#how many times will people outgrow me

[randomshyperson]

As It Was (Part 2) - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Once the truth is out, will you be able to forget and forgive the past, or the weight of choices be heavier than the feelings you and Wanda never learned to outgrow? | The Second Part is more based on "Satellite" than "As It Was" tbh. | Part One

Warnings: angst(ish) with happy ending, milf!Wanda, age gap, ex-lovers meeting again, witchcraft lore, some making out but nothing explicit in this part | Words: 6.552k

A/N-> At the request of many, I managed to write a sequel to that one "As It Was". It was much longer than I expected, but I managed to write things that I hadn't done before, so the result pleased me. Forgive me for the lack of smut, it ended up not fitting within the context and rhythm of the story, but there is the possibility of specials. I hope you all enjoy your reading.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

It occurs to her that you are distant.

Physically speaking, it's quite evident - Wanda hasn't seen you for five days. Not even on her secret getaways from family dinners, school reunions, or anything typical of an American suburban mom's routine so perfectly set up for herself, brings you back. You don't visit her on any of the days that follow, not for lunches or late afternoons, nor do you send either quick or long messages made up of intense declarations that always shake her with all the emotions she might have.

Wanda has no idea where you are, and the lack of control over the situation almost suffocates her. 

But there is something new that occupies her enough not to take action on it. Or rather, someone new.

It's true that time passes differently in Westview. The leaves are starting to turn orange when Pietro Maximoff arrives on her balcony. Wanda is trying to find her footing with so many ghosts from the past coming back at once and she has to admit that her twin brother's presence impacts her enough for her not to escape her house and family in an attempt to find out if you were still in the same motel where she left you in the early hours of one morning almost a week ago.

Wanda tries to focus on the good things in life; she has the family she always dreamed about, complete at last. A husband, children, and even her long-missed brother. She has friends and a house. She should feel happy and fulfilled, or so she tries to convince herself while she tries to ignore the not-so-easy feeling in her chest when she lies next to Vision at night.

He doesn't mind that she's distant herself. Sometimes, Wanda thinks he doesn't even notice. Maybe it's her will, playing with everything around her and ensuring she's not disturbed. In fact, Vision has stopped noticing many things since the last heated argument they had, on the same night that Pietro reappeared. He's just as distant as she is as if he has a whole life going on outside those walls. Wanda could say the same.

She falls asleep with difficulty, and it’s one of those nightmare nights once more. 

When she opens her eyes, she knows she’s still dreaming.

Nevertheless, she allows herself to fall into that fantasy with peace of mind.

The atmosphere is familiar, and the smells and sensations too. Wanda remembers well how things were before Hydra, and before the outbreak of civil war in her country. In the few years of tranquillity at the end of her adolescence, where the revolution group was almost a pastime for irritated young people, for a moment, she could imagine herself as nothing more than a schoolgirl.

Of course, the war would get worse, and almost the entire group of her former colleagues would leave the universities to occupy the streets, but in the safety of the dream, none of this would happen.

Wanda could leave the soft bed and follow the smell of food. She knew she would find you in the kitchen, moving your hips softly to a gentle melody because this was a memory Wanda had never learned to erase.

Her voice came out raspier than she expected once she tried to call your name. But luckily, you were distracted enough by the food to notice the tears welling up in her eyes. After a whole week without hearing from you, she truly believes she lost you once more.

But in this dream, things were saved. Your hands just continued to separate the mixture. “Morning, krasotka (gorgeous). Sit down, there's coffee on the table."

Wanda swallowed, controlling her temper. She watched your back for a moment, trying to memorize every feature of that appearance in case this was the last time and she wouldn’t have another chance before that fantasy ended.

When she didn't sit down you looked at her, offering her an easy smile from a face marked with flour and youthfulness.

"What's wrong, Wanda?"

She moves instead of answering, determined steps until she reaches you at the counter. Your confused eyes close as Wanda, who has just grabbed your belt, pulls you close and kisses you firmly.

It takes you by surprise, but you respond without hesitation. The position isn't ideal, but you kiss her eagerly, as breathless as she is once she breaks the act. Wanda's tight grip around you makes you chuckle softly.

"Hey, Pietro will wake up soon." You warned in the same casual tone, rubbing your nose against hers. "He'll kill me if he finds out about us like this..." Your mouth pecks down her jaw to her neck. 

Wanda giggles tearfully. She had forgotten about that. The teenage fear of telling her protective twin about you. Thinking back at how obvious you two were, she was sure that Pietro knew. To be fair, anyone could notice the way you looked at each other.

You tried to pull away, but Wanda didn't allow it. A sigh escaped your lips, which formed a mischievous smile.

"Behave yourself, Wanda." You warned softly, but she raised her hand to your cheek, the touch surprising you a little. Your curious expression didn't intimidate her.

"Where are you?" She questioned and curiosity gave way to confusion.

"Here, dorogoya, what do you mean-" But green irises turned red, and the confusion vanished once your eyes reflected her magic as well. Your shoulders tensed, and you sighed as if you were tired. 

You tried to pull away and this time, Wanda allowed you to. Your hands reached for a cloth, and the flour from her favorite pastry that you had prepared for her in that memory was leisurely wiped from your skin.

When you sighed again, more calmly you were leaning on the counter, with your arms crossed and your gaze distant.

"That's different." That was the first thing you said, with a small smile at the corner of your lips. Wanda swallowed, pushing her emotions down. She looked in the same direction as you next. "The sofa was dark blue, not brown."

"Some things..." She cleared her throat, trying to hide the urge to cry. "We remember it differently. Some things, they're just... different."

You hum thoughtfully, shrugging. "Yeah, like ourselves."

Wanda fiddles with her fingers. "Y/N..."

"I wasn't afraid to tell Pietro." You cut her off with no emotion in your voice, but seriousness in your gaze. "You were. I was always ready to shout out to the world that I loved you, but you were terrified of his reaction. Why did you change that?"

"I didn't." Wanda fights back immediately, defensive. You look away with a dry laugh, and she sighs. "I didn't do it on purpose. I... It's only been a long time, Y/N. It's hard to remember exactly what it was like."

"I heard that grief changes things." You retort more softly, and Wanda is sure she's going to start crying. She hugs her own body, and you sigh. "When..."

"No." She cuts you off, her voice breaking. "Why can't you just give me this day? This memory? Just... stay here. Let me live it again." She practically begs, but you don’t flinch, stepping away for the kitchen counter to move closer.

Your hands hold her arms, and your gaze makes something in her spark.

"Don't you think you deserve more than a fantasy, Wanda?"

She chuckles tearfully because this has to be a joke. 

"And what choice do I have?" she retorts, tears running down her cheeks. Wanda doesn't have the opportunity to wipe them away, you do so almost immediately. Your instinct is as quick as hers to lean into your touch. "God, there isn't... a day that I haven't missed this. Us."

You smile tenderly at her confession, and Wanda closes her eyes for a moment. She’s just enjoying the feeling while you wait. It takes another sigh for her to ask: "Where are you?"

Being asked again doesn't surprise you. You caress her cheek, and your other hand entwines around her waist.

"It doesn't matter."

She sighs impatiently. "Of course, it matters!" She insists. "I want-I need to see you." She corrects herself and you frown slightly. Wanda lets her hands grasp the collar of your blouse, and her red eyes are almost desperate in yours. "Tell me. Please. Where-"

You kiss her, hard enough for the protest to turn into a needy moan. The hand around her entwines her completely to lift her onto the counter, and Wanda melts. She kisses you as she manages, almost overwhelmed by the longing she has felt over the last few days for the sensation of your lips again.

When you part, she's tingly all over, but your hands don't go beyond her clothes. Your affected breath hits her cheek before you look at her again.

"I remembered."

Wanda almost breaks down in a sob but she manages to keep her emotions around her border. With a sniffle, she guides pleading eyes to yours. Her legs tighten around your waist as if she fears your escape.

"Please stay with me." It comes in a whisper.

You chuckle and Wanda can feel her cheeks burning, her heart breaking. She fears your answer more than she's ever feared anything else in her life.

"You don't understand, Wanda." That's what you say, pulling away and grabbing her hands. Before she can despair, imagining that you were pushing her away, your hands entwined with hers, your eyes tender and intense. "Tell me what you remember."

She looks at you with confusion before denying it with her head. "I don't like... thinking about that day."

"I know, but I need to talk about it." You say, kissing her hands for a moment. "I'm not a memory, Wanda. I'm here. I really am here."

But she shakes her head, her shoulders tensing and her breathing going out of rhythm. "My mind is playing tricks on me... First you, and now Pietro. None of it makes sense. The only thing I know is that I don't want to lose you again. Please don't leave me again."

She doesn't even realize she's started crying. You hug her, trying to calm her down with pats on her back as she wets her shirt. 

Wanda clings to you as if you're going to disappear, but you stay there until the tears dry.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." You whisper. "Never again, Wanda. I can't change what happened to Pietro, but I'm staying. Screw the consequences, I'll never leave you alone again."

She looks at you with confusion, wiping her wet face with the hem of her blouse. " What consequences- what you talking about?"

But you smile, kissing her cheek quickly. "It's time to wake up, my love. Meet me when you're ready to leave. I'm waiting outside for you."

Wanda tries to grab you by the blouse, but she wakes up in a jolt. Vision complains low in bed so that she stops making so much noise and Wanda hides her tears in her pillow.

She dares to try to search for your presence around the house, every floor, every room but all there is is Vision and her twins.

Her mind is playing tricks on her. A stupid dream just to try to break the perfect life she has now.

She goes back to sleep and makes sure that she won’t dream of anything else.

-&-

It's not the ideal place or your favorite setting, nor does it have the best food, but the dinner is the closest outside the Hex that you could find, so it's enough.

The back table becomes the mystery traveler's spot (that's how you hear the waitress and some truck drivers refer to you) for the next few days.

It takes almost two for Agatha to show up.

"You're late, witch." That's how you greet her, outside in the parking lot. The cigarette is hanging unlit from your lips, and Agatha snatches it from your mouth before you have a chance to light it. Your relaxed posture breaks, and she hits you over the head with a slap.

"Insolent child! Irresponsible! Arrogant-" You let her hit three more, they don't hurt, and it's good for her anger. The next time she's about to swear at you for something else, you hit her first. 

"Get a grip, you grumpy old woman." You snap. " Don't cause a scene, huh?"

Agatha raises a finger in warning, her eyes blazing with fury before she walks away with an annoyed grunt. 

"You're unbelievable." She retorts, taking up your personal space again. She pulls a box of cigarettes out of your leather jacket pocket and takes one for herself. You roll your eyes but watch her light one, and blow the smoke away. Agatha keeps muttering to herself “Challeging a direct order; what will the council say? In the worst scenario, they will know I helped you and I’m done. This little shit…”

You adjust your posture to lean on one of the parking lot irons, your hands in your jacket pockets. You pull the witch out of her complaints with a question:

"What's the matter with you anyway?"

Agatha chuckles dryly, the cigarette between her fingers. "Your girlfriend."

Your posture doesn't change, but the glint in your eyes is almost sinister. "Watch your next words carefully, Miss Harkness."

It's her turn to laugh dryly and take another drag before turning her face toward you. "What is with little show you put on anyway? Standing guard outside, waiting for Rapunzel to leave her tower?" Her teasing only makes you chuckle. Agatha sighs impatiently. "You laugh now, but the whole place is surrounded. If that crazy witch ends up getting shot, I won't sell you any spells to fix it."

You roll your eyes, snatching the cigarette from her fingers. "Stop talking shit, Agatha." You retort. "There are no agents inside, I kept my part of the deal. Now, if the whole thing's still on, it's you who's not doing yours."

Agatha clenches her jaw, looking at you angrily. You just flick the cigarette, and she rolls her eyes.

"I've had unforeseen difficulties."

"Right." You laugh. "You're getting soft, that's for sure."

The cigarette flies out of your hand with her hard slap. You snort in annoyance, but Agatha is busy pulling something out of her purple suit, back now that she's out of the Hex. It's an old piece of paper that she presses hard against your hand.

"Do as written, it will be irrevocable. He'll be forced to show up." She guides between her teeth. "I doubt Mephisto will explain, but just getting his presence should do some good. And don't talk about me. I still need a big job to get back on his good side."

There's something like gratitude in your gaze, and Agatha waves you away, turning her attention to the barrier not invisible to magical eyes a few meters from dinner while you tuck the paper safely away in your pocket.

"I'm going to end all this crap today, Y/N." She declares, and you look up immediately. "Are you sure you won't-"

"No." You cut in, forcing a smile. "I'd just be getting in the way. Either side, I suppose. Wanda thinks I died, and well, I have no idea how to break the whole story to her. 'Hey baby, you thought I died but I kind of sold my soul to keep you and your brother alive. When that didn't work out for him, I ran away for fear of fucking up your life too, but whatever your magic rank, it's high enough to summon one of Mephisto's riders against his will. Any chance you would want to date me again?'”

Agatha laughs softly at the statement, shaking her head. "Don't forget the part where you're helping a witch take down her little fantasy town."

You grunt slightly. "In gratitude for my memories, only. You're a tricky merchant, Miss Harkness."

The woman chuckles, shrugging. Before she can walk away, you clear your throat and Agatha looks at you curiously. "Anything else?"

"Our arrangement, don't forget." You retort. "You won't do anything against her, or the boys."

Just to torment you, she raises an eyebrow. "No request for her husband's safety?"

You snort, rolling your eyes. "He's already dead." You grumble, and Agatha laughs darkly.

"Until recently, you were too."

"I wasn't really!" You retort indignantly, but Agatha is already turning and waving goodbye.

Alone in the parking lot, you feel the weight of the summoning spell in your pocket. Your boss would have to listen to you at some point.

-&-

Being betrayed by what seemed to be her only real friend for some time felt like a punishment.

Well, maybe it was karma. For what she was doing to Vis, and by God, to all those people trapped and subjugated to her wills, fears, and desires. But Wanda wasn't to blame, or at least, she wasn't ready to take on any of it. There was only emptiness at first, and then there was contentment. Crude and meager, but there. Her peace was as superficial as the magical fantasy surrounding her, and it didn't take long for the fear to creep back in; until finally, she was confronted with the reality of what she and her brother had never been able to accept in their youth: there is no magic formula to fix things. Just as Hydra didn't save Sokovia and cost her her twin, her magic didn't fix her grief but made it even worse.

Wanda would have to say goodbye to her children, and for this kind of pain, she had never been prepared.

Agatha seemed to take some amusement from her agony; a lot of ironic jokes as she searched through her memories. But even centuries of experience didn't rid the witch of her innate arrogance, and just as the Black Widow had once taught her, Wanda saw the opportunity to exploit her opponent's weakness.

The victory was not that satisfying, even if Wanda felt more powerful than ever. 

And Agatha, in a last desperate act, said the name of the one person who would make Wanda hesitate.

With her fingers still in the air, the redhead narrowed her eyes at the witch lying on the ground, powerless and frightened.

"I know you're bluffing."

"I swear I’m not!" Agatha assured hurriedly. "I'll take you to her. I can-"

"She was one of your tricks, then? It's as cheap and cruel as using my brother, Agatha." Cut the redhead off coldly, but the witch held up her hand, asking for time.

"Wanda, by the wizard oath." She insisted, letting out a laugh exhausted by the effort of the fight. "She was one of your tricks, not mine. You summoned her to this place."

Wanda nodded, sniffling a little. "Stop lying! I know she's dead."

Agatha shook her head. "She's not! Let me go, I promise I'll take you to her."

Wanda hesitated, in her gaze, in her posture, in her heart. Agatha continued to insist, and she looked back at her family waiting for her and all those agents around.

She turned to Agatha, who fell silent when her hand was raised again.

"I'll say goodbye first. And I swear if I find that you’re trying to trick me again-"

"I know." Agatha cut in, forcing a smile. "I promise." 

That seemed true enough to Wanda, and Agatha's determined look convinced her. She sighed and nodded, then turned away to hug her children, who were already running towards her. A mask of happiness, despite the heartbreak, stamped her face.

When it was all over, Wanda was physically and emotionally exhausted. She said goodbye to Agent Monica too, realizing bitterly that perhaps that woman was the only real friend she had made since Natasha and that she would have to lose her now too. 

And as she crossed the city limits, she assumed that Agatha had taken the opportunity to escape, and came to the conclusion that she didn't care about that at all. Something inside her broke the minute she had to put her children to bed for the last time. No silly rivalry could really bother her. 

"Look alive, Maximoff." The joke was unwelcome, but Agatha didn't mind. Nor did she get out of the parked vehicle.

"Have you ever heard of magic portals? Or, I don't know, flying?" Wanda asked as soon as she noticed the witch waiting for her from inside the car parked outside the city. Wanda didn't understand how the witch had kept the SWORD agents away from that edge, but her mind was elsewhere to ask. 

The older woman chuckled at the question, adjusting herself to lean her arms on the window and look at Wanda. "Did I mention I like the new look? Did I leave the oven on or is that heat coming from you, hot stuff?"

Wanda chuckled with more indignation than anything. When she was close enough, she sighed. "Just do what you agreed to do."

Agatha smiled mischievously. "Well, you're the one with your back to the show." She retorted, pointing at something behind her.

When she turned, she saw two figures, too far away to be identified. The sunlight didn't help either. The people had been talking for some time and it didn't seem to be a peaceful discussion.

"Who...?"

"Who do you think?" Agatha interrupted somewhat ironically. Wanda's heart leaped, and her stomach did a complete flip. It couldn't be you, could it? 

"B-but she... she was-"

"Yeah, the confusing world we live in." Mocked the witch in the car seat. "She wanted to explain everything to you but she has been a pain in the ass so I'll do it. Your friend made a deal with the devil, in the literal sense of the expression. Whatever Hydra did to her, it almost killed her. Mephisto, being the good opportunist he is, offered her a deal and perhaps because she had two people to protect and a hole in her chest, she accepted without reading the terms." Agatha smiled at her own narration, while Wanda continued in shock, being able to imagine the whole story. "And of course, like any deal with the devil, nothing goes according to plan. Mephisto must have known that the boy would die in battle, so he lied to get your friend's soul. She chickened out, by the way, after she heard about her brother. She thought the same would happen to you if she got close, of course at the time neither of you must have known your true power and authority..."

"Authority?" She interrupted hoarsely, getting a laugh from the other witch.

"By Hecate, young witches these days don't know anything," muttered the woman. "As I said before, Wanda, you are the Scarlet Witch. You're the greatest magical authority on earth. And the fact that you don't know this is exactly why I'm needed." Agatha explains. "You need a magical tutor, Miss Maximoff. Someone to train you, and explain important things, like your magical power to break a contract of souls and summon one of Mephisto's ghost riders as you please."

After everything that had happened, absorbing and accepting the madness of this whole story seemed like just one more little push for Wanda to collapse. 

Lucky for her, she wasn't alone this time.

You finally started walking towards her, until the figures became clearer, and without needing to ask, Wanda was sure that the man with a skull pipe walking next to you was Mephisto.

Everything about his posture was intimidating, and the air seemed much heavier and darker once he was close enough. But Wanda didn't mind the audience, she threw herself into your arms and was greeted in an equally enthusiastic embrace.

Mephisto waved to Agatha from the car, letting the two of you have a moment of reunion as he commented quietly to the older witch:

"I send you to collect an undeserving one and you not only fail, but you make me lose my best rider."

Agatha swallows dryly, annoyed by the scolding. But if there's anything she feels besides fear, it's pride. And that's something she and the man share, and Agatha knows it very well.

"No creature, not even the Lord of Hell, has power against the Scarlet Witch. The humiliation of losing is strong, but you get used to it." She teases, and Mephisto loses his temper, punching the car hard and trying to grab Agatha by the neck.

A scarlet tug pushes him away.

"You filthy hag, how dare you-"

"Watch your temper, Big M." You interrupt with a serious expression, despite the provocative nickname. You gently put Wanda down, who until now had been lifeted in your arms, but you continue with a hand around her waist. 

The man huffs angrily, but visibly struggles to contain his anger, while Agatha hides a little smile and Wanda tries to gain confidence in her new title and the respect that comes with it.

When Mephisto addresses her, he is much more submissive than anyone would expect after the scene.

"My Queen, please, there has been an agreement. With both of the present, this treacherous witch owes me favors and the rider owes me her life. It's not fair that I go unpaid. If I'm not compensated, I'll obviously have to withdraw the loans..." He speaks but Wanda raises a hand in the air, interrupting him.

"I think I understand what you mean. You saved my friend, and if she doesn't serve you, she dies?"

"Yes, my lady."

You tried to protest, but Wanda put a hand on your shoulder and looked at you quickly: in her eyes was the simple request that you let her handle this. 

Agatha didn't interrupt either, nor did she react when Wanda approached Mephisto.

"I've been told that the title of Scarlet Witch makes me the highest magical authority." She begins, and somewhat begrudgingly, the man nods in agreement. Wanda sighs. "I don't understand this power entirely, but I will. What I do understand now is that if I am the authority, you must obey me."

