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lendeah · 3 months

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The currents of destiny

Chapter 2: Power hungry.

Summary: G'Axir shows Astarion what his life would be like had Tav carried on with the Ascension ritual. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav Word Count: 3.3k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

[AO3 Link]

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NOTE: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. DARK CHAPTER. THANK YOU.

Before Astarion could protest or question further, a blinding white light engulfed him and G'axir both. He felt himself being pulled through space and time, his body weightless and disoriented.

Suddenly, he regained control of his body. And his breath was caught in his throat: he was in front of Cazador, his master still alive and well. His companions were a few meters away, watching him with apprehension. In an incredible turn of events, he had been transported back in time to just a few hours earlier. He attempted to call out to them, but his mouth moved on its own before he could say anything.

"Help me do this, please"

Astarion's heart dropped as he realized what was happening. He was a helpless spectator, forced to watch his own actions unfold without any control. He watched Tav's face, the conflict swimming in her eyes.

"We would kill all these people... seven thousand, Astarion. Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"These people died years ago trust me on that. All that's left a feral spawn, desperate for blood. If we release them how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?" he replied, but he sensed he was trying to convince himself just as much as Tav.

In the past, this was the point when Tav had refused to assist him. Now, however, she looked torn, her brows furrowed as she considered his offer.

"If I complete the ritual... think of the power I'll have. With me by your side we can we can save the city - we can save ourselves!" Astarion could hear the desperation in his own voice and he hated himself for it.

He could feel everything his mind was going through at that moment: fear, hunger for power, and a sense of desperate urgency. But amidst it all, he also saw the turmoil reflected in Tav's eyes. He could see the internal struggle she was facing, the weight of the decision weighing heavily on her shoulders, something he hadn't noticed before.

After a few seconds, he could sense the parasite quivering inside his mind, the telltale sign that Tav was opening her mind to him. The moment their minds linked, Tav's presence flooded his senses, and he saw himself through her eyes, standing in front of Cazador, his back to her revealing the intricate design of his scars. He felt her emotions; the trembling anxiety and deep concern, but also the unwavering trust she had in him.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but be curious about the potential outcome. The power and control that completing this ritual would bring were too enticing to ignore. And with Tav's help, he could finally get revenge on Cazador and be truly free.

After that, the vision blurred and flashed, a dizzying array of images assaulting Astarion's mind. He saw himself marking Cazador's back with the complex patterns that adorned his own back. Then, the image shifted and he was throwing his master into the very place that should have been his. In that moment, a blinding flash of red washed over Astarion and he felt an overwhelming surge of power coursing through his body. His senses were overloaded, his mind expanding to absorb all the knowledge and abilities that came with the ascension. It was like being struck by lightning, a rush that left him breathless and reeling. He repeated a series of words, an enchantment that felt unfamiliar on his tongue.

And after another flash, Astarion felt... nothing. No fear, no hunger, nothing at all. What is going on?

His surroundings slowly came into focus: the ground beneath him strewn with the bodies of his siblings, all lifeless and still. Blood stained the walls and floor, a stark contrast to the pristine stone that adorned them before. His body turned to look at Tav and his companions, who were still watching him from the sidelines. And they looked completely horrified at the sight.

"What have you done?!" Karlach screamed.

But his body, that other version of him, still didn't feel anything. The Ascended version of himself - stronger, more powerful than ever before – remained expressionless. A sickening realization hit him like a punch to the gut - his siblings, seven thousand souls, Sebastian, the Gur children... all dead because of him. And at that moment, Astarion felt a surge of guilt and shame wash over him. He couldn't believe what he had done. He had been consumed by his hunger for power, driven by his past self's desperation.

I didn't mean... I didn't think... Astarion stammered, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. But the words were lost in the void of his consciousness.

"Astarion…" Tav's voice was filled with disbelief and sadness. "Has this... really been worth it?" her voice cracked with disappointment, the sadness and guilt in her eyes too much for Astarion to bear.

He could feel the pain radiating off Tav. He needed to reach out, comfort her... but he couldn't. He was trapped inside his mind, a prisoner in his own flesh.

His body moved towards Tav slowly; reached out and cupped her cheek gently with its hand.

"I did it for you, for us," he whispered softly, running its thumb against her bruised and tear-streaked cheek.

And yet… as he saw the raw pain etched into her features; as he watched tears welling up in her eyes, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks; as he heard her whisper his name one more time – filled with sadness, disappointment, and an indescribable heartbreak – he felt nothing. His body felt nothing but pride and greed for more power. And the thought terrified him to his very core.

“Trust me, Tav,” His voice spoke on its own accord, before his consciousness was moving again.

He couldn't see anything else around him, just the overwhelming brightness that seemed to swallow him whole. When Astarion opened his eyes, the stone and debris had been replaced with pristine white walls adorned with elegant artwork. As he took in his new surroundings, a soft breeze tickled his skin and the gentle sounds of seagulls filled his ears. He was gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sparkling blue sea stretching out before him. He was no longer in the ruins of his past; he had been transported to a beautiful seaside bedroom.

Confusion filled his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Was this another vision? Or was this reality?

His body turned from the windows to the space next to him, and he realized Tav was standing in front of him, looking... tired. And bruised.

"I really can't believe you let me do that... killing all those people..." Ascended Astarion chuckled darkly, "such a pleasant surprise."

He saw the guilt etched on her face, the sadness. Astarion felt his stomach churn at the thought that Tav might hate him for what he had done. But I didn't mean to...

