#tethering ceremony

[hydrus101]

I’m thinking about Arthur’s wedding ring today. Do you think he even had one? He didn’t propose—James says that Arthur said yes, not Bella—but they were still married. Rings would’ve been expected, would have been mandatory, and he said of his own admission that he played his part, for a time. He must’ve had one. Can you imagine him at the jewelers? Stomach twisting with the wrongness of it all? Did he go for something inexpensive? The first one he saw on the shelf? A necessary, unwanted formality? Or did Daniel insist, supply the funds for something shiny, finely crafted, and formed from gold? One for the both of them? A matching set? Did Arthur, snobbish, miserable, self-absorbed, refuse? Tamp down his desire to get it done and over with and replace it with the desire to rail against his father-in-law? To spurn his help and his charity? Did he choose out of spite? Do you think it burned him each time he put it on? Searing hot like a brand? A yoke that kept him tethered in place, each time he was forced to put it on, if only to maintain appearances? Do you think he ‘forgot’ it at home, often? Apologized to Bella? He loved her, at least a little, even though it was wrong, do you think the hurt on her face, quickly, cleverly disguised, pained him? Even a little bit?

Was he too selfish then, to notice? Do you think Bella’s death came with some kind of relief? That he no longer had to wear his wedding band, that he no longer had to pretend to have misplaced it? Do you think he placed it with careful ceremony into a drawer somewhere? A guilty last reverence, an apology for skipping her funeral? Or do you think he gave it back to Daniel, purchased with his money, a debt returned at last? Or do you think it sits somewhere in a pawnshop—in Boston or in Arkham, if it even made it that far—and gathers dust, lonely and tarnished and forgotten?

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester #malevolent woes #hyde chatter

[projectionistwrites]

moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

#moon knight smut #moon knight x reader #moon knight #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #marvel smut #marvel imagine #moon knight imagine #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockley imagine #moon knight series #projectionistwrites

[anatay004]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ | ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 5)

Jacaerys hated you ever since you were kids, but after years of enigmatic feelings and constant fighting, he finally realizes he’s in love with you on your wedding day.

Warnings: Sexual references, smut, profanity & Targaryen incest.

ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴡᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴡᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

"WHERE IS SHE?"

Jacaerys whispered the decibels in his voice notched down just enough for his mother to hear.  She sucked in a breath, trying to keep the worry in her features disguised as she placed a reassuring hand on her son's shoulder.

"Let us give her a moment, Jace, I'm sure she's a little overwhelmed, that's all." His mother's words were meant to comfort him, but the fugitive tone in her voice made him tense.

She's not coming, he thought.

And it was almost funny because, a few hours earlier, he was certain things had elucidated between you and him. The vestiges of last night rested in the back of his head – his confession, your caring touch, and the blissful kiss that he had longed for what felt like eternities.

But something pestered his certainty.

He wasn't aware of the reason, the fever that torched his head disoriented his memories, but he knew something unpleasant had happened. Why else would you take a step back again?

"Perhaps, my niece decided to leave at last."

"Daemon – " Rhaenyra began, a berating tone in her words before the sound of parting doors interrupted her and the room grew silent.

Perhaps, it was the blatant surprise of you stepping into the room or the dazing image you radiated but, whatever the case was, everyone looked at you walk towards him.

He faltered the moment his gaze landed on you.

Subconsciously, his eyes leveled down to scrutinize the snowy fabric that embraced your shape, and – he swallowed hard. Perhaps, it was the sheets of fabric that slipped down your shoulders, the bitter seahorse pendant that rested against your skin, or the evident goosebumps that peppered your skin.

But he was spellbound.

"Blood of two, joined as one," The Septon began, the words loud and in High Valyrian, but they slipped out his mind almost immediately.

You weren't looking back at him.

And his worries were confirmed when your hands slipped into his own, hesitantly and with a nonchalant warmth that made him tense. He tried to search for your gaze, but the wisps of eyelashes that shadowed your face were the only thing that stumbled into his line of vision.

"Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts tethered to one future promise in glass."

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jacaerys suddenly whispered in High Valyrian, his words were barely audible, but he knew you'd caught them, the sudden shift in your shoulders confirmed it.

You didn't respond.

He took a deliberate step forward.

"Are you angry?"

You clenched your jaw.

"The vow spoken through time, of darkness and time, let the two dragons come together as one." The Septon finished, indicating the ceremony was on the brink of ending, meaning – you were his wife, now and forever.

You turned to him then, but you didn't deign to make a move towards him. Your brown irises blazed with challenge, daring him to make a sudden move before everyone in the room.

And he thought about it for a moment.

He really did.

But when he looked back at you, he allowed the hesitation to dissipate as he subconsciously closed the gap between you and him. The palm of his hand slide down to curve against your cheek before you could even react, he steadied his other hand around your waist and pulled you towards him in a swift movement. His lips pressed against yours warmly, but there was something that differ vastly from the kiss you shared the previous night – this one was deeper and miserable, and prolonged.

Apologetic.

"May the gods drape the cloth of eternity over your union."

You fell back a step, breaking the kiss as you tried to discreetly catch your breath. He held you still, suddenly remembering everyone was watching, he cleared his throat and slide his hands down your arms to rub your skin.

You tensed.

The clapping was eventually stifled, and when he turned to his mother, she smiled and nodded indicating the small celebration was ready. "Please, let us celebrate in the Great Hall, we'll be more than happy to have your company as we honor this marriage!"

"This farce, you mean." You mumbled in High Valyrian, and made to follow the crowd, but he latched his hand onto your wrist and pulled you back almost immediately.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just a silly thought I had." You spat, narrowing your eyes at him as you tried to lose his grip.

"What?" He questioned, blinking in utter confusion as he slide an arm around your waist to stop you from moving so much.

Your eyebrows knitted together, leaning back to examine his disoriented gestures carefully. "You don't remember, do you?"

He shook his head. "Please, remind me."

"Very well," You began, straightening your posture. "If I remember correctly, you mentioned it was almost silly to have a whore for a wife."

His face went pale.

There it was, what he had feared to hear.

"I didn't mean it, love – "

" – it really doesn't matter, anymore."

"You're my wife now, shit like this matters." Jacaerys pushed forward.

You tilted your head.

He narrows his eyes, and a hint of mischief flashed across your eyes so briefly that he almost missed it, but it had been there and he swallowed hard. You leaned closer to his face and pressed your breath against his skin hotly as you whispered, "Prove it."

__________________________

The celebration was warm and crowded, the perfect scene that Jacaerys hoped to imagine when the thought of marrying you anchored in his head. However, it wasn't alluring in the slightest, not when everyone was stealing and asking you for a dance before his eyes.

He tried to dismiss it.

When you asked him to prove himself, he knew it meant placing trust in you. He knew it meant to behave and act nonchalant when someone else slide an arm behind your waist and pulled you close – he knew it, but you made it hard.

So fucking hard.

He watched you in the limelight, the snow-white fabric of your dress and the waves of hair that cascaded down your back were luminous – impossible to miss. You were the light in the room, everyone could see it, dancing and mumbling something that made you itch a smile as another twirled you around.

He clenched his jaw.

"Here," Daemon's voice broke into his thoughts, as he offered him a cup of wine and took a seat next to him. "It'll help enlighten the mood."

Jacaerys swept the cup a look, it was filled to the brim with tempting alcohol that he knew would most likely cloud his reason. But he was on the brink of climbing to his feet and dragging you out the dance floor, so, he decided to dissipate the malicious thought with a cup of wine.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

Until he was laughing at something Daemon had mumbled and both were acting the fool. You didn't notice it at first, you were distracted by the music, until their voices raised up a few decibels and you finally turned around.

"Bring us another bottle of wine!"

"Fuck, I think I lost my dagger."

And then their laughter ricocheted off the walls.

"Excuse me," You whispered, a hint of embarrassment glossed over your features as you began to trace back your steps to the dinner table, where your family was sitting at.

But your muscles faltered the moment Baela made her way towards Jacaerys. She placed an almost caring arm around his shoulders as she leaned close to his face to whisper something to his ear, which he quickly shook his head too.

It was harmless, you knew.

But the blood rushed into your skin and tinged with scarlet your cheeks.

"Jace, you need to slow down." Baela pushed forward, sliding an arm around his waist when he suddenly stood up and fell back a step.

"Where's my wife?" He loudly questioned, dropping an arm around Baela's shoulders in support as he searched for you.

"This is embarrassing, Daemon." Rhaenyra breathed out, darting her husband a look that he dismissed as soon as it was thrown.

"I was lightening the mood." Daemon defended and Jacaerys' laugh quickly followed.

"What the hell happened?" You questioned, rushing to Jacaerys with evident confusion.

"My father got him drunk," Baela answered, helping him ease down onto the chair again.

"My love," Jacaerys happily called, pushing back on his chair when you stumbled into his line of vision. You quickly wrapped an arm around his waist when he abruptly stood up and Baela helped. "You look so beautiful tonight."

You blinked. "How much did he drink?"

"We lost count, I'm afraid." Rhaenyra answered as she rubbed her temples in distress.

Your eyebrows jumped.

"My love, I never meant to hurt you – "

" – We can talk about this later, Jace." You swiftly interjected, not wanting everyone in the room to hear about your relationship troubles.

"I'll call the guards to help him back to your chamber," Rhaenyra informed when she noticed your arms were growing weaker and Baela was falling back a step tiredly. "I think the celebration comes to an end now."

__________________________

"We will have many children, all with your white hair and beautiful brown eyes, I hope."

You tried to stifle the faint smile that itched your lips, but it was truly impossible. After the guards had maneuvered him inside the room and eased him down onto the bed, he began to mumble incoherences again that almost touched you.

And, after debating with yourself for a minute, you eventually decided to go along with it. Even if you were still mad at him, you supposed he kept his promise and did not accuse you of anything that night, despite you dancing with everyone in the room to rile him up on purpose.

He did try.

"What if they have your brown hair?" You questioned, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

Jace sighed in concern. "I wouldn't want that."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "Why is that?"

Jace shrugged, taking a strand of your hair in his fingers. "They'll be bastards in the eyes of the kingdom, just as my brother and I are."

Your gestures dropped. "That's not true."

He scuffed, pushing back some of the hair that draped over your shoulders to expose your neck. A shiver kissed down your spine as the pad of his finger brushed against your skin – warm and careful. "I'm not stupid, love, I know what I am."

You couldn't coherent an answer, so, you grew quiet as your features radiated faint sadness. You'd never thought about this, never would have the idea of your children's paternity being in question stumbled into your head.

But there he was, growing anxious as the shadow of his past adorned his dear future.

"You're a good man and our children will be lucky to have you as their father." The words slipped past your lips before you could even think twice and, for a moment, his lips curved in utter amusement – teasingly.

But he didn't answer with words, instead, he took your hand in his. He intertwined his fingers with yours, resting his flesh against the cool touch of your skin willingly as if it didn't matter. For a second, the silence that ensued in the room was comforting and you relished the moment until a silly question broke the peace.

"Do you love me?"

The words were low and quiet as if he was almost afraid of being too bold and pushing down your bottoms all at once. But you didn't answer at first, you held back your breath as he looked back at you searchingly, a hint of insobriety seeped into his irises as he waited....hopeful.

"Because I do," He suddenly confessed. "And I don't think you're a whore. Unlike, I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You're kind and brave and strong. And I hate that I can't be the only one to notice it, sometimes that anger gets the best of me, but believe me, never in a million fucking years will I ever allow that title to fall under you again. I swear it."

You remained quiet.

I do love you, you thought.

But your head reeled when you tried to whisper it into the open air – you couldn't. Not because it wasn't true, but because it had lingered in your tongue for so long that it was almost troubling to mumble. "I'm not good with words."

"Then don't say anything." He pled.

You wanted to avoid the situation, you wanted to climb back to your feet and make your way out, but something anchored you. You couldn't let go of his hand and, as he waited for an answer, you subconsciously dropped your gaze to his lips.

Gods, you thought.

"It's okay if – " but the words never slipped out.

He was taken aback when he met your lips. It was fleeting and almost feather-like, but the moment you pulled away for an instant, he raked his fingers through your hair and tilted your head so he could deepen the kiss. Then it was a different kind of heat altogether; it was desperate and lusting and he shivered as your tongue swept past his lips almost subconsciously.

"I want you," he suddenly breathed out. His words were hoarse and in the back of his throat, as the fingers that threaded your hair yanked back your head to meet his eyes evenly. "To myself."

You swallowed.

The sudden hue that dimmed his eyes was unrecognizable, it was a shade of brown that tethered to night and mist and darkness. You couldn't exactly place it into words, but it rolled sheepishness over your flesh.

"You're drunk," You whispered carefully, but a mirth of laugh echoed in his throat as he pressed his lips against your jawline breathlessly.

"I haven't been drunk in years."

You leaned back to examine him. He was suddenly looking back at you with a clearheaded facade that made you shake your head in amusement. "You fucking liar."