"My lady-"

"I am not done talking." Mephisto bites his tongue, but doesn't risk challenging the red irises again. "Let's make a few things clear, sir. These two don't belong to you, I do not care about the debt. I don't know how to settle it yet, but I will. So for now, you should know that they're off-limits. Agatha will be my tutor, and any extra activity must come with a guarantee that she'll return to lessons in one piece, and as for Y/N, well..." Wanda takes a step forward, a dry laugh escaping her. "She's mine, do you understand? You're not going to harm her in any way. Not ever. You've kept her away from me long enough, toying with her perception of the truth. Of that, I think we both understand well."

Mephisto clenched his jaw, seeming to fight the urge to end you right then and there. You exchanged a proud glance with Agatha at the witch's posture in front of you.

"This will be my only warning, Mephisto. I'm taking her with me, and it's better that she keeps breathing after we leave."

Irritated but restrained, he retorts: "A rider must serve, my lady, and I don't say that to contradict you. Even if she doesn't obey me, she won't be able to ignore the call. Her soul only stays in this body because of its usefulness."

"We'll deal with it without your intervention in the matter, don't worry." Wanda assures him. "And as for your payment, I still don't fully understand how this realm works, but I'll learn with the help of Agatha and the Darkhold. I believe the Lord of Hell can wait."

To Wanda's surprise, he grew friendlier, with a smile full of evil intentions. Without her realizing why the mention of the book made him so excited, Mephisto bowed again briefly. "I see a promising future for our professional relationship, Scarlet Witch."

He adjusts his hat as a sign of farewell, and it's as if the sun changes direction only for rays to obscure her vision for a moment. Just long enough for Mephisto to disappear.

"He's always rude, don't take it to heart." 

The older witch commented, but neither you nor Wanda were paying much attention to her. Wanda came back to you, wrapping you in a tight hug as a confirmation that things were really happening. And as you held her, you exchanged a quick glance with the witch in the car, a grateful one, and all Agatha did was offer the first sincere smile of the day before breaking the moment with a loud honk.

"I'm sorry, but your girlfriend is a fugitive, and flirting in the middle of the street isn't really appropriate for this moment." Mocked the witch, remembering the dozens of federal agents in the area all too willing to ask Wanda for a statement. It wasn't really a problem - but it was a nuisance.

Your girlfriend ignored Agatha's warning to kiss you on the mouth. It almost takes you by surprise, the intensity, but you manage to match it until the older witch honks again and you and Wanda break into a shared giggle.

"Don't worry, we'll have time." You meekly assure her, kissing her cheek before pulling away to open the car door. Wanda doesn't seem too keen to let you go - not that you'd want anything different - so you follow her into the back seat. Even under Agatha's warnings about behaving or she'd throw the car off the first bridge.

Once on the road, the witch met your gaze through the rearview mirror.

"My place or yours?" 

You sigh. "Mine's fine."

-&-

The first fight happens as soon as Wanda finds out that for years, you've lived nearby.

So many days when she could have taken a different route from Avengers Tower downtown to the Compound and bumped into you. 

Of course, you assured her that you kept a safe distance and that New York was full and big enough for that, but the justifications only made it worse.

And Wanda started crying and locked herself in the first room she found on the way.

You tried to look at Agatha on the sofa - very much comfortable in other people's homes, by the way - but the witch shrugged as she used her magic to bring food from your kitchen to where she was. 

With a sigh, you leaned your forehead against the door.

"Wanda, I'm so sorry I left you alone. I swear to God, I lost count of how many times I wanted to break into that tower and just say that I was with you. But I couldn't. I went to the memorial, to visit Pietro. I saw the news about the fight. I saw him die, and I kept seeing it, every time I closed my eyes. And my nightmares replaced him with you. I was sure that if I got close, you'd get hurt, and I'd rather live away from you than lose you." You confessed with emotion, knowing that she was listening even if she didn't answer now. With another sigh, you continued. "I kept my distance, but I never left. I went to all your public events, I even sent you gifts as an anonymous fan. I almost risked everything so many times. And when your friends got into fights and you disappeared to the Raft, I lost my mind. That's when... he made me forget you. It was the only way I could keep doing the jobs and not go after you. But I still lived here, and there was this lack in my chest and I had no idea what it was. Then one day I heard your voice, like a whisper in my heart, and I followed it. I ended up in Westview, and the lack was gone. It was Agatha who gave me back my memories, and we ended up here. With me trying to make you understand that there hasn't been a day since we were separated that I haven't missed you, that I haven't loved you. Please, Wanda. Forgive me."

It takes a long moment, almost long enough for you to think about letting her have more time to think about it, for Wanda to open the door.

She hugs you by the neck, very tightly, and you waste no time in reciprocating.

"Agatha has to leave." That's what she says as she releases you, making you assume a confused expression. You're ready to recall that the witch, despite her mistakes, helped you when Wanda pulled at the edges of your shirt while hiding her face in your collarbone. The way she speaks again makes you understand. "We've lost a lot of time, my love. She needs to go, so we can make up for it."

You nod foolishly, glancing quickly at Agatha who is already getting up without abandoning a bottle of your most expensive drinks that she opened without permission. Not that you're paying attention to anything other than the woman clinging to you.

"You two are disgusting, I'm out." Complains the older witch, practically running out the door as Wanda kisses your neck again and you sigh.

The door had barely closed and Wanda had already pulled your face back to hers, meeting your mouth in an intense, passionate kiss that almost made you lose your bearings.

Your hands wandered across her cheeks in a foolish attempt to gain some control of the kiss, then towards her hair and down her arms to her waist, squeezing and earning a satisfied sigh in return. Wanda's hands were busy undoing your clothes, bursting buttons, and finally throwing your belt aside.

Your blouse ended up somewhere in the room after you kicked your shoes away and while using the interruption and distance necessary to undress, Wanda spoke again.

"All this time you've been keeping watch... tell me, how far have you gone?" she asked between kisses, leading the way to the sofa as she pulled you up by the straps of the barely hanging pants on your hips. 

You fought your own arousal to reply: "Hm, never very close. Except, once..." You try to count between kisses, almost losing your train of thought when Wanda pushes you sit up and looks so stunning with her flushed face and out-of-rhythm breathing standing in front of you. "On your birthday. I went to your window, and I just... watched you sleep."

Wanda let out a curious giggle. "Do you fly now?"

"Not really, it's something called astral projection, I'm sure Agatha will teach you." You mumble quickly, and it's your turn to tug at the straps of her jeans. "Can we talk later? U-unless of course, you don't want to do this anymore, because then I'll need a minute to stop shaking and then I can tell you everything-" She interrupts you with a determined kiss, taking the opportunity to sit on your lap too.

With another sigh, she assures you, "We'll talk later." Those are the last firm words of the evening, really. After that, all that leaves Wanda are begging moans and whimpers of pleasure calling out your name.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

-&-

It's a simple routine, within the normal range of living with two witches and having your soul in imprisonment with the Lord of Hell at least.

Agatha becomes a tutor - it suits her, even if she is grumpy and mean and doesn't have much patience for teaching magic. She ends up doing a good job, and in a few months, Wanda already has the same knowledge that a witch who has spent half her life in a coven would have.

As well as classes with the grumpiest teacher on the planet, Wanda has the Darkhold. You don't see her use it that much, because she always chooses the times of your rider duties to study. That, and well, that book gives you a very bad feeling. But Wanda always makes sure that everything is under control and kisses you until you forget about it.

Of course, over time, people tend to waver in their lies and perhaps because it's a Rider's business to feel dark magic, you end up discovering exactly how bad the Darkhold is for your girlfriend. 

Or maybe the black fingers gave you a hint.

"It's not too much to ask that you be careful!" You were arguing - no, discussing - Wanda's intense study routine with a book that apparently condemned all readers. "Actually, it's quite reasonable for me to worry-"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you!" She interrupts you. Even though she is now twice the age you first met her, Wanda Maximoff is still as beautiful as the first day you saw her. And just as stubborn as the angry teenager she once was. "Do you want to talk about being reasonable? Do you think you made a good decision when you decided to sell your soul, or when you believed you could stay away for ten years and act as if it didn't affect our relationship?"

You hesitate. "I-I... you said you forgave me."

But Wanda snaps back: "Forgiving isn't forgetting! And why do you think I'm doing all this? I have to learn to control my magic, and I have to learn to be the Scarlet Witch. But most importantly, I have to learn to undo a deal with the devil because at some point you thought it was a good idea to be the Dark Lord's little slave!"

"I did it for you!"

"I know you did!"

"Then why are you angry?"

"Because I love you, you idiot!" she retorts breathlessly. "I love you and I hate how stupidly loyal and impulsive you were to do something like that. And I hate the pain we were forced to endure, and I hate that we wasted so much time."

"Wanda, I-"

"I know." She interrupts with a sigh. "I love you too."

You smile. "Stop reading my mind."

She returns the same smile. "There's not much to read." She teases, wasting no time in bringing her hands to your shoulders when you take her by the waist. You chuckle with a false offense.

"Wow, I'd forgotten how evil you can be." You retort in the same playful tone, nipping at her jaw and lowering your mouth to her collarbone.

Wanda sighs, hugging you for a moment. In the bedroom mirror by the wall, she can see her true reflection and all the Darkhold's influence on her hidden appearance. She blinks away from the demonic appearance to focus on the person holding her so dearly.

"You have no idea, my love." She whispers, forcing a smile when you look at her again. "I just want to keep us safe. Nothing and no one will ever break us apart again. I'll make sure of that."

You don't want to worry, or at least, you don't want Wanda to notice your hesitation about the frightening determination in her eyes. So all you do is kiss her forehead and hold her close.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #as it was

[sweetmoonlight7]

30. Diamond

@jegulus-microfic | March 30: diamond | word count: 619

If there was one thing that Regulus Black was known for it was being picky.

James has been thinking about this for months, even now as he walks back to their apartment he can't help but think about it.

Regulus had grown up in a fancy house in London with butlers and people who were willing to adhere to his every whim. This of course makes him, frankly at times, a very spoiled boy. While he had grown out of some of his habits from childhood, one thing neither of the Black brothers could ever outgrow was their expensive taste.

James has never minded this, he knew about all of the things that Regulus liked well before they got together. He loves Regulus and is more than happy to indulge him with all of those things.

This all tied into his dilemma.

Since he has never shied away from buying Regulus gifts. It's one of his many love languages. If he sees something that Regulus might like he will immediately buy it and give it to him, he won't even wait for a birthday or special occasion.

One of the things he will often buy for Regulus is jewelry. His boyfriend loves it, he trades out rings, necklaces, and earrings.

So what do you give your significant other that has a large assortment of rings (a lot of which) you buy for him yourself) each just as fancy as the next for an engagement ring?

This has been driving him crazy.

There are of course a few things that he knows. Like that he wants to get it engraved so that even if it is not custom-made it will be special, he knows it has to be silver, and he knows that it should not be overly flashy.

At the moment his biggest dilemma is what stone he will use. A diamond? no, too classic and boring. Pearl? too simple. Alexandirat? no blue wasn't either of their colors. Birth month stone? Basic. Opal, Emerald, Topaz… nothing seemed right. Nothing screamed, “Regulus Black I love you, marry me”.

He has seen hundreds of rings by now. Passed by so many jewelry stores, and had seen rings that Regulus would love…so why can't he seem to pick one?

Realistically James is aware that regardless of the ring that he gets him he will say yes. But how could he propose if he doesn't even know what stone Regulus would want? Isn't there some sort of guide or rule that says they should know?

The longer he waits the more reasons he comes up with as to why Regulus might say no and it becomes all too clear why he is having a hard time picking a stone. If he doesn't ask he doesn't get rejected.

Maybe taking the long way home wasn't doing any good to his overthinking. But Regulus had said that he would be home late and he thought the day was nice enough to go out.

The thoughts lay heavy on his stomach as he opened the door to their apartment.. and then almost like they had never even existed they vanished as he stepped in.

In the middle of their living room with flowers scattered around him and the light from the dining room hitting his face stood Regulus with a small box in his hand. He was smiling, a full real smile. Something that had been so rare when they met but he was now blessed with every day.

When he looks down at the ring in the box, he sees the complementary ring to the first one he had gotten Regulus, he knows that there is no world where Reg would've said no, or even hesitated.

#james potter #regulus black #jegulus #marauders #starchaser #james potter x regulus black #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction

[mandos-mind-trick]

Cabur

Summary: Twelve years ago the animal representing your soulmate appeared in your home. You finally get to meet him when his battalion arrives to help defend your planet from the droid army.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, injuries, brief mention of animal injury but it's not serious, a bit of angst, reader is a BAMF but it doesn't really get shown cause I'm garbage at action scenes, some mentioned PTSD at the end.

A/N: Sooooo this may be my sign to stick to only writing for the Bad Batch boys cause this is garbage. Turns out I'm not good at writing other clones. Also I wrote the smut before eating breakfast so if it's entirely indecipherable please forgive me.

Also Mide is pronounced Mee-deh.

MASTERLIST

It’s become a sort of legend within the GAR. 

The clone who rides into battle on the back of a Nexu. 

It’s a bit ridiculous. He doesn’t ride the Nexu. But, they are never far from each other.

No one ever dares to ask. 

Most of them already know. 

The others are too scared. 

The only one that had asked was the General, which was forgiven since he probably didn’t expect his second in command to be closely trailed by a Nexu when they met for the first time. 

His soulmate link, Wolffe had explained to his General. One of the rarest, where each soulmate is accompanied by the animal that represents their soulmate. The Kaminoans had been rather shocked when shortly after he was taken from his growth chamber, a fully grown Nexu appeared in the room. The feline had been entirely tame, until the Kaminoans had tried to separate them because clones were not allowed to pursue their soulmates due to some of the early clones deserting for their soulmates. 

Separation hadn’t worked, as the Nexu proceeded to rampage through the halls of Tipoca City until she was reunited with Wolffe. Only Wolffe could seem to control her, and so the Kaminoans begrudgingly allowed the Nexu to stay. 

She learned quickly, coming to Wolffe’s defense even during training. It didn’t take long for Wolffe to teach her how to fight, and how to take down droids. She never hesitated, even after the war started, fearlessly following him into even the ugliest battles. 

He had spent much of his free time thinking about his soulmate. They’re obviously a fierce fighter, given the predatory nature of Nexu. Strong and brave. He often wondered what kind of animal they have that represents him. 

***

The last thing you had been expecting twelve years ago was a loth-wolf pup to show up in the middle of your home. 

It had appeared out of nowhere, startling both you and your parents. You hadn’t known what it was at first, until a quick search had directed you to the supposedly extinct loth-wolf. Why it had appeared suddenly in your home...that was another quick search. 

Your soulmate link. 

You had always wondered what it might be, seeing as you had no mark or strange dreams, or any of the other typical links between soulmates. Developing this late, though, was confusing. You didn’t think much about it, though. Fate was not something to question. Everything would make sense eventually. Your people believed that fate drove every decision, every event in your life. Everything happens for a reason, all directed by fate’s design. 

Already twice the size of a tooka, the pup grew quickly, outgrowing your parents hut. It grew big enough to ride within a couple years and you often did. When you moved into your own hut, you built it big enough to fit you and your wolf comfortably. 

You often wondered about your soulmate. Who they are, what they’re doing, what kind of animal they have. You wonder how you’ll meet. Will they come here? Your people don’t leave your planet often. Aside from the few who show great prowess for politics and get sent to represent you in the senate, not many else leave. Your people prefer simple, quiet lives. Though you have technology, most of your food is grown or hunted, and your medicine is a practice that’s been passed down for generations. 

You had thought perhaps you were meant to leave, that you would meet your soulmate somewhere else. Your strength, however, was not in politics. You were a natural fighter. So instead you stayed on the planet, defending your village and hunting to provide food. Maybe you weren’t meant to find your soulmate elsewhere. Perhaps your soulmate was in one of the other villages. 

You think that, until the war starts. 

Your planet is mostly untouched for two years. There was no strategic reasoning to invade your planet, other than simply being part of the Republic. It keeps your planet untouched, at least until the Separatists begin to get desperate. 

Word reaches you one morning of a droid army approaching one of the neighboring villages. It had landed two days ago and it was slowly burning its way through village after village. They had already reached out to the Republic for assistance, but they were already stretched as it was. 

You don’t give up hope. 

You’re right not to. 

Two days after the message had been sent, they arrived. The roar of gunships is loud as troops drop in at the next village over from yours. You were already there, preparing defenses for when the inevitable attack began. They’d already burned through the village to the North. You had scouted over the hill earlier, and had spotted the dust cloud kicked up by the army’s movements. Fighters from surrounding villages have gathered, but it’s not nearly enough. 

The clones arrive like a blessing from the Maker. 

You’re glad to see them, even if some of them stare and whisper as you pass. You know they’re not staring at you. They’re staring at your wolf. Loth-wolves are supposed to be extinct, so actually seeing one would be a bit shocking. Even more so, seeing one outside of Lothal. 

You had been called to the village leader’s hut, which was being used for battle planning. The village leader had chosen you as her second in command, since you were one of the best fighters. You were also one of the few still alive that had seen battle before. 

Not every village on the planet was as interested in peace as the others. One such village had decided to attack a neighboring village out of nothing but greed shortly before the galactic war started. Fighters from across the planet had been called to aid in the fight, and you had been one of them. The most battle you’d seen back then had been on hunting trips. Though you were skilled, you’d never actually fought before. 

It had been terrifying, but you had quickly proved your skills and your ability to stay calm under pressure. You had made a name for yourself, and had carried that still to this day. 

Most of the more experienced fighters had been sent ahead to try and aid other villages, but it had been fruitless. The droid army had wiped out both the fighters, and some innocent villagers caught in the crossfire. 

This village had been evacuated, and it was going to be the last stand against the droid army. If they couldn’t be defeated, then the planet was lost. The arrival of the clones to aid you had renewed hope in the possibility of securing your planet and its safety once more. There would be a lot to do, a lot to rebuild after, but now there was hope you would get to do so. 

You make your way towards the hut, your wolf running ahead. It’s strange, usually he never left your side unless you told him to. He had been acting strangely all day. You had blamed it on the nervous energy in the village, and the approaching army. Everyone had been a bit on edge, and being an animal, he could likely pick up on it more than anyone. 

You hear a commotion as you approach the hut, finding your wolf cornering one of the clones. Your eyes widen, thinking the worst, and you hurry over. Some of the clones are laughing by the time you reach them, and you realize your wolf is licking this clone. 

“Mide,” You pull on the fur at his neck to try and get him to stop. His tail is wagging, creating a breeze behind him. “Mide, stop.” 

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, a loud growl reaching your ears. You turn, eyes widening as you stare into four red eyes and a wide mouth full of sharp fangs. 

You scramble back, the Nexu following you. You’ve never seen one in person before, only read about them. They’re not native to this planet, so how did this one get here? And why doesn’t anyone else seem afraid of it?

“Cabur.” The stern voice of the clone reaches your ears. “Cabur, stand down.” 

The Nexu doesn’t respond, crouching as it prepares to pounce. Do you run? You can’t outrun a Nexu. Why isn’t anyone trying to help? Why isn’t Mide helping? 

The Nexu pounces, knocking you off your feet. You close your eyes, preparing for those teeth to sink into your skin, rip away at your flesh until you bleed out. 

Something wet and rough drags across your skin from your shoulder to the top of your head. Your eyes snap open in surprise. Is the Nexu...licking you? 

It licks you again, leaving a wet, gooey trail along your skin. 

“Easy, girl.” The clone pets its head, trying to nudge it back. 

It steps back reluctantly, its own tail swishing back and forth as it watches you. A hand appears in your line of sight and you take it, the clone hauling you to your feet easily. You brush the dirt off, wiping the Nexu spit from your face. 

“Sorry about her.” The clone says. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her today.” 

“It’s alright. Mide has been weird all day too. He’s never run away from me like that before.” You stare up at him, taking in his face. 

His face is stern, pinched a bit in focus. There’s a scar stretching from his forehead to his cheek, his eye having been replaced with a cybernetic one. He’s handsome, as you assume all the clones would be. 

“Is she yours?” You ask, breaking the silence between you. 

“It’s my soulmate link.” He says. “I’ve had her since I came out of my growth chamber.” 

“Oh.” You say, blinking in surprise. “Mide’s also my soulmate link. Appeared about twelve years ago.” 

“Really.” He says, giving you a strange look. 

Before you can continue the conversation, the village leader and who you assume is the Jedi General approach you. 

“I see you two have already met.” The Kel Dor says. 

You glance at the clone for a moment as the village leader introduces you to General Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe. 

“Come,” The General says. “We have much to discuss, and little time to do so.” 

***

“What’s her name?” You ask as you and Commander Wolffe make your way into position. His Nexu is walking beside you, trotting along happily. Mide is walking beside Wolffe, looking perfectly content. 

