it seems like every piece of tech this season is a transformer. The floor corkscrews down to a lower level. The asteroid catcher unfolds like CGI origami. We see the unfathomable turbolift netherspace. The characters’ spacesuits just appear on them. All that’s in “Brother” alone! And where the hell did the Jacob’s Ladder’ing shaft, the thousands of shuttles and drones, and the DOT-7 repair droids we see in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 2” come from??? It’s all such overkill just to make the series look cinematic when Trekkies are usually perfectly fine accepting an obvious sound stage like in TOS’s “The Empath.”

Tilly regressed into a manic Sonia Gomez

Remember how last season we praised Tilly’s subtle character growth? Well, this season the writers forgot about that and decided they needed to establish in every single one of her appearances that she’s manic and awkward and babbling, even when she’s not even central to the scene! She ham-fistendly injects herself into conversations, disrupting the flow of scenes, and generally getting on our nerves. They had the perfect opportunity to help her character develop by being in the command training program, but then that idea went nowhere and seemed to get dropped in favor of her delivering goofy one-liners all the time.

Wakka wakka!

Tilly isn’t the only one delivering lots of dorky one-liners. There are so many cringey jokes this season! From Tilly’s “This is the power of math, people!” to Spock’s “I like science,” to Burnham and Spock’s “Hamlet, hell yeah,” the quippiness of the dialogue does not land. Possibly the absolute worst offender is Nhan’s “Yum yum” in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 2,” which sounds like something a novice writer would put in a YA novel with an entire lack of subtlety and nuance. Each line sticks out like so many sore thumbs.

Linus, for that matter, is introduced solely to be a joke. When we meet him in “Brother,” it really feels like Discovery’s reaction to The Orville getting more attention in some Star Trek circles at the time. This funny alien lizard sneezing on the Mean Guy™ could literally have been a joke from the Seth MacFarlane–driven comedy show; like, seriously, cover your mouth, asshole!

And then Georgiou turns up out of nowhere just to be a quip machine. Like Tilly, she’s required to have at least one sardonic retort in every scene she’s in to underline that she’s evil. Which reminds me…

The depraved bisexual trope

One of the most awkwardly acted scenes in the whole season is the one in which Emperor Georgiou is teasing Stamets and Culber mercilessly in “The Red Angel.” “Don’t be so binary,” she taunts. “In my universe, he was pansexual and we had DEFCON-level fun together. And you, too, Papi.” It's so cringey and the actors don’t seem to know how to deliver it. At this point, the only bisexual characters we’ve really established in Trek (other than the Trill, which are their own things) are villains from the mirror universe using their sexual orientation to depict how evil they are (there’s a whole tv trope about it), especially compared to their straight, respectable prime-universe counterparts. What a strangely regressive depiction for Trek to include in 2019.

The magical disabled person trope

You know what else comes across as kind of gross and unprogressive (and also has its own tv tropes page)? Using Spock’s disability as a magical power. Spock having l’tak terai is fine on its own, and can even serve as solid representation to include and accommodate characters with learning disabilities, but then we find out that his Vulcan dyslexia was established only to advance the plot. Making a disability into a magic power is pretty often looked upon disparagingly by the disabled community, who would rather just be allowed to exist as they are. We’ll never see Spock’s l’tak terai come up again; it only existed to get them out of a problem.

Did we really need the Talosians?

Here’s another element that only exists to get the crew out of a problem. The Talosians in “If Memory Serves” were only there for one reason: to magically advance the plot. Scratch that. Two reasons: to magically advance the plot AND to make the fans wank because they recognized a thing. And wank they did! This is a generally positively reviewed episode because people liked seeing the Talosians, but we really wondered why they were here other than as a reference. They magically solve the problem and advance the plot, but they don’t earn it. They aren’t characters; they’re member berries.