Astarion's body walked towards Tav, reaching out to cup her face gently in its hand. But instead of the usual warmth and tenderness he felt towards her, there was only disgust. His body was repulsed by her weakness.

"I... I just wanted what was best for you," she replied softly, looking at her hands.

"You sweet, sweet thing," His body spoke in a mocking tone, the hand that once held such tenderness now gripping Tav's chin tightly, making her look at him. "I want what's best for you too, of course. And... one wicked turn deserves another."

Wait, what? Astarion felt a cold and ugly realization seep into his mind. Could he really mean... No, he wouldn't...

"Isn't that what you want, pet?" his body continued.

No. No she doesn't want it. What is this?! Stop this! "I-I just want you to be happy. I want us to stay together," Tav's voice trembled as she tried to reason with his body.

"Is that so?" His body countered. "You're the one that I want, the one that I love and you could be so much more if you want it. One little bite, and you could be mine, forever..." his ascended version said. But Astarion could taste de lie on his tongue. He wanted to make her his spawn.

And at that moment, Astarion felt pure unadulterated terror like he had never felt before. No! No no no! Astarion screamed, clawing at the invisible bars of his conscience. Please, no! Not her! Astarion's screams echoed inside his head as he watched his body move closer to Tav, his eyes glinting with hunger and desire for control. But it was no use. He was trapped inside his own nightmare, forced to relive the horrors of his past as he became the monster that once ruled over him.

His body was now leaning towards her, close enough to feel her soft breath against his lips, close enough to see the fear in her eyes – a fear he could not respond to. "Say it, love," it cooed dangerously, its voice a haunting echo of seductive promises.

"I... I..." Tav stuttered, her trembling hands tightly clutching the front of his shirt.

"Are you ready to join me? To accept this immortal gift? Say yes..." a commanding whisper slipped past his lips against his will, dark hunger coursing through his body. Astarion felt his soul scream in agony, unable to alter the horrible course he had set them on. Because he already knew that look in her eyes, that determination. It was the look she had when standing up for him against his siblings, the one she wore while letting him drink from her every night, the look she gave him on the night she confessed her love. The look that said she would do anything and everything for him.

Slowly, her lips moved, and a small whisper escaped them. "I love you..."

No! Astarion's soul shrieked inside his mind, but the body wasn't listening. Astarion tried to push back against the darkness, to will his body to do something, anything, to stop itself.

As tears streamed down her face, she whispered a tearful "yes." He longed to comfort her, to promise that everything would be okay and to protect her from the monstrous version of himself.

But it was too late.

His physical form gave into a cruel grin as she submitted to his will, and Astarion could feel its disgust at her degradation, at her weakness.

"I knew you'd come around..."

His body gently captured Tav's soft weeping face between his hands, his thumbs brushing away the mournful tears on her cheeks. "Such a good girl," his voice was honeyed darkness, "You'll be so beautiful... everlasting... My dark consort."

His body slowly pushed Tav down to the floor, her back resting against the cold stone. It was a cruel twist of fate that the one person who had shown him kindness and acceptance would now become his first slave. Tav closed her eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. The irony wasn't lost on Astarion, he was giving her a lover's kiss before death.

As his body pulled away from the kiss, his icy fingers traced down from her throat to the collar of her shirt. He slowly peeled it off to bare her neck, not breaking eye contact. "Tonight I shall drink every drop of your blood, own your body, kill your mind. It will hurt a bit, but worry not; the pleasure will be far greater than the pain." his body said, grinning wolfishly at Tav who was paralyzed in fear, yet rooted in love.

She was heaving, fear evident in her features. "P-please, just... be gentle."

No! Please, don't kill her! Not her! Astarion's conscience screamed for him to stop, to save the woman he loves from this fate. But he was powerless, trapped inside his own body as it lowered its head towards her exposed neck. The scent of her blood, warm and sweet filled his nostrils. His fangs bore into her flesh and released a mouthful of hot crimson life that made Astarion's instinctual heart pound with excitement even as his soul recoiled in horror.

He felt completely helpless as he witnessed his own body draining the life from Tav, not even able to look away. He was forced to listen to her soft gasps and whimpers, unable to do anything to stop it. The person he loved more than anyone else was slowly dying at his own hands. He could do nothing but watch as she lay on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood, her once vibrant skin now pale and her lips lacking their usual rosy color. Those same lips that he had loved to kiss and watch curve into an easy smile were now still and lifeless.

If he could have shed tears, he would have wept in despair and regret. If he were in his own physical form, he knew he would be retching now. But he could do nothing but scream and claw, the pain all consuming in his soul.

After what seemed like an eternity, his body finally pulled away from Tav's neck and stood up straight. He wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand and looked down at Tav's lifeless body with a sense of triumph.

"You were delicious as always, dear," his voice echoed inside Astarion's mind.

And just like that, he was once again drifting through the vast emptiness of space. But his exhaustion and defeat were so overwhelming that he couldn't bring himself to care.

When the light faded after what seemed like hours, Astarion found himself standing in a familiar place - Cazador's Palace once again. But this time, it was... different. At first, he couldn't pinpoint it. But then, he noticed: the paintings on the wall didn't depict his former master anymore. He froze as he watched the stranger with white hair and red eyes watching him from the portrait. The man's face was unknown, but something about him felt...familiar. Remnants from another life.