“Cabur.” Wolffe answers. “It’s Mando’a. It means guardian or protector.” 

“Fitting name.” You say. 

“She’s saved my life a few times.” He pats Mide’s side. “What about him?” 

“Mide. He’s a mythical warrior who protected our people. He rode to war with the sigil of a wolf on his helmet.” 

The corner of Wolffe’s mouth lifts. “Aptly named.” 

You both stop, having reached the point you have to go separate ways. You mount Mide, looking down at Wolffe. “See you when the battle’s done?” 

Wolffe nods, patting Mide’s neck. “Take care of her.” 

Mide huffs out a breath, nodding his head just slightly as if agreeing. He would, even without having to be asked. 

You know. Even without having to say anything you know. Just Mide’s reaction was enough to tell you. The link is so rare, and to have someone else with the same link suddenly appear on your planet like this...

It’s not just a coincidence. 

Mide runs to your position, and you watch as the cloud of dust that the droid army was kicking up gets closer and closer, flashes of blue and red gradually disappearing as dust envelops the valley. 

***

You’re covered in dirt, but you’re alive. 

With the help of the clones, you had stopped the droid army from advancing much further, protecting the village. It had been a long battle, lasting into the night. The stars are out by the time you return to the village, weary after a long battle unlike any you’ve ever been in. 

No squabble between villages will ever compare to that. 

You had seen Wolffe shortly after your return to the village, nothing more than a passing glance across the fire as you’d helped both injured villagers and troopers. You’re both alive, you’re both alright. You had spotted Cabur slinking around the village, unharmed due to her training in fighting droids. Mide’s white fur is streaked with dirt, his feet and nose scratched from the droids, but he’s otherwise uninjured. 

You’ll give him a big, juicy cut of meat later. 

You’re cleaning the cut on his nose when you hear the footsteps approaching. Mide’s head lifts, ears perking and tail wagging as he sees who it is. Something brushes against your side, Cabur purring as she makes herself comfortable next to Mide. Wolffe approaches you, and you take a moment to look him over. His armor is streaked with dirt, but he’s otherwise uninjured. 

“Good to see you.” You say, smiling softly. 

He steps right up to you, gloved fingers grazing over the bandage wrapped around your arm. 

“It’s just a scratch.” You say, skin tingling as his fingers continue to trail down your arm before dropping back to his side. “We’re not used to fighting droids.” 

“You’re, uh...quite the fighter.” He says. “I think a Nexu was the perfect choice.” 

Your cheeks warm a bit. You think the ferocious Nexu might be a bit of an exaggeration. It’s a compliment, though, that he thinks your skills are worthy of that representation. The loth-wolf is the perfect representation of him. He has the same dangerous gaze as Mide, the same fierce loyalty. The stern and serious battle-ready commander.  

“Us clones...it’s forbidden for us to initiate the soulmate bond.” He says. 

Your stomach clenches a bit at his words. You hadn’t even thought...you hadn’t even considered. You hadn’t had time to. Everything had been happening so quickly. You had never given consideration to the idea that your soulmate might not want you. Much less that he might have to reject you. All those daydreams, all those thoughts about what your life could be like with them...they’ve been nothing but fantasies and they might never be anything but. 

“Most of us don’t agree.” He continues. “We all have an agreement not to say anything, not to report anything.” 

“But...what if someone finds out?” 

“We have to be careful so no one does.” He takes your hand, slipping something into it. “We’re preparing to leave. We already have our next orders.” 

Your shoulders sink a bit. Of course they’re very busy. The war has been taking a turn. The attack against your planet is just proof of this. Having time with him right now is just another fantasy. 

You walk with him to the gunships, taking your time as troopers load up around you. He turns, patting Mide on the nose as you reach one of the ships. Mide lets out a quiet whine, his ears falling. 

You squat in front of Cabur, petting her head. “Take care of him, yeah?” She lets out a quiet sound, licking your cheek once more. You stand back up, facing Wolffe. “Come back? When the war’s over?” 

He nods once and you stand up on your toes, kissing his cheek. He stares down at you long and hard for a moment before stepping away, sliding his helmet on. You watch as he boards the gunship, following it with your eyes as long as you can as it disappears into the sky. 

You open your hand, looking down at what he’d slipped into it. A smile tugs at your lips as you stare at the item. 

A comm device. 

***

It’s been almost a year since the battle, since you met your soulmate. You’ve spoken as often as you can through the comm device, but for the last three months it’s been very quiet. You’ve gone stretches without speaking, but never this long. 

You try not to worry. 

The war had ended three months ago, around the time you had seemingly lost contact. You suppose with the restructuring of the Republic into the Empire and the sudden end to the war, things have gotten complicated for the clones. It could just be he hasn’t had a good time to step aside and secretly contact you. Despite your attempted reasoning, you can’t help but feel nervous about the sudden silence.

You’ve been keeping yourself busy helping the survivors from the destroyed villages resettle with other villages. While the army had been destroyed, the valley had become a wasteland of destroyed droids and the remnants from the battle. New huts were built and families integrated peacefully into new villages. The Senate had sent some relief, but it could only do so much. Homes could be rebuilt and crops replanted, but lives couldn’t be replaced. 

You’ve buried far too many dead. 

You try not to think your soulmate may be one of them. 

He’s not. You know he’s not. You would have felt it. Mide would have died with him. Still, the thought haunts you. How easily he could be taken from you, and you barely got to know him. 

Fate will make it work in the end. You try to remind yourself of that. 

***

You’re out hunting when it happens. 

Nearly four months since the end of the war, a year since you met your soulmate. You had been scouting the hills when you’d heard it. You’d moved your binocs to the sky, watching as a starfighter streaked across the sky like a smoking comet straight towards the trees just a few meters away. 

The crash is loud, the trees shaking with the impact. Mide immediately takes off, darting into the trees. It’s not like him, still always sticking close to your side. 

“Mide!” You call, immediately running after him. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest. It couldn’t be...could it? You hadn’t seen any identifying markers on the ship, the smoke too dense around it to see. It could be anyone, or anything. 

If it wasn’t, Mide wouldn’t have run off like that. 

You duck into the undergrowth, following the path broken by your wolf. You freeze instinctively as a low growl reaches your ears. You know that growl. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “Cabur?” 

The Nexu steps out of the bushes, tail swishing as she looks at you. It’s her. You know it. You drop to a knee, patting her head as she greets you. 

It’s him. It’s really him. 

Mide breaks through the bushes, dragging a limp body with his teeth. He drags the body over to you, letting him go gently. Wolffe’s body lays limp on the ground. There’s charred marks on his armor, likely from the crash. You push him over onto his back, staring down at his helmet. You trace the markings with your fingers, the same markings you remember. 

A sob threatens to tear from your lips as you slip your fingers under the edge of his helmet, tugging it off. You cup the back of his head, lowering it gently to the ground. 

He’s unconscious but still breathing. 

Mide lays next to Wolffe, looking at you sadly. Cabur nudges his foot, letting out a quiet whine. He’s injured, likely worse than it looks if he crashed a starfighter. You need to get him back to the village, and soon. 

You’re sweating by the time you maneuver him onto Mide’s back, climbing on behind him. You hold him as Mide runs through the trees and back up the hill towards the village. Cabur keeps pace easily, miraculously mostly uninjured from the crash. 

You guide Mide into your hut, easing Wolffe off his back and onto your bed. You begin the tedious process of removing his armor, figuring out how to get each piece off and carefully stacking it in the corner. You peel the body glove off next, revealing his chest covered in bruises.

You head to your kitchen, grabbing herbs and a bowl, beginning to mash them into a paste as you’ve done a hundred times. You mix a tonic as well, moving back to his side before spreading the mixture across his chest, making sure to cover each bruise. You place bandages over each spot, letting the herbs do their work. You cup his neck, lifting his head a bit to help him drink the tonic. You can feel it, the pulsing energy from where your fingers are pressed against the skin of his neck. 

He’s really here, right in front of you. Crashed right out of the sky, practically into your lap. 

Mide curls up on his blanket, Cabur making herself comfortable beside him. You sit by Wolffe’s side, tending to him as you let the medicine work its way through his body. You only leave to make dinner and feed the animals before you’re sitting back at his side. 

You grab his pauldron, tracing the image of the wolf with your fingers. The grey paint around the edges is slightly worn, more than it had been the last time you’d seen him. It’s hard to believe he’s really here. After four months of nothing, no sign that he’s alive and alright, no word on what’s happening aside from what was broadcasted on the news...four months of thinking the worst. 

You trace his face with your fingers, allowing yourself to feel him. He’s really here. He’s real. 

You stay by his side through the night, changing out the herbs as they dry. You nap a few times, trusting the animals to alert you if something happens. 

He begins to stir around sunrise. You’d been checking his wounds, already mostly healed. You put a gentle hand on his shoulder as he shifts, his eyes cracking open. 

“It’s alright.” You say, tracing gentle circles on his skin with your thumb. “You’re safe.” 

He breathes your name like a prayer, his eyes slipping closed for a moment as he relaxes. 

“I’m here.” You whisper, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek. “I’ve got you.” 

“I said I would.” He murmurs, turning his head to kiss your palm. “I said I’d come back.” 

You shush him gently. “And you have.” 

You get him sitting up, leaning against the wall. You feed him some soup after both Mide and Cabur greet him happily. He tells you about everything that happened since the war ended. He tells you about the Jedi and the inhibitor chips, deserting the Empire and getting his chip removed. He tells you about his fight to get here, and almost not making it. 

You try not to think about it, relishing in the face he did make it. He is sitting here with you. You can see the pain in his eyes, the guilt. You can practically feel the sadness radiating from him. Your heart aches for him. He’s lost so much, and so much has changed so quickly. You can’t even imagine what it must have been like. What it must feel like for him. 

You hold him, wrapping yourself around him. His bruises are almost completely healed, his strength returning as he holds you, his face pressed against your chest. Cabur creeps her way over, stretching herself out across your laps. Wolffe chuckles, patting her head. You tangle a hand on her fur, holding Wolffe with the other. 

***

Wolffe settles into life in the village easily. He’s welcomed, not only as your soulmate, but also as a hero who helped save many lives. He accompanies you on hunts, learning as much about your culture as he can. 

You settle into life with him easily too, adjusting to his presence like he’s been there the whole time. You’re glad your hut is on the edge of the village, as you’re both also rather insatiable. You have a year to make up for. A year of yearning and longing to make up for. 

And you certainly do. 

A body presses against yours as you finish loading the dishes in the sanitizer. You can feel him, every bit of his body through his thin shirt and soft pants. He’s softened a bit from the hardened soldier that had crash landed back into your life. You won’t complain. After the things you’ve heard, you’re happy he’s finally healthy and well taken care of. 

You can also feel how hard he is against your ass. 

His arms snake around your waist as you toss the dish towel on the counter. His lips trail up your neck, dragging along the soft skin. 

“Miss me that much?” You ask, pressing back against him teasingly. 

“Always.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss below your ear. 

One of his hands snakes under your shirt, slowly sliding up your stomach, straight towards your breasts. You’re glad you ditched your breastband earlier as his warm hand cups your breast. He hums against your neck in approval, skilled fingers plucking at your nipple as he paints your skin with marks from his teeth. 

“Wolffe,” You sigh his name as he switches breasts, giving the other one equal attention. 

His other hand slips down your stomach, dipping into your pants. You’ve been wet in anticipation since his arms wrapped around you, his fingers gliding through your slick folds. Your legs tremble as he slowly circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers. 

“So wet for me, cyare.” He murmurs against your neck, slipping two of his fingers into you. 

“Yes,” You breathe, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Only for you.” 

He growls quietly against your neck, pulling his hands free. He tugs your pants down before lifting you onto the kitchen counter. You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor. He tugs your hips closer to the edge, kneeling in front of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, still kept in the regulation cut. He sometimes lets his stubble grow out, and you’re still trying to convince him to grow a beard just to see how it would look. 

He licks a stripe up your clit, hands pressing against your thighs to keep them open for him. His tongue swirls around your clit, his eyes lifted to stare at your face. Your lips part in a moan as he closes his mouth against your clit, sucking hard. Your free hand grips the edge of the counter, holding on as he eats you out. 

Your first few times together had been awkward and fumbling as you tried to figure each other out. It had taken lots of practice, and many laughs, to learn each other’s bodies. What you like, what you don’t, what he likes. How to make him putty in your hands. He’s still just as stern and dominating as he had been as a commander, but you know deep down he sometimes needs someone else to take control, someone else to give the orders. Someone he trusts. 

Your legs are shaking around his head, your own head thrown back in pleasure as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. The noises are absolutely obscene as he slurps at your drenched pussy like he’s gone days without water. 

He pulls away before you can cum, making you whine in protest. 

His chin is slick with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You reach forward, yanking his shirt over his head. Your fingers trail along the soft curves of his body, lips pressing kisses against his skin. His hands undo his pants, letting them drop to the floor. 

You bite your lip, your hand wrapping around his hard length. His hands drop to your thighs, resting there as you pump him. You meet his gaze, staring into his eyes as you guide him forward and into your heat. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him all the way in. A moan tumbles from your lips at the stretch, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him as close as you possibly can. 

His arms wrap around your back, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You both breathe for a moment, enjoying being so close, so connected to each other. You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Musky and sweaty from being out in the warmth of the day working. 

He adjusts his grip on you, holding you up as he begins to move. You meet his thrusts, tilting your head up to kiss him. It’s slow and soft, quiet moans passing between your lips. You hold onto him like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go, like you might suddenly wake and find this has all been a dream. 

His own fingers indent your skin, sharing your same fears. You know he’s here, you know it’s real, and he knows it’s real, but still, neither of you can forget the year you had been separated, the many times he could have died, the many times he could have been ripped from you. 

“‘M close.” You murmur against his lips, nails breaking the skin of his shoulders. 

“Gonna cum for me?” He growls, snapping his hips into yours. “Show me how pretty you look when you cum?” 

Your head falls back, lips parted as you cum around his cock, moaning loudly. He watches you, memorizing your face. He’ll never forget it, but he commits it to memory every time. 

A few more thrusts and he’s cumming with a growl, snapping his hips into yours a final time as he releases inside of you. You hold him against you, both of you riding out your highs together. 

His hold around you is tight, clinging to you. You’re both breathing heavily, breaths mingling as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands gently rub his shoulders, working your way up his neck and into his hair. 

“You’re right here.” You whisper, lips brushing his. “I’m right here.” 

He exhales shakily, fingers tightening their grip just slightly. 

You press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve got you.” 

@stressed-cherry, @6oceansofmoons,  @ladytano420 @spicy-clones, @dangraccoon, @bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @stunkbiggu

#star wars #star wars fic #clone wars #clone wars fic #commander wolffe x reader #clones #clone trooper wolffe x reader

[heich0e]

splintered - drummer!osamu miya/f!reader (haikyuu!) tags: band!au, pining, angst, high school friends to ?, unspoken feelings, mentioned semi eita/reader and osamu/groupies, here is some lovely drummer!osamu art by @/tnkisu if u want to pine for him like i am! word count 1.6k

Osamu replaces his drumsticks, on average, about once a month. 

It's less frequent now than it once was, thanks largely to the fact that he started buying better quality sticks since the band has been gigging regularly and he can afford it, coupled with the fact that he'd gotten old enough to outgrow that adolescent ignorance of his own strength or frenetic enthusiasm while he’s playing. Still, every time he breaks a stick, he hears his mother's voice in the back of his mind, furious that for the second time in as many weeks he was begging her for more pocket money so he could replace them. 

(She would always buy him new ones, anyway.)

Osamu has broken three sticks this week.

He tries to pretend that he doesn't know why. Tries to pretend it's no big deal when yet another stick splinters in his hands on a particularly violent rap against his snare. Tries to pretend he doesn't see you in the bright red of the first aid kit each time he has to bandage up his bloody fingers—the first aid kit you'd bought him to keep in the studio space that the band rents in a block of office buildings, for when he injures himself by practicing too much.

But there's something more pressing he's pretending not to notice now. Something more real and tangible looming over him. 

Literally. 

Because you're standing next to his drum kit with your arms crossed and a scowl on your face, and he's beating away at the drum kit and acting like it's totally normal that he hasn't so much as acknowledged you since you came in unannounced.

Finally, like the three sets of sticks Osamu’s thrown away this week, you snap.

Your hand shoots out and Osamu panics, aborting whatever motion he was in the process of following through and flinching away from you. 

“What the hell are you doing!” he exclaims angrily, drumbeat silenced, as your hand wraps around the stick in his right hand and you wrench it out of his grip. “I could’ve fuckin’ hurt ya!” 

“Oh,” you say, chucking the drumstick across the cramped little studio, your expression twisted into something a little meaner to match his own, “how nice of you to finally notice me.”

“I’m practicin’,” Osamu grunts, pushing himself up from his seat behind his drum kit, “or I was before ya interrupted me.” 

“I need to talk to you.”

Osamu pauses as he moves to cross the room towards where you tossed his stick, his broad back facing you.

“I’m busy.”

You make a strangled noise of frustration.

“Well then make time for me, Samu,” you snap. “You’ve been ignoring me for days!”

Osamu crouches down and starts searching for the wayward drumstick among some sound equipment stacked up in the corner, tucking the one you hadn’t pried from his hold into the back pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t reply to your demand. Doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Why would you try and ban me from your gigs?” you ask—and he’s sure you mean to sound furious. Osamu’s known you so long that your intent is as clear to read as your words. But your tone breaks just before the anger can rip through it, a lilt of disappointment—of hurt—wavering in the question. 

Osamu is sweaty from the hours he’s been banging away at his drum kit, but suddenly the perspiration on his skin feels cold. Still crouching down, he grabs the hem of his t-shirt in his hands and lifts it to wipe at his face. 

“‘Cause.”

It’s not a justification in the slightest. It’s barely even a fucking word. But somehow it’s all that he can muster in reply. 

“‘Cause?” you echo incredulously. “What kinda bullshit is that? I had to find out about this ‘ban’ from fucking Suna, of all people—Suna, Osamu!—because Tsumu refuses to get involved in our shit, and I’ve gotten radio silence from you all week. So, mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

Again, Osamu opts for silence in response, shifting a busted amp when he spots the tail end of the stick you’d sent flying peeking out from under it. 

“Samu, would you please just talk to me?” you plead, all the strength bleeding from your tone.

He uses the tips of his fingers to fish the end of the drumstick out, and once he has it in his grip he twirls it around his fingers instinctively before clutching it in a white-knuckled fist. It’s painfully quiet in the soundproof studio, the foam sound insulation on the walls almost makes the stillness more stifling.

“What was up with you and that Semi guy last weekend?”

You're quiet.

“Are you serious, Osamu?—”

That same fight, all bitter resentment and defensive hostility, has made itself known again in your voice. 

“—You banned me from your gigs because I hooked up with some guy?” 

“So you two hooked up, huh?” Osamu’s tone is dry as he muses out the rhetorical question. 

“God!” There’s shuffling behind him that he doesn’t turn to see, but it sounds like you’ve knocked something over. Maybe the first aid kit. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

Osamu finally risks a guarded glance back over his shoulder towards you.

You’ve dropped your bag on the ground at your feet, your hands tangled in your hair in frustration.

“You know Eita. You’re friends.”

Osamu sniffs. “Don’t really know him. Just run in the same circle ’sall. He’s a city boy.”

“You’re being unfair,” you say to him, your eyes whet with fury. Your hands fall to your sides and clench into fists. “You hook up with little groupies at your shows all the time. I meet one guy and all the sudden-“

“It’s distractin’,” Osamu says, rising back up to his full height to face you head on. “I don’t wanna spend the entire gig worryin’ about what scumbag yer cozied up to.”

“I’m not your responsibility to worry about!”

Osamu feels something sharp and blisteringly sour pang in his stomach. 

“I can’t just not worry about ya,” Osamu snaps, frustration sharpening his words into a blade that he never meant to turn on you, but that he fears he’s lost control of.

“I never asked you to do that,” you reply—lips, shoulders, hands all quivering. You’re trembling as you stand before him. Furious and bewildered. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not babysittin’ ya,” he replies tersely, knowing that nothing he’s said is what he means. Nothing has gone according to the plan he didn’t even have to begin with. “And I know ya didn’t ask, but I can’t help it; I’ve been worryin’ about ya since we were teenagers. Practically kids. And most of the guys hangin’ around those gigs are slimy fucks. Dirtbags. Worse than that, even.”

Your upset is plain on your face, and all Osamu wants is to touch you. To fix the pain he’s caused. But his anger won’t allow it. His ego. He’s too proud and too deep in his own delusions to admit to the real reason why seeing you and Semi Eita cozied up near the bar while his band was playing on stage last weekend made him feel something close to feral—the thrum of vicious adrenaline in his veins had nothing to do with the performance he was in the middle of. 

“You’re a liar.”

Osamu freezes. You’ve said the words so quietly and yet they still somehow shake him to his core.