Airiam, we hardly knew ye

Speaking of things that aren’t earned: Airiam’s whole sacrifice episode. Anyone familiar with television could tell once they started filling in her backstory in “Project Daedalus” that meant they were going to kill her off by the end (another tv trope!). And it’s such a crying shame because her backstory is so good! The idea of her surviving a horrible accident by being installed into a cyborg body is damn cool! Her uploading memories to the cloud, as mentioned above, is excellent sci-fi! And her death scene is fucking stunning! But when I should be feeling devastated at the loss of a beloved character, I only feel rage that we didn’t get ANYTHING before this episode to get to know her. How hard would that have been???

Everything’s a soap opera

So many decisions are for the sake of drama this season of Trek. The whole Klingon soap opera in “Point of Light” feels absolutely unnecessary to us. Excise that whole episode and you’re not missing anything because we’re absolutely done with Klingons after last season. Relatedly, there’s exactly no reason why Tenavik has to be L’Rell and Tyler’s kid in “Through the Valley of Shadows.” It doesn’t pay off in any way. Cut it.

The only consequence from the Klingon plot that has bearing on the rest of the season is that Ash Tyler leaves Qo’noS to join Section 31, which is all too convenient. And then he’s only stationed on the Discovery to add drama to any scenes with Stamets and Culber and to remind us that he and Michael like to smooch despite having no chemistry. Cut it.

And then the Klingons show up in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 2” with the Kelpiens somehow, just so Saru and Siranna can say goodbye? Contrived. Laughable. Cut it.

In non-Klingon drama, the reveal during “If Memory Serves” of what Burnham did to Spock as a child was a massive letdown. The show had been building up to this giant revelation all season because it takes forever to find Spock, and then when we finally find him, we learn that Michael just pulled a Harry and the Hendersons on him and then neither of them talked for, what, twenty-five years? Cut! It!

Optional materials aren’t optional

I really liked the Short Treks episodes that precluded this season. They were nice to exist as little stories in their own bubbles. And then they turned out to tie directly into this season, and I’ve got to be honest: I liked them a little less! “The Sound of Thunder” needed a whole recap of “The Brightest Star” to provide the context for the Kelpiens’ relationship with the Ba’ul. If you didn’t see or have access to that Short Trek, then at least the episode mostly filled you in, but you wouldn’t have the full picture.

Even more blatant was bringing in Queen Po in “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 1.” They write away who she is in a rapidly spoken Tilly-babbling line, but there’s absolutely no context if you missed “Runaway.” People were asking online after the Discovery episode if they were supposed to know who this character was because her inclusion was reliant on you seeing the Short Trek AND they don’t explain it.

For that matter, I’m curious how much sense “If Memory Serves” makes for fans not familiar with “The Menagerie.” It makes me wonder who this show is for if it’s inaccessible to new viewers. Shrug.

Once more for the neckbeards in the back

Finally, there was just too much from this season that was obviously in response to fan rage from season one. I already mentioned that Linus is just a joke from The Orville. We also see hack writing like introducing Connolly in “Brother” specifically to kill him off as if it’s a statement to the fans about bad-faith criticism or something. Guys, never respond to internet trolls.

For some reason, the writers also decided to retcon some of things that fans complained about. Pike is adamantly anti-hologram because by the time we get to TOS there isn’t holocommunication anymore even though this show had it. The Klingons grow their hair back out with the pathetic cover line that they shave their heads during times of war—something we’ve never seen before—but people hated the Klingon redesign so much they fixed it. And finally, it’s just so ham-fisted that “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 2” needs to spell out that we’ll never speak of the Discovery, the spore drive, and Michael Burnham again and that’s why none of the other series mention them! These writers buckled like the neck of the Klingon Sarcophagus ship and it shows.

—

Okay, I was definitely less charitable this time, but you can see where I got hung up quite a lot. We look forward to seeing if next season’s jump to the future fares any better for our Discovery watch through, which you can follow along with on SoundCloud (or wherever you like listening to podcasts), and make sure you’re following along with this blog for more Tilly babble. You can also share your Red Angel conspiracy theories with us on Facebook and Bluesky, and remember: if it’s got a page on tv tropes, you probably shouldn’t do it.

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