He couldn't look away from those piercing red eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. His body stepped closer, reaching out a hand to touch the painting.

And he realized, it wasn't a stranger; it was himself. Older, more weathered, and with a haunting look in his red eyes. The first time he was seeing his face in 200 years. His finger slid over the canvas, feeling the rough texture beneath his touch. There was pride emanating from this version of himself and it sent shivers down his spine.

What is this? he whispered inside his mind, his voice cracking with emotion.

The realm of possibilities... that might have unfolded had you embraced ascension... your destiny left unfulfilled... G'axir's voice echoed through his subconscious.

Astarion's stomach churned as his body moved around the room. Everything had been changed. The furniture was placed differently, new artwork adorned the walls, but it still retained its eerie and dark atmosphere as it did with his old master. As he traversed down a never-ending corridor, his steps echoed loudly in the eerie silence. Servants scurried past him, their heads bowed in reverence. But there was something off about them, almost as if they were under some sort of spell. Their movements were stiff and mechanical, and their eyes lacked any emotion or life.

After what felt like an eternity, his body finally reached the grand dining hall. Two servants dressed in impeccably crisp uniforms opened the massive doors for him. The room was filled with the warm, flickering light of numerous candles, illuminating the extravagant decorations adorning the walls. A long table stretched across the room, set with elegant china and silverware that could only belong to a king. But there was no one sitting at the table, creating a strange emptiness in the room. His body continued past the elaborate table, towards a magnificent throne that now stood at the far end of the room.

No. No, no, no.

There, atop the throne, draped in garments more regal than his master Cazador had ever let him wear, sat Tav. Her skin was nearly translucent, veins snaking just beneath the surface like tendrils of a creeping vine. Her eyes radiated an unnatural crimson glow that revealed her spawn nature. Tav's face held no familiarity in its gaze; only vacant submission under her crimson eyes. She looked nothing like the woman he had known - stubborn, fierce, and full of life. Now all that remained was an empty shell drained of hope and vitality, turned into a puppet. The sight of it made his stomach flip. This could not be happening. It was a nightmare.

He watched, appalled, as his body ascended the steps to the throne with a predatory grace. She, on the other hand, stood from the throne, head bowed in submission. He took his place on the seat, pulling Tav onto his lap. She sat there silently, not moving or uttering a single word.

I'm so sorry Astarion whispered brokenly inside his head.

And then, horror upon horror, his body began to speak.

"My beautiful pet," he murmured into the hollow of her neck. "Isn't it a delight to see how far we've come?"

She met the gaze of her new master with an impassive face - a puppet on strings. "Of course. I couldn't be happier, my lord," she replied, though her face remained impassive, not even a ghost of an emotion flickering in her eyes. Her body seemed rigid, save for the slight tremble that shook her form.

She didn't fight back or resist, which only fueled the anger of his ascended self. He could sense its thoughts; how she was now dull and uninteresting, lacking all the fire and fight that she once had.

"Ah, so compliant..." his mouth whispers, tracing a thumb along her jawline - a horribly intimate act that made Astarion's heart lurch in revulsion. "But you've been very bad, trying to sneak out at night," his body continued, pressing its lips against Tav's neck in a mock kiss. "And you know what we do to naughty pets..."

Astarion's mind was filled with revulsion and disgust at the scene happening before him. His worst fear had come true: he had used and abused her feelings until there was nothing left of the person she used to be. He couldn't believe he had almost let himself become so consumed by power. He couldn't believe he had begged for Tav to turn him into this. Into... his master.

He had everything he had ever wanted: power, control, and Tav by his side. And yet, holding all this in his grasp, his body felt empty. Devoid of any emotion. The ritual had given him everything he had hoped for, and he had paid the price with his soul.

"Now," the voice continued, "I think it’s time you show your master just how truly sorry you are."

Ascended Astarion's hand tightened around her throat as he dragged her towards his lips. She struggled against his grip, clawing at his arm and gasping for air, but he was too strong.

"NO! Astarion, please!" She begged, out of breath.

Astarion was panicking, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break free from his own body's control. As Astarion's mind reached its breaking point, G'Axir's voice echoed back in his head.

In your gaze... the aftermath unfolds... revealing the life consumed by an insatiable hunger for power. G'Axir supplies in his mind. Prepared to venture forth... into the next glimpse?

Astarion could feel his sanity slipping away as he pleaded, Stop this, I beg you! I will do anything but please get me the fuck out of here!

And finally, the vision stopped.

Note: Oof, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions, hard torturous version. I promise next chapters will be lighter than this one. Also, I think I have left my Astarion traumatized (even more). LMK if you want to be added to a taglist :)

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#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #astarion x you

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azrielslightintheshadows · 5 months

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Princess

Azriel x f!Reader

One of the series I’m currently working on. Enjoy!

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse, trauma and death, swearing

Masterlist.

Princess Masterlist.

Chapter 11

“I think you are ready for training” Azriel spoke.

He was sitting on the small chair by your window with a hot cup of tea in his hands.

“My hands still seize when I try to move them for more than five minutes...” you noted.

“We can focus on your legs tomorrow… you were doing so good don’t let it go to waste.” He shrugged.

“I will think about it...” you murmured.

As you were both sitting in silence your thumbs started twitching and you knew that your hands would start seizing in a few minutes. Your eyes watered and you stared at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked when he noticed your expression.

“Nothing…” you chewed your bottom lip and he sighed.

“Let me see…” he said softly and got up.