He wants to say something, ask you what you mean, but the sight of tears pooling in the corner of your narrowed eyes stops him. Immobilizes him. Disarms him completely. 

The drumstick in his fist slips to the floor, clattering at his feet. 

“Hey-“ Osamu panics, taking a step towards you with his hand outstretched. You flinch away from his touch, and the movement pierces his chest.

You laugh, watery and mirthless, and fix Osamu in the coldest glare he thinks you’ve ever turned on him.

He knows he fucked up.

God, he fucked up.

Really bad this time.

You stoop down and grab your bag off the floor brusquely, yanking it up over your shoulder again. You whisk past him towards the door, tilting your body away from his so you don’t have to brush him as you pass, but he still feels your warmth fleetingly.

Osamu smells your perfume as you go. The same one you’ve been wearing since he met you in high school. The same one that clings to his jackets after you borrow them because no matter how many times he tells you, you never bring your own. The same one he’ll turn his head towards when he catches a whiff of it in public, but it never seems to smell quite as good on anyone else as it does on you.

His chest aches. 

You stop at the door, your back to him—shoulders rigid like you have your hackles raised.

Your voice is flat when you speak, but you don’t turn to face him.

“Just because Semi wasn’t too fucking afraid to make a move doesn’t mean you get to take it out on him. Or me.”

Your words ring in Osamu’s ears like a crash cymbal, his heart plummeting in his chest.

The door slams behind you on your way out.

#osamu x you #osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu miya x you #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #tw angst

[venomroses]

Zones Fashion

Obviously we all know how killjoys dress, but not everyone in the desert is a killjoy. So here's my headcanons about how non-killjoys in the desert dress. Below the cut because this is gonna get long:

Note: Edited this so rb this version please!

These forms of dress are specific to smaller, more isolated groups where people are usually at least 1st gen zoneborn, and doesn't apply to neutral towns, killjoys, those who follow more traditional city styles, etc. Also I know I said I was going to do drawings for this and I might add those later but for now just text bc the drawings aren't coming out how I like.

Younger kids (2-7):

Both girls and boys have long hair because protects them from the sun without trying to get them to keep hats or hoods on since kids can be difficult about the required amount of clothes, let alone additional stuff. It can also be hard to find children's sized clothes, so many guardians don't bother with "unnecessary" items. Hair is usually kept long enough to tie out of their face because kids also make lots of messes, but sometimes hair will be a bit shorter (usually for boys).

Younger siblings will rarely have anything that isn't a hand-me-down, so if you have an older sibling of the opposite gender then you're probably going to be dressing like the opposite gender for most of your childhood. This is rarely an issue since gender doesn't usually have the same relevance as it does in the real world.

Long skirts are common regardless of gender because they keep the legs covered to protect from sunburn. Also, you can grow significantly before an ankle-length skirt becomes too short, unlike pants where you just have to get new ones when you outgrow them. When skirts get short enough to start exposing a lot of skin, extra fabric can be sewn on, or leggings can be worn underneath. Wraparound skirts are preferred because you don't have to adjust the waist at all when the kid grows, so you don't have to worry about buying/making new clothes all the time. However, other types of skirts work just as well.

A lot of younger kids get homemade shoes. They don't need to be great quality, they just need to keep the kid from burning their feet. Once a kid is old enough to begin helping with the family business (if there is one), go on trips with their guardians, etc. they get real shoes since it becomes more important once they're working or away from home for longer periods.

Then older kids (8-12):

At this age kids are old enough to want to have more freedom of expression so styles vary a bit more.

Since they're mostly still wearing kids sized clothes which are harder to find in the Zones and outgrowing things quickly, hair is still usually kept long to protect them from the sun in place of a hat or a hood that would either be too big or outgrown too quickly to justify buying it. However, sometimes they'll get their hair cut short, especially boys. Regardless of length, there's more variations in hairstyles, since it's a form of expression that doesn't cost any money.

Skirts often come above the knees in the front for more mobility/range of motion. Kids this age are old enough to help with work or chores, so it's easier if they don't have to worry about the restrictions long skirts can bring. At this age skirts are less about practicality. Long skirts are seen as a more childish style as the main point of them is to let kids grow without needing to buy tons of new clothes all the time, and skirts of any length can be impractical. Some guardians don't see the point of the skirt if the kid is just going to be wearing pants underneath anyway and the kid transitions into just wearing pants. For those who do keep wearing it, it makes their ages and allegiances clear. Since "adulthood" is pretty much "whenever you look like an adult" or "whenever you can do the same work as an adult" it makes it clear that this is a child, and that they're not a killjoy (since some killjoys can be this young).

Again, kids this age usually aren't working actual jobs yet, so sandals are more common than closed-toe shoes that might be required for a more dangerous job. Sandals are preferred over closed-toe shoes since they take less supplies to make so they're cheaper. These sandals might be homemade or might be made more professionally.

Younger teenagers (13-15):

This is the age where you'll see a lot of actual variation in style. First short haircuts are common at this age. Some kids might have a job, so hair length is usually depending on the job they have instead of gender. A job where they're often inside or where long hair would get in the way? Short haircut. A job where they're often outside? Long hair. Of course, some people will still pick a style they like over practicality, but looks over practicality is a very killjoy-esque mentality that most of the desert does not follow.

Outfits vary a lot, again based on what's practical for work, but it's common for their clothes to be a bit oversized, since they're usually still on the smaller end even if they are wearing adult sizes by now.

Some kids still wear skirts to indicate their age if their guardians feel that they're not ready to be seen as an adult, but many wear pants only.

Most kids have close-toed shoes now, but again they might be a bit too big. Rags can be stuffed in the toes until they fit properly.

Older teenagers (16-19):

Can pretty much look like anything! Just like for younger teenagers, haircuts and forms of dress are more specific to what you're doing, since most people have some sort of job at this age. Skirts are not worn anymore.

Jobs often work like trades, where you learn to do something and make that your career, instead of switching between them a lot. A lot of jobs are making necessities like clothes, candles, and food, or services like doctors/nurses, messengers, etc. Sometimes certain professions go together, like gunsmiths (who can make or fix guns) will work with artists for killjoys or anyone who'd rather have someone else paint their raygun for them. Markets are a great place to sell their wares so a lot of vendors there are going to be people like this.

If you're interested in other types of people in the Zones/time periods and how they dress send me an ask or something bc worldbuilding my beloved <3

#danger days #the zones

[autistichalsin]

If you were Halsin’s writer (which you pretty much are for the fandom girlies) what’s a scenario/memory that he would have found himself in as a younger elf? Either a kiddo, or a cynical 150yo or right after the Shadow Curse began

care to throw together a bit of lore? 🙌🏼

YOU GUYS. You guys have to stop saying things that make me blush and kick my feet like this!!!! <333333

Hmm. So based on the ask I'm guessing you're wanting something angsty? I'm not sure how detailed I can think of on the fly without writing an entire fic, but here's how I see his little arc with outgrowing cynicism:

His descent definitely started with losing his family*. They were kind. They were loving. They taught him everything about nature. His older brothers always put up with him chasing after, and once his younger sisters arrived, they were glued to his side, always demanding stories and games, and he always pretended to be annoyed but secretly loved it. They were everything to him and he had to watch as, one by one, they got sick and died, or in two instances, had tragic accidents. Yes, he found the Druids soon after, but it didn't change that he was the only Silverbough left, the last of an ancient line of elves and they weren't there.(This was also his first brush with survivor guilt. Why him and not the oldest brother, or the youngest sister?)

Getting abducted as a young Druid was another catalyst. It took the pain of grief and survivor guilt and added something else. He knew cruelty- even wood elves weren't immune, let alone the Grove. And he'd certainly heard stories about the Drow, their raids of surface elf communities and the sadism of Lolth followers. But there was cruelty, and then there was cruelty. The kind of depravity that caused him to see decorations that were once elves, that caused him to be constantly degraded and mocked and used. (Not coincidentally, this brush with cynicism was marred with survivor guilt; the two are linked VERY closely for him.) It was one thing to lose his family to tragic twists of fate, but to see so much murder, to experience the pain of rape and abuse, was something else entirely.

That shook his faith for the longest time in the redeemability of sentient beings; it was years before he'd leave wildshape for anything not strictly necessary. It was then that he started thinking of himself more as a bear than as an elf. Bears weren't good or evil. They just were. And that was his refuge for years until he was ready to be a person again. A very cynical person, bitter but also unfailingly kind. The person who would say the world is an awful, doomed place while still doing everything in his power to make it less so for the people he cared for.

What caused him to break free? No one thing, but many things. Thaniel's continued friendship. Helping a sick, tired human deliver a baby. Rescuing a bear cub from a poacher and gaining a friendship that rested the rest of the bear's long, spoiled life. The quiet "I'm so proud of you, you'll go so far"s from the previous Archdruid as Halsin rose through the ranks at the Grove and became an unparalleled healer. The lovers he found through the years, never lasting long, but always full of warmth and intensity. Gaining the courage to start adventuring again, to the Nelanther Isles, to communities of other wood elves, and always learning something worthwhile. His books, even if his heart wasn't truly with scholarly pursuits, providing him the knowledge he couldn't always find in the real world. Finding a new, steady place for himself in the world, and growing strong on his own- and strong enough, like a sturdy oak, to provide shelter and protection for those he cared for. The more distance he put between himself and his captivity, the stronger he became. (Unfortunately, the distance also caused him to downplay the trauma increasingly; he opened up to few, deliberately, and with no one to remind him it was okay to have his feelings, he started displacing them.)

The Shadow Curse nearly caused him to relapse back into it. The combination of loss and fear and the addiction spiral he nearly fell into with the honey mead were a perfect storm. But by then, at 250 years old, Halsin knew himself well enough to see himself sinking, and he didn't want to be where he was back then. He still felt the pain. But the thing is that cynicism and optimism don't always have to be diametrically opposed. They both combine to form the basis for realism. Optimism is choosing to believe the best, pessimism is choosing the believe the worst, and realism is choosing to look at the two extremes and conclude the likeliest outcome is somewhere between them. And that was the approach Halsin took. Rather than writing the world off as a hopeless place, he acknowledged the suffering, then sought off in search of what he could change.

There is a note you can find in the game where he laments the Emerald Enclave refused to send help for the Curse, but adds that he would continue to try, and he might not have to face the darkness alone. That very much sums up Halsin's approach, even as he was hurting (to the point that some of his after-the-fact descriptions to the player sound remarkably like he was suffering clinical depression). Feel the pain, but hold on, because better is coming; wait through the Curse, because you will break it one day; hold on in the goblin pens, because you will be rescued; hold on in the Drow nobles' chamber, because your moment to escape will come. Halsin is remarkably strong and able to endure a lot of darkness as long as he doesn't lose sight of light at the end, and that's how he stopped from sliding into cynicism again after the Shadow Curse.

*I once had a headcanon that Halsin learned about his family's passing after the Underdark, but now I'm not so sure, especially since we know now it wasn't all at once. I definitely can see it, but I can also easily see him losing them before; it would explain his lack of fear venturing into the Underdark alone, I think. So for this post I went with that.

Not sure if this was what you were wanting, but I hope it was close, anyway!

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[bbobpul]

solemn ceremony — yjh

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x reader SUMMARY. y/n, who was in a six-year relationship with jeonghan, has been attending so many weddings of her friends because they are already at that age to settle down. she starts to feel the pressure because in those six years, not once did jeonghan ever hint about wanting to settle down with her. GENRE. angst W/C. 1.8k NOTE. i miss you jeonghan (⁠ﾉﾟ⁠0ﾟ⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠→ my other works

'it's okay to outgrow those who don't know how to love you,' says bianca sparacino, and this has been the driving concept of every aspect of my existence. it's what i've committed to all my life. i've navigated this world using the catching and releasing mentality. i've felt the pain of losing friends, the missed opportunities, and the irreversible loss of precious time. yet, in all my years, i could never bear the notion of losing you.

i know deep inside me that it wasn’t easy.. but i did it. i outgrew you.

five years ago…

so, there i was, amidst the whirlwind of vows and joyful dances, attending my fourth wedding of the year. you know how it goes—happy times, smiling faces, and love all around. but within that sea of celebration, there was always this lingering question, like a bittersweet voice tugging at my heartstrings: "when will it be your turn?" or "has jeonghan popped the question yet?" those inquiries had a way of leaving me lost in a haze of uncertainty, carrying the weight of unfulfilled desires.

jeonghan and i, we've been on this rollercoaster of love for six whole years. it all started when fate brought us together on a construction project. can you believe it? both of us are architects, drawn to each other by our shared passion. it was during that time, though, that i was going through something tough—a deep loss that weighed heavily on my soul.

in those moments of solitude, i longed for someone to share my victories, to lighten the load of my accomplishments. it's like i was missing a missing piece in the puzzle of life, you know? but then, like a beam of light piercing through the darkness, jeonghan came into my life.

at first, i thought he'd be like the others—a temporary presence who'd leave once the project was done, fading into the background like a distant memory. but boy, was i wrong. he stayed. he became that person i could share my successes with, the one i'd call up at the end of a tiring day, just to share a moment. can you imagine? someone who truly understood and embraced all that i was.

yet, amidst the laughter we shared and the whispered secrets we kept, there's this lingering realization that the world out there doesn't quite get it. people with their curious glances and probing questions, they can't fully grasp the depth of our connection. behind closed doors, doubts flicker like fragile candle flames, casting shadows on the very foundation of our love. the big question looms over us: will jeonghan be the one to take that leap, to bind our hearts in matrimony, or will our love forever remain a fleeting masterpiece, admired but never truly possessed?

as i witness another union of souls, this subtle sadness washes over me, like a gust of wind blowing through abandoned corridors. i try to find solace in the fact that even without the grand ceremony and vows, jeonghan has become an integral part of my journey—a rock of strength amidst all the uncertainties. but deep down, i can't help but wonder if our love story will forever be suspended in the realm of what-ifs, an unfinished symphony waiting for its final crescendo.

the first crack on the glass

“your mom kept asking me earlier..” i started

jeonghan turned his gaze away from me, his eyes devoid of curiosity. “about what?” he asked, his voice void of any tenderness.

“about us, and marriage.”

his lack of interest cut through me like a knife, piercing my heart with its cold indifference. “hmm, and what did you say?” he inquired, still refusing to meet my gaze.

“i couldn’t say anything, and then she just laughed it off.”

“why?” he asked, still not looking at me.

silence hung heavily between us, suffocating the room with its weight. i mustered a faint smile, desperately trying to find the right words to bridge the growing chasm. slowly, i reached out for his hand—the hand that had held mine during moments of overwhelming loneliness, the hand that had offered solace in the face of my turbulent emotions. at the same time, i tried to lock eyes with him, to seek solace in the same loving gaze that had always made me feel seen and cherished. but tonight, those hands slipped away as he abruptly stood up and made his way to the kitchen. and those eyes, the ones that once held so much love and adoration for me, now seemed to avoid my searching gaze.

a sharp pang pierced my chest, a bittersweet ache that defied reason. i knew deep down that my feelings were irrational, almost childlike, but the weight of our six years together suddenly flooded my senses. memories, both joyful and painful, surged through my mind, each one carrying a sting of sorrow. six years of shared dreams, laughter, and companionship now felt like distant echoes, fading into a sea of uncertainty.

in that moment, the realization washed over me like a crashing wave—i could no longer deny the unsettling truth that we were no longer on the same page. our paths, once so beautifully intertwined, now seemed to diverge, leaving me adrift in a sea of questions and unspoken longing.

but i still tried to speak.

"why?" i confronted him, the raw anguish in my voice unable to be contained any longer. "you know damn well why. we've spent six long years together, and not once have you hinted at wanting to marry me. two years ago, when you said you weren't ready, i respected your decision. but now, we're in our thirties, for god's sake! everyone around us is settling down, starting families, and here we are, stuck in this limbo. what's the problem now? is it because of your job? jeonghan, we work in the same place, we have the same damn schedule. so tell me, what the hell is the matter?"

an uncomfortable stillness settled upon them as the weight of my words hung heavy in the air, smothering the room and freezing our souls. the unspoken truth, full of uncertainty and unfulfilled expectations, left a wide hole between us, a canyon filled with shattered dreams and unspoken wants. we stood in that deafening silence, two souls entwined yet miles away, our hearts throbbing with the unspoken knowledge that perhaps our paths had diverged, and the future we had once imagined together now stood on the verge of irreparable split.

for the first time that night, jeonghan's gaze shifted towards me. his eyes, once filled with warmth and affection, now carried a haunting emptiness, devoid of any flicker of emotion. a feeble smile graced his lips, but it held an underlying sadness that tugged at my heartstrings. with each step he took, drawing nearer to me, i could sense the hesitance etching its way across his face.

"we will get there soon, i promise," he whispered, his voice laden with a profound melancholy. his words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken uncertainties. and then, with a trembling confession, he continued, "i... i love you, jo"

the weight of those three words engulfed the room, casting a shadow upon our fragile connection. it was as if the admission carried a burden, a burden that threatened to drown us in a sea of unanswered questions. in that fragile moment, it became painfully clear that our love, once vibrant and resolute, now teetered on the precipice of uncertainty. how could you claim to love someone if you couldn't even see the pain they felt, their subtle unraveling? my face was pale, but you refused to recognise the sickness that had engulfed both of us. the pain was intense, like an open wound, but you chose to ignore our mutual agony.

"you don't love me, han. you just want me here because i'm the only constant in your life besides your job. if you truly loved me, you would understand me as deeply as i understand you after these six long years. with you, jeonghan, my future remains uncertain. i yearn for stability, for the comfort of settling down. i won't compel you to embark on this journey with me, but remember, you cannot coerce me into staying either."

"i love you but you're losing me, han."

present time

thus, it was at that moment that i brought our six-year bond to an end, unveiling the cruel essence of existence—where we are destined to entangle ourselves only to untangle, time and again. i ended it way before the glass broke. we stumble upon unforeseen souls in this voyage, while losing the one we had envisioned eternally. however, let us not believe that life ceases to exist in those instances. it is, in fact, perfectly acceptable to outgrow those who are unaware of the art of loving you, even though, in this instance, he did love me. alas, his love fell short, incapable of constructing an everlasting sanctuary for me.

once again, i find myself standing at the threshold of yet another solemn ceremony—a retaking of vows by someone who holds a special place in my heart. for the past five years, i had forsaken numerous significant milestones in my own life, choosing instead to embark on a journey to greece, consumed by the demands of my career. yet, in this very moment, the individual who extended this invitation holds immeasurable value, surpassing any sentimental card that would reach their hands a mere week after the celebration.

as the minutes crawled by, we remained suspended in anticipation, longing for the commencement of the main event. in that restless moment, a familiar aura engulfed me as someone settled into the vacant seat beside me. to my amazement, it was the very person who had discovered me in the depths of my wanderings, the one who never coerced me out of my secluded refuge. instead, they held a torch aloft, fearlessly delving into the abyss to find me. it was the person with whom i had once woven dreams of everlasting togetherness. it was none other than yoon jeonghan.

"hey," he greeted me with a smile, "how are you?"

"good, life has been treating me very well these past few weeks, you?"

"yeah, you know, nothing has changed. my life is still all about work," he attempted to laugh, although the palpable tension lingered between us. everyone present at the event appeared preoccupied with their own affairs, yet i couldn't help but sense that many were well acquainted with our shared history. thankfully, they seemed content to focus on their own matters, respecting the boundaries of our past.

i observed how his gaze subtly gravitated towards my hand, resting on the table, particularly fixating on my ring finger.

"married?" he asked

"oh, no, no." i shook my head, "not yet."

#yoon jeonghan #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan angst #yo0nzino #seventeen angst #Spotify #jeonghan #svt #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios

[mariaelenaariente]

Astro Observations - all sign placements

coming from an esoteric and evolutionary astrologer

The pictures used are not mine

In-depth Natal Chart Analysis - reconnect with your Soul and uncover the Divine within you

Learn natal astrology

(These are not in any particular order)

Pisces placements often refuse their own spiritual abilities unless they're really in tune with their chart and Soul purpose. I've noticed this so many times - these natives have the most potential for a natural connection to the divine, yet they so often dismiss it. This can be related to a variety of things, but I believe it mostly comes down to them being subconsciously scared to detach from the material plane and trust their innate wisdom (which often goes against what society has taught us). However when a native with strong Piscean energy does connect to the divine, they're unstoppable and enlightening.

Leo placements (yes I'm a big fan of these) have so much light in them. I can't stand all the "they're so egoistical" bullsht. Of course some will be, especially the unevolved ones, but let's be honest: most are scared of healed strong Leo energy because they don't get them (and our society really isn't built for someone like them living according to their highest vibrations). Leos are strong, brave, loving, joyous, and have enormous hearts. They're simply made out of pure love and I will not be arguing about this.