Shamelessly, he only looked down at your flustered lips. "Question me."

You paused.

Oh, you thought.

You tried to quench down the heat that tinged with scarlet your cheeks when you realized he was serious, but it was almost futile to hide. His fingers began to travel up the skin of your thighs slowly, slithering between your legs as you held back your breath in evident surprise.

"Question me." He repeated.

"How bad do you want me?"  You sucked in, when his fingers stilled just below your drawers, toying with the damped fabric of your undergarment – relishing the sudden response from your body as he met your eyes.

"How fucking bad do you think?" He whispered as his eyes roamed over your face and, although you were not naked, you felt like it under his gaze. "I didn't threaten Jason Lannister for nothing. Nor did I beg your father to make me your husband for a stupid peace I desire not. I could give two fucks about the Queen and her children, but I wanted you so bad."

He threatened a Lannister.

He toyed with your father's reason.

He wasn't drunk.

You tried to open your mouth, but his long fingers entered you before a word could escape. Instead, a strangled moan was your response and he pushed into you until your back was pressing against the mattress and your legs were shaking softly beneath his touch.

"And you wanted me, did you not?" He groaned and captured your lips in a brusque manner that forced a breath to escape your mouth. He tasted like alcohol and soft delight, like secrets and thinly-veiled passions that made him so unfamiliar to you. His kiss was bruising and commanding as his fingers slide out your cunt and began to undress you. "When you relished the jealousy in my face and the anger in my bones, did you not?"

You didn't answer.

He was almost intimidating as he tore the last piece of your gown from your body and the cold seeped into your skin almost immediately. He stopped then, only for a second, as he looked down to examine your naked flesh.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He mumbled, tracing the curve of your hips with his fingers and slowly traveling up to touch the round edge of your breast – placing a kiss on the swell. "Were you not jealous when Baela touched me?"

Your jaw clenched. "You did that on purpose."

His lips trailed up your neck, sucking your skin with teeth and strength until he stopped just below your ear. "Admit it."

"Or what?" You swallowed, subconsciously licking the dry skin on your lips as he pensively faltered on his spot.

"She was to be my wife, did you know?"

"Fuck you."

He bit back a chuckle, finally sliding out his clothes to press his member hard against your bare skin. "Think about it, all the things I could have done if you hadn't been in the picture."

Your skin was searing with anger.

He wanted to riled up your head.

Somehow, the anger that settled on your angelic features turned him on like no other.

"I would've never allowed that," You admitted, wrapping your fingers loosely around his neck, prompting up on one arm to close the distance between your faces. "I would've pestered your thoughts with lust and slithered into your bed before she could have the chance to."

He sucked in a breath. "And I would've fallen, every fucking time I would've picked you."

"Fuck me then."

That's all it took for him to come inside you. It was painful, of course, you'd never been penetrated despite the malicious rumors that spread around Westeros. A moan collected in the back of your throat immediately as he thrust in and out of you with fervor, eyes moving along each movement – at the white cum that gathered around him from you.

"If I didn't know better, I would have said you look like – " he paused, letting out a deep groan as you clenched around him. You knew what he wanted to say, you knew what he fantasized about and what made him weak at the knees.

So, you whispered.

" – say it."

He hesitated.

"Say it." You repeated.

"A fucking whore."

The words made your skin shiver as his thrusts became faster and, after what felt like hours, he eventually approached his own orgasm, and the searing cum soon fest your cervix with loud moans and breathless bodies. He almost collapsed on top of you when you both finished, but he composed for a second to watch you catch your breath as he removed himself from you.

"Do you love me?" He whispered again, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips were nibbled and your skin was drenched in sweat and fluids, but he looked down at you with pure adoration – as if you were the most beautiful thing.

And this time, you answered. "Of course, I do."

#house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #fanfic #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #aemond targaryen

[houserautha]

I desperately need to know how Feyd handles his wife going into labor, and how he is during it! I feel like he would be so out of his realm, and in aw of his strong wife but also very distraught

I need to bear this man’s children

Same

I think you’re exactly right! In my head, at first, he’s totally cool about it. Like if his wife’s water breaks or contractions start, he’s holding her hand and coaching her through it.

But then labor really kicks in.

Honestly I think Feyd would feel so fucking helpless and that would frustrate him to no end. There is no enemy for him to vanquish. He can’t solve his wife’s problems with his blade or with his wealth or through intimidation. He just has to endure this with her as she’s doubled over in pain and crying out and cursing his name. And her labor seems to go on and on and on.

And as a result he would snap and bark at anyone who came near her. On a normal day everyone is afraid of Feyd, but now they’re absolutely terrified. It makes it hard for his wife to receive treatment because he glowers at the physician and the servants who bring his wife ice chips. Eventually his wife has to send him out on a walk or an errand or something — anything for him to relieve his molten-hot anger.

And, of course, he would be a good little soldier and obey. Feyd would stew the whole time and probably reflect about his wife’s pregnancy and his upcoming role as a father. And right as he’s wondering what the hell he just got himself into, a servant fetches him to let him know that his wife has started pushing and the baby will arrive sooner rather than later.

Harkonnens know well that labor is just as taxing as battle, so the physicians allow Feyd’s wife to labor however she pleases. His anger would transform into absolute awe and admiration, watching as his wife works through each contraction, body shuddering, covered in sweat and reddened in the face. And he would think that his wife has never looked more beautiful, that all of his victories pale in comparison to the slick thud of his child sliding into the physician’s hands, his wife’s resulting cry of exultation.

Feyd has never felt so many things all at once, or so deeply. It crashes into him like a fucking sucker punch. He uses a ceremonial blade to sever the umbilical cord, the tether between his wife and his son — who sucks in his first breath and releases it with tumultuous fury, bloodied and bruised from his own battle.

And then the physician is handing his wife the infant and Feyd’s entire world shifts. There is nothing more magnificent as his wife, smiling despite her prior agony, holding the babe to her chest as he squirms and writhes and wails. Feyd realizes with dizzying certainty how his family had failed him, had looked at him as a helpless babe and still wreaked havoc upon his life — and how he would never allow the same fate to befall his son. No, Feyd would do anything for his new family and, as far as he was concerned, his only family.

#I dunno this made me feel so many things #it’s 1am this might just be nonsense #I feel like it would a monumental shift for Feyd #it makes me sad he’ll never meet his daughter #feyd rautha #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen

[void-bitten-ghost]

AU with Angel and -urgh- Val, getting married in Vegas. It's the usual last minute thing with Angel doped up to the eyeballs and completely fucked up while Valentino coerces him through the brief but binding ceremony.

Cue the morning after. Angel coming to with a raging hangover and running to spill his guts in the bathroom. It's only when his vision finally clears up that he sees the golden band around his finger, hears it *tink* entirely too loudly against the porcelain toilet bowl.

That's when the reality of his bender cracks it's whip on his back. He can't be fucking married to the guy???? It was only supposed to be a bit of fun???? A bit of excitement and security while he let go. And if, in those quiet moments, he gave fleeting thoughts to maybe possibly getting his feet under him some day, returning home, taking up the family business... well, that was his business.

This though? This fucked everything. This was a tether he absolutely did not fucking want.

He makes a break for it.

Something, something, heel breaking while running through the casino to an exit and crashing into someone. Someone big and imposing and, now that his hidden cards are scattered on the table, fucking PISSED.

But guess who this fuck was playing against?

None other than old Husky boy himself, who, up until that point, had been in some pretty deep shit with this game. He'd been trying to catch the dickhead red handed all night, he just needed the right distraction.

And lo and behold, he got it. Now to get the prick out of his casino without said distraction biting his face off--

That's when he sees the rage in the younger man's face turn sour. A wave of deep, dark fear washing over before panic strikes and he's tripping over the hem of his dress to dip and hide under the poker table.

The prick is gone. Dealt with by Husk's people the moment the illegitimate cards were on the table and he gave the say so.

Then he sees what the young man was hiding from.

A lecherous tower of a creature starts tear-assing his way through the tables like a toddler being forced to eat something it doesn't like. Husk can only lift an incredulous brow at the display, soon dropping his gaze to the bedazzled yet ruined creature under the table who quickly shakes his head.

In a fit of... something. Pity, perhaps. Husk may have dropped his wings just a little bit lower than usual, the tips brushing the floor just so to maybe conceal something or someone. If they wished to hide, that is. Purely hypothetical, of course.

#huskerdust #angelhusk #just an idea that popped up

[fanaticsnail]

Red-Hair Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Red Haired Shanks:

Dancando Lambada (one-shot)

After your ship crashed just off the coast line of your hometown, your friend: the bride, is left without a Captain to perform her ceremony to unite her with her beau. Fortunately for you, you see a ship coming in off the coastline. Will their captain help you in exchange for a night of good food, fine drink and sensual dancing?

Remember Me (one-shot)

Ten years since the love of his life was claimed by the sea, Shanks finds himself celebrating her memory with many a drink in a fishing village. Spluttering over his amber ale, Benn Beckman pales in freight at the sight of a woman drinking merrily at the bar. But it couldn't be her, she was lost to him.

Where is my bride (Sapsorrow Spin Off Drabble)

Once lost, again found: Shanks has accidentally bcome lockd into a cruel plot to have him marry a woman he has never seen nor heart of. The timer is ticking, the claws of the spectre of a woman scorned tethered to him and awaiting to claim his soul should he fail. He has seven days to wed. But where are you?

Two More Times (one-shot NSFW)

A meet up with a beautiful Captain has you feeling unworthy of being by Shanks' side as his partner. Shanks does not like being ignored - he wants to showcase his pretty girl sat on his knee. He reminds you of your importance to him, while punishing you for behaving like a brat. His brat.

Drabbles & Headcanons:

Shanks Likes to Dance HC Drabble

Benn Beckman:

When You Had The Chance (one-shot)

Serving as first mate to the Buggy-Pirates, it was your job to keep your captain grounded and uplifted. When tempers flared, he decided to confront his childhood rival once and for all - pulling out all the stops to finally lay their feud to rest. One of them would be leaving with their life, the other fallen at their feet. Instead of stifling his fury, you decided to elevate your captain’s wrath: seeking vengeance of your own against the man who once cast you aside after you confessed your feelings for him. Crew against crew, Captain against Captain, First-Mate against First-Mate - will you win, or lie at the mercy of the man you once loved.

"Mister Beckman" (one-shot)

The first mate of the Red-Hair pirates is attempting to relax and enjoy his evening with you, but is rudely interrupted by Shanks' tinkering and clanging within the Captain's quarters.

Kind And Gentle (One-Shot)

Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

You shot a baby? (Dialogue)

Part 2 (one-shot)

Benn Beckman shot Eustass Kid's arm off. You are not happy about it.

Daughter of the Sea (5/5 series)

As a reformed spymistress working for the new title holder of "Worlds Greatest Swordsman," you are prepare for the worst, anticipating every possible outcome. What you did not prepare for was Mihawk's oldest rival presenting you with a sight that had the pair of you perplexed: his latest plunder.

After first meeting years ago, Beckman had longed for you from afar. All those feelings come flooding back to him once he sees the young baby in your arms.

#one piece #x reader #shanks #red hair shanks #Beckman #benn beckman #beckman x reader #shanks x reader

[ancientcraftnoccultism]

Ancient Craft & Occultism

More On Spellwork

___

By KB

Introduction

Whew…it's been a rough few weeks. Thanks to everyone for holding out and being patient with me as I try to get things together. Anywhooo - welcome back to class ♡ We're going to sink our teeth a bit deeper into the sweet and savory taste of spellwork! Last time, we went over the basic foundations of spellwork - raising, gathering, directing, releasing, sealing, and conducting a spell! Today, we're going to discuss different energy currents to create for your spell, talk a bit more on sealing the spell, and were going to talk about some mishaps that may happen during spellwork.

Energy Currents/Tethering

Scientifically, this would be a conduit you build that acts as a battery to send the surge of energy towards your goal - the exchange of potential and kinetic energy. If say, you were to create a tether from the sun, or moon, or a power plant, or your favorite waterfall, to say, yourself, you would be taking potential energy from that source and storing it (like a battery) in yourself. Until you used it, in which case you would convert that energy into kinetic energy.

You have the ability to intentionally direct energy currents from one energy source to another, much like a connection of attachment forms between you and whatever you hold dear. Even while these may require some upkeep, they are perfect if you are working on anything that calls for a lot of concentrated energy.

Typically, it functions best when there is a charged object between which you wish to establish a cord of conduit and an energy source. For this, it's crucial to connect with your personal energy, visualize, and open your mind's eye. When the chord has developed, you'll notice it. You can now construct a constant flow toward your directed target for the spell once the cord has established. The best part is that, like with a typical chord cut, you can toggle it off at any time as if it were a switch.