You pulled your hands from the blanket and showed him, they had start seizing by now. A few tears escaped from your eyes and Azriel shook his head.

“It’s okay…” he whispered and grabbed some of the ointment. He grabbed your hands and started massaging them.

“Thank you” you replied and kept your gaze fixed on his scarred fingers. When your hands stopped seizing, he grabbed one and placed a kiss on your knuckles. Your breath hitched and he froze.

“I’m sorry I… I don’t know why I did this” he stuttered and backed off quickly, like your skin burned him.

“I’m so so sorry” he repeated and hurried out of your room before you had a chance to reply.

You gaped at the spot he was previously sitting, your thoughts running wild and your heart racing.

What was that? Why did he do this? I shouldn’t care, no… I don’t care. We are only friends and that’s only because he is helping me through all of this. I can’t be with someone who treated me like this from the moment I stepped foot in this court, the only reason why I don’t hate him is this stupid bond and the healing process with which he helped me so much.

Your thoughts kept crushing on your mind like waves and even though it hurt, you kept thinking trying to sort your feelings and beliefs. You couldn’t understand how your life turned upside down and you didn’t know who to blame. Mor brought you here but only to protect you, she couldn’t know that her friends would treat you like that. Azriel for sure was a part of the reason you got hurt but again it wasn’t his intention and if you kept your mouth shut about the mating bond nothing would’ve happened. You could blame yourself for never realizing how badly your parents were mentally abusing you and then following a stranger so blindly. You could blame yourself for not standing up when Azriel treated you like this and for leaving instead of fighting. If you stayed at the house of wind the Illyrians wouldn’t find you and now your hands would remain unsullied. You could blame your fate, maybe everything was meant to happen, maybe the Mother wanted to make you see how strong you really are and snap you out of your parent’s brainwashing. You thought about your power, you didn’t tell anyone about it in fear of what they would do to you. Your mother suppressed it with wards, what if they did the same? Were you dangerous? You could feel it building up again and you knew you had to tell someone sooner or later. What if you couldn’t hold it back and you ended up hurting someone? They wouldn’t forgive you and if they kicked you out, your life would be over before you could even blink. You knew from the moment you came that you were trapped here but now you wondered if it was indeed a bad thing. Cassian was training you and Rhysand seemed like he really cared about his family, if you could become one of them your life would get better and maybe you could be happy.

You closed your eyes and let sleep take over, you were too tired to keep thinking.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Morning came and someone knocked on your door, you almost frowned when Nesta walked in instead of Azriel.

“Good morning, Azriel said that you might want to come to training today.” She said softly.

“Good morning, I don’t know” you mumbled.

“I just came to tell you that we will be waiting for you, it’s okay if you don’t come though.” She smiled and closed the door when you nodded.

You decided to give training a chance and got up, after you washed yourself ignoring the itching on your hands when water touched them you picked your clothes. You could feel a pang every time something touched them and getting dressed took way longer than before. With a sigh you left your room and walked to the roof. The girls, Cassian and Azriel were there, and they all stopped their exercises when they saw you.

Gwyn rushed to you and pulled you for a hug. “I’m sorry” she said and rubbed your back. “Why?” you asked. Your hands remained on your sides.

“I didn’t know he is your mate.” She replied and broke the hug.

“Oh okay” you shrugged. You wanted to tell her that you would reject the bond and that she could have him if she wanted, but your mouth remained shut. No matter how hard you tried to speak it refused.

“Hello y/n, it’s good to have you back” Cassian smiled. “Azriel is going to train you today because I will be sparring with the girls.” He continued at nodded at the ring.

Azriel avoided your gaze and walked to the corner.

“Okay thank you” you said and followed the shadowsinger.

“Any pain?” Azriel asked you and glanced at your hands.

“When I was getting ready, I’m okay now” you replied. Claude had rejoined the other shadows around Azriel, and you secretly hoped it would come back to you after training.

You began stretching and Azriel watched your every move. His eyes lingered on your hands and every time they almost touched the ground he tensed.

“Az I’m fine” you rolled your eyes.

“Wh-what?” he stuttered. You sent him a questioning look and he continued “How did you call me?”

You thought about what you said and blushed.

“Oh I’m sorry…” you started but he cut you off.

“No no it’s okay” he smiled.

You practiced some kicks and worked on your balance. Every time that Azriel thought you were going to fall, his hands were instantly on your waist.

“I won’t fall” you said for the millionth time.

“I know but I don’t want to risk it, you will instinctively stretch your arms and you will get hurt, the pain will be unbearable” he also explained for the millionth time.

“Stop acting like I’m going to break, I know how badly it’s going to hurt but I won’t die” you scoffed.

“Well I’m sorry for caring” he rolled his eyes.

You snorted and shook your head. “Now you care about me? Now you decided to be nice to me? If you treated me like that from the start I wouldn’t be in this situation” you yelled and showed him your hands. You heard a few gasps from behind and noticed everyone’s gazes on your hands.

Azriel teared up and remained silent as he stared on your scarred flesh.

“You know what? Fuck you!” you spat and stormed off.

You entered your room and fell on the bed, sobs shook your body, you didn't know why you blamed him, just yesterday you thought about this and decided that it wasn't his fault. You tensed when your door opened again.