Natives with an abundance of Taurus placement will not ever forget how you did them wrong. It's a matter of time before their disappointment exceeds their feelings for you and they snap (and when they do it's truly awful). I know that we like to think Cancers are the most likely to hold grudges (and to an extent they are, but in a much more different way) but a fixed sign will really think about that for the rest of their lives. If they do happen to also have Cancer placements, forget ever being really forgiven (unless they're particularly conscious).

Scorpio placements are really not as vengeful as people believe them to be. They are ruled by Pluto - what they do is transform and outgrow their pain. Yes their anger is strong and all-consuming, but ultimately they're meant to let it go to be able to better themselves. And let's be honest, Scorpio placements have to go through so much. They're asked to face pain and discomfort throughout most of their lives. A conscious native will transform this into their greatest strength, they won't plan their revenge for years. They know something greater's coming.

Gemini placements are the true intellectuals of the zodiac. Wait, before you come for me (lately it seems that most only call them chatty and annoying), hear me out. I'm not saying they're smarter than anyone, but they are the most invested in learning about the world. This can take many different forms based on their unique chart, and most of the time the form it takes is chaotic. They may not follow the traditional educational path. Where Aquarius placements are invested in learning, yes, Gemini placements are also invested in applying what they've learned. They're unlikely to really dedicate their lives to one subject - but they will dedicate their life to continuously grow and stimulate their intellect. There's so much more to be said here.

Aries placements generally have a hard time accepting themselves. They carry so much enthusiasm and energy with them, more often than not they'll be deemed "too much". This can really hinder their spirit - these natives need a lot of freedom and acceptance from their early childhood to grow into their confidence and powerful drive. If they don't get it, they often tend to retreat within themselves and hold back their energy. This is the root of the stereotypical Aries anger - they've often been suppressing themselves for years.

Aquarius placements often need to give others better credit for the lessons they teach them. Giving gratitude is an important lesson they need to learn in this lifetime. Yes, gratitude. Even for their hurts. Possibly especially for their hurts. They have the ability to easily recognize patterns in human behavior, and they wouldn't be able to exercise this if they isolate. If an Aquarian numbs their emotions and doesn't realize the great (soon to be positive) impact a bad experience had for them they'll be unable to learn from it.

Virgo placements can be just as loving as the stereotypical maternally affectionate Cancerian. Their typical pickiness when it comes to choosing whether to let someone into their life or not is their way of evaluating possible hurts and protecting themselves from it. A healed Virgo native however will not be running away from someone based on the rationalization they made of the situation - a healed Virgo will have a highly developed intuition and be a channel for divine messages - they'll just know what is right for them without the need to judge the situation. And if the situation is indeed right, they'll be some of the most loving and dedicated people in your life.

Libra, Capricorn, Cancer, and Sagittarius placements coming soon.

In-depth Natal Chart Analysis - reconnect with your Soul and uncover the Divine within you

Learn natal astrology

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #horoscope #zodiac #sun moon rising #12 signs #pisces #leo #taurus #virgo #cancer #gemini #aries #scorpio #aquarius #venus #mercury #mars #saturn #learn astrology #occult #astrologer #esoteric #evolutionary #western #placidus #house system

[starcrossedxwriter]

Unbreakable Part 4 (Erik Killmonger x OC)

A/N: So... we're getting into the thick of the plot here! So a lot happens in this chapter - maybe too much LOL but two parts were holdovers from chapter 3 that weren't quite ready lol so this chapter ended up jam-packed. Enjoy!

***

“You know we have staff to do that?” Nakia asked while she nursed Wakanda’s new princess and Naja moved at lightning speed folding all her clothes and straightening up her nursery.

Naja merely smiled and waved off her sister’s statement. “Yes I know. But the staff could use a break every once in a while. Besides laundry and organizing are the few domestic tasks mama taught us that I actually enjoy. How does such a tiny human make so many dirty clothes? She already has more clothes in this closet than I do.”

Nakia merely shook her head and laughed. “We have to change her outfit no less than 5 times each day. And she’ll outgrow 90% of that closet by the time you leave in a month.” 

Naja’s shoulders sagged a bit as she realized she only had about four weeks left in Wakanda. She had been so disgruntled about coming and now she did not want to leave. She knew she had to, there was much work waiting for her in Niganda and she missed her life there. But for the first time in a long time, she wondered whether she would miss what she was leaving in Wakanda more. Particularly her sister, her niece and her nephew. The Queen of Wakanda was incredibly busy with the new baby and her regular duties but she and Naja still made time for sister bonding, even if it was merely fawning over the baby together. 

“Who knows how big she’ll be when I am able to return again. Those five years with TJ went by so fast.” 

“Yes, this time will be very different though. Thank Bast,” Nakia whispered. Naja abandoned her task and squeezed her sister’s hand. 

“Yes, it will.” Naja pressed a soft kiss to the baby’s head before returning to her task. 

“You ever think about having one of these one day?” 

Naja was thankful her back was turned to Nakia as that question hit her ears. Her eyes clenched shut for a moment as if she could block out the avalanche of emotions that started barreling down at her at the question. She had to force her fingers to loosen around the baby onesie she was holding, her tight grip wrinking the pristine fabric. However, she did not let it show beyond that as she quickly schooled her expression into one of pained laughter. 

“Nope,” she asserted with a tone that made it seem like the suggestion was laughable to her. “Don’t think years of murdering people make you the mothering type. Hardly a nurturer.” 

“I disagree. You were amazing with TJ during his first 5 years. You were always the more nurturing of the two of us.” 

“Even if that were true, it would require me to be attached to a man for more than a night.” She winked at Nakia who merely rolled her eyes with a chuckle, always amused by her sister’s flippant attitude about sex. “And there is not a single man on this continent or Earth I am interested in saddling myself with for a lifetime.” She ignored the vision of a certain prince that popped into her head. 

“There’s not a single man whose company you enjoy in Niganda?” 

She scoffed. “There’s barely a man who can give me an orgasm to enjoy on a regular basis. I certainly don’t enjoy their company. They are merely a necessary means to an end.” She chose to leave out the part where many of her late night callers were men she wanted information out of for the rebellion… her sister hardly needed to know that part. 

“You can’t run from love forever, sister.” 

Naja rolled her eyes. Here we fucking go… A lecture. 

“I’m not running from it. I’ve actively decided I don’t want it. I love this life for you, Nakia. But I… I want something different.” 

Naja knew Nakia was not foolish enough to actually believe that lie. Naja had always been the one who wanted what Nakia now had, not being Queen, but to settle down and build a family once she had the adventures she and Erik discussed. While Nakia had yearned for the life Naja now had but had fallen in love with the King, which came with responsibilities she could not ignore. 

Sometimes those plans haunted her as vivid nightmares of the future she and Erik planned together when they retired from their posts as War Dogs and returned to Wakanda to serve T’Challa and Nakia as advisors and raise a family together. Fifteen years later and she could still see that future clear as day, only now it mocked her for ever believing it could be a reality, for putting so much stock into childhood fairytales and fantasies that could never happen. 

“Love can fit into your lifestyle, Naja. You can have the life you want and make room for love.” 

“The only people I love are in this palace right now. You, your children, T’Challa, Shuri. And our parents… most the time,” she muttered under her breath. “That’s all I need.” 

“I understand. I just don’t want what happened with N’Jadaka to close you off from love forever.” 

“It has nothing to do with him!” Another lie. “Not every decision I make in this life has to do with what he did.” Another lie. She despised just how much of the person she fashioned herself into was because of Erik. But there were some hurts… some wounds she simply could not let go. And no one on this planet, even Nakia, knew how deeply Erik had cut her. Everyone knew he abandoned her and broke off their engagement but their last conversation? That nail in the coffin of their love and friendship? Naja had never breathed those words aloud to another soul. Every time she tried, it felt like the poorly constructed stitches holding it together ripped open and pain flowed as if he had just hurled those words at her. 

“I am not saying it does. I had just hoped… since you have clearly forgiven him and you are becoming friends again, perhaps it had softened some of this. I know a future with him is not possible but that doesn’t mean getting to a better place with him will not open doors for others.” 

Naja paused but this time for some introspection as she tried to find the words to describe her increasingly complex relationship with a certain prince. She had two hearts where Erik was concerned and she had no idea which one would win out each day. One was held together by duck tape, still shattered and reeling from his actions. While the other, the heart that she tried her best to ignore, yearned for him as she did air to breathe and sustenance to survive. For that heart, he was as critical to her survival as the blood it pumped through her veins. And the control over her actions and her brain ebbed and flowed between the two, toggling back and forth in ways that made her increasingly frustrated.

She wanted to hate him, her hate for him was fuel and she was not ready to let it go. Today or ever. Once those feelings were the most clear and easy aspects of her life. And now? They were murky and she found herself wanting to forgive him so she could experience the once-in-a-lifetime love he offered her again. Since he held her the other night, she could not shake the feeling it left her with, the reality of how much she had gone without in the last 15 years. But she could not pretend that the mere idea of giving into that made her feel ashamed of herself. How could she forgive him so easily? He had not even really worked for it yet. She had to make him work for it, she could not let go that easy. She would hold to the tether of her rage and pain until it broke. Because he did not deserve easy this time. 

“I haven’t forgiven him… not yet anyway and I wouldn’t use the words friends. And whatever we are was not intended, believe me. I planned to go to my grave hating Prince N’Jadaka. I still might. But he’s… I don’t know. Every bit the same as I remember and completely different too. And he sees me? In a way no one else really does. So I am willing to give him a chance to earn my forgiveness, prove he’s changed. We are going out together on Friday.”  She glanced over her shoulder expecting to see an excited look on her sister’s face. Instead, she saw an expression she could not read fully. Partially shock but under the surface, Naja could not help but wonder if she saw a hint of anger. Of course, Nakia was able to school her face to throw on a fake smile but Naja noticed it too fast. “What’s that look?? You think I’m completely stupid, don’t you??” 

Nakia cleared her throat and shook her head. “No, no. You’re far from stupid. I just… Just be careful, Naja.” 

Naja scoffed. “I’m surprised you aren’t jumping for joy. Am I to believe the ulterior motive of this whole visit was not to get us back together? Was your husband alone in those intentions? It’s not gonna happen, I don’t want that,” Not really, she added silently in her head. “I just… there’s a part of me that has to know if he really has changed? And I lost a bet,” she admitted. 

“T’Challa and I merely want you and N’Jadaka both to be happy. And be able to coexist for the sake of this family. And perhaps that is best done apart. I just don’t want to see you hurt again. There are things you don’t know about him a-” 

“I’ll never be hurt like that again,” Naja answered sharply, cutting her sister off. She became immediately frustrated by the insinuation that she was anything like the 17 year old girl Nakia and T’Challa had to nurse back to health like a broken bird. As if Erik or anyone could break her again. She was stronger, she was different. “I know everything I need to know about who Erik is now. We’ll never be more than friends.” 

Nakia fell silent and merely nodded, though Naja could tell there was more she wanted to say. “You’re right, you’re right. Sometimes I just get overprotective.” 

Naja immediately felt bad for biting her head off. This was Nakia’s job as her older sister. But Naja already felt rubbed raw by N’Jadaka’s clear advances and effort. Old woulds were open and now her own sister was questioning whether she was strong enough to withstand the inferno that was Erik once again. If Nakia could not see how much she had changed, had she really at all?

“I know and I appreciate it. But I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me anymore. I’ll be ok. I promise.” 

***

Naja barely laid her head down to attempt to sleep when she got a call on her kimoyo beads. She glanced down, surprised to find a voice message from N’Jadaka. 

“Meet me outside. Bring your notes and journals. Got somethin’ to show you.” 

Naja could not help but stare at her beads in confusion. She had seen Erik several times throughout the day and he had not mentioned wanting to see her tonight or that he had anything to show her. 

Despite all of her questions and annoyances about having to leave the palace so late, she still forced herself out of bed and back into the first set of acceptable clothes she could find. Since she worked late nights at the bar and often did her recon and other illegal activities in the dead of night, all of her clothes were designed for stealth and to hide weapons. It was all the clothes she had so even tonight, when there was no stealthing or defending to do, her light black jacket was still home to four well hidden knives and her soft black leggings held spots for two guns, which she chose to leave at home. She stuffed all of her notes and journal into a small backpack.

She slid on her soundless shoes and out of her room with a mere nod to the Dora assigned to her room. She walked through the palace and out to the landing pad, Erik arrogantly leaning against the Royal Talon. 

“That was quick. When I didn’t get some smart ass response, I assumed you didn’t get it.” 

“It’s not too late if you need a dose of smart ass. I always have a few in my back pocket for you.” 

Erik surveyed her body, taking in her perfect curves and toned ass in her leggings. He licked his lips and winked at her. “What else you got back there for me?” 

Naja stopped in front of him and smiled sweetly. “A gun… though I’d prefer a knife. But trust me, you wouldn’t.” 

“How you know knife play ain’t a kink of mine, baby girl?” 

Naja almost choked before she recovered with a shake of her head as Erik burst into laughter. “You’re my least favorite person on this continent, you know that right?” 

“Don’t believe that for a second. Come on,” he gestured toward the Talon as the ramp opened for them to climb on. 

“Does our King know we are stealing his plane?”

Erik merely shrugged as he slid into the driver's seat. “More or less. Not my first time takin’ it out for a little ride. But don’t worry, we’re just going to Shuri’s lab. So we won’t be far.” 

“What’s at Shuri’s lab?” Not that she did not mind going to Shuri’s lab, she enjoyed learning from the Princess and getting to try out new gadgets before anyone else. However, she did not understand why he wanted to go there with her or what he would have to show her. 

“You’ll see.” 

Naja rolled her eyes before sliding into one of the seats. The short plane ride was virtually silent though the tension between them, in such a small space, was palpable. Things had somehow both become more difficult and more effortless between theme since he spent the night two days prior. The vulnerability they shared broke down a few barriers in a way Naja had not expected but she did not know what to do now. She was not accustomed to gray space when it came to Erik. They were not friends, they were not lovers but they weren’t enemies anymore either. They were just something else that she was not prepared to decipher or understand. 

“So are you going to reveal the big secret?” Naja asked as they entered Shuri’s private workspace. She was surprised to not find the Princess in her usual spot. Everyone knew she did her best work in the middle of the night when she should have been resting like everyone else in Wakanda. The Wakandan Palace was filled with night owls.

“Shuri told me we could use the space at night for a while cause she’s working on a different project downstairs. Wanted to show you this,” he took her over to the giant work table which was usually covered in completed or half-finished gadgets. However, tonight, it was filled with notes and papers, treaties, aerial photos, and a giant 3-D map of Niganda. 

“Whoa.” Naja’s hands started grabbing random pieces of paper. There was enough material here to keep her busy for weeks. “What’s all this?” 

“Notes from the other three War Dogs in Niganda from the last year, I didn’t tell them why,” he added at the freaked out look on her face. “I just asked all War Dogs to send an update to make it seem routine. After our talk the other night, I pulled some recon photos we had from before the peace treaty talks started. Figured we could use all this and your notes to piece together some more information. And T doesn’t really come down here unless Shuri invites him so it’s a good spot to do shit we ain’t supposed to be doin’.” 

Naja glanced at him with wide eyes. “You did all this to help me?” 

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do to help you. I know you don’t believe that but it’s true. And you ain’t in this alone, this ain’t just on you to figure out.” 

Erik did not have the heart to tell her that his actions were not totally altruistic. He had his own motivations for finding a reason to end these peace talks with Niganda. His future, or rather the future he wanted, was as tightly wound in discovering what Niganda was doing as Naja’s was, if not more so. 

She sighed, grabbing more papers. “I do now. Thank you, N’Jadaka. Seriously. Also a bit old school don’t you think?” She gestured to the printed papers. 

“Less likely for T’Challa or anyone to notice on our tablets and shit. And stop thankin’ me and let’s get to it, aight?” she nodded with a smile before putting on her game face. “So you said the King is definitely behind the kidnappings? Any theories as to why?” 

“Definitely. Witnesses report soldiers taking the kids. It’s possible it is a rogue faction of the guard doing something nefarious and they are getting away with it because most of the people will think it is the King’s orders. But King Bisi runs the guard with an iron fist, hell, most do not breathe without his command. There are claims that his mental health is waning so perhaps someone in the palace is taking advantage of that? But there are few in his court with the skill to pull something like this off besides him.” She sighed. “And I have several theories but none of them are particularly good and haven’t panned out.”  

“Ok well let’s hear 'em anyway.”  

She started pacing up and down the length of the table. “First I thought intimidation? You know taking the children to keep their parents in line. But that doesn’t explain the first four kids who were all orphans. And the entire country, save the rebels, are already terrified of him. And those with parents… none of them are part of the Front or involved in illegal activity. They are just regular people so that would not make sense. It could be trafficking or labor for the fields? It’s the poorest village of the Capitol and in the country so outside of those of us who live there, no one would know or care that these kids are going missing. The wealthier villages are just happy to remain in the King’s favor. The first few were from the local orphanage, the man who runs it is who sounded the alarm to Dayo initially. But Dayo ruled out trafficking. The kids aren’t showing up in those channels either. Whatever he is doing with them, they are still in Niganda.”

“Yea, and there are a lot easier ways to get bodies… prisoners, rebels. What else?” 

Naja glanced up at him with a helpless expression. “That’s it. If we were finding bodies, we’d have more to go on but these kids are vanishing without a trace.”

“Anything else suspicious happened since this started?” 

“Not really. Two doctors were kidnapped about a week before the kids started. But we found one of their bodies the same week so we assumed they were both dead and fell into something they shouldn’t have. We never found the body of the second one so maybe that’s something?” 

“Yea but most people kidnap adults or kids… kidnapping both is uncommon. What’s the deal with this rebellion anyway?” At her skeptical look, he smiled. “Don’t worry, ain’t gon’ rat you out to T.” 

“How else do revolutions and rebellions start in this world? The people have nothing and King Bisi brutalizes them while leaving them destitute. Dayo… he and a couple rebel leaders were once in the King’s court but he escaped after the King murdered an entire village who was ‘harboring’ a father who had stolen from the palace. He realized that the freedom we deserved was only possible if the king was not in power. He created the Nigandan Liberation Front to overthrow the Royal Family and install a true democracy.” 

Eek could not help but hear how she used the word “we” to describe Nigandan citizens as if she was not a spy masquerading as one of them. Nor could he stop the smallest kernel of hope from blossoming in his heart. If the rebels succeeded, that nagging reminder of the promise he made that he desperately tried to forget, the reminder that his future did not belong to him at all, would be null and void. 

“How likely you think that is?” 

She scratched her forehead. “Honestly, I don’t know. We’re inching forward but it could be years. The King loves his grip on power. Many refuse to join the rebellion because they hold hope that his heir will be different but…” 

“You disagree? You know her?” 

She laughed humorlessly. “No, never met her. Gotten a glimpse of her a few times. She’s been to the village more than once. She’s known for her charity work, feeding and clothing those in need.” 

Erik could hear the disdain in her voice. “That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” 

“Not when she has the power to ensure there are no poor in the country to begin with. Niganda has the money for everyone to live in prosperity. Her father has chosen policies that hoard resources for him, his council, and the wealthy while the rest of the country starves. Many of the country may love her for it but I won’t celebrate someone saving lives when they are the reason the people are dying to begin with. All Princess Imani is doing is keeping the people on life support so they can continue to serve her family and eventually her interests. As far as I’m concerned, she is as soulless as her father.” 

Erik’s eyes grew wide. “Damn, tell me how you really feel. Who knows, maybe she’ll be different.” 

Naja did not look up from the written accounts of one of the war dogs she was reading. “Why do you care so much? It’s not as if you have to live under her rule. You met her?” 

Erik fixed his face to seem as disinterested as he should be. “Only once at an event. She was a bit vain but hella independent. I’d hardly describe her as soulless. Her father? That nigga definitely. But she seemed like she wanted to do some good.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it. But that’s a ways away, unfortunately. According to the palace, King Bisi is in perfect physical health by all accounts. And despite his age and ailing mental health, the ancestors will have to drag him to whatever heaven or preferably hell is waiting for him before he willingly gives up that throne.” Silence fell for a few minutes before she paused. “Wait… this could be something. Did you read this one from… M’Badu?” 

“Haven’t had a chance to read any of them. What’s it say?” 

Naja stood and walked over to where he sat to hand him the papers, sliding to sit on the table in front of him. “His cover is a doctor at the biggest hospital in the Western Province, smart cover… that’s were all the wealthy go. A life of comfort as you put it. He reported that half of their supply of medications and drugs was stolen the day after the first child was stolen. Things like anesthesia, blood supply… opioids.” 

“So? Could be for a black market or somethin’.” 

“No, I know every major player in Nigandan’s underground… none of them have the manpower, capitol, or balls to pull this off. And they are all egotistical men so they would’ve bragged about a score this big. I never even heard this happened, which is saying something. They still small amounts with the help of doctors and nurses in their pockets to avoid attention. Whoever did this has all those things and sophistication.” 

“Why you say that?” 