Sealing The Spell

For magical activities, endings are immensely potent. If you know what you're doing, you can exploit endings' strength to make your magic more effective. If you are executing a ritual to rid yourself of a problem, sealing the ceremony is a means to make sure that the energy of the ritual stays concentrated on eliminating the problem rather than fading away. By sealing the ritual, you permanently lock the ritual's energy in place. You strengthen your will by establishing that concluding contract. Something coming to an end provides closure and can help define limits. It might provide as a space to unwind and consider what has happened.

A sealed spell keeps out unwelcome effects similarly to how sealing a jar keeps out undesirable air. Sealing your spell is crucial for any practitioner who wants to have long-lasting effects because of these advantages. Your spell becomes more enduring and less prone to change if you seal it. This indicates that your magic will be considerably more difficult to change, which may be advantageous if your spell was well-written. But if you wind up regretting it, it may be a problem.

Making ensuring your spells are properly tied and secured to prevent alterations without your consent is known as sealing them. A sealed spell is comparable to saying "amen" or "so mote it be" following a working. It is a declaration that you have completed applying magic to this specific spell and is followed by your name. Even in secular circumstances, such as when signing a lease for a new car, there are rituals for finality. When you sign it, the intention (the new car) becomes yours.

The feeling that something has been left undone or that the spell itself has no effect can result from failing to seal a spell. Your spells must be sealed in order to be as focused and powerful as possible. It's possible that you won't have enough energy, that you won't be able to control your magical power, or that you won't know what to do next if you don't seal them properly. You might think the spell hasn't fully taken effect yet or that something is missing. If everything was done correctly, though, you would be fully aware of what needed to be done, where you needed to go, and how to get there.

Which brings me to our next section…

When Spells Take a Left Turn

Even the best of us experience it. You compose a spell with an intent, prepare all the necessary components and tools, cast the magic, and then something goes wrong. This section aims to explain the numerous reasons why spells go awry, their causes, and solutions. Now, please keep in mind these are not all of the ways and reasons as to why spells go wrong, but rather what I have found to be the most common through interactions with novices.

Nothing Happens

Simply understanding how a spell functions will go a long way in explaining this. In many ways, a spell is actually rather simple to grasp. It simply involves raising and accumulating energy, giving that energy a purpose or direction, and then releasing the energy into the world with the use of a catalyst. The "release" or "catalyst" is the crucial component in this. A spell that fails and does nothing is a result of the catalyst in this equation not functioning. It was not powerful enough to elicit the anticipated response, resulting in a transformation reaction that would cause the energy to move and flow toward its intended use. Energy returns to the source it was drawn from, as it cannot be generated or destroyed.

The majority of us experience fatigue or exhaustion after casting spells, which is natural. It is because of all the effort and focus we put into attracting that energy to us for use in our operations. The fact that we continue to feel exhausted and drained after casting a spell contributes to the difficulty in determining whether or not it was successful. It's important to keep in mind that the spellwork and energy pulling, rather than the actual energy movement, are what cause the tiredness.

This pattern of spell work, generally the catalyst, is the main cause of a spell failing 99% of the time. Any spell's catalyst is as basic as your knowledge and trust that it will work. You are not releasing the magic into the world and preventing the energy from taking form and shape if you don't believe the spell will succeed. Instead, that energy returns to being what it was before. When you cast a magic, the knowledge and trust that the spell will work give the spell its physical shape. Your faith gives it shape, even though the energy fuels it and the goal provides it direction. There is nothing to keep it together without that form. Imagine it as a bucket that is gathering water. Water serves as both the energy source and the function of the spout, but without a bucket to hold it all together, it simply empties onto the ground.

Backfiring

When a spell you cast backfires, it can cause the magic to act arbitrarily, work on someone else, and have several terrible side effects on you (with purpose, yes, getting to the end goal, yes, but still having random events thrown in being unpredictable to say the least). Contrary to popular opinion, a spell backfire might not harm you or even have any effect on you, therefore the name "backfire" is somewhat misleading.

This is exemplified perfectly by the next example. Imagine casting a charm to help secure a new loan you are requesting. You followed all the instructions exactly (or so you believe), but when the time comes to apply for the loan, you are rejected. Yet a week later, a friend of yours learns that she was given a loan even though her credit was considerably worse than yours. This was a miscast spell. You weren't impacted by it, but your friend was. Let's say you're being harassed at school and you want that person gone. You do a quick banishing spell to get them to go away, and they comply. However, all of a sudden your other pals start acting distant and cold toward you as well, ultimately abandoning you. This is an illustration of a spell that you cast that did its job but injured you in the process by leaving you alone rather than just removing one person.

A distraction when casting a spell is typically the most frequent reason for a spell to go wrong. In order to avoid this, it is crucial to always maintain a proper focus while performing any spell work. A spell's energy and working are very important.

Imagine the magic as a bodily cell. It develops, acquires mitochondria and nuclei, has a definite purpose, and strives to carry out that purpose. Imagine a virus entering a cell and altering even a single strand or minuscule portion of the double helix in the DNA. As a result, the cell might stop functioning, behave strangely, develop cancer, etc. In this illustration, the virus is the interruption that occurred during casting the spell. Even though it is minute, transient, and faint, it can have a terrible impact on how the spell functions as a whole.

Our thoughts shape the energy that generates and regulates spell work. A spell is not sentient; it does not think for itself; instead, it functions similarly to a computer. To get the computer to do what you want it to do, you must follow a series of protocols. When you are distracted, the computer doesn't know or care; it simply incorporates that into its program. This is why concentration and intent are so vital.

#elder witch #baby witch #witchblr #witchcraft #beginner witch #dark witchcraft #astrology #tarot #aesthetic #divination #witch #witch tips #witchythings #witchcore #spellwork

[atlaculture]

Possible Water Tribe Weddings Pt. 2: Sakha-Style - The Bride-Welcoming Ceremony

I’ve gotten quite a few asks regarding what sort of wedding traditions the Water Tribe would have. This has been a difficult question to answer, as the Water Tribe’s primary cultural inspiration (Inuit/Inupiat) traditionally didn’t have wedding ceremonies; pre-Christianized marriage was simply a matter of moving in together and starting a family. I recommend reading through Mostly-Mundane-ATLA’s blog, if you’re interested in learning more about Inupiat and Inuit culture.

That said, I also recognize that ceremonies can be a great source of inspiration for writers and artists. So I’ll be covering the wedding traditions of the adjacent cultural inspirations for the Water Tribe.

Also, the engagement necklace practice we see in the show is unique to the Avatarverse.

Sakha Pt. 2

Another source of inspiration for me when building up the culture of the Water Tribe is Sakha culture. Sakha people primarily live in Russia's Republic of Sakha, a region located partially within the Arctic Circle. Since Sakha weddings are pretty elaborate and multifold, I'm going to say these are marriage practices are more NWT than SWT.

I'm going to add a "Keep Reading" line for this post, as the process is quite lengthy. I've split the details of Sakha marriage into two-parts.

After the payment celebration party, the groom would pick a day to officially retrieve his wife and take her to his family's home; the young couple would also be accompanied by the bride's family and friends on the journey. At the groom's home, there would be another celebration waiting.

This "second wedding" was to welcome the bride to the groom's home and land. When the couple arrived, there would be a horserace between the bride's party and the groom's party. This was all in good fun, with the belief that the winning family of the race was responsible for blessing the marriage with the most happiness and prosperity. Similarly, if the bride's horse stood straight and alert as it was being tied to the home's tethering pole, this was seen as a good omen for the marriage's health and fertility.

Once the race was over and everyone gathered into the home, the bride would then change into her fanciest dress. Rather than describe what a traditional Sakha wedding dress looks like, I'll just show some examples below:

Once the bride was done dressing, she would stand on a white horse-skin rug in front of the family's fireplace. She would then provide an offering of meat to the spirit of the home, by throwing pieces of meat into the fire. She would also recite a prayer, stating her duties as a wife and asking the spirit of the home to protect her marriage. Everyone would drink horse milk wine (kumis) in support of these prayers. She also must offer a prayer to the spirit of the land. She would do this by tying horsehair to an outside tree near the entrance of the home and praying to be accepted as a new resident of the land. She would then pour kumis mixed with animal oil on to the tree as an offering.

After the bride was done with all of her prayers, family and wedding guests would be free to offer their own blessings to the couple. This was achieved by "feeding" the home's fireplace with offerings of meat and prayers. Everyone was expected to drink kumis after each offering and prayer. These prayers were usually for fertility, health, safety, fruitful cattle, and general happiness. After all the formalities were finished, everyone would feast and partake in kumis. This celebration would last two to three days.

At the end of the wedding, both sides would exchange gifts. The bride's family would give gifts of cattle, fur, and meat to the groom's family. In turn, the groom's family was expected to give the bride's family similar gifts but twice as many in quantity. An especially wealthy groom would give away horses as wedding gifts for the bride's party. Invited guests (non-family) also received gifts from the groom’s relatives as well. Finally, the bride was similarly expected to give wedding gifts to the groom's family as a thank you for welcoming her into their home. There would also be more kumis drinking before the bride's side departed to leave the bride with her new family.

There is also a post-wedding tradition for Sakha people known as Terkyttyy or "coming home". The bride takes a trip back to her family home about three years after the wedding, usually not long after she has fully recovered from having her first child. She and her family would exchange gifts; the expectation is that the bride's family give the new mother bigger/better gifts than what she's giving them. This essentially acts as a post-birth baby shower.

If you're wondering where I got all of this information from, click here.

While I'm tempted to write about the wedding traditions of other northern Siberian ethnic groups, I think I'll stop here for now--- mainly because this is a really time-consuming series. However, if you look at the marriage practices of other Siberian peoples such as Nenet or Evenki, you'll find that their practices fall somewhere between the simplicity & practicality of Chukchi weddings and the spirituality & ceremony of Sakha weddings. I think this is due to many Siberian ethnicities being culturally and ancestrally a mixture of Turkic and Indigenous North American. But this is just a theory of mine, so feel free to correct me if I'm totally off the mark.

Anywho, I think Chukchi weddings feel more SWT while Sakha weddings feel more NWT, since the Northern Water Tribe is more spiritual and patriarchal. However, I also think you could mix some of these traditions together for either group, since they are "sister tribes". After all, the Fire Nation's wedding traditions certainly aren't from one exclusive culture.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

#building up #water tribe #phew #finally got this off my checklist #it was a fun but intensive write-up process #I swear my next new post will be more ATLA-related

[throwaway-yandere]

Misaligned Strings (Jing Yuan/Reader)

A/n: The reader is AMAB at the beginning (nothing angstier than gender norms–) and gn in the time skip. If there are incorrect translations, please comment!!!! I’d be very happy to change it :DD and im very happy with how my drawing turned out ngl-

For the sake of flashbacks: ████████ = prince reader's previous name, ████ = jing yuan's previous name

Synopsis: He held his feelings back once for you were his prince and he was but a knight. But for Jing Yuan, he doesn't care if you're a human prince or a foxian, you are always worth the wait. Even when it literally took a lifetime. He's not so different from Snowmoon, you know?

CW: none. slight angst and fluff so don’t worry. Prolly the cutest and lowkey proudest work I’ve done in a while. I was actively whispering "me when" while writing lmao. This one's for you, 😋 anon.

遠在天邊，近在眼前，千里姻緣一線牽.

From the Most Distant Horizon at the Ends of Where the Heavens Stretch, to Right in Front of One's Eyes, the Single Thread Crosses Unfathomable Distances to Draw in those that are Tethered to it.

In silent whispers and inaudible footsteps, a taizi and his ménkè would stroll about in the crack of dawn. The Crown Prince of the old dynasty seldom ever initiated conversations, but his servant didn't venture to strike up an exchange. Since the prince wasn’t one to like entertaining large sums and enjoyed the comfort of nature, he has a habit of dragging his favorite retainer alongside him when trekking woodlands. The white-haired servant was perfectly content with this as he listened to the sound of the streams of the nearby water bank and the morning birds’ humming. 

But most of all, the retainer couldn’t think of spending his mornings better than to be by Prince ████████’s side. Deep down, he knew his calloused hands did not deserve to touch such an expensive fabric. The decorative embellishments embroidered in such as gold-laced threads, jades, and ████████’s birthstones mustn't be soiled by a commoner like him. He thinks his hands, which frequently danced with blood, are cleaner than the stains that mud had left on his prince's long robes. 

And yet, the retainer feared he loved his prince too much to stop.

“My Lord…” the white-haired man mutters gently, daring to tug the noble’s robes. The (h/c) haired man peered in his direction. 

Atop the prince's head was a mianguan that further accentuates their difference in social status. Despite it being a rare ceremonial headdress only to be worn on sacrificial events, the prince had one custom made by a famous jeweler for his daily use. His fashionable headdress chimed for a brief moment as he turned, but he did not stare him in the eye. 

Still, the prince smiled so sweetly.

“Yes, baozi?”

The retainer’s breath hitched.

He knew he shouldn’t harbor such emotions– he knew it shouldn’t make him happy that the prince would call him his treasure. However, there was not a trace of deceit in Prince ████████’s voice.