“You think that I don’t blame myself?” Azriel’s broken voice boomed through the house “I know that it is my fucking fault. I know that even though I failed you the first thing you told me was that it isn’t my fault because that’s how fucking good you are. That’s why I wanted you to hate me, because you’re the light and I’m the darkness. Do you know what darkness does? It chases the light away, it destroys it! That’s what I almost did to you.” he was sobbing as he spoke. You noticed how badly he struggled to take a breath.

“No!” you yelled back and stood in front of him “You’re wrong, the light makes the darkness disappear.”

He stared into your eyes and took a step closer.

“I’m what causes your misery. I think it’s best for you to keep a distance.”

You scoffed and moved closer to him, you were now only a few inches away.

“Of course, run away from your problems like a coward.”

His gaze moved from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“What do you want me to do?” he breathed.

“Fix what you caused. Make it up to me.” You didn’t know why you said that.

“I will, when we reject the bond.”

“Good.” You shouted. “Good” he shouted back.

You remained still for a few moments, staring at each other. You noticed all the shades of brown and green in his eyes and the few flecks of gold, they were unique and you could see that they held way too much pain inside.

“Good” he whispered again and left your room.

“Fuck you” you shouted and slammed the door shut, leaving a whimper at the pain on your hand.

Please let me know if I forgot to tag someone!

@glitterypirateduck, @zara-aliza08, @mika-no-sekai-blog , @purpleshoelaces , @act1839 , @fasoaurore, @pinksmellslikelove, @bunnyredgirl, @lectoracronica, @tuggboatfishin, @sunnysideup000, @blessthepizzaman, @raisinggray, @ssmay123 , @kalulakunundrum, @justasillylittlegoofyguy, @tsunami-of-tears, @just-a-social-casualty-1, @thelov3lybookworm, @saltedcoffeescotch, @justdreamstars, @strangersunghoon , @sosuitcandy , @cat-or-kitten, @ohthemisssery, @starsinyourseyes, @no1massassin, @stained-glass-eyes0708, @vellichor01, @hnyclover

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madnessandentropy · 6 months

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Catra's Abuse of Adora Has No Excuse

I know this is an old series. I know a lot of people don't believe in talking negatively about shows that have already ended and that it doesn't matter anymore.

But it matters to me.

Because spop has framed the abuse victim in this story as the idiot and the one in the wrong, the one who should've just stayed with her abuser and never "left" her, while the abuser gets off scott free and likely continues her actions.

Victim blaming very and real and prevalent, forgiving or defending abusers in real life is very real and prevalent.

This is an important thing to call out and discuss because what you put in your creations affects reality.

Spop IS a kids show, and kids often accept what they're exposed to as the norm or as something to copy. You can't just sweep it under the rug, saying it's just a show.

So that's why I want to talk about Catra and why all the trauma in the world does not sxcuse abusing your partner, or at the very least should not frame your partner as the one in the wrong for wanting to leave you.

Okay.

Catra is a character adored and worshipped by the fandom and defended with cult-like ferocity and obsession (death threats, gaslighting, doxxing, bullying, etc).

Many of her actions are actively ignored and excused by the fans and writiers, especially the main thing about Catra:

Her blatant abuse of Adora

I can hear the cries of outrage now

"You're just homophobic! Of course you criticise the queer couple! You just hate Catra! Catra is a victim of a abuse! They're in a war! Catra said sorry! But Catra loves Adora! You don't know what abuse is!"

And then they write an essay about Catra's sad backstory

In response to this I would like to quote one of my favourite B99 characters Jake Peralta:

Or in this case:

"Cool backstory, still abuse"

I really like Catra.

She's a cool character and an excellent villain. She has a very interesting and complicated psyche, a result of growing up in the Horde. A toxic, abusive environment that gave her attachment issues and likely ptsd and other problems. She lashes out because of her trauma, she is aggressive and rude so that she isn't vulnerable, to avoid being hurt.

There are many reasons for her actions, but it does not excuse them even if the narrative does.

Expecially her actions towards Adora, the person's she supposed to have loved all this time.

As I've said in another post, most abuse in media isn't very subtle because people still don't really take subtle abuse that seriously and often blame the victims. (Which is a whole other kettle of fish)

Not subtle abuse in media often consists of the following:

•Screaming or yelling at your partner, tearing apart their self esteem or threatening them

•Gaslighting/guiltripping them*

•Hitting them or physically assaulting them in any way

•Trying to kill them

•The victim is immensely afraid of/distressed by their abuser

*Note for this: it can depend on the depiction because its either abusive and in your face or romantic and just trying to help you depending on the story and writer

It astounds me to see Catra has done every single one of this things to Adora, and both the fandom and the writers excuse it or say "it isn't abuse, actually"

I'm gonna go through each bullet point and discuss how Catra does these things, mention excuses fans make up for it and point out their errors

Let's go

•Screaming and yelling at your partner, tearing apart their self esteem and threatening them

Catra is not someone who screams her throat raw, but she does yell when she lashes out and does so often at Adora.

She's constantly insulting her intelligence, making her doubt herself, telling her nothing she does matters, calling her weak and demeaning her.

She rips into her and treats her like trash beneath her heel when they were in the fake reality.

Again, we often see Adora repeating a similar rhetoric, believing what Catra and SW say fully or sometimes starting to believe it.

DURING her confession, Catra calla Adora an idiot. While Adora is basically dying, in this crucial moment for both of them, she resorts to insulting her intelligence.

"But her feelings were so obvious and Adora didn't notice!"