“Because… I didn’t think it was relevant but this same hospital houses the country’s largest scientific research center and they had a break in not long ago… about a month before the first child was taken. I don’t even live in that Province and I heard about it. It was the biggest breach of security they’ve ever had. They redid the security for the entire facility and hospital afterward. So this person had to get around all of that and M’Badu said Princess Imani had been there earlier that day visiting sick children. So they had to avoid additional palace guards too.”

“Ballsy to hit the same hospital twice.” 

“Not really when you know the health care infrastructure is crumbling. Biggest hospital in the country and the only significant research facility. If you want as many chemicals and drugs as you can get your hands on, this is your only option.” 

“What chemicals were taken?” 

“They took a bit of everything the facility had. All raw chemicals and drugs that could be used to make a million different things. Dayo and I check the black markets every night to see what will turn up but nothing of note has.” 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Does T know you frequent black markets this much?” 

“He knows I check to see if there’s vibranium floating around. But does he know I go almost every night and sell what I can get my hands on? Nope.”

“What do you even have to sell?” 

“Whatever I can buy with my War Dog riches without raising attention… and whatever I can steal from the King and the wealthy and give back to the people where it belongs.” 

Erik was shocked, and admittedly aroused, at how nonchalantly she talked about theft. A ruthless spy indeed. 

“How’d you get into that? Also you must not do much bartending on your shifts with all this extra shit?” 

She let out a barking laugh and waved her hand dismissively. “No. Truth be told, I’m a terrible bartender, which Dayo figured out fairly early on. But Dayo is not a fool and recognized I had skills that were far more important to him so he keeps me around to bookkeep for him, manage the bar… flirt with men to get information. And some talents that he appreciates but won’t dare ask how I got. My speciality in the Hatut Zeraze … besides torture and murder, of course, was infiltration. When he realized, Dayo helped me start to steal from the trucks that supply the palace and wealthier restaurants with food and other delicacies. Sometimes from the houses of the wealthy. I take whatever I can and sell it.”

Erik let out a low whistle. “Infiltration… that shit’s hard. I was good at gettin’ niggas to talk but the gettin’ in and out was always my weak spot.” 

She shrugged as she looked down at him from her spot. “I’m surprised. All it takes is being a good liar. And you’re the best one I know,” she mumbled under her breath before she could stop herself. She clenched her eyes closed as she saw the hurt flash across his face. “Sorry, habit.” She stood up from her perch she had taken on the edge of the table by him and moved to the giant screen they had in the room. She started writing the information they had on it. 

Erik let the papers he was holding fall back onto the metal table. “My feelings for you weren’t a lie, Naja. The things we talked about, the life we wanted to have together… none of it was lies… I just… shit happened and I handled it all wrong a-”

Her hand stilled as she heard his words, painfully clashing against the narrative she had created for over a decade. Her heart wanted her to leap and fall but her brain forced her feet to remain planted where they were until he proved he could be trusted again. All of this was a good first step but that was all it was: a first step. 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what? We need to talk about what happened. Let me explain.” 

“Look… I want to trust you… get to a place where we can, at least, be friends again, Erik. Because as hard as I try to hate you with my entire soul… part of me will always care for you more than I should. You caught me at a weak moment the other night and I appreciate you being there for me. But nothing that’s happened should make you think the door is open for that conversation. I don’t want to hear you excuses and reasoning… whether or not what you felt was true doesn’t matter anymore. Why you left… why you said those things, none of it matters because it doesn’t change the fact that you left. All that matters is that you did it and you said it. And because of that, we can’t go back. But we can create something new… a new friendship. So all I want to see and hear from you now is something different. That’s all I have space for.” 

Erik’s head fell in disappointment at her words. He knew he should not have gotten his hopes up, that he should have listened to T’Challa and not gotten his heart back invested in Naja because she would never feel the same. He knew that was not the only reason T’Challa had cautioned him to stay away but he had not listened. He never listened. And though he knew he should take her words as fact and accept the friendship she offered, he knew it would not be enough. Whatever time he had left of freedom, he wanted to spend what time he had left with her, choosing her. He also knew her better than any other soul on this Earth, there was more than just care for her too even if she did not want to admit it. 

Luckily for him, Erik was as patient as he was committed. He would not stop trying and he would play the long game to continue softening that barrier between them for as long as he was able.  

“Ok so…” she turned back to him, a determined look on her face as she quickly changed the course of their conversation. “We have missing kids, a doctor, drugs, chemicals, and medication. But no obvious links between any of them. So we have nothing.” 

“The links are always there. We just gotta find them.” 

***

Nakia stalked through the palace, an aura of anger radiating off of her so strong that the few servants walking about immediately moved out of her way as she raced to her husband’s office. She did not give Okoye a chance to knock or announce her presence as she walked inside. She had tried to not let her overprotective nature get the best of her since her conversation with Naja that morning. However, when Ayo alerted her to Erik and Naja taking the Talon for a late night joyride, she could hold her tongue no longer. 

T’Challa glanced up from his tablet as the door opened and she swept in. However, his fatal error was not noticing the look of rage contorting her features. 

“I will come up to bed soon, my love. I need to finish thi- what’s wrong? Is it the baby?” T’Challa immediately jumped up as he realized his wife was not there to drag him from his office to get rest. 

“What part of ‘Tell Erik to stay away from Naja,’ did you not understand, T’Challa??” she exploded. No one except Nakia could yell at the King of Wakanda and the Black Panther. “Because what is happening right now is NOT staying away!” 

T’Challa grimaced. “I told him to stay away.” 

“What did you say exactly??” 

“That she despised him and that she would never forgive him, which is true. Naja won’t forgive him so there is nothing to be concerned about.” 

She shook her head as she paced up and down by his desk. “No it is not true! They are currently Bast knows where in the Royal Talon. He spent the night in her room a few days ago and they are going out on Friday.” 

“Nakia…” his voice took on a chastising tone. “You can’t spy on your sister.” 

“Do not take that tone with me as if you do not spy on N’Jadaka too. You knew this was going on and you’ve said nothing. You’ve DONE nothing to stop it. I will spy on her all I want when she is in harm’s way. Someone has to protect her, no one else in this country seems to.” 

The jab hit exactly where she wanted it to, T’Challa’s face twisting up in indignation. “That is not fair, Nakia. I protect Naja just as I do my own sister. She is my sister in every way that matters. But I cannot stop N’Jadaka from trying to mend fences with her if that is what he wants to do.” 

Nakia shook her head. “This is more than mending fences and you know it. He is in love with her and making her fall in love with him again. And you and I and he all know that cannot happen. The only person who is going to get hurt is Naja.” 

T’Challa shook his head. “What we are talking about is a hypothetical situation that is 10… maybe 15 to 20 years down the road, Nakia. The King will have to die and she would have to choose N’Jadaka among a list of eligible princes. We have years before it is even a conversation and even then, it is only a possibility. The Princess does not even want to get married.” 

“You and I both know that King Bisi did not raise a fool. There may be a list… but every nation on it knows that Wakanda, thus Prince N’Jadaka, is the list. If she is forced to marry someone, which she will have to according to Nigandan law to be queen, there is no one else who would give the Nigandans the power and resources they want and need other than him. Just because N’Jadaka chooses to play the fool and pretend that is not the case does not mean we have to. I am not ok with my sister’s heart being broken in 10 or 20 years either when I can stop it now. Since N’Jadaka and you have clearly forgotten, remind him of the promise he made to this country or I swear to Bast, I will tell her myself.” 

“Nakia… Erik offered his life and future for this country and for us. The life he has led… what he has endured because of what Wakanda took from him… he deserves happiness. He deserves hope even if it is only for a short while. Do not ask me to take it from him. I have faith that N’Jadaka will tell her when the time is right. Before it progresses to anything serious.” 

“No one deserves happiness at the expense of someone else’s. My sister deserves happiness too… with someone who can actually dedicate their entire life to her, not years with an expiration date stamped to them. I love N’Jadaka like he is my own brother and I wish for his happiness as I wish for Shuri’s and everyone else I love. But I will not allow your guilt for what your father did to hurt my sister. He broke her once and I lost her for years because of it but if he does it again, I don’t think she will be able to get back up. Tell him to stay away from her, T’Challa. I mean it. Before this ill-fated date on Friday. And do it properly this time.” 

She did not even wait for him to agree or respond before she swept out of the office, Okoye peering in as if waiting for an invitation. 

“I suppose you heard all of that?”

Okoye nodded. “Our queen’s voice does certainly carry when she is impassioned and angry at you. Did you really believe what you told the Prince that first night would stick?” 

T’Challa’s head thudded back against the soft material of his chair, his hand rubbing his eyes. “I had hope… foolishly perhaps.”

“Seems as if there is a lot of foolish hope floating around this palace since Naja returned.” 

“Do you believe it is my guilt?” T’Challa asked as Okoye handed him a glass of rum from his stash. He sought counsel from precious few people but Okoye was most certainly on that list. 

Okoye sighed. “What did you tell me your father said when you saw him in the Planes? You’re a good man, T’Challa… and it is hard for a good man to be king. You want to do right by him to make amends for what your father did and I understand that. But you, who seems determined to carry the weight of his triumphs and mistakes, aren’t accountable for what King T’Chaka did, the fate he allowed to befall his own family. That was his choice and is it a shame that he did not live to take accountability for that, yes. But that how Bast saw for his life to play out. What Prince N’Jadaka lost? That is not a debt you will be able to repay, my King. Even saving his life won’t do it. And you would be a fool to try… and you are not a fool. Prince N’Jadaka must make peace with what he lost and you, my king, must make peace with your father’s role in it. But denying Prince N’Jadaka hard truths because it makes you feel better about what happened to him will do nothing but hurt him when those hard truths come to call. And they always do.” 

And with those words, Okoye returned to her post outside his office and left her King alone with his thoughts. 

***

“Fuck!” Naja’s frustrations got the better of her as she and N’Jadaka spent another night pouring over all their notes and information. She threw a knife at the wall, the very tip of it lodging into the vibranium. “This is hopeless.”

“We have a good startin’ point. Seems like experimentation of a new drug or chemical or somethin’ is the most likely bet.” 

“Yes but what good is that if we have absolutely no way of determining what they are testing and why?” 

Erik stared at her for a moment and sighed. It did not matter how many nights they spent working on this, it would never satisfy Naja until they… she found each one of these kids and returned them to their parents. 

Naja was fascinating puzzle to him. Depending on the setting and context, he saw a different picture every time he looked at her. When they trained, he saw Naja, the ruthless assassin. She was everything T’Challa said: a lethal beauty… Killmonger’s equal in every way… just as cunning, pragmatic and unemotional as he - maybe more. That night in her room he saw the Naja he used to know, the soft second daughter of the River Tribe who could not wound a fly, much less murder a person. And when they stood among the low blue lights of Shuri’s lab, he saw the Naja he imagined she did not want anyone else to see: a ruthless assassin who was still felt everything far deeper than she should. 

He knew the real Naja was the latter version. Just as Killmonger was not the real him nor was the 18 year old he was before he fled Wakanda. It had taken a brush with death and a year to finally come to terms with the fact that it was not an either/or calculation. The real him was the best and worst parts of all of the hats he wore. He prayed to Bast it would not take the same thing for Naja. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

Naja looked at him like he had grown several heads. “You’re joking right?”

“We’ve been staring at this shit for hours every night and recycling’ the same theories. Let’s take a break. You know one night ain’t gon’ make a difference.”

“And go where?” 

“For me to know and you to find out. Come on.” And with that, he walked out of the lab. 

Naja stared at his back for a few moments before letting out a soft chuckle and following after him. She followed his footsteps to the elevator, which took them up to the panther opening of the Great Mound. 

“When’s the last time you saw a Wakandan sunrise?” He asked as he walked to the edge of the cliff and sat down, his legs dangling off the side. A small sliver of the sun was visible over the horizon. 

“You remembered?” Her entire body stilled as she looked at him. 

“If I remember correctly, it was the sunrise over the falls specifically but I figured this would do too.” 

While sunsets were always Erik’s favorite thing about Wakanda, Naja’s was the sunrise. Different sides of the most beautiful coin Wakanda had to offer. Naja often snuck out as a child, when she needed to calm her spirit, to the falls to watch Bast bring a new day across all of Wakanda. 

“I forgot how beautiful it was,” she muttered as she sat down next to him. “Niganda has a different sort of beauty to it. But it’s not this.” 

In the distance, she could see a herd of antelope racing by, the sun only barely peeking out. They sat in silence as they both stared out into the distance. Erik could tell that the picturesque landscape was not doing much as her shoulders still hunched forward with the weight of everything she felt. 

“What are you thinkin’?” 

“That I can’t find them…. That all these kids are going to die because I’m too much of a failure to connect the dots. ‘A wallflower who will never be quite good enough’ indeed.” The words of her father rang loudly in her head. Aside from her rage for Erik, he was the other man whose words fueled this version of her, fueled her desperate need to be the best. 

Erik sighed. “You were always too hard on yourself, Naja. Never saw your potential.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Nobody here saw my potential… my father made sure of that. Nakia’s shadow and nothing more. You know he tried to stop me from becoming a War Dog? Tried to get T’Challa’s father to decline my application.” 

Erik bowed his head. “Yea T told me.” 

“Of course he did,” she chuckled. She brought one knee to her chest and hugged it. “I passed the trainings and tests and he still tried to go behind my back to stop me from doing it. You know that’s why I became Hatut Zeraze? Wasn’t the route I intended when I applied, even Nakia didn’t go that route. But I just wanted to spite him, prove I could do it. That I was built for it. That’s all my entire life has been. Proving I’m worthy… that I’m something to the people who claim to love me. But maybe all of you were right. I should’ve just stayed in Nakia’s shadow.”  

Erik pressed his palms into the warm surface of the mountain’s cliff and scooted himself closer to her so that their shoulders were touching. He placed a tentative hand on her thigh, right above her knee, gently rubbing it. 

Her breath nearly stopped at his touch, tender and loving just as she remembered. She felt everything in that simple touch. It had been too long since she let someone touch her for comfort and in the last week, she had let him do it twice. And this time, she had no desire or inkling to pull away from him. 

“Nah we were all wrong. I ain’t just sayin’ this, Naja but you can figure this out. Your father’s words… my words… they don’t gotta be what you believe about yourself. You can choose to believe that you’re the woman who took all her pain and fashioned herself into a weapon, someone who people quake in fear when they see comin’. You think I ain’t heard stories about you since I got back?” He nudged her with his shoulder causing her to laugh. “You might’ve started down the road cause of me and your dad and whatever else but where you are now? That’s all you. So own that ’n use it to figure this out. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Always were.” 

She sighed and glanced at him. “How is that you always know what to say? It’s extremely annoying, in case you were wondering,” she added with a teasing smile. 

“I always know what to say with you. But only because I’ve always seen all of you.”

“Oof… all of me? Quite the dark picture I imagine,” though she tried to keep her tone light, Erik could see it. The shame in her deep brown eyes that she tried to hide by dipping her head, avoiding his stare. 

“Nah, parts of it are dark… but those parts were always eclipsed by light and vibrancy. There were just too many people contributed to dimming that light. Me included. But from where I’m sittin’, the only person dimmin’ your light ‘n doubtin’ you right now… is you. Can’t hide in the darkness forever, baby girl. Gotta let that sun rise at some point.” 

She rested her cheek on her kneecap, his words settling into her mind. She did not have the words to respond to that. Or rather, she had so many words, so many feelings bubbling to the surface that she did not know where to start. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, forcing them away from him as she pushed them back down where they belong. 

He did not say anything, thank Bast, he merely just took her hand, lending her as much nonverbal support as he could. She squeezed his hand gently, praying that the small gestured conveyed what her words could not. Her thanks for always seeing her even when she desperately tried to hide. 

***

Only T’Challa was at breakfast when Erik arrived, an additional pep in his step despite the somber tone this day usually had for him each year. Today was finally his date with Naja and he would be lying if he said he had not strategically picked today in hopes she would distract him from the painful memories and rage he usually felt. Naja had always been his peace and solace, his place to retreat to. She still was. 

Though she would never call it a date, it was close enough to one for him. To an outsider, it might not have seemed like much. But to him, it was everything. Spending the night with her, working with her every night, solidified one fact he had always known: he was madly and insanely in love with her. And her friendship was not enough… he’d do anything in his power to get her back. 

“Morning,” he offered as he settled into the seat across from T’Challa. 

“How are you today? I know what today is.” The words were simple, T’Challa did not even look up from his tablet as he offered them. 

Erik shrugged. “Just another day like any other day.” As much as he loved T’Challa, in his own way, his father was not a subject he would discuss with his cousin. Ever. “What did you want to talk about?” 

T’Challa glanced at Okoye who merely offered him a dead pan expression that demanded he get on with it. He closed the cover of his tablet and lifted his eyes to his cousin. Erik could immediately since the tension… a power imbalance that was not usually present when he spoke to T’Challa. He straightened up slightly, he was not speaking to his cousin today. Today, he was speaking to his king. 

“You and Naja have been spending quite a lot of time together. Daily sparring sessions. Late night rides on the Talon. You spent the night in her room?” 

Erik raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Is that a question cause seems like you know already?” He and Naja’s sparring sessions were no secret around the palace, they were often a spectacle for training Dora and War Dogs alike. Everything else was not common knowledge, though Erik knew he always had eyes on him. But Erik did not understand what that had to do with him being called to the proverbial principal’s office. 

T’Challa sighed. “Do not do this, N’Jadaka. You will only end up hurting her.” 

“Do what? Stop beatin’ around the damn bush ‘n just say what you need to say.” Erik’s patience was running thin, as it often did when T’Challa clearly had something on his mind but did not want to confront him. Save Naja perhaps, Erik was the only person in the entire palace T’Challa handheld like a child. Like he would pick up and run the moment T’Challa did his job as King and ordered him or told him something he did not like. But Erik was no stranger to hard truths, his life had been shaped by them. There was nothing T’Challa could say that would make him run, not anymore. 

“Stop working her! Naja is not a mark or a challenge to conquer. You are falling in love with her and trying to convince her to do the same because you believe you have time. Time to undo the mistakes of the past, time to try again even if it is fleeting. You made a promise and I expect you to keep it. So stop pursuing something that can never happen.” 

Erik stilled. He had made that promise to T’Challa and the Nigandans in service to Wakanda, a promise that he was assured may not even happen. Had he foolishly held onto that too tightly? Maybe. 

“You told me she didn’t even want to marry. That it was unlikely given Niganda and Wakanda’s relationship.” 

“Plenty of monarchs don’t want to get married, N’Jadaka. But she will because it is her duty. And marriage alliances are one way to cement peace, which puts your name at the top of the list. Frankly,” T’Challa sighed. “You might as well be the only name on the list. I’m sorry… I should’ve been more clear when Naja returned about this. That is my fault.” 

“Wait, wait. Nah, nah, nah. T, I’m just… I’m just gettin’ her back. This is a once in a lifetime shot. Don’t ask me to give her up. Retract my name from consideration. Please.” 

Erik Stevens had never begged another human being in his life, his pride would never allow him to do such a thing. However, for Naja? Pleas were all he had to over, pleas that T’Challa would give him this reprieve as his cousin and not his King. He could not give Naja up, would not give her up. 

“The peace between our countries is fragile as it is, N’Jadaka. Any perceived or real slight could tip the scales. I know it is not fair, I know it is not right. And I am sorry. But you made a promise when we offered up your name that you would serve Wakanda’s interests if chosen. And as your king, I expect you to uphold that. Whether it is 5 years or 20 before she is queen, you are as good as engaged to her. You need to start acting like it.” 

“So what do you want me to do?” 

T’Challa sighed and clenched his eyes closed before saying, “Stay away from Naja. Temper your feelings for her so you can fulfill your duty when the time comes. You can do whatever you want with your life and your heart until then but Naja is off limits.” 

“That an order?” 

T’Challa stood up and walked over to Erik, placing one hand on his shoulder, which he immediately shrugged off in frustration. “I tried to warn you once as your brother and hers. I hoped the knowledge that she still harbored such anger toward you would be enough to keep you away. But I was wrong. I give you a long leash, N’Jadaka and I do it because you have proven yourself worthy of it. But yes. On this subject? This is me ordering you as King. Do not continue to foster feelings you know you cannot act on. Stay away from her.”

Erik’s hands curled into fists. Those were two things he could not do. “Why’d you even offer up my name when you knew she lived there? If she had not come home, were you ever gonna tell her that the man she despises would be her King consort one day? That I would be leading the country she calls home. Were you ever gonna tell me that the woman I loved more than anyone on this planet was living in the country you offered me up to like a prized horse? I didn’t know where Naja was when I agreed to this but you did… and you said nothing.” 

“At the time, I did not owe either of you that information. And I did not say anything because your dedication to this country should outweigh whatever childish feelings you still harbor toward her. Beyond that, Nakia wants Naja here… home with us. I will not pretend as though I do not see this eventuality as a way to push her toward returning here for good.” 