“Be careful,” the retainer heaved, staring at the ground. “There’s a fallen trunk nearby, you would’ve tripped.”

“O-Oh?”

The prince’s smile faltered before he regained it in a concerningly quick but regal fashion. 

“My apologies, it was not my intention to make you worry,” he laughed, but there was no joy to be conveyed. “I’m afraid I will have to depend on you once more.”

The prince's laugh, once filled with warmth and adoration whenever they met, now sounded distant. It was veiled sorrow, yet not to the point where the prince would be willing to sever whatever thread bound their fates together. During their quiet moments, ████ would catch glimpses of that sorrow lingering in the prince's demeanor. 

It was as if a shadow loomed over their secret rendezvous. The retainer wondered if his suspicions were true— if the prince's noble lineage would soon bind him to political arrangements. A duty that will tear them both apart.

But he didn’t wish to entertain those thoughts.

The retainer nodded while speaking. “Anything for you, My lord.”

The prince turned back to the lying trunk.

Everyone in Asia knew of Prince ████████’s impaired eyes.

The Emperor’s heir lacked vision in a battle he somberly forbids any to reminisce about. It was the very same battle his beloved retainer first fought in since he was a new hire at the time. This led to several concubines shoving their children to the feet of the emperor, but satisfyingly, none could beat the prince in any aspect. Their attempts to weaken both the prince and the empress’s political hold were grounds for concern. Ultimately, that resulted in nothing. 

That does not make the prince any less bitter about it, but he never held ████ accountable. His presence was the royal’s only comfort, even if he never saw his face at least once. The prince never trusted his parents with any of his inner turmoil.

Although, the retainer wished he saw his prince’s eyes at least once. His Highness had always wrapped a red cloth around his eyes like half a mask. This is why, in the humble servant’s prayers, he wished for his master to be more secure with his body

“Prince ████████…” The white-haired retainer starts again, this time, his voice was laced with mischief. “Have I ever told you that you are the most gorgeous man in the land?”

“W-Where is this coming from?” The prince laughed heartily. Prince ████████ knew that his retainer wanted to cheer him up, but he’d rather hear him say it.

“Nothing,” the retainer smiled. “I just wanted you to hear it. You’re incredibly handsome.”

“Stop!” The prince chuckled, hiding his face with his silk clothes. “You are embarrassing, ████.”

The white-haired man chuckled.

“Only for you, my baobei.”

It was silent for a moment. Suddenly, the prince exhaled. The retainer quietly noted that it was not the same sound he’d hear whenever they would peacefully stroll in the woods as they usually do. This one sounded stifled as if he wanted to trap it in his throat.

He may not be able to see, but he still looked away.

“████, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

Silence again.

Despite being warned that there might be a trunk in his way, the prince took small steps forward. As though he hoped to trip– as though he hoped someone would catch him. 

Yet, the words spoken next were delivered unlike a damsel in distress but a man in solitude.

“I am to be wed around the coming months.” He stuttered. “I-I’m afraid I can no longer remain both blind and deaf to my mother and the Emperor’s nagging.”

Time stood still. 

The solace of nature faded into insignificance, leaving only the sound of cracks inside ████’s head. In that silence, unspoken words passed between them. Only the sound of their restricted breathing remained. It was a poignant acknowledgment– an unspoken promise of love that fate had cruelly denied them. Swallowing his pain, the retainer fought to maintain a facade of unwavering loyalty. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. 

The dynasty would burn before their union would ever be accepted.

The retainer stood tall, a pillar of fortitude even as his heart fractured with each beat. As always, Prince ████████ was the image of his unattainable desires. He will always play his role as the prince's retainer, his heart bleeding in silence, forever locked away.

In the depths of his being, ████’s cherished stolen glances and clandestine touches— precious moments of tenderness concealed beneath the weight of their stations— will remain hidden but never forgotten. He will carry their shared memories as he vowed to “only” protect Prince █████████ on the surface.

The prince continued. Tears welled up in his eyes, but as his father has stated, a man cannot cry. Much less the next emperor.

“████—”

“It is alright,” the retainer spoke, voice already jaded. “We both knew that this is how it ends.”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask you a favor?”

The retainer took a deep breath.

“Do not make this harder, Your Highness.”

It pained his heart to hear the prince gulp in anguish. No use of “my”, just an unpossessed “your”. Even the retainer could not forgive himself for calling him by his title so distantly and without so much as using any honorifics that he is his prince. 

He was his prince.

But the prince was not deterred.

“Can you promise me that you’ll find me again?”

He cupped his retainer’s hand with his eyes closed peacefully. The retainer paused before also placing his other hand above his prince’s. Prince ████████ quietly sobbed. “Please…”

“Promise me– promise that you’ll find me in the next life.”

The retainer nodded weakly.

“I promise.”

“Soon, I shall take the Imperial Princess Consort as my Empress, but–”

The prince tilted his retainer’s head down and gently kissed him. The white-haired man felt his knees giving in as the prince then kissed his upper left cheek, just below his eye. That had always been his favorite spot to pepper. Even in the end, his highness will always cherish planting feather-like kisses as though it would soothe his troubles. The prince’s smile never left his face yet unbeknownst to him, a couple of his tears had already fallen.

“Why don’t we talk about a life we could’ve had, even for just a small fraction of this ephemeral life?”

The conversation that followed was regrettably sweet. Throughout their exchange, they remained seated on the fallen tree as the prince gingerly ran his fingers through his retainer’s white hair. They both ingrained every detail of this memory in their head for they knew this would be their last intimate moment.

Their conversations lasted as if the outside world never existed. They talked about the places they could’ve been, a kingdom they should’ve had until they reached the topic of their true desires:

A domestic life.

A life where they could say ‘Baobei, I’m home’.

“What about a little lion?”

“Your ideas for a housepet are very peculiar,” the retainer humored him, but his voice echoed how cautious the thought made him. “Had I been in your position, I would’ve been tempted to care for timid endangered animals instead.”

“Well, you sounded disinterested when I brought up carps. So, what about little lions?”

“Are you referring to shih tzus?” The royal has an affinity for trying new things so the white-haired man already knew he’d never refer to a simple dog. 

“Perhaps,” the prince laughed. “But not quite.”

“You don’t mean to imply you want a genuine cub now…?”

“What if I do?”

“You have a dangerous habit of giving your retainers more reasons to worry,” his lover muttered.

He pretended not to hear it, “what would you name it?”

“Hmm…how about…”

“Snowmoon.”

Caelus looked up at the General who was focusing on the bustling streets of the Exalting Sanctum. 

After the events that unfolded in the Xianzhou Luofu, he and Jing Yuan had grown closer. To him, the general was a good role model and a nice change of pace after being dragged along by Clara’s adventures in the robot settlement and Serval and Natasha’s heartbreaking familial tales. Caelus was appreciative that the general messaged him to ask if he wished to accompany him to buy meat for Mimi. The trailblazer simply wished for something he can sign as a “day off” in Pom-Pom's log book without incurring any physical damages. For now, he doesn’t want to think about how Blade is running loose.

Now that he’s hanging out with Jing Yuan though, it seems as though he miscalculated everything. He didn't expect emotional expenses instead.

“That’s your old lion’s name?”

The trailblazer pretended not to know. It was a rather heavy story and he didn’t want to seem like a person who relied on gossip. Besides, Qingzu wasn’t a reliable storyteller.

As they talked, they walked past both merchants and pedestrians. There must be an event or an ongoing flea market since the ratio between sellers and consumers was staggeringly unequal. There’s a nosier place they haven’t traversed yet; there must be a sale going on. Although Caelus had more than enough money to his name (thanks to his latest deal with Sampo Koski), he did not tempt himself with a glance at any merchandise. His eyes were on the attractive “dozing general” instead.

“Yes, he was a loyal one…” Jing Yuan smiled softly. “I had a special connection to Snowmoon.”

“I heard it waited for 300 years.”

“Ah, so you are aware of what this story is about already.”

Caelus laughed awkwardly.

“Yes. Yes, Snowmoon did wait for me,” Jing Yuan said. “And I will forever understand that undying loyalty. That’s when I knew I’d truly reconnected with the lion.”

“In its final moments, all I thought to myself was how much the little cub and I were so much alike,” he recalled with a sad smile on his face. 

“For him to wait for so long to see a loved one return– and to lay in his arms. I wonder what that would be like for me.”

Caelus blinked.

“You’re waiting for someone?” Caelus tilted his head. “I see you doing more sleeping than waiting. But who’s the lucky person?”

“I’m afraid you would not understand,” Jing Yuan said. “It’s rather difficult to explain. My mother and father did not comprehend it– then again, they didn’t understand my decision to be a soldier either.”

“Is this person the reason why you’re a general now?”

He stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“Spot on. How did you figure?”

Caelus shrugged, uncommitted. “Just a guess.”

The general chuckled.

“I’ve been waiting for him since I was reborn.”

Jing Yuan looked at their surroundings again as they resumed their walk. His hands were both behind his back as they took in the atmosphere. For him, the experience was not unlike his strolls with Yanqing– and for Caelus, he had compared him with Mr. Yang. 

“There is a Foxian custom wherein very young children would figuratively carve their future career path by choosing between the objects their parents had laid down. Unsurprisingly, I grabbed a toy sword in hopes I can find him.”

The general rambled as though Caelus would understand the context. The trailblazer can only nod along, reminded of how old people do whatever Jing Yuan was doing at present.  

“Alas, maybe he didn’t reincarnate as I had hoped,” Jing Yuan breathed in shakily. “I’ve traveled far and still, nothing. I’m afraid at this point they won’t be able to recognize me. While my voice was similar to how it was in my previous life, it had deepened with age. And I won't have any luck with my appearance either.”

Caelus frowned for him.

Jing Yuan was optimistic when Jingliu had taken him in as an apprentice– he thought it was an opportunity to find him again. There were numerous thoughts that maybe he will thread a similar path to his first life. In the realm of Xianzhou Luofu, where long and short-life species coexisted, he thought he glimpsed his baobei several times. With each encounter, his heart would skip a beat, hope blossoming like a new leaf, only to be shattered in the next breath. Jing Yuan had grown weary, not unlike Snowmoon. He's now somber and wiser. 

If only he had not died so early. If only he didn't save the Imperial Consort when the palace burned. Would he have lived enough to stand at the prince’s side if he didn't put his duty as a soldier first? 

Then again, none of that matters now. Today, he is Jing Yuan, the “Dozing” (and sometimes “Glutton”) General and not ████, the Crown Prince’s retainer. He should not burden himself with the regrets of a failed servant. But the thought of dying without ever seeing ████████'s face again... Jing Yuan hopes it will not happen again in this life. The General would continue searching for he had faith that one day, his prince would find his way. It may not be a popular tale in this realm and era, but he still believes that the red string binds their souls across the ages.

At the mention of reincarnation, Caelus’ ears perked up.

“Reincarnate…?”

“To live again in another form.”

“I know what it means. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Based on what Mr. Yang had told me, I’m inclined to believe that your situation is nearly synonymous with that phrase.” Jing Yuan teased.

“Come to think of it,” Jing Yuan looked at his phone. “It is ██/██ today, is it not?”

“Huh? Yeah. Do you have other plans, General?”

Caelus tried to keep up the pace with Jing Yuan. They were nearing the especially crowded and noisy area they saw before and he was worried he wouldn’t hear his response.

“No, none of the sort. On the contrary, I often take a day off on this particular date,” Jing Yuan answered nonchalantly. “Truth is, it’s ████████’s birthday–”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUU!!!”

The crowd roared and the two halted. As it turns out, there was no sale in the area, but a celebration. The both of them stopped specifically at certain familiar voices in the crowd. Caelus was certain that he heard both Qingque and Tingyun, 

but Jing Yuan’s intuition spoke for something else.

“Hey, isn’t that Miss Tingyun– woah, why are you running?!”

He left Caelus and immediately dashed to the noise. A couple of restaurant staff glanced over in confusion as the man pushed the door farther open. Some servers had made way upon recognizing the general and others who weren't quick on the uptake tried to stop him from meddling with the event. But when the staff had caught on that he was a man they cannot dismiss, a questionable scene had begun unfolding before anyone could control it.

The song died as soon as everyone saw the general standing near the middle of the tables and seated chairs. There were familiar faces just as Caelus had mentioned— Qingque and Sushang's presence can be felt. He stared, shocked at who sat beside Tingyun. 

The Foxian amicassador then guardedly placed a hand on top of the person's shoulders, looking at Jing Yuan as though he was an animal ready to strike. He didn't know what her look meant, but everyone else in the room concurred that it didn't appear as though he was there to make small talk.

"Can we help you, General?" 

"... My Lord?" 

Jing Yuan whispered weakly.

"Prince ████████... Is that truly you...?" He laughed, sounding nearly defeated. “I have not reached geriatric psychosis so soon, have I?”

The man had both his knees down on the ground, looking up at the birthday celebrant.

You.