Let me tell you, spop has a massive tell don't show problem. This defence could've easily been true IF the writers bothered with evem something small like Catra hesitating to harm Adora or treating her with more care when fighting than with her other enemies, or at the very least treating her kindly.

They have done none of that. Instead they had other characters (E.g Horde Prime) talk about how much she cares for Adora and how strong her emotions are for her.

Literally the only way anyone could've known Catra loved Adora is through these characters giving exposition.

Adora is not an idiot for not realising Catra loved her, because Catra's actions do not show love or even an ounce of basic respect.

Making Adora doubt her intelligence and abilities is not love. Mocking Adora the way she does is not love. Torturing Adora is not love.

Telling Adora that she was a mistake and that "none if this would've happened if you didn't come through that portal" is not love.

Nothing she does to Adora is an act of love.

And also, not being very good at deciphering or recognising emotions that are "obvious" does not make you stupid, jfc

"Catra just says those things because she's angry, she doesn't mean them!"

It doesn't matter if she's angry and doesn't mean what she said. She says it. And there's never a scene were she regrets her words.

Her anger is a reason, not an excuse. That behaviour is not okay.

•Gaslighting/guiltripping them

Catra often likes to talk about Adora abandoned her, how Adora kept leaving her alone, and the show shifts to frame this as true and paints Adora in the wrong.

In Season 5 she's asks Adora "Please, just this once, stay?" After Catra herself being the one to run away, to make Adora feel guilty for the very much correct actions she took previously.

Adora refused to return to the Horde which was committing mass genocide and destroying everything in its path and painted as the bad guy for doing this.

Adora told Catra what they were doing. Begged Catra to come with her so they could start a new life. Throughout the series she is giving Catra chance after chance and trying her best to stay with her.

Every time, Catra has been doing the leaving.

Running away, abandoning Adora in the temple, vanishing in a blast or puff of smoke when it covers her.

She does the leaving, and she convinces Adora that it is in fact Adora leaving, and that she is bad person/friend for wanting nothing to do with the Horde.

The portal reality is the worst for me.

Adora is distressed and afraid, feeling like she's losing her mind and that something is wrong with her.

Catra, fully knowing the truth, gaslights her by saying she's crazy and just seeing things. And also is insults her intelligence yet again.

Making Adora doubt her own intelligence is also a form of manipulation and gaslighting.

Blaming Adora for everything that happened in the fake reality is gaslighting.

"But Adora DID leave Catra!"

Yeah. At the beginning after learning the Horde was committing mass genocide and after Catra tazed her twice. Refusing to go back. She was fully in the right. She apologised later and tried to get Catra to join her, so they could both continue being together. But Catra left her over and over again after that.

"The portal reality made Catra happy! It helped her cope with her trauma! She was having a mental breakdown!"

Hmm let me see isn't allowing your partner to continously be distressed and afraid and gaslighting them so you can be happy idk... selfish and abusive?

Yep she was having a break down. She was still in full control of her actions, and no trauma makes that okay in any way

•Hitting them or physically assaulting them in any way

Literally something Catra has done since they were children.

I can forgive the times they were small, because they don't know better and are abused children. But from episode one before Adora even left the Fright Zone Catra was pulling her around by the hair shoving her and over all being very aggressive.

After Adora leaves the Horde Catra: tazes her, tears at her skin with claws that can cut through metal, leaves her with scars, tortures her, kicks her and so much more.

Over and over again. Without a single sign of remorse.

"They were in a war!"

Yeah. Emphasis on the "they". Adora was in that war too. She was always worried for Catra, actively holding back, trying not to hurt too badly, treating her with respect.

Catra did none of that. She didn't even bother to show the slightest remorse or hesitate one second before clawing at her back and face.

Catra, in fact, is less violent with the sort of strangers that are Bow and Glimmer. She tackles Bow to the ground and hisses at him, that's it. Adora? Tearing at her skin, kicking her in the back, grabbing her by the face, torturing her, etc

War is not an excuse

"Catra's backstory! It's how they were raised! She's a victim of abuse copying her abuser because she doesn't know any better! She's lashing out!"

Cool backstory, still abuse.

Okay. She's lashing out. Doesn't excuse it. She is still actively harming Adora, and if she really can't control herself or see the wrong in it like some people claim, then that only supports the fact she is NOT good for Adora.

•Trying to kill them

The portal.

Catra knew what was going to happen.

She knew what she was going to cause.

She looked Adora dead in the eyes and pulled the switch anyways.

She didn't care as long as Adora lost. She is willing to let Adora die in order to win.

"But Catra wanted to die too!"

Okay. That doesn't matter. That doesn't justify anything. Being suicidal does not justify attempted murder.

"But (any excuse)!"

I honest to god do not care.

Just like Adora said:

"I didn't make you pull the switch. You made your choice. Now live with it!"

There is NO conceivable way for Catra knowingly doing what she did just so Adora didn't win to be okay.

She tried to kill the woman she supposedly loved.

That is not excusable.

That is not love.

And what's worse is after Adora begins to accept that Catra will not change and that trying to be peaceful will not work. Being together again is a dream. And the show rips that away.

•The victim is immensely afraid of/distressed by their abuser

Adora is absolutely terrified of Catra, or at the very least a bit afraid of her.

Every time Catra grabs Adora by the face or pins her down, Adora's eyes are wide with fear or at the very least immense discomfort.

In Roll With It, Adora is incredibly distressed and works herself into a complete state because nobody is considering what Catra will do.