“You’re talkin’ about me workin’ her like a mark? As if you aren’t usin’ this shit to manipulate her into comin’ home. Just like you did to get her back here in the first place. She deserves the truth. She can handle the truth ‘n make her own damn decisions.”

T’Challa scoffed. “Bold of you to say as if you did not abandon her and throw a grenade behind you as you went.” 

“That was different,” N’Jadaka rose from his chair, his rage getting the better of him. “And you fuckin’ know it.” 

“Hardly. You found out the truth of what happened to your parents and instead of trusting Naja with it and what you wanted to go do, you destroyed her to ensure she would not follow. You did not see what Nakia and I saw after you left. It took months to piece her back together. Nakia refuses to see that happen again. Better you hurt her now before she grows too attached to you again.” It will hurt her but it will not break her.” 

Erik shook his head, finding his cousin colder than he had ever known him to be. He was not talking to his cousin who was basically his brother. He was talking to King T’Challa, son of King T’Chaka indeed. “That’s cold, T.” 

“I know… and I take no pleasure in it. I would love for you and Naja to be what you once were. I will even admit that I may have considered it a blessed side effect of her return when I invited her back. But I am King and that means I must often act contrary to my whims of my heart and do what is best for Wakanda. And whether T’Challa, your cousin and brother, likes it or not, what best for Wakanda is that you are free to secure this alliance between Wakanda and Niganda when the time comes. You and Naja’s feelings and complicated relationship do not supersede what Wakanda needs to survive or what this continent requires to avoid another needless war.” 

Erik could not stomach to hear another word. He stood up with such force, his chair screeched loudly against the marble floors. “Yes, my king,” he sneered before marching toward the door, his breakfast forgotten. However, when he got to the door, he stopped. “Your father chose Wakanda and politics over family ’n we all know how that turned out. Thought you would’ve learned from that nigga’s mistakes but I guess you’re more like him than I thought.” 

And with that, Erik stormed out. 

***

Erik fiddled with his kimoyo beads, dreading what he had to do. Words could not describe how much he hated T’Challa in this moment. He was well within his rights as king and things had only gotten this far because Erik allowed himself to have hope - a fool’s errand really. But here he was and now he was going to have to break his own heart and Naja’s again. He hated himself for it. But he had forced himself to hurt her once to fulfill a selfish need for vengeance. He could do it again for his country. He had no choice. 

This was not how he wanted today to go. On today of all days, to have to lose another person he loved, it was too much. 

He pressed the button of his kimoyo beads, calling Naja. He hated how quickly she picked up, a soft smile on her face. 

“Hey,” he offered. 

“Hey… you ok?” She asked. “You sound weird? You better not be calling me to cancel. I let Shuri drag me to get a manicure and pedicure for this…. Painstaking shit if you ask me. I adore her but that girl basically wants to dress me up like a damn doll. I drew the line at her taking me to get my make up professionally done.” At his silence and the grimace on his face, she frowned. “Oh you are canceling.” 

“Yea, I’m sorry.” She clearly tried to hide her disappointment, the deep frown that overtook her features. He did not understand how he did this all those years ago. It felt like the worst form of torture to make himself do this again. And as he struggled to find the words, he realized he couldn’t. So like the coward he was, instead of telling her the real reason he needed to cancel, he said, “T’Challa just dumped a bunch of shit on my plate for the peace talks and it’s pretty time sensitive. Will keep me busy ’n workin’ late for a while. A-and honestly… just havin’ a really shitty day. Wouldn’t be much fun anyway.  Figured it’s only right to free you from your debt.” 

She chewed on her lip for a few minutes before saying, “No worries. Your work and Wakanda comes first and I’m sure you’ve been falling behind since spending every night helping me. All good.” 

“I am… really sorry, Naja. I hope you believe that.” 

“I do. Still have time for our sparring session tomorrow?” 

He could hear the hopefulness in her voice. And that hopefulness felt like a beacon of light in a hopeless situation for him, proof that she felt everything he felt. He lowered the beads so he could not see his face and clenched his eyes closed. He knew he should say no but he heard himself say, “Yea, we’re still on for tomorrow.”  

He could see the small sigh of relief she let out. “Good. See you tomorrow, Erik.” 

He offered her the same refrain before ending the call and tossing the beads across the room in frustration. 

***

Naja paced back and forth outside N’Jadaka’s wing. She knew the Dora stationed there was eyeing her as if she were a madwoman as she muttered to herself while holding a picnic basket and a backpack. 

“What are you even doing here?” She whispered to herself. It took all of two minutes after hanging up with N’Jadaka to realize why he had cancelled, to remember that today was his dad’s birthday. She did not even know how she remembered it, a memory so buried deep in her brain that she was shocked she was able to retrieve it. Every year on this day, Erik distanced himself from everyone and everything without a word. 

One year, when they were 15, she found him at the Great Mound watching the sunset. He had disappeared and T’Challa, Nakia and Naja were sent to find him and bring him back to the palace. Naja, who knew him best, was the only one who knew where he’d be. She did not approach him at first as he sat there quietly, she just watched him. Like a creep, admittedly. But she watched him, took in every bit of his lean teenage form as her heart ached for him more than it should at that age. 

Her heart broke as she heard his deep youthful voice, cracking with the strength of his sobs, offer a prayer to Bast on behalf of his parents, prayed they would come back to Wakanda soon, that they would return to him. She remembered bowing her head as she prayed for the same thing on his behalf. She had never met Prince N’Jobu a day in her life, just knew him as a traitor that most of the country hated, who was likely on the run to avoid facing the consequences of his treason. But even back then, Naja could not believe that was the full story, could not believe that N’Jobu stole what he did for selfish reasons, that he was just a traitor.

And that’s why she was now standing outside his door with a picnic basket feeling rather foolish. But resolved to do what Erik had done for her a few nights ago, show up for him. Because everyone deserved someone to show up for them in their darkest moments. 

She bowed her head to the Dora who shifted to the side to allow her to knock. It only took a few moments before he swung his door open. 

Naja lost the ability to speak as she took in his perfectly tone chest, the deep V that led down to his most formidable and tantalizing weapon. Her brain and the reason for her visit disappeared as a cloud of lust hazed everything. 

“H-Hi.” 

“Hey, everythin’ ok?” He wanted to scream at her that she should not be there. She could not be there. This was the opposite of distance. But try as he might, those words refused to surface. 

“Y-Yea, yea. Everything’s ok. I just… well, I know you didn’t cancel tonight because of work. I know what… I remember what today is. Your dad’s birthday. And if you want to bury yourself in work, I understand. But I figured you could use a friend while you do it. So I brought snacks and liquor and work of my own. And I have Boyz in the Hood queued up on my tablet, which I doubt is still your favorite movie. But I do remember you mentioning your dad liked it so… I thought we could watch while we work.” 

She lifted the backpack and basket in her hands as if to ask him if she was allowed inside. 

This woman, he thought to himself. Something inside him wanted to break down in tears at her thoughtfulness. And before this moment, he was not even sure his body still produced those. 

“Guess it’s my turn to be shocked you remembered all this?” 

“Well… tell anyone and I’ll have to kill you,” she joked. “I remember everything about you too. Much to my chagrin, I suppose. So can I come in?” She asked as she balance back and forth on her heels. 

Right then and there, Erik knew he had an impossible choice to make. He could do what T’Challa demanded and be the Erik that destroyed her or he could be the man he wanted to be. And the man he was and wanted to be loved this woman beyond comprehension, adored her beyond comprehension. 

It was a gamble, a gamble that could cost him her and everything he wanted. But a relationship with her was worth risking everything for… war, damaging his relationship with T’Challa… he did not care. She was worth every risk in this world. 

So then and there, he decided to hell with T’Challa. Fuck his orders, fuck marrying some woman he did not know because of a promise he made years ago. Even if it took every day of the next 20 years until King Bisi was with the ancestors, he would dedicate his life to finding a way out of that promise so he could be with the only woman that mattered in this world. The only person that mattered in this world. 

“Only if there’s some lime cake in that basket?” 

Her entire body, which was weighed down by her nervousness, seemed to lightened as she walked in past him. “As if I’d bring anything else??” 

“You didn’t have to do this. I’m sorry… for canceling on you.” 

Naja waved her hand. “I know I didn’t have to. Probably shouldn’t have. But I lost a bet. Besides, this is way better. What would the Wakandans say if they saw their most feared assassin at dinner with their beloved prince? We’d never live the rumors down. Can’t have anything destroying my… how do you Americans say it? ‘Street cred?’” 

“I thought I was Wakanda’s most feared assassin?” 

Naja tilted her head as if she had to think about it as she sat down on the giant couch in his living room. “Second… did you forget how I was beating your ass on the mat everyday?” 

“You forgot what bet you lost to earn this date, baby girl?”

“Beating me twice hardly means anything when I’ve beat you no less than 30 times.” 

“Touche.” 

He settled on the couch next to her as she pulled out all of their supplies and poured him a drink and hit play on the movie. “Remember when we used to sneak bottles of rum from my dad’s collection?” 

He let out a barking laugh. “Yea I remember you bein’ scared as fuck too. Goody two shoe ass.” 

“One of my endearing qualities back then. Afraid to steal,” she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh if the 15 year old me could see me now.” She straightened up and raised her glass. “To our 15 year old selves? Maybe they be forever shocked and dismayed by our crimes and debauchary.” 

“Cheers.” He chuckled, the first genuine laugh he had all day before clinking his glass against hers.  

They did not talk much as the movie played and they both did their “work,” which really was stealing glances at each other and Naja commenting on the movie, which she had not seen since she last watched it with Erik. 

“Can I ask you something?” She asked him as the movie credits rolled. “It’s ok if you don’t want to answer.” 

“Shoot.” Erik brought the glass to his lips. 

“Did you ever find them? Or at least what happened to them?” 

His hand stilled. He did not know how to answer that without opening a conversation that she explicitly told him was off limits. He never talked about the truth about his parents, let everyone save T’Challa, Queen Ramonda, and Nakia believe what the rest of the country believed: that his parents had dumped him at the border and disappeared with their fortune from stealing vibranium and selling it to the highest bidder. When he thought about the real story, he found it difficult not to fall back into that vengeful 18 year old he was when he left. 

“Yea,” he cleared his throat and sat up. “Didn’t have to look far, they died not long after they dropped me here.” 

She did not seem deterred by the sharpness in his tone as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I know you doubted it back then but I… I believe that they would’ve come back for you if they could have. Would have faced up to what they did for another opportunity to be with you.” She paused. “Everyone’s fighting to get back to something. And you were worth fighting to get back to.”

Naja did not let go of his hand or break the stare between them as they gazed at each other, their work long forgotten. Erik tugged on her arm, Naja offered him no resistance as his superhuman strength pulled her gently into his lap. His hand cupped her face as he stared into her eyes and saw his future. As breathtakingly beautiful as a Wakandan sunset and sunrise, he saw everything he wanted in this world, his first real shot at happiness. 

“You’re what I’m fighting to get back to. No matter what gets in my way or how long it takes. Rhoqo ukutshona kwelanga nokuphuma kwelanga ubomi bam bonke.” 

Tears glistened in Naja’s eyes as she heard his words. 

Every sunset and sunrise for the rest of my life. As long as she lived, she never forget those words. The words he had said when he proposed, an eternal reminder that they were two sides of the same perfect coin. 

“N’Jadaka…” she breathed. 

The sound of his Wakandan name on her lips drove him insane. Whether a plea to stop or continue, he could not hope to care.

Every fiber of her being, down to her very cells begged her to fall. The sea was right there, the water felt warm and safe and like everything she had ever wanted. And yet, her feet were still planted. Something still made her hesitate. 

And Erik could feel it, every ounce of her that warred with the other. Every cell in her body that pushed her lips to meet his and every other one that begged her to retreat. She was not ready yet, he could feel that… see that. And that was ok. They would have time, he would make sure of it. 

He forced himself to muster superhuman self control and stop himself. He pressed his forehead against hers for a moment, Naja letting out a deep exhale. 

“I want…” she whispered, her voice breaking with the weight of everything she felt for him and wanted to feel for him. She wanted him so badly but she did not want to regret it tomorrow. “I want you so badly. I’m…” she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “F-fuck if you ever tell anyone I uttered this, I’ll kill you. But I’m scared. Fucking t-terrified. A-nd I’m j-just not…” 

“I understand.” he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “For as long as it takes. I meant that shit.” 

“I’m sorry… I should go.” She started to move when he halted her. 

“Stay.” At her weary expression, he amended. “I don’t need that. But I do need you… stay.” 

Naja nodded, there was no resistance left. Erik shifted so he could lie down and Naja laid between his legs on his chest. He pulled a blanket around them and pulled her in tightly as he cued up another movie on her tablet for background noise. 

“And I know… no one can know ‘n this don’t change shit between us,” Erik’s deep baritone filled her ears. 

“No, this time… it changes everything,” she whispered back before closing her eyes to go to sleep. 

Erik watched her sleep for almost an hour, her soft snores reaching his ears. He did not need much sleep so he merely let movies continue playing while he watched her, committing every feature on her face to memory. Once she was deep enough in sleep, Erik slid out from under her. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed. He was surprised she stayed asleep through all of the movement, most spies he knew could wake up at mere shift of a body next to them. 

However, before he joined her, he quietly snuck to his front door, easing it open. He leaned out, getting the attention of the Dora assigned to him. 

“Teela, remember that favor you owe me?” Erik asked lowly, referencing a mission he and the Dora went on to recover vibranium not long after he returned, a mission in which he saved the young Dora’s life. She said she would be indebted to him, a debt he never thought he’d need to call in until now.

“Yes, my prince.” 

“As far as Okoye ‘n that nigga T are concerned, you ain’t seen Naja here tonight or any other night. You got me?” 

The Dora sized him up for a few minutes, Erik could tell she was weighing the pros and cons of keeping a secret from her superior and King for the prince. However, thankfully, she merely nodded and saluted him, her nonverbal agreeance to his words. 

“Preciate you.” 

And with that, he closed his door and returned to his bed. Tonight, he would not think of how he would hide what he was doing, tonight he would not think of how he was going to help overthrow the very monarchy he was promised to, tonight he did not think of how he was going to hide a potential engagement from the slumbering woman next to him. Tonight, he merely reveled in the feeling of Naja in his arms and the peace she brought, a night where his heart was calm and at ease.  

Tag list: @miyuhpapayuh @pipsqueak-98 @injerafiend @themakingsofdion @lishabaybee @certifiedlesbianbaddie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @dangerous-history @roguekiki @mysteryuz @shyblackgurl

***

A/N: le sigh... everybody's lying to our girl smhhhh lol so hopefully you caught the couple hints in chapter 3 that Erik was keeping some secrets. But hopefully you also caught the hints that his impending nuptials are not the only secrets he is holding back. So what do you think? How do you think this is going to blow back on him? Cause you know it will lol Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

[sexydreamgirl]

Hey sweet hera

First and foremost you are my favorite blog from loa. You’re so sweet, smart and iconic and you’re like the only blog I want to send an ask to.

Do you have tips on how you would deal with difficult circumstances? I read everywhere on twitter etc you should have a life and that you should also enjoy your 3D, but to be honest my dream life is completely different from my current life. Things are currently going wrong on every level ( outgrow friends, break up with sp that I'm still in love with, studies that I don't like to do, family problems,…) so I often fall back on my imagination and focus on what I do want (through acceptance and feeling), but I just get triggered so hard constantly. Do you sometimes do breath work or mediations to calm yourself down?

it's just like some bloggers ( not you ofc) do like the law is super easy, but some people have suffered from depression for years (like me), are lonely etc and it just makes it harder to persist. Sorry about the trauma dump

-

I mentioned in my pinned post that I have no experience with difficult circumstances so I might not be the best person to ask about related matters. Nevertheless, since you chose me to turn to, I'll advise you to the best of my ability and I apologize in advance if I display ignorance.

About manifesting in difficult circumstances, here are some points worth remembering:

Thoughts and emotions do not manifest. You are neither and you are above them.

Let yourself be sad. Cry it out and don't force yourself to be anything else. Don't fight with how you feel.

Take it easy on yourself. Nothing can "ruin" your manifestation, it's okay to waver.

It will not be like this forever. So many people have been able to do it and you will be no exception. It's going to be okay.

Whenever you feel like the 3D is too much (and if you are able to), take some time to yourself and sit alone, meditate, you can even recite some affirmations to yourself as a self-soothing technique. Sit in silence and remember that you will get out of this. When you feel calm, go back and face the world. Do this as many times as you need to.

Go to bed every night feeling fulfilled. Bring yourself back to that feeling and fall asleep with it completely clouding your mind. That feeling will follow you into the next day. If you get into the habit of doing this (persist), you will find yourself caring less and less about the 3D.

Have faith and don't give up. Remember that you deserve the life of your dreams. Please don't give up on something you rightfully deserve.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I've been thinking about the 3 day yeerk time limit and something that has come to mind is that I think it might be less like filling up a three day tank and more like gorging yourself and then starving yourself for three days before repeating the process. I think this would be noticable especially towards the end of that cycle and could cause some weird actions on the yeerks part.

My headcanon is that yeerks eat not like humans, but like snakes. Snakes eat huge meals — they get those food bulges after swallowing a rat or bird that's twice their own diameter — and they only eat about one meal a week. It's not healthy for them to eat more often because they digest really slowly and can end up with serious health problems if they outgrow (and then have to shed) too many skins. The internet is full of vets begging people not to feed their pet snakes too often, even though one meal a week seems like that "gorge then starve" pattern to us humans.

This theory fits what you're saying that we don't see yeerks' behavior slipping as they get closer to that three-hour limit; they're not that hungry. Obviously the snake-yeerk parallel isn't perfect, since the yeerks' margin for error is "miss a single meal by a few hours and starve to death", but I also think it would've come up more (in #19) if most hosted yeerks are in poor health due to crappy diet.

I also wonder how firm the three-day limit is. The most in-depth we see it is in #6 with Temrash 114, but it's not clear to me if:

Temrash infests Jake late on Day 1, spends Day 2 and Day 3 in the cabin, and dies near dawn on Day 4, OR

Temrash infests Jake early on Day 1, spends the rest of Day 1 and all of Day 2 in the cabin, and dies near dawn on Day 3

Because it's full daylight when Jake gets infested, but Temrash dies just after sunrise. Either "three days" is "72 hours until the fugue state, then another ~6 hours before you kick it", or it's "72 hours is the longest anyone's ever lived, but most kick it after 65 or so." Or maybe it is exactly 72 hours on the nose, and Temrash was just chillin' in the whirlpool with no kandrona for a while before Jake came along. There are interesting implications for how much security any given controller would have, and how much they'd be dependent on each other.

#animorphs #yeerks #controllers #kandrona #animorphs meta

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Buck Angel

Published: Jul 21, 2023

A guest post by Buck Angel, which really should be in The New York Times—maybe they’ll republish it?

Every day, I’m called a new name. Sometimes it’s something obviously insulting, like bigot or transphobe. Sometimes it’s something more subtly designed to twist my knickers, like female. My critics assume this will wound me, because for the last 30 years, I have lived as a man. I medically transitioned at age 30, after what felt like a lifetime of struggle, and after many years of therapy and evaluation.

Transition saved my life. But being called female doesn’t hurt me, because while I changed my body, I’m well aware that I can’t change my sex. And even though I’ve felt since I was a young child that I would have preferred to be—and should have been—born male, I don’t believe that children should medically transition. I’m one of the oldest and most visible female-to-male transsexuals in the country, but because of my views, today’s trans activists not only don’t speak for me, they try to cancel me.

Let’s rewind. I grew up in the 60s and 70s, a time of tomboys, when I was one of several typically masculine girls in short hair and sports shorts, running wild. There wasn’t much difference between me and those other tomboy girls back then; I beat up the boys and earned their respect. For the most part, my parents let me dress and live as a boy. The few times I had to wear a dress for church were torture, but other than that I had an excellent childhood.

My parents assumed my tomboyism was a phase I’d outgrow, but at puberty, I became deeply uncomfortable with my female body, a condition I had no name for back then. I lived for many years as a butch lesbian, and was an internationally successful androgynous model. Sometimes I wore suits, but when they stuffed me into a dress, I would spiral.

Eventually, the disconnect between my body and my sense of myself became too great. Sad and lonely, I turned to drugs, became homeless, engaged in prostitution, lost most of my friends and family, and hit bottom.

Once I got sober, and got therapy, I also got clarity. I told the therapist I felt that I should be—no, that I was—a man, and, unlike everyone else I’d ever said this to, she said, “I hear you. I believe you.” She gave me a diagnosis of what was then called gender identity disorder, which didn’t feel like a stigma. It felt like a lightbulb going off, which allowed me to understand and accept myself. I had a mental condition. That’s why I experienced anguish. Our next task was to figure out how to treat it.