Prince ████████– rather— (Y/n) (L/n), a Foxian now aged 250, sat amidst the room wearing robes embroidered with relatively inexpensive jades and gems gifted by friends and family. You were at a loss for what to do and looked to colleagues for advice before gazing back at the strange white-haired person kneeling on the ground.

Before he had made himself known, you appeared slightly uncomfortable. He wagered it had something to do with the crowd. The others must’ve thrown this as a surprise makeover and party, but as much as you wished to understand and be more in touch with your friendships, you likely found this situation rather difficult. And Jing Yuan was not helping.

You’d have to forgive him later. He just can’t help himself.

Your vulpine ears stood up straighter, alert as he reluctantly reached for your hand. If you could postpone this birthday “party” and finish all these tiring exchanges later, you probably would. You were taken aback at how fast his movements were– you swore that in one second he stood by the door and in the next he knelt near your chair. 

You still look so wonderful…

“Y-Your Majesty…”

He grabbed your hands.

“████████…” Jing Yuan gasped for a strip of breath. “You have no idea how long I have waited. I-I have waited for you for s-so SO long– I had nearly thrown all hope I had of finding you several times but I knew we’ll find one another again…”  

He looked up, hope in his eyes.

“It’s me, My Lord. I have fulfilled my promise.”

The general’s heart raced as he finally laid eyes on his reincarnated lover, sitting before him in all your ethereal beauty. His eyes lingered on your face, speechless at the softness that remained despite the passage of time. Your features held a timeless allure, radiant– and will forever enrapture his poor old heart.

His gaze respectfully traced the lines of your figure, adorned with jades that only accentuated your presence. The vibrant gems seemed to mirror the regalness of your past self– as if the jades themselves will always choose to highlight your inherent grace.

But it was in your eyes that General Jing Yuan found himself lost. The eyes that he never got to see a lifetime before. That calming sense of expression in your (e/c) eyes held a depth that stirred his soul. They sparkled with a familiar light, revealing the person he had loved throughout the centuries. In your stare, he had grasped the solace he had been waiting for– the emotion Snowmoon had felt in his 300-year-long return– the "reconnection" that eased the most troubled of spirits. 

Amidst the confusion that surrounded you both, Jing Yuan remained on bended knees, cherishing the sight, grateful for the opportunity to witness your enchanting presence once more.

He finally saw your eyes.

And you finally saw him.

With a heart brimming with emotions, Jing Yuan whispered:

"You are as stunning as ever, My Lord. Even in this new timeline, your beauty is unmatched– the most gorgeous person in the universe." His voice carried the weight of longing.

You jolted. There was something in your expression that made his hopes bubble up more. Was it a glint of remembrance? Did you retain your memories since birth as he did? He was uncertain but his grip on you tightened.

“I missed you so much,” he said almost inaudibly. “It’s overwhelming.”

No one spoke as the general looked at you without any intention to be the first to break eye contact. Everyone invited was too stunned to move or resume the song. Most notably, Qingque was preparing to sneak out in fear of more work while Sushang took out her notebook, scribbling notes on how to "paralyze" onlookers in what she dubbed as "The General Jing Yuan style". Only Tingyun was animated in the sense that she was willing to hand the intruder a phony smile and mouth the words "What are you doing here?" behind your back.

But there's always a true oddball waiting to bounce amongst a sea of people. And in this case, it was the "not born yesterday" trailblazer, Caelus. 

Unpredictable as he is, he joined in on the “farce.” He puffed his chest and strode large steps to reach where Tingyun, you, and Jingyuan were. Caelus fixed his sleeves and coughed loudly, which brought nearly everyone's attention to him except for the lovestruck General. 

And then, he brazenly declared:

“AND I AM DAN HENG,” he mimicked his crewmate’s voice. “ALSO KNOWN AS COLD DRAGON YOUNG.”

Pause.

People started snorting, no longer stiff. Qingque quietly muttered with a hand slowly letting go of the doorknob that it must’ve been just a “bit” to liven up the party. Eventually, that became everyone's final interpretation.

That… effectively switched the mood.

“W-What?” That flicker in your eyes was gone in an instant. 

You shook your head.

“Seriously? What’s going on?! Stop! You’re all being silly!!!”

For a moment, you contemplated throwing a spoon in Caelus’ direction but decided against it. Caelus is a friend of yours and you will not put a strain on that relationship on your birthday. But this guy? Who?

You tore your hands away from Jing Yuan, which effectively broke his heart.

“And WHO are you anyways?!” 

Tingyun laughed, hard. Both you and Jing Yuan didn't notice her, so she brought attention to herself. The amicassador, whom you nearly forgot was with you from all the ruckus, tapped your shoulder with a shrewd grin.

“Love, I have a guess as to why he introduced himself like that, but for now, that’s General Jing Yuan.”

“Okay, Mister Jing Yuan–” you started, barely threatening despite your hesitant intentions to make him uneased. “Let’s talk outside– wait.” 

Your head snapped back at Tingyun. 

“Babygirl, did you just say General Jing Yuan?” You gawked. 

“Like, THE Dozing General, Jing Yuan?” You turned your back on him, discreetly whispering and pointing. “The one you sold overpriced photocards of?”

Tingyun hid her mouth behind her fan. 

Sure, you’re not a big fan of draining your social battery so much that you’ll remember everyone’s faces, but how come you only remembered who he was based on how Tingyun exploited his looks?

“Pff– Yes, that’s him. That's the one, love. Welcome to (Y/n)’s birthday party, General!”

Caelus stood beside Jing Yuan, shaking his head. “No. That is not General Jing Yuan! That is–... Err– I didn’t get his new name. What did you say your name was, General?”

“No, no way,” Sushang cut in, slightly pushing the trailblazer. “You’re not Dan Heng! And that’s definitely General Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals!!!”

Sushang then bowed to the general, spouting apologies and greetings in one incoherent jumble. Since it was Sushang who said it, you were 100% convinced this man is an important figure… and you also 100% got yourself a headache. 

"Haaaaah…?!"

You brought your attention back to Jing Yuan, who diligently awaited any of your instructions like a pup. You squinted as you tried to make out what a general could possibly want with you on your birthday of all days. Then, you recalled what he called you.

That's... Not your current name.

"Weird..." You muttered.

You took a deep breath, terrified of your next course of action but deemed it necessary for the festivities to resume. The chair squeaked as you stood from your seat, staring nervously at the general. You seriously don’t want to talk to a stranger one-on-one.

"L-Let's talk outside."

Jing Yuan perked up.

"Of course, My Lord."

"Why are you calling me–" Whispers started making rounds as soon as Jing Yuan spoke those words. You shouted, panicking. "I'M NOT HIS LORD OR ANYTHING IMPORTANT, I PROMISE!!!"

That didn't seem to clear any suspicions but at least you made an attempt. You grabbed Jing Yuan's hand and led him outside, failing to see him smile like a dog as he thought about how you were both holding hands.

Outside, it was silent. 

The party went on without its birthday celebrant and "heckler." Notably, Tingyun's playing host, and her voice can be heard from your location. Jing Yuan crossed his arms while you leaned on the wall. Both of you were waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. Although you can start the conversation, it’s not something you prefer to do. Eventually, the general couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"████████–"

"Sir–"

You both awkwardly paused. Honestly, you weren't planning on saying anything, you spoke by mere instinct. 

Jing Yuan shook his head.

"You go first, My Lord."

"... W-Why are you calling me that?"

For a moment, his lips curled into a frown but he was not quick enough to hide it from you. He smiled politely and bowed with a hand on his chest.

"Because you are my prince–" Jing Yuan added with a mutter. "At least, you were mine for just a small fraction of that ephemeral life."

You swore you heard those words from somewhere.

Did you say them before?

"... Which one?"

He stood up straighter. His posture was enough to indicate that he is indeed a general. "Which what? Would you kindly elucidate me more?"

"Which one of my retainers were you?"

Jing Yuan's face brightened.

"You can recall–!"

"Not much, to be honest," you laughed, strained. "And I'm sorry if that question was rude. Tingyun– well, we both knew her as my Empress– told me that our physical attributes are very similar to the ones we have in our previous lives, but I was blind before. And your voice is unfamiliar."

Tingyun's… the Imperial Court Princess?

The same woman he sacrificed his life to save?

“... I see… So that’s why you called her ‘babygirl’...” Jing Yuan spoke bitterly.

Who is he kidding? Of course, you've moved on.

And he's here. Foolishly awaiting no one. A lion had more luck than him in both lives.

You continued.

"So… forgive me for my lack of– whatever words I used to have back then. I'm just not royal as I used to be. I-I like being casual.” you chuckled nervously. “But w-who are you? A-Are you ██?”

“... I have never heard that name before.”

“W-Welp, I guess you’re not my childhood babysitter huh?” You joked, mildly disappointed. “Poor ██, I hope you’re not dead yet in this world.”

Jing Yuan’s face crumpled in confusion.

“Why would you assume that I’m ██?”

“Same hair, and you reincarnated waaayyy before me and Tingyun s-so I was just trying to figure out who died before we did.”

“████.” Jing Yuan closed his eyes, pained. “████ died before you did.”

Why haven't you mentioned his old name?

“Yes, ████…” Your eyes softened and your next words sounded broken. “Of course, that’s… unfortunately… true…but if you knew him, I guess that just means you’re someone I knew in my late twenties.”

You smiled. “████… I still hope he’s out there. I miss him a lot.”

That smile.

That was the smile he had not seen in his last days. From the last secret meeting they shared, the prince’s smile and laughter seemed rather distant, devoid of life. This time, it was the polar opposite. He felt the same affection the prince once gave to his beloved retainer. 

With eyes looking back at the party, your tone has shifted from tender to authoritative, truly deserving of the title once bestowed upon you.

“Jing Yuan, I do not know who you were in my first life, but I will say this–

“Back then, I couldn’t reveal this, but I will tell everyone I will reunite with now. There’s no one else I loved romantically more than ████.” You glared at him. “He has always been there for me– and he will forever be someone dear to me.”

You were no longer nervous. You did not care that he was a stranger– you didn’t care about the prejudice that might follow. You were going to speak your truth. No matter what.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re an Arbiter-General. If you cannot respect that love, then do not call me your prince. That’s all.”

…

…

You were expecting another rant about honor like what another reincarnated nobleman whose name you never bothered to remember had done or a “who cares” and an “I knew since the beginning” like your royal jade specialist, ███ or Qingque, had said. 

But his response baffled you more.

“Thank you.”

Seeing Jing Yuan smile proudly with tears forming in his eyes was the last thing you expected.

“A-And I still love you too.”

…

…

…

“Baozi…?” Your eyes widened.

“Baobei…” Jing Yuan reached for your hand again. “As I announced proudly earlier, I fulfilled my promise.

I found you again. In another life.”

You wish you could say you had a brilliant time after that revelation. You wish you could say you went back to Tingyun and giddily told her everything. You wish you could say you returned home with a smile on your face. 

But no. You were too mentally and socially spent as a result of the unanticipated events. It brought back vivid memories of how, in a previous life, you would retreat to your room after banquets to avoid further conversations. Realistically, the only course of action that could have been taken after that was for you to ask him for his contact information and request some time to gather your thoughts because despite how wonderful it was to see the person you loved most after 250 years and more, the mechanical hands continue to haunt you. 

Jing Yuan has existed and will continue to exist for a very long time. The same cannot be said for you. 

But despite delaying all interactions, his invitations never ceased. On the first day, he tried to invite you to the Divine Seat of Foresight using Qingque– but she forgot about that task and only told you about it in the middle of a game. On the second day, he wrote you a letter stating that you were always welcome to visit him and that you have full access to all rooms (his trust for you concerned Yukong.) And yesterday, Tingyun implied that Mimi wanted to see you, joking about how it’s about time you adopt a lion. 

 And today, he is at your door, holding a bouquet. 

You can't delay this anymore.

“I-I’m sorry, baozi, but I don’t think we should talk.”

“How so?” Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow, not irritated but genuinely confused. “We’re finally together– you and I— unless…”

He looked down. In an instant, you knew he was thinking about Tingyun– rather– your past Empress. Who you never had feelings for and never consummated the marriage with. And she’d say the same about you.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” you shook your head. “We’re not together. Nope. No way.”

“Are you certain?”

“Obviously, duh!” You said. Curiously enough, you sounded very annoyed at that. “If it’s because of that babygirl thing– dude, I swear, that was a joke cause everyone thinks we’re in love so we’re just playing along as a joke like we used to when we were quote-unquote ‘married’ and– man, why am I explaining this? Welp, I’ll try to shut up now.”

You put your head in your hands, which would’ve normally made Jing Yuan laugh, but he was more concerned than anything.

“Then why are you being deterred?”

“It’s just,” you sighed, giving up. “I’m a Foxian.”

“And so?”

“My life… is relatively brief compared to yours.” 

You held his hands, slowly tracing his palms.

“I’ve heard of snippets of your life on the streets. I heard you got statues of your deceased lion when it died.” 