"But Adora just wants to see Catra! She's thinking about her obsessively like this, it's a sign of her feelings!"

Adora knows what Catra is capable of. She knows what will happen to them if they aren't prepared. Planning out every possible option because of what could happen is not a sign of her feelings. It's a sign that she knows Catra will show no mercy, and she does not want the mission to fail or her friends to get hurt.

While Catra isn't directly present here, this is all because of her actions. Actions that have a reason, but not an excuse.

It is not healthy or romantic for your love interest to be afraid of you.

Moving on

At the end of the portal incident, Adora stared at Catra with cold eyes that clearly said "You've crossed a line"

It is here that many critics agrees that it's a bit late for Catra to have a redemption, because this truly was above anything else she had ever done.

This was where they could have had Adora move on from Catra and begin unlearning all the negative things Catra and others have embedded in her psyche.

If they did manage to do Catra's redemption right, whether during S5 or before it, I think it would've been best for the two of them to separate. It's made clear with how being away from the Horde and Adora made Catra happier when she was in the Crimson Waste.

I don't think either of then should've been in romantic relationships at all. Horde soldiers don't even know what proper food is, they've never heard of basic things like parties and the like.

I think it would've been better for them to slowly heal in their own time, Adora being happy with her newfound friends and learning the ways of Etheria and Catra staying in the Crimson Waste or somewhere else.

Romance should've been something to come to them when they've both matured and healed, and with different people.

Spop had the perfect opportunity to show that even if an abuser has trauma it is still abuse and it is not selfish to walk away.

It doesn't how sorry they are, it doesn't matter how much they claimed to have changed.

You are not obligated to be with them.

You are not obligated to be their punching bag just so they can be happy.

But spop didn't take that opportunity.

Instead this behaviour is excused or romanticised.

And the fact that the creator says this is based off his own relationship makes me deeply concerned.

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and that this wasn't too much of a mess! If you disagree with me, feel free to give your reasons and I will happily discuss with you. If you're just going to call me a homophobe and throw a fit and start fights, you can screw off

Tagging: @spop-romanticizes-abuse

#spop critisism #spop critical #anti spop #anti catradora

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reblogsbutalmostneverposts · 2 months

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I am not in the MCYT fandom or the DSMP Fandom anymore, I reblog some mcyt stuff occasionally but I just wanted to show my support to Shubble and my utter disgust at Wilbur.

Shubble was a part of my childhood, way before Wilbur was. I would watch her videos practically everyday especially the Undertale series she was part of with Newscapepro. Shubble did not deserve the abuse Wilbur did to her. They did not deserve to be ignored, locked inside the house, made to do everything, reminded of her SA, and abused. She is genuinely so fucking brave for speaking out about this and I applaud them for it. This isn't something easy to talk about to friends or family but the fact that she was able to share it with us and bring light to the situation and the perpetrator speaks for their bravery. I am genuinely so sorry that it happened to her and the fact that I've been supporting someone who's caused so much trauma and hurt for them.

Wilbur's actions were not right nor can it be excused. He is a fucking ABUSER and not even his shitty ass apology can change that. The apology did not do anything towards apologizing for his action but instead cared more about excusing it and demeaning and underplaying the situation. His repeated actions towards them when she has repeatedly asked him to stop, using their safe word to harm them, and pinning them down when he knows that she has a history with SA is unforgivable and inexcusable and I actually cannot fucking believe that he managed to get away with this type of behavior for so long. Words can't even describe how fucking utterly disgusted I am of him.

That being said, if you support Wilbur please get the fuck out of my blog and block me for good measure too, I do not wish to see anyone excusing his actions and continuing to support him when he has done nothing but harm and manipulate women especially when women are the main audience of his. Before you claim that you can't stop supporting him because of a hyperfixation, that is not an excuse. Wilbur has been part of my hyperfixation and helped me go through a rather rough patch in my life alongside his music but this is not an excuse for me to continue supporting him. Please support Shubble and the other victims he has harmed, abused, and manipulated and do not let their stories go unheard.

I've seen people criticizing other CCs such as Tommy and Phil for not speaking out and releasing a statement about the situation and I just beg for you all to wait as this is a hard process to find out that one of your best friends is an abuser and I remind you that not everything should be publicized, people especially CCs have their own private lives too and are allowed to settle things privately.

We should not draw attention away from the victims and instead continue boosting their stories and supporting them, this is the best course of action to take in this situation. I stand by Shubble and Wilbur's other victims and you should too.

#mcyt #wilbur soot #shubble #support subble #tw abuse #anything i reblog beyond this point relating to wilbur would be in support of Shelby or about c!wilbur #shelby shubble #wilbur situation #support victims #edited the pronouns I used for Shubble

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gotham-daydreams · 7 months

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i’ve been rereading your not [] series and WOWOWOWOWOW i love it sm. the writing? mwah chefs kiss 🤌🏽 the soul crushing loneliness is felt throughout the whole series and as the reader i can really feel every single emotion y/n goes through while reading it’s amazing. i’m excited for part three to see how it all goes down most importantly y/n’s reaction. i can only imagine the intense anger they’ll probably have after getting taken back to the manor. they’ll be angry cuz of the kidnapping thing but also it took them going missing for their family to acknowledge them. that’s a whole different type of anger and frustration. trying practically all your life to get your family’s attention, to them notice your there, all for it to be vain but the moment you’re gone and don’t exist, just like they’ve been treating your whole life, suddenly they notice. they felt guilty after realizing the damage they’ve done to you and just NOW they want to fix even though you’ll probably be carrying the trauma of the neglect for life so what’s the point of trying to fix it now? especially at this big age? the anger y/n must feel at this is insane. there’s also the fact that if y/n *does* want to give in to the sudden affection there’s that fear they’ll just leave again. they get kidnapped, imprison in what was their once home with high security, are being bomb with a bunch of love from their family they’ve never received before and then suddenly it’s gone, all their left with is just their freedom being taken away. y/n most likely feels intense anger, maybe even hatred, at their current actions but also fear of their future ones. it’s the perfect soup of angst and mannnn i’m eating it up.