Gender clinics were hardly in existence then. She couldn’t just affirm me and send me off for drugs and surgery with a letter. We spent over a year exploring the source of my distress and what it meant to be or live as a man or woman. She dug deep, she pushed back. And eventually, together, we decided that the potential benefits of transition were worth the risks. I had already passed the “real life” test. Now I went in search of medical treatments.

We filled out an inch-thick pile of paperwork for a program at Stanford, and never even received a reply. Eventually, we found an endocrinologist who explained to me that if I took testosterone, it would be experimental. But by that time, after 25 years of navigating the world as a differently-gendered person and more than a year of intensive psychological evaluation, I was ready.  

I did something even more radical than transitioning once my body changed: I became an adult film star, a man without male parts, making space for nonconforming bodies, raising awareness and increasing body positivity for trans people. Some of my lesbian friends called me a traitor, and haters sometimes called me a tranny, but for the most part, I found acceptance and joy. Until about five years ago, I was happily living as a transsexual, or, as I call it, “a man with a female past.”

Then several things started to change. The word transsexual—a person of one sex who changes their body to appear more like the other—was eclipsed by the word “transgender,” an umbrella term that included everyone from tomboys gently rejecting stereotypes to trans women who’d had penectomies, plus myriad gender identities that seemed to have no locatable meaning. The idea that people could actually change sex, that sex was mutable or unreal, took hold in society, especially with young people.

Then, as some clinicians, including trans women, have admitted, a rash of teen girls started to declare themselves trans and transition; some said they’d had no mental health treatments before doing so. Then I started to hear about and from detransitioners, who’d taken cross-sex hormones or had breast or genital surgeries, not to cure some kind of organic dysphoria but because they’d been taught that if they felt uncomfortable with themselves or their bodies, maybe they needed to change them to match their brains. One study of detransitioners showed 55 percent felt they weren’t properly evaluated.

When it comes to gender dysphoria, talk therapy is more important than anything else. In fact, several European countries are now insisting that therapy is the primary treatment for it, with medical interventions under strict regulation. Physical transition is hard both on your body and mind; I should know. You have to make sure this is the right path for you by working with a therapist who will push back and question and explore the source of your desire to change. Dysphoria is in the brain. If you’re skipping over the brain and going straight to the body, you’re not helping trans people.

People accuse me of climbing the ladder and pulling it up behind me, transitioning and then trying to stop other people from doing so. That’s not my goal at all. I transitioned at age 30 and never looked back or felt I’d made a mistake, and I welcome adults who can adequately weigh the risks and benefits of transition to join me. But I never could have been sure without the struggle I navigated, without my brain growing mature enough to decide. Every choice I made was in adulthood.

One reason I’m so adamant about not medically transitioning children is that those tomboy girls I played with growing up, who were just like me back then, didn’t turn out like me. Some are gay women. Some are straight. Some feminized during or after puberty. Some stayed masculine. Childhood gender nonconformity or even gender dysphoria aren’t indications of any one adulthood. We can’t just slap the label trans on a kid who’s differently gendered and assume we know what path that kid should take for the rest of their life. In fact, several studies show that the vast majority of kids who are gender dysphoric in childhood resolve their distress by the end of puberty, and a majority of those grow up to be same-sex attracted.  

Instead of focusing on identity, we should be focusing on the rigid gender stereotypes kids are absorbing every day. Give them the room I had to be masculine or feminine without presuming what it means about their futures. For suggesting these ideas, my own so-called LGBT+ “community” attacks me, tries to silence and intimidate me, accuses me of condemning children to a lifetime of suffering. But that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying it may be hard to live in their bodies, but it’s important that they try, because we don’t know how to forecast the future from their current struggle, but we know it’s important that they learn to navigate and overcome hardship.

Myself, I’m glad for my many years of struggling. Struggle made me strong. Now the struggle is so different. It’s a struggle to tell an inconvenient truth in a world that thinks truth is transphobic. It’s a struggle to keep my business going amid #cancelbuckangel hashtags. It’s a struggle to feel part of a community that would oust a pioneering elder for wrongthink.

I’ve already been through so much, and I can handle it. But I don’t think suppressing knowledge, dissent and discussion is going to create more space for kids struggling today. I think those kids are best served by having time and space to understand themselves, and not rush—or be rushed—to make decisions about who they are going to be.

#LGBT Courage #Buck Angel #Tranpa #transsexual #gender dysphoria #gender transition #stereotypes #gender stereotypes #gender ideology #queer theory #social contagion #gay conversion therapy #gay conversion #religion is a mental illness

[televised-eyes]

A Fluffy Fic for Valentine’s Day!

(I wrote this in a flash on the notes app for fun. Sorry for grammar mistakes in advance! Enjoy!)

It had been a fine evening. A warm, dry night settled over London. Groups of locals and tourists alike swarmed the city in high spirits.

Crowley waited in the Bentley, rapping his knuckles against the steering wheel to the tune of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now,” as it played gently from the stereo. He glanced at his wristwatch. Always late, he thought.

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway of his bookshop with an older couple, who had roamed the shop long after he had wished to close it. The angel politely spoke with the man and woman, who went on for some time about their affinity with both the shop and its owner. Aziraphale listened and smiled brightly.

Crowley watched the interaction with little patience. With the wave of his hand, the older couple suddenly remember they had an appointment elsewhere and excused themselves so that Aziraphale was free to lock up the doors and head towards the Bentley’s passenger seat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Aziraphale, gently chiding the demon. “They had been telling me the loveliest story, how they had met at the bookshop many years ago and have been married ever since.”

“You’re too sentimental, angel,” said Crowley. He shifted the car into drive. “And it’s rude for them to stay past closing time, especially when we have a reservation at the Ritz.”

“They won’t give up our table,” Aziraphale assured him. “They never have and they never will.”

A knowing smile flashed across Crowley’s lips. Any other observer would not have seen it at all, but Aziraphale knew better. After six millennia in each other’s company, the angel knew Crowley’s facial ticks better than any being, living or dead, supernatural or mortal. “What?” Crowley said.

“Oh, nothing,” said Aziraphale smiling to himself. He took pride in knowing the demon so well, although it was not something he would tell anyone else. He hardly recognized it himself. “You were early.”

“No,” hissed Crowley. “I’m never early. You were late.”

“Well, only a few minutes,” Aziraphale rolled down the window. A group of young people on the sidewalk were laughing and jeering at one another as they passed. “What an extraordinary evening.”

“What’s so extraordinary about it?” Crowley said.

“Oh, it feels…” Aziraphale breathed in. “Loved. There’s love in the air, if you will excuse the old expression.”

Nightingales? Crowley thought, not daring to say it out loud. Saying it out loud would be akin to death. Aziraphale was already in a romantic mood. If Crowley pushed it, there would be even longer, more aching looks from the angel the whole evening. And Crowley would be paralyzed by them, drowning in those blue eyes until next week. All his cool reserve would break under the pressure.

Crowley felt himself growing soft.

In all their history, they had never spent so much time together as they had the past few years. With the apocalypse averted and their respective offices off their backs, they had more free time than ever. Long walks, picnics, visits to the Ritz. More and more time spent huddled around candlelight in the evenings at Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Crowley’s plants began to outgrow the Bentley and Aziraphale insisted on placing them in the shop’s windows. Aziraphale spoiled them with encouraging whispers, much to Crowley’s audible displeasure, but they sprouted and grew larger than ever.

They dined at their usual table. Bubbles of champagne twinkled under the low lighting. Aziraphale spoke with animation as Crowley watched him from behind his dark glasses, responding now and then, but mostly letting Aziraphale lead the conversation. If Crowley were attuned to such things, he would expect the whole room was besotted, drunk on serotonin and all the other chemicals that cause pleasure in the human brain.

—

Crowley drove them back, having absolved some of the alcohol in his system. Aziraphale remained in high spirits. They pulled up outside the bookshop.

“Would you like to come in?” Aziraphale offered. “I have a marvelous vintage in the back.”

“Would you like that?” Crowley said.

“Of course,” the angel smiled. “You’re always welcomed, you know that.”

It was the kind of astonishing statement Aziraphale would typically walk back once the meaning of it settled between them, but this time he didn’t. He smiled at Crowley with such fondness that it made something in Crowley’s chest flutter.

They sat on an old velvet couch, side by side, as Aziraphale opened the bottle and poured two glasses.

“You’re in a good mood tonight, angel,” Crowley remarked.

Aziraphale blushed.

“What is it, then?” He continued.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You have two reasons to smile like that. Either you found some extraordinary rare edition or you’ve done something clever and need to tell someone.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed harder. “I’m just happy, I guess.”

“Well, you and the whole street,” said Crowley. “If I didn’t know better, you’ve enthralled the whole city, lampposts and all.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“Are you happy?”

That hit Crowley like a freight train. He was suddenly very self aware of his body’s close proximity to Aziraphale’s. Heat was creeping into his face.

“Ngk,” he said, voice cracking.

They were inched apart. Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s uneven breathing, the way his eyes kept flicking to Crowley’s lips. Crowley’s free hand which had been resting across the back of the sofa fell so that it was resting directly behind Aziraphale, not quite touching the angel, but very close.

His head swirled. He found himself leaning into Aziraphale’s space, body heat radiating off each other in waves.

“Angel—“

Before Crowley could finish his thought, Aziraphale’s lips lightly brushed against the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Adrenaline kicked in and Crowley claimed Aziraphale’s bottom lip with his own.

“Do you know what day it is today?” Aziraphale said, pulling away.

“Don’t torture me, angel,” Crowley whined. He swooped back in, closing the small gap between them. His hand firmly holding on the back of his neck as he slid his wet lips against the angel’s. Aziraphale hesitated a moment before melting into his embrace and Crowley gasped from pure relief.

The kiss was hurried and desperate. Bodies hot and hands gripping frantically at each other's clothes. Aziraphale opened his mouth and their tongues briefly brushed. Crowley pulled away, his body reacting instantly, before diving back in for more.

It dissolved into a slow, hot swirl of lips and tongue and teeth. Crowley’s head was spinning, his body aching with each soft noise that escaped the angel’s warm mouth.

“It’s St. Valentine’s Day, my dear,” Aziraphale said breathlessly between kisses.

“Is it really? Righteous prick, he was,” Crowley pushed off Aziraphale waist coat and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale chided, melting into the trail of kisses being left down his jaw and neck. “He was not.”

“Don’t care.” Suddenly, Crowley stood up and took Aziraphale’s wine glass out of his hand, placing it firmly on the desk beside them and taking the angel’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked, disoriented.

“Bedroom. Now.” Crowley pulled the angel’s hand toward him. “To celebrate properly.”

Aziraphale blushed and let himself be lead away.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #fanfic #fanfiction #valentines day #mine #what have i done #this is my last resort

[footballffbarbiex]

player: John Stones words: 712 request: John Stones - you / your - 500 - 750 words - Going gift shopping with him while you are pregnant so you end up buying things also for the baby, all so sweet and fluff please

“We could just get everything online, you know?” John says as he pulls up his hood a little more and tweaks his beanie beneath it. 

It was cold in Manchester. Freezing perhaps. And it wasn’t even winter yet. The icy wind doesn’t help, creating a colder environment than it is because of it. Frost lays thicker on the ground, giving the illusion of a thin snowfall. It was still slippy as hell and John made sure that you remained standing upwards. 

“It’s not the same. We get enough deliveries on a day to day basis. Christmas should be more personal.” You counter, and pull out your phone to check, once more, which store was next. It’s a list you’ve checked far too many times that you should have memorised by now but it’s always best to look again. You’d hate to leave anyone off and ideally, you’d like to wrap it all up today if possible. 

One of John’s bodyguards has taken care of one lot of bags, taking them back to the car so that you two can concentrate on remaining on your feet and not having to worry about leaving some items behind or struggling with too many. John has shown a little enthusiasm when entering certain stores but for the most part, he’s hoping not to be noticed and trying to get through this with minimal damage to his bank account. 

You pause outside Next, noticing that they have a Next baby section in this one. “I didn’t realise the baby is on your list.” 

“You of all people should know that the baby is always on the list.” you reply and wiggle your shoulders in a happy dance while throwing signals with your thumb as you walk in backwards while grinning and John follows obediently while shaking his head. 

He knows as well as you that this is going to be one of the times that you drop the most amount of money. Though you do try to be smart about it, you’ve been around enough babies to know how quickly they grow and so know how pointless it is to drop too much money on the early stages of their life when they outgrow the clothes far too quickly. Newborn and first sizes should really be kept to the bare basics. Plenty of vests and baby grows. Anything over a month to 3 months you can have a little fun with but this stage will also be outgrown far too quickly. 

Quite a few people you know, including several brands thanks to John, have already bought and sent quite the haul of newborn clothes, so that’s one less stage for you to stockpile. With Christmas sales in full swing, you fully plan to utilise them for the upcoming year, buying quite a few for the age groups past 3-6 months. You didn’t want to be caught short but were happy to pick up a few extras if needed. Of course, the sales wouldn’t count for certain seasons and they would be picked up at a later date. 

You scan the rows and tables of clothes, eyes searching every different set as you pick up a few and hold it in the air to examine. 

“I prefer that one,” you hear John say and watch as his arm extends past you to touch at the fabric of the one he’s chosen. 

“Yeah, me too.” you nod in agreement as you turn the item this way and that to get a better look at it. 

“I still can’t believe that she’ll be this size.” There’s a softness in his voice as he takes it from you with one hand and drapes it over his other as he tries to envision a very real, squirming baby in it. You turn to face him and grin as he holds it up to your bump, an action you do frequently when hanging up or folding the clothes in her nursery as you put them away. She’s not due for another month and nesting is well and truly kicking in now for you. Sometimes you find yourself sitting on the floor, burying your face into the soft fabrics and taking in the smell of the baby softener. 

Unbeknown to you, so does John. 

#john stones imagine #john stones fanfic #john stones one shot #john stones blurb #john stones drabble #football imagine #football one shot #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #football blurb #football fanfiction #football fanfic #football drabble

[cienie-isengardu]

I feel like a lot of Kuai's clothes were just Bi-Han's hand-me-downs when Bi-Han got too big and they just threw it at Kuai since Kuai would be growing into it.

Not all of them were but I imagine a good portion of his clothes used to be Bi-Han's, especially before puberty.

I feel that will depend a lot on the timeline, socio-economic situation of Lin Kuei and how big the age gap is between brothers. 

For example, if in the new timeline Sub-Zero and Scorpion’s family is treated like a true Royals, then Kuai Liang as the second-in-line to the “throne”  is less likely to wear hand-down clothes, unless the cloth has traditional importance, like it happens with some items passed down from one generation to another. And that could be as much about Grandmaster and his wife’s wish to give only the best to their sons as much as a matter of prestige and upholding their social status. 

However, if despite the importance of the Grandmaster's role in leading the clan, Lin Kuei is in fact a large family unit first and foremost, with close personal bonds, I can see the clothes being handed down as a common practice - especially if the clan resources are limited. I mean, we hardly have any idea what Lin Kuei economy is based on in time of peace and there is something to say about Sub-Zero’s delight about spoils of war to which Scorpion did not disagree with the sole idea of spoils, only that they must first win the war.

Like, is Lin Kuei big enough to be a whole nation, with its industry, farming, cities and trade or do they live in isolated, self -sufficient society hidden from everyone else? Because to make clothes in the traditional way, you need specialized workers to hand -woven material in the first place, which takes time and a lot of hard work. The Lin Kuei brothers’ uniforms were most likely individually tailored which makes sense, as they are Grandmaster’s sons but also grown up and skilled men that worked hard to to be recognized as the warriors of the clan, but back in the time when they were children? It would be easier to store Bi-Han’s clothes until younger brothers grow up enough to wear them than to lose the limited material resources, as Kuai and presumably Tomas would outgrow the new clothes in a few months.

(Also, I’m speaking here from my family experiences, in which the clothes for babies and children were passed down between so many people over the course of years. So I’m here for Lin Kuei being the close-knit family that doesn’t mind hand down clothes between all the children as a way of supporting each other and providing the needed items. If Grandmaster’s family is a bigger unit, Bi-Han too could wear the hand down clothes before he grew up enough to get his own sets.)

Additionally, if Bi-Han and Kuai Liang (and Tomas) were close in age, the passing down of clothes feels natural and sensible. However if Bi-Han is older than 6-10 years or more, I don’t think his parents would store his baby/childhood clothes to collect dust and take up space in the closet, unless they planned to have another child at some point. 

As for the previous timelines, I think the situation is more complicated, because both Kuai Liang and Bi-Han were children forced into Lin Kuei. And a clan that kidnapped children to turn them into killers doesn’t sound like someone who would care what Bi-Han and Kuai Liang wished to wear or after whom they got their clothes.

The clan definitely provided its adepts with the necessary daily life items, but there is a question how much any of them actually owned anything? If adepts got the second-handed clothes and things were passed down between all children, both Kuai Liang and Bi-Han had a small chance to be given a choice what is given to them (unless the original timeline!father had a say in that regard). Could Bi-Han keep his old clothes, as in, have a place to store them for Kuai Liang when he was big enough to wear it? Could he even hand down his clothes in the first place, or would the clan treat it as mandatory equipment and "losing" anything were punished? I feel that in both original and alternative timelines none of the boys have a control over the clothes provided them by clan and if Lin Kuei practiced passing down clothes from one adept to another, as a cheaper and more pragmatic way in regard to fast growing up children, Kuai Liang may not necessary getting old Bi-Han’s clothes.

​

#mortal kombat #my replies #kuai liang #bi han #sub zero #scorpion #as the youngest kid for awhile in my family i get the handed down clothes after the older sibling(s) but also i remember how clothes #of my nephews were passed down to another babies to help and support so i can see this practice in lin kuei #especially the old versions and close knit family in mk1 #however if the grandmaster's family is treated as royals/ruling class i feel kuai liang would be provided only with new clothes #and so would be tomas

[nisaconite]

zionism wants us to look away.

so it turns off the lights, the power, the signal, and commits its crimes in the dark, where we cannot see. zionism thinks that if it murders children in their beds at night, while the world is asleep, no one will notice. zionism thinks that people will not light torches and flashlights and matches until palestine is lit in red flames, flickering glow illuminating bombed hospitals and the bodies of the people that once sought refuge inside of it. zionism thinks that we will put our pillows over our heads and drown out the sound of their screams.

but what lurks in the dark only scares us more, because we know despite not seeing. so we take to the streets in frantic rage — filling our vision with red for their blood and green for their land and black and white for their freedom — and wait until it sees us. we are not blind, nor will we close our eyes.

zionism wants us to forget.

so it tells us stories of its history and its pain and its justifications, drowning out the thousands of children sobbing over the bodies of their parents, ripped apart by illegal weapons and laughing soldiers. it holds its press conferences and talks about antisemitism and nazism, unaware that it only echoes the atrocities it speaks of, committed by villains just like its people. it lies and it lies and it lies and it tells us we are liars, so that perhaps the truth will one day slip our minds.

but we are louder, eternally so, and we will be heard forever. human rights are not a piece of clothing, to be called a trend, to outgrow and then throw out to be recycled into something else, diluted and watered-down. our so-called phase will live on in the history books as the toppling of tyrants, and only then will it stop.

zionism wants us not to care.

so it makes its excuses, and suddenly an entire ethnicity are animals so undeserving of water and electricity and life. they are mongrels, zionism says, to be kicked to the curb and beaten. they are dogs, who have no need for home or a place to live. fathers are terrorists working to do everything they can to protect those they love as bombs rain down on them. mothers are extremists that yell and curse and beg for their family to be spared. children are agents of war throwing rocks at tanks. there are soldiers hiding out in those schools, and that is why they must be blown to bits.

(animals are treated better.)

but how? what did that unborn baby do to them? was it, too, planning evil savagery from the womb? we demand answers to impossible questions. we will continue to do so until zionism starts making sense, because we are only being fed too many equations that don’t add up. missiles fired at innocent families do not equate war, or anything but genocide.

(zionism says that those who stand against it are terrorists. we laugh. there must be a hell of a lot of terrorists in the world, because we flood the news with our flags.)

zionism wants us to give up.

it is hoping for the impossible. there is no defeat for a people that know that death is not the end. palestine will never die.

and halfway across the globe — resistance is in every skip of our heartbeats when we watch the news with horror. resistance is in every roar of outrage that shakes downtown during a protest. resistance is in every time we drape a flag over our shoulders to leave the house.

resistance, for me, is paint on my cheeks and dark liner i call my ‘protest makeup’. an enamel pin i wear to school, and the glare i give people who look at me funny for it. my posts. hijab. a hoodie with ‘palestine’ in arabic lettering stitched across the front. 

alone, it’s nothing. but in the thrumming mass of angry protestors, waving a flag off the top of construction scaffolding, it’s everything. i promise. as long as we keep yelling, zionism hears us. it sees us. it will not forget us, and it will give up.

and then palestine will finally be free.

#palestine #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #protest #boycott israel #resistance #my writing