You looked up, smiling sadly. It reminded him so much of the expression you’d wear when the ministers have shared intel regarding casualties. He never enjoyed gazing at that look.

“Other than the fact I kinda don’t want a statue of me inside the Divine Seat of Foresight,” you joked. “I don’t want to make you feel the same pain or worse.”

“I’m 250 years old. If I’m lucky and if I take care of myself better, add 150 more and that will be the end of it.” You explained. “Just that... You're a human that can live for millennia, and I can only live till 400." 

You took a sharp breath. At the time, he could only hear you and your movements, the sounds of your neighborhood were non-existent. 

"Wouldn't being with me just make you sad in the end? My life is just like Snowmoon. I don't want to know that being with me will just make your heart break." You laughed cheaply. 

"Wouldn't that make me selfish?" 

Jing Yuan did not speak. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and encircled his strong arms around you. In an instant, you felt the urge to cry. You had never been attached to a person quite like him and to know that he feels the same feels painful somehow. Aware of your weakness, you know that emotions can be sometimes hard to understand for you, but that doesn't make you unemotional. 

"No. No, you're not. And you never will be for wanting to love again," he spoke, sounding breathy yet low. "It would be more selfish if you to deny this happiness for the both of us." 

"Did you fully comprehend how long I've waited for us to reunite? Do you understand how every action I've taken that led us to this point was so that I could see you again? Speak to you again? Touch you again?" Jing Yuan shook his head slowly. 

"No. Letting me go on living without you is not only selfish, it is cruel. There is no competition, being with you, even if our time together is but another brief moment like our last rendezvous in the forest, is much more preferable than never seeing you again." 

In those excruciating three days of reluctance, those were the words you were hoping to hear from him. And he delivered more. 

Your worries were for nothing. You were trying to be “mature”, steeling your resolve for when he’ll “inevitably face the music” and “live to be happy” without pursuing you in this life.

You can’t hold it back any longer. Tears of happiness trickled down your cheeks, and you buried your face in his chest, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that quiet moment of reconnection, your love was reciprocated, and the fear that had held you back was gone, replaced by a profound sense of contentment and belonging.

“Y-You know…” 

You had a wet-faced yet wide grin as you slithered a hand on the back of his head, untying his red ribbon. You were kind of proud of yourself for nicknaming him Baozi. With that white hair, he does look like a steamed bun. 

Slowly, you cupped his cheek and tilted his face slightly downwards.

“I’ve heard from my fellow Foxians that moles are where your lover from a past life enjoyed kissing you,” you traced his left cheek with your thumb. “What do you think?”

Jing Yuan blushed.

It was unspoken, but it made him happy nonetheless.

You’re letting him love you.

There is no greater joy to be had in his life than to be yours again.

“W-Well, I’d say we proved that myth to be true–” he cleared his throat. “Given how obsessed you were with kissing the spot below my eyelid.”

“So true,” you hummed. “You’re very pretty, Jing Yuan. I wish I could’ve seen how beautiful you are before.”

He was meant to joke about how he would always guide your face to his lips so that you wouldn’t “miss”, but Jing Yuan couldn’t help but melt at your words.

“You’re too wonderful, baobei.”

“I know.”

Jing Yuan chuckled heartily.

“I see your sense of humor is intact.”

You scoffed and quickly stuck your tongue out in a playful quip.

"My humor didn't remain– it evolved– and you got a character arc too didn't you? You went from not liking lions to owning TWO. T-W-O. Way before I got a hand on one as well. Don’t think I forgot about that bet, Mr. ████. You seriously owe me 200 wu zhus."

"I've certainly grown mundane–" Upon realizing what you fully said, he paused and laughed. "–Haha! Sharp as ever. Unfortunately, my lord, finding the old currency would be a tall task. How about 40,000 strales?"

“Hmm… Not a very convincing equivalent exchange.” You shrugged. “You know what? I may not be the brightest math person since I’ve been skipping it for music lessons, but with a bet taking this long, surely we have to consider the interest rate, right? How about adding a wedding ring? ”

His heart skipped a beat.

Jing Yuan pulled you closer. 

"... Always with a follow-up argument, but I shall go along with this. After all, I’ve always fantasized about saying…"

The general smiled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, locking your hands together with his. Jing Yuan, ████— whatever his name is— felt safe and warm in your presence as he kissed your neck.

Finally, a domestic life. A life where they can both say:

“Baobei, I’m home.”

有情人��成眷属 

The Lovers are Finally Together; All Shall Be Well.

#ansy-writes #honkai: star rail #honkai: star rail x reader #jing yuan #tag: misaligned strings jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #jing yuan imagines #hsr #honkai: star rail fanfic #fluff #not yandere lol #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan hsr #honkai jing yuan #reader insert #x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you

[queenofglassbeliever]

General Librarians timeline based on info given in the show.

Overall, the show happens over the length of just over two years.

1x01 - 4x12

December 2014 to March 2017

The tethering ceremony is meant to happen on the spring equinox. Which in 2017, was on March 20. So, I'm think 4x11 and 4×12 take place right around then. Cause we knew the equinox was getting close and the Library needed to be tethered as soon as possible.

4x06 - 4x12

February 2017 - March 2017

4x06 "And the Graves of Time" is the episode in which Nicole is stabbed by Rasputin and Jenkins sacrifices his immortality to save her. At the beginning of the episode, Jenkins states that the equinox is 41 days away. Putting the episodes events in roughly early February 2017. Going back a little further to 4x03, we know that happens in December 2016 because it's a Christmas episode.

1x01 - 2x01

December 2014 - September 2015

Going back futher, the opening of 2x01 reveals that 1x01 happened 9 months ago. And in 2x05 we learn that 1x10 was 4 months ago. We also know that the LiTs have been working separately for about 3 months between 1x10 and 2x01. Leaving about a month between 2x01 and 2x05.

1x10 - 2x01

June 2015 - September 2015

2x01 - 2x05

September 2015 - October 2015

1x01 - 1x10

December 2014 - June 2015

Since there are 9 months between 1x01 and 2x01. And there's months between 1x10 and 2x01. Then there's 6 months between 1x01 and 1x10.

A breakdown/recap

1x01: December 2014 - 2x01: September 2015

2x01: September 2015 - 2x05: October 2015

2x05: October 2015 - 4x03 December 2016

4x03: December 2016 - 4x12 March 2017

A few other "timestamps."

2x10 is about 3 weeks from 2x08. Jenkins says they've all been under Prospero's spell for 3 weeks.

There's 4 weeks between 2x10 and 3x01. Jake says something about 5 artifacts in 4 weeks.

The time between 3x08 and 3x09 is about 2 months. In 3x09, when Monkey King says Jake's training is complete. To which Jake responds with that he hasn't even been there 2 months.

And about 3 to 5 weeks between 3x10 and 4x01

#the librarians #the librarians tnt #jacob stone #jake stone #jenkins #nicole noone #flynn carsen #eve baird #cassandra cillian #ezekiel jones

[kouvisart]

Just watched Disney's "Wish" and here is how I would rewrite Magnifico's character arc and the movie.

*Spoilers Ahead*

I understand that the audience and the movie wanted to make him a fun, campy villain as reminiscent of the older Disney villains, but what they established was the opposite. The movie is trying to do two things with him: being sympathetic and being outright evil. These two are difficult to combine, and it is clear that they didn't how to do that.

They not only gave him a tragic past that was never elaborated on, but his descent literally isn't himself, but of a magic evil book that makes your eyes green. They had such a clear setup to pursue why he would use it now of all times, but they didn't. People can be asshole narcissists without being evil. And it is clear he did care for Amaya, and the people of Rosas. So the movie needed to push him more and give him some struggle of morality. Unfortunately, this route will turn him into a tragic villain. If they wanted true camp, they needed to make him always evil, and was always using the wishes to power himself up. But that is for another day.

"HIS MOTIVATION"

One of the weaknesses of Maginifico is that he has no clear motivation. And if it he does, they don't line up with what his surroundings are. When the power of Star nearly made the wishes in his chamber fall and the city shake, he was pretty paranoid that something was effecting his magic. Or overpowering it. Then when his people started questioning PLUS demanding more wish ceremonies, you can see why he is so irritated by them and thinks they don't respect him. When they basically gamble away their wish VOLUNTARILY and don't actually respect him as a king, more like a wish granter. He even said something akin to, "that is all you ever think about is wish ceremonies?" And the crowd responds with yes.

To further show his descent more, there should be another scene where he is just alone, without Amaya there. And his eyes are involuntarily drawn to the magic book. Widened, and mesmerized, his irises turn green and suddenly he snaps out of it. Hinting that the book, despite behind the glass, can draw people towards it. Beckoning almost and using their most innate desires. Now lets see how his motivations tie into the infamous villain song.

"THIS IS THE THANKS I GET"

What I'd change would be the must needed tonal shift in the second half. The songs stays way too poppy and doesn't clearly identify his corruption. The moment when he nearly gives himself to the book. It seems so simple, but the this section of the song really shows his reluctance, and that he thinks what he is doing is a necessary evil.

"I didn't wanna do this I swore I'd never do this But I'm hypnotized by how these pages flip 'Cause I refuse to have my power stripped A potion, a spell, a summon, a curse? Anything to make that light reverse To this book, I don't wanna be tethered, but Desperate times call for desperate measures Brr, where was I? Oh, yeah"

Instead of the "brr, where was I?" line, I would make the music stop, and Amaya's voice could be heard from behind. Freezing Magnifico in his tracks. The green around him disappears, and it is only him and his Queen, surrounded by nothing but themselves. She sings softly to him. A reprise of "At All Cost."

His subconscious knows it's wrong to use the book (as seen in the first two lines of the bridge and the last two lines, offset 1), so it conjures up Amaya, who tries to remind him of his good. The song grows in distortion as Amaya begs, yet he feels pushed to this predicament.

Going back to his motivation, it is hinted he wants control because in his eyes, the only way to protect everyone is if he oversees everything. But that doesn't mean he thinks his powers would be stripped. I think this is the one line that gives hint at a motivation that really doesn't fit his character, " 'Cause I refuse to have my power stripped." There is no hint throughout the movie that his magic is weakening, and when the people demanded and disrespected him, he is more irritated than antagonized. Instead, it should be he is afraid he doesn't have enough power. He feels he isn't powerful enough to stop whatever magic is happening in the kingdom, and knows the book will grant him this to achieve what he wants. Which is to protect Rosas "at all cost."

The goal here is to make his worries justified but his actions an overreaction. And make it a descent into madness than suddenly becoming evil out of the blue.

MOTIVATION CONT.

Also, to up the stakes because there is literally none, for when Asha sneaks into his castle to retrieve Sabo's wish, she accidentally releases all of them, even the violent ones. So we can have a character parallel between Asha and Magnifico where they think they are both doing the right thing, and are using overreactions for issues that could've just been brought up peacefully.

During their truce, he sees just how dangerous people can be with violent wishes, and the will they have to do them. Slowly making him angrier and angrier and further justifying to himself what he he did. After they are forced to work together to bring back order, the evil book has already taken its toll, and he comes to the realization of why is he even doing this for the people who don't even respect the man that gave them a safe haven. That without him, it would have descended into chaos long ago. He starts to extract the wishes involuntarily out of people, trying to keep them safe from themselves. But as he does, he takes it into himself for safe-keeping and ends up voring them. Growing in madness and in power as a misplaced, extreme martyrdom.

Now for the ending. I would either have the evil dispelled from him, but he dies from the magic exhaustion. Or to go the route of the movie and have him trapped, while Amaya, instead of being nonchalant about her husband's predicament (which is weird in the movie since it is shown they love one another yet now she doesn't care?). Who thanks Asha and tells her she will find a way to free her husband and rid of the curse, even if the book says there is no way to reverse it.

#disney #disney wish #king magnifico #asha #queen amaya #rant #text #disney movie #disney villains #rewrite #He had so much missed potential

[inmyheadimobsessed]

All Up In Your Mind

pairing: shuri ✘ black!fem!reader

summary: you think shuri doesn't notice you.

contains: fluff

word count: 600+

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: hii! this is my first fic on tumblr. i've been reading here for years though. like the rest of the world, i am obsessed with shuri and she is the love of my life. so i decided to write about it. just something cute and light for my first post. i hope you enjoy <3

When she kissed you, it shook the ground beneath your feet. You had not anticipated it. Sure it was a secret desire of yours, being alone with the Princess, having her all to yourself. The lab was always so crowded during the day, everyone running tests for whatever experiment they were working on, calculations for an invention they were tinkering with.

And Shuri, she was always the busiest. Always in her own mind, so far removed from the world buzzing on around her, and the people in it. So far removed from you. And you never envisioned her carving out time to see you, let alone kiss you. It knocked you back, shook your foundation to its very core.

A rattled heartbeat roared awake inside your sternum to revel in this unfamiliar, filling feeling. It yearned for more, starvation quelled by the delicate movements of her mouth. The kiss consumed you wholly. Shuri’s lips were the softest you’d ever known, they danced across your own gracefully, performing like a prima ballerina. Her tattooed hands were gentle when caressing your jaw, she made sure she took her time with you. Warm fingers electrified you, fanning the crackling furnace growing from within.

Shuri smelled of fresh cocoa butter, vanilla, and something else you were unable to identify. Floral maybe, but it was magnificent all the same. Her scent was so enamoring, so unique to her, and it always left you dazed. It wafted up your nose, intent set on coating your senses. The kiss, her scent, her presence, it left you intoxicated. Your head swam at the feeling, growing lighter and lighter until you felt tethered to the air. It was so much; too much.

The day began to fade outside the giant windows of her lab, and the city lulled in response. Shuri pecked your lips once, twice, three times before breaking the kiss completely. Hunger drove her as much as it did you. She cupped your burning cheeks in her palms before slowly dragging them down your neck. Your hands snaked around her waist hesitantly, tugging her into you. Feeling her warmth spill out on you brought forth a low gasp from your throat. Shuri’s face turned curious then and yours burned like the sun.

The rapid pounding in your chest mirrored the ceremonial drumming of the River Tribe. You knew she was aware of it, Griot was most certainly aware of it. Each thump coaxing you into averting her demanding gaze. You tried, and you failed.

“Eyes on me.” Shuri smirked at you with those perfect kiss swollen lips. “You are shaking,”

You huffed dramatically, then gave her a soft smirk of your own. “Sorry. That was…”

“It was. For me, too.” Dazzling brown eyes, illuminated by the sinking Wakandan sun drank you in. The most gorgeous sunset you’d probably ever witness, but your eyes only saw her. There would always be more sunsets, there was only one Shuri. She was all you needed to see. Her existence lit you up the same way the blazing ball in the sky would.

“I did not think you even noticed me most days.” Your braids fell into your face as your eyes found your shoes.

Her finger lifted your chin with nimble ease, “I notice everything there is to notice about you. You're a constant on my mind. I just, I don't know… I can't–” She bit her lip and shook her head, searching for words that refused to come. You could tell her mind was clogged with emotions just as yours was.

You smiled at this, it was truly a sight to see, “Princess Shuri, of the most powerful nation in the world, super genius, and the Black Panther, rendered speechless. By little ole me? Wow.”

“You are in my head, sthandwa.” Her blush consumed her features, beautiful and beaming. She overwhelmed you in the most serene way.

She reached for your hands that still sat around her hips, pulling your knuckles to her lips. Shuri ghosted them over your ever trembling fingers, eyes boring into you all the while. “And I don't think I want you out.”

#shuri #shuri x black!reader #lyricswriting #shuri x reader #shuri x f!reader #shuri x fem!reader #wakanda forever #black panther #letitia wright #myworks #mcu fic #marvel fic #namor #fluff #shuri x black!fem reader #marvel #mcu #shuri x y/n #letitia wright fanfic

[know-it-all-and-all]

End of the dream

@toasty349 here it is, is more existential angst, but I want this to be my last Harley tether content in this blog, (if anyone wants me to do another one just use commission me) so they will go with a bang.

Tether "you still crying Ley?"

Harley "shut up, you are tearing too"

Tether "well they left minutes ago, do you think that we will find them?"

Harley "why, you don't think you're capable of pay our marriage ceremony without them?"

Tether "N-no... That's not... you dork, you always know what to say to stop me from overthinking"

Harley "we will find them, and we will do it together"

Tether "... are you afraid?"

Harley "of what?"

Tether "that our physical bodies doesn't exist?"

Harley "well there's only one way to find out, and... if we don't exist, I'm happy to being with you in the end... I love you Tete"

Tether "I love you too Ley"

...

The End

...

Well the angst here is the one you choose to interpret, I will not say what canonically happens next, at least not soo, if they live or die, or if they find their families or not is going to be in your mind.

#Harley x Tether #Tadc Harley #Tadc Tether #angst #existential dread #the amazing digital circus #buttonblossom #pomni x ragatha #ragatha x pomni #fanchild #fankid #tadc au #jesterdoll #abstragedy #gangle x zooble #zooble x gangle #commission #request #commissions

[yandereunsolved]

In Death & Life

Pairing: James Patrick March x Fallen angel gn reader Summary: You preform a necromancy ritual on your fiancé to bring him back from death. The both of you reminisce and connect with each other on the mortal plane. trigger warning(s): none word count: 674 a/n: Just a short little thing. I lost determination to write it all the way so I gave it a satisfying end.

Ceremonial crimson candles cast an ominous shadow amongst the room that hides the secrets of a killer. The wicks slowly burn towards their inevitable end, the ritual already underway. Room sixty-four lies bare of any of its previous furnishings. A salt ring lies in the middle. Nothing lies within the ring; not even the light from the candles dare touch it. For it is crowded with the souls of the damned. The demonic entities praising the one that helps their master rise from his grave.

A bowl of rose water lies right outside the ring. A figure clad in cloth blacker than the hearts of men. A veil covers their face as they mutter ancient incantations only known by a chosen few. They mutter them fervently, almost obsessively. Again and again in a seemingly never ending loop.

Their knees ache from kneeling for so many hours. Their heart aches more—your heart aches more. Your heart beats for the man you are resurrecting: James Patrick March. Your James Patrick March. Your beloved fiancé. The one you saved from that wretched woman. The Countess may have felt nothing for the darkness, but you feel everything. You slit her neck and her tower of power crumbled beneath your feet. You filled the hole in his soon beating chest.

You coat your numb hands in the rosewater. One of the final steps in his resurrection. Having an affinity for death and necromancy since childhood finally came to fruition. Without his original body, you had to haggle a few souls in the Cortez for a demon to create a new one for him. In that moment, it was all worth it.

You stand as your hand reaches into the salt circle. The shadows receded as the flames of the candles cast them away. The dance between the devils and the darkness intertwined into both of your souls. He calls out to you like a spellbinding siren's song. From the depths of the shadows comes your true love.

His body was exactly that while in his ghost form. His ravenette strands still ever slicked back. The trimmed mustache of his sitting proudly above this top lip. His toned body was proudly suited to those three pieces. His neck slit is now healed, but the scar is apparent.That charming smile, goddesses, it looks even better now. 

"You are reborn as a warlock, my love. Immortal. Alive." Your words are hoarse and barely escape your cracked lips.

Your shaking hands are struggling to listen to the commands that your mind is giving them. Your left thumb barely touches his cheek before he has dragged you across the circle, separating the salt circle and making it incomplete. You couldn't even begin to care, as the ritual is complete. You are held in his deathly, loving grip once again.

"Indeed, darling. I am now the most famous serial killer both alive and dead." He whispers fervently as he places feather light kisses on each of your knuckles. "We shall wed in a few days time. Our consummation will finally be with the both of us living."

Your frayed wings and broken halo appear for a single moment. After all, you cannot risk using your abilities too often. Lest the angels hunt you, or the devils wish to make deals for your power. Once a mighty angelic being is now only the shell of one. Your wings are nothing more than bone, and your halo floats above your head in pieces. More fragments of your once-heavenly halo chip off and fall every day. Further tethering you to the mortal realm. 

You wrap the bones around his body as tears fall from your otherworldly eyes. His oddly tender hands wipe the tears away. He brings each finger up to his mouth as he tastes your sadness. A pleased smirk appears on his features as he places a teasing kiss on your delicate temple.

"You taste absolutely divine." He purrs gently as he tugs your waist closer towards him. "I cannot wait to taste you even more after our dinner tonight."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @slutforgarlogan @newwavesylviaplath @violet1737 @marchsfreakshow

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

#american horror story #ahs hotel #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march #jpm #one shot #fluffy #angst with comfort #light angst #james patrick march x you #james patrick march x y/n #fallen angel reader #american horror story fanfiction #jpm x reader

[wintersxani]

Can I request a soulmate! au one, where Emily is the reader's soulmate and the reader is a single parent to a small girl (maybe abt 4)

And the rest of the team is the reader's platonic soulmates but she didn't know cause she thought she doesn't have soulmate she just think that they are protective by nature

The reader's completely oblivious abt the whole thing

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | Emily Prentiss x fem soulmate!reader

Warning(s): nothing :)

Word count: 729

Characters: Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Jack Hotchner, Henry LaMontagne

Summary: After thinking you're the exception to finding a soulmate, you meet yours, Emily Prentiss, after a mix-up. Shortly after, you find your platonic soulmates.

A/N: I actually didn't know about soulmate au's until this request, so I had to do a little bit of research to learn about it! Hope this short but sweet fic satisfies your request and as always, thank you sm for sending one! <3

For years the world had been so dull. You knew everyone was destined for a soulmate, but it felt as if you were the exception. You couldn't help but be jealous of those couples who were destined to be together, living so blissfully joyful. There had been someone you had thought had been the one for you, but he faded off, leaving you to raise your now four-year-old daughter alone.

Though the world was dull, and days tended to be lonely, your daughter Adalyne was the light of your life. Raising her was hard on your own, but by now you were used to it. You were unsure anyone would ever come into your life now that you were a single mother, but you didn't let that deter you from trying to get out there and find your person.

Since you were a little girl, you'd dream of a dark-haired woman. She glowed so brightly and had this essence about her that felt... right. Like the missing piece to the puzzle. When you'd wake, you could never remember her face, just her hair, and her vivid aura. You never understood this reoccurring dream until Emily Prentiss stood in front of you at a coffee shop, holding your coffee cup.

It had been a mistake, seeing as she hadn't checked if her cup was the one on the left or the right. After apologizing for the mishap, you watched as she talked to your daughter in a way that made you smile so large. She had a motherly energy herself, but something in your gut verified that she wasn't. As she introduced herself, the two of you shook hands, and that's when you knew.

It had been like the world exploded with light, colors intensifying on every surface around; the realization that the woman in front of you was your soulmate was overwhelming, leaving you short of breath as your hands remained clasped together. Both your guys' eyes were wide as your lips laid agape, and the woman from your dream now had a face- that woman was in front of you. "It's you-" You breathed, trying to catch your breath as every emotion intensified. "You're my soulmate." A smile spread across both of your faces as the love sparking between you only grew, as had the light in the world. Adalyne had loved her in an instant, knowing herself that the two of you were tethered together by fate.

The two of you were married not to long after, having a beautiful ceremony. Then was when she introduced you to her team, and they had immediately taken to you. Penelope had smothered you with hugs and love, being the first to welcome you to their found family. David had been next, offering to pay for yours and Emily's honeymoon. He would become a father figure to both of you, providing a grand-father figure to Adalyne. Jennifer and Spencer came like a package, as had Derek and Aaron following. Jack, Henry, and Adalyne would have playdates all the time, usually at Rossi's home where all of you could sit back and relax after they'd come back from a case.

Quality time had been something all of you really favored, more specifically together. In your previous years, you weren't much of a people-person, needing a break after socializing with a couple people. You valued distance over anything. Now, you didn't know how you had gone through life without the 7 of them in it. Every waking moment they were free, you were with them. Whether it be one-on-ones or the whole group, being with all of them made you feel complete. Your safety and comfortability were always at the top of their lists. You thought it was just protective nature, seeing as the work they do every day was no easy task, nor was it safe. Being involved with an FBI agent automatically put you at risk, but that hadn't stopped Emily and her team from keeping you safe.

Emily loved seeing you so happy around her teammates, and it didn't take long for her to realize that they were your platonic soulmates. Having six was extremely rare, let alone one. You had been oblivious to their nature, never questioning how you'd know what they were thinking or feeling more than half the time. You just knew that they were what you were missing, and now, you were complete.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#soulmate au #platonic soulmates #soulmates #soulmate imagine #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss soulmate au #bau #bau team #bau team x fem! reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #penelope garcia #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #reader x emily prentiss #reader is single mother #wintersxanicriminalminds #wintersxani works #wintersxani

[takingchences]

ultraviolet pt. 2 - BAKUGOU

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: swearing

series masterlist + face claim

"What? A Quirk assessment test?" Most of the class exclaimed in unison.

"But orientation!" Uraraka whined. "We're gonna miss it!" Who cares? Sana sighed, just wanting to jump into the action already. She was dying to know the quirks of her new classmates and get a feel for her competition.

Their home room teacher obviously couldn't have cared less about missing something as trivial as orientation. "If you really wanna make the big leagues, you can't waste time on pointless ceremonies." Uraraka and others gasped at the haggard man's brutal honesty. Sana nodded her head solemnly in agreement. "Here at UA, we're not tethered to traditions. That means that I get to run my class however I see fit." A few uneasy looks were spotted in the crowd. The unidentified pro held up a small tablet. "You've been taking standardized tests most of your lives, but you never got to use your Quirks in physical exams before. The country's still trying to pretend we're all created equal by not letting those with the most power excel. It's not rational. One day, the Ministry of Education will learn."

Not if my father has anything to say about it, she argued.

Mr. Aizawa turned towards the angry ash blonde standing not two feet away from her. "Bakugou, you managed to get the most points on the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with a softball when you were in Junior High?"

"Sixty‐seven meters, I think."

So Blondie's name is Bakugou.

"Right. Try doing it with your Quirk. Anything goes, just stay in the circle." Bakugou stepped inside the designated area. Sana watched his every breath and each shift of his muscular frame in anticipation. That confidence of his is killer. His quirk must be incredibly strong.

"Go on. You're wasting our time." An impatient Aizawa stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets.

Bakugou stretched his throwing arm in preparation. "Alright, man. You asked for it." He replied nonchalantly. Then, with a crazed look in his eyes, he suddenly wound his arm back and-

"DIE!" He screeched inhumanly as he released an explosion from his hand, sending the ball rocketing through the sky. Sana's eyes narrowed at the display of power. Just as she'd expected, Blondie had a strong and flashy quirk... but did he really have to be so loud all of the time?

"All of you need to know your maximum capabilities," Aizawa narrated as the class silently followed the trajectory of Bakugou's pitch. The ball eventually came to a stop, making the device in Aizawa's hand beep. "It's the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero." He flipped the device around to show them Bakugou's results.

705.2 meters. An impressive score, Sana could admit, but not an unbeatable one.

"Whoa, 705 meters, are you kidding me?" Kaminari was shocked by the results of the test, pun very much intended.

Bakugou returned to his original spot with a cocky smirk, flashing his teeth at Sana in hopes of provoking a fight. He obviously wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. Luckily, neither was she. Just you wait, pretty boy. I'll blow you straight out of the water.

After a few students made the mistake of commenting on how fun it looked, their teacher smiled sadistically before adding a punishment: whoever ranked last at the end of the eight tests would be expelled.

"You can't send one of us home! I mean, we just got here! Even if it wasn't the first day, that isn't fair!" Uraraka once again confronted their teacher.

"Oh, and you think natural disasters are?" Aizawa countered. "Or power‐hungry villains, hmm? Or catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No, the world is full of unfairness. It's a hero's job to try to combat that unfairness. If you wanna be a pro, you're gonna have to push yourself to the brink. For the next three years, UA will throw one terrible hardship after another at you. So, go beyond. Plus Ultra‐style." He bent his finger in a come here motion. "Show me it's no mistake that you're here."

Sana's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. Her eyes cut to the dual-haired boy standing in the back of the group. So close, yet so far away. I have to prove that I'm strong enough to make it on my own.

"Now then. We're just wasting time by talking. Let the games begin."

The first part of the apprehension test was the 50-meter dash. So far, the most impressive score had come from Iida, but what else would you expect from a guy with engines in his legs? Soon, it was Sana's turn to run. She was paired up against a blonde guy with a tail.

This is my time to shine. As she'd passed by Bakugou to stand at the starting point, she'd made sure to brush his shoulder with her's. Immediately, a warmth had flowed through her body from where they'd made contact. Sana crouched low to the ground and released a deep breath.

Thank you, Bakugou...

Her glowing eyes locked with the said male's just as the starting pistol was about to go off. Her lips curved into a devious grin, making his red eyes widen slightly.

...for being my stepping stone.

There was a burst of blinding light where the girl had once been standing, causing many of the observers to turn away and shield their eyes. Before the class had time to process what had just happened, the measuring device beeped.

"0.11 seconds!" The automated voice cheered.

Standing at the finish line was Sana, lightly panting as she bent to rest her hands on her knees. Running at the speed of light, her pastel hair cast her eyes in shadow, but did nothing to hide the proud smirk on her face. Try and top that.

"HUUUUUH?" The class exclaimed.

Mina, Kaminari, Kirishima, and a boy named Hanta Sero immediately circled the peach-haired girl once she rejoined the rest of the class. "What the heck was that?!" Mina grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "It was crazy cool, babes!"

"What a manly score!" Kirishima held out a fist, making Sana laugh as she bumped their knuckles together. Thankfully, his quirk wasn't activated, otherwise her hand would've crumbled like wet paper beneath his.

Kaminari slung an arm over her shoulder. "So that's your special move, huh? How about I show you mine tonight-"

"Oi, Flashlight!"

The lightning-haired teen was cut off by a gruff voice. The small group turned to face Bakugou, his red eyes seemingly trying to peer into her soul and learn all of her secrets. "It's Sana," she reminded him with a sigh. "Did you need something?"

"What's your quirk?"

"Does it matter?"

The ash blonde's lip curled in annoyance. "Ya think I didn't notice? You did something." He squeezed his shoulder with a frown. He quickly snapped out of his trance and thrust a finger in her face. "So tell me what the hell your quirk is!"

"I didn't do anything to you." Sana held her hands up defensively. "I just wanted to power up."

"Huh?" He yelled, just as visibly confused as the rest of her new friends.

(Present Mic announcing) "Sana Sakano, her Quirk: Light Manipulation! By absorbing heat and light into her body, she can create blasts of radiation. The more energy she takes in, the stronger her attacks are!"

"Obviously, the Sun is my main source of energy, but any kind of heat will do." Sana tried her best to explain the inner workings of her quirk. "Your quirk has to do with fire, so naturally, your body's core temperature is higher than normal." She placed a hand on Sero's and Kirishima's toned arms and felt a sliver of warmth soak into her palms. "It works with anyone, though I prefer people like you." She shrugged.

"Does your shitty quirk weaken the other person?" Bakugou pressed, his anger unwavering.

"No," Sana answered sourly. "So don't blame me when you lose."

The explosive blonde scoffed. "Whatever. I don't need other people to help me win." Her spirits fell as he turned and stalked away in his strange, grumpy-old-man way, hands shoved into his pockets. Her new friends noticed the sadness in her eyes and immediately tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't mind him." Sero reassured her.

"Yeah!" Mina jumped in. "We believe in you, so go out there and kick his ass!" Sana's eyes glimmered, her mouth slightly open in surprise as she stared at each of the four teens in front of her.

They're so... warm.

She didn't mean physically, but a different type of warmth altogether. They offered their attention and affection, two things that Sana had craved her entire life. She had always known coldness: a distant father who brushed her thoughts, feelings and existence aside, a broken, empty home where she spent most nights alone, eating her meals in deafening silence. A family that wasn't a family at all, but business partners. To them, Sana was nothing but an investment, her stock only rising as her power grew and developed. The second that changed, she'd be deemed worthless and discarded.

Just like her mother.

It was why she and Shoto had gotten along so well. They'd lived such similar lives, experienced a lot of the same pain. They could relate to each other in a way most people would never understand. And that was fine, because they knew that they would always have each other.

But somewhere along the way, she'd lost him too.

He'd left, grown cold like his right side, become unapproachable like her father. The home she'd once found in him had become just as dark and deserted as the one she would return to day after day, and once again, she found herself out in the cold. But here, with these people...

U.A really is the best.

The class was tested on their grip strength, followed by the standing long jump. Bakugou had cleared the sandbox by setting off explosions to keep him airborne, which gave Sana an idea for her turn.

When her name was called, she felt her eyes light up as her quirk powered on. Leveling her palms with the ground, she pushed off with her feet and activated her quirk. Like a rocket, blasts of energy burst from her palms and sent her shooting through the air, easily clearing the sandbox. Her landing, on the other hand, could use some improvement. She rolled across the grass a few times before finally coming to a stop. Hearing the concern in her friends' voices, she flashed them a lazy smile and a thumbs up.

Idiot. Bakugou thought to himself as he watched the girl climb to her feet, dirt now smudged along her cheek and PE uniform.

A few pieces of pastel hair, which she'd tied back with a ribbon at the beginning of the assessment, had been freed during the tumble. They floated and danced around her face as she bounced up to the group of morons she called friends. Her smile hadn't wavered, not since he'd confronted her about her quirk. It was seriously starting to piss him off. How could she be so happy with the way things were going? The only standout score she'd managed to get so far was the 50-meter dash, and that was because she'd used him to do it!

One of the final tests was the ball toss, where Bakugou had set a high standard. I just have to beat 705.2 meters, Sana repeated like a mantra in her head.

She'd turned away, as it was Shoto's turn to throw. She hadn't been able to look at him for too long. The distance—both physical and metaphorical—between them too great and far too painful to acknowledge. So Sana ignored it, shoving every thought of him out of her mind. Of how much stronger he'd become over the last few months, how his hair was longer, how he seemed taller than the last time she'd seen him, his muscular frame more developed-

No, bad Sana. She scolded herself for letting her mind slip. She doubted Shoto had thought such things when he'd seen her this morning, learned that they'd been placed in the same class-

Dammit! I'm doing it again!

Thankfully, Shoto was now done, Uraraka having taken his place inside the white circle. She didn't even have to throw the ball. With her gravity quirk, one touch was all it took for her to reach infinity. Midoriya was up next, then Sana.

"If Midoriya doesn't shape up soon, he's the one going home." Iida put to words what they were all thinking, worry clear in his voice.

"Huh? Of course he is. He's a Quirkless loser." The explosive blonde glared at the greenette from across the field.

"Really?" Sana exclaimed in awe.

The rest of 1-A was surprised by her genuine excitement. Ever since U.A had amended the rule about quirkless students entering the Hero Course, she'd been anticipating the day that someone without a quirk would step up and prove themselves. It wasn't power that made a hero. Endeavor was living proof of that.

"He has a Quirk." Iida insisted, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you not hear about what he did in the entrance exam?"

Damn, she cursed. I forgot about that.

In the circle, Midoriya readied his arm, a look of pure concentration on his face. His arm seemed to glow for a moment before he released the ball. The baseball fell to the ground seconds later, barely 40 meters away.

"Wow. That was, uh..." Sana's eyes shifted between the boy and the ball. ... extremely underwhelming, she sweat dropped. What could he have possibly done during the entrance exam to impress so many people?!

Midoriya exchanged a few words with their teacher before coming to a realization. "Ah! Those goggles. I know you! You can look at someone and cancel out their powers. The Erasure Hero. Eraser Head!"

"Eraser?" Sero scratched his head. "Who's that?"

A frog-like girl came to the rescue. "I've heard of him. I think he works on the down‐low."

Teacher and pupil spoke a little longer, none of them being able to hear exactly what the two were saying. Once Midoriya returned to his spot to try again, the class whispered amongst themselves about what they possibly might've discussed.

"I wonder if our teacher gave him some advice."

"Probably told him to start packing." The satisfaction oozing from Bakugou was troubling to say the least. It was unlikely that he enjoyed much of anything due to his prickly personality, but did he really dislike the green-haired boy so badly that he was actually rooting for him to fail?

"SMASH!" Midoriya shouted as he released the ball a second time. The ball was launched into the air from the pressure, the speed and velocity of the ball on par with Bakugou's, though the explosive teen was too shocked by the fact that surprise—Midoriya is, in fact, not quirkless—to do anything other than gawk.

The end result? 705.3 meters.

Alright, Midoriya, Sana nodded her head in acknowledgment.

Bakugou, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he'd been in, immediately launched himself at the greenette, Aizawa being forced to restrain him with his fashionable scarf—sorry, capture weapon.

"How the hell am I supposed to follow that?" Sana muttered to herself.

"You're wasting my time now." Aizawa grumbled as the students crowded around the boy with the broken finger. "Whoever's next can step up."

That would be me, Sana sighed, stepping forward. Aizawa handed her the ball, which she reluctantly accepted. Taking her place inside the circle, Sana couldn't help but frown down at the white paint, grateful that the class—namely Bakugou—was unable see her unease. Her quirk didn't enhance any of her physical abilities besides her speed and that stunt had burned through most of her stored energy. Thankfully, it was a bright, sunny day out, so whatever reserves she'd lost had quickly been replenished. But throwing a ball (ideally) over 705.2 meters would be a difficult task.

I don't know what to do.

She couldn't help but picture a white-and-red-haired boy in her place. Shoto would've already thrown it. Only the weak hesitate, a voice berated. But it didn't sound like her own. The voice was deeper, more masculine, like her father's telling her nothing she does will ever be good enough. Or like Enji Todoroki's, always reminding her of his son's superiority.

You're not weak, Sana grit her teeth, banishing all thoughts of her former friend. She spotted ash blonde spikes out of the corner of her eye, thought of the harsh words he'd spoken. You don't need others to help you.

"Any day now." That was her teacher's voice. Shit. How much time had she wasted already?

Sana took a deep breath in, felt the rush of her quirk flooding through her. Releasing her breath slowly, she began to run along the inner edges of the white circle, her figure a blur of peach and navy blue. Gripping the softball tightly, she drew her arm back before flinging it into the air. It may not be much now, but...

Her glowing eyes followed the ball's course intently. It whistled through the air before crashing into the soft earth. The device in her teacher's hand displayed her score: 607 meters.

I'm just getting started.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #boku no hero acedamia #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #shoto todoroki #bakugou x reader #bakusqaud #kirishima eijirou #bakugo katsuki #mina ashido #bnha fluff