sorry for the ramble i just wanted to let out my thoughts on your series but to sum it up i LOOVE your series and i’m patiently waiting for your next chapter to continue to see what of y/n’s fate becomes 🫶🏽

I'm so glad you're enjoying the series!!! And oh my god I love your interpretation as well!!!

As I've kind of stated/hinted at through various posts (I promise a masterlist will be made soon because there is a lot of things now that are piling up-), I don't really tend for Y/n in the "Not [ ]" series to get kidnapped just yet (not in part 3 anyways), but I think we all know that it's bound to happen considering things. And it will!

Honestly, I think a lot of people are kind of overestimating how 'loud' Y/n's anger, frustration, hurt, and pain will be in part 3, and it does make me a little worried about the reception of it. However, depending on one's interpretation, what the reader does instead can make the angst that much heavier. Because, well. They don't get that 'relief' that can sometimes come with shouting out your problems to the world- especially to the person that caused you such pain for such a long time, as it is also kind of acts like an unmistakable "hey!!! i'm fucked up and it's all your fault!!! i'll never forgive you for this and want nothing to do with you!!!" message. Though it is a mix within itself.

However, you are right, honestly!

Y/n in the start of the "Not [ ]" series is upset enough. Not only towards the family, but all the time they feel like they've wasted to try and just have a chance to just... get something they never had. All they wanted was a relationship, some kind of connection with anyone in the family besides Alfred, anything. Which is also mentioned in "Not Tonight" as there is that repeating theme/mention of Y/n doing too much but receiving so little, if not, nothing at all, for their efforts.

So just knowing that — as you've said — it basically took them essentially 'giving up' and being gone for months, for the Batfam to notice them? To try and even attempt to give not even half of what the reader had tried to before? Yet was rejected at every twist and turn? Up until this point?

Yeah, no. Y/n is plenty pissed, and incredibly hurt. Among other things as it's just... too little too late. Way too late.

Yet why I also say that I feel as if others overestimate how Y/n is going to express their anger, and how loud about it they're going to be, is because... well- this is a small kind of character spoiler, I guess, but they feel so detached from the family that the very thought of the Batfam even looking for them, is unfathomable. They don't realize at first how the Batfam is looking for them (despite the obvious signs), because it's never happened before, not even on accident.

They never got saved when they got into fights. They never got help when shit got tough. They were never heard, seen or even acknowledged in the house besides Alfred unless they initiated the 'conversation'. Why would they think that anyone who's acted to them like that, and wouldn't even let them exist in their space for a few minutes, go out searching for them? To put in even the smallest effort towards finding them — and because they were worried for Y/n's health no less — and not because they were the absolute last resort? They wouldn't. They don't.

It's a part of why part 3 goes the way it does, but again-its a part. The other pieces make it bad as well. Though that's all the spoilers I'm willing to give on that, which will go more indepth in part 3 itself (hopefully).

Basically, Y/n is a mess. Everyone is in a way, and that's what makes everything go to hell.

Y/n is angry, yes, but it starts quiet before it gets loud. Along with everything else.

So if and when Y/n does get kidnapped... hm.

I did say in a previous ask that depending on how it goes that Y/n would fight back if they're able to and such depending on how the kidnapping itself goes. And though I won't say much on Y/n's reaction in case it does go into future parts if more than 4 are made, I will say that you're right to assume that Y/n is incredibly pissed. You're also right on the whole idea with them being worried about the family basically neglecting them all over again, when everything is said and done. And that's great!

It's a mix. A whole push-and-pull deal where, yeah, even if more shit hits the fan- their own trauma will, in a way, protect them as well as make their life more miserable than it already is. Y/n'll probably never be able to naturally get close with the Batfam, not without 'help' anyway.

But these are yanderes. Their definition of 'help' is a little... twisted.

Though, yeah! And don't worry about rambling- I clearly do the same seeing as I think this whole post is almost just as long as what you wrote. So it's fine! If anything I really did enjoy reading it! Seeing all these different interpretations, and thoughts about the series and other things is incredibly interesting and I love it a lot! Especially with Part 3 on the rise.

#talking daydreams #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere x gn reader #sibling reader #gn reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere #neglected reader #i still find it funny how that got me rambling too- lol!#sorry if these thoughts are a mess and unclear my brain is kind of dying at the moment

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these-emo-thoughts · 3 months

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Last Twilight Episode 11 thoughts

A lot of people are hating on Day right now but I get him. I do. And if you haven't watched episode 11 yet, maybe skip this post as it revolves around a major part of the plot. If you've watched the ep, you probably know what I'm talking about. More detail is under the cut.

Warning, this is a long one, lol. Apologies for any mistakes, I'm a bit sick and didn't read over it 🤣

If you've seen it already, I'm going to explain why I think Mhok and Day's break-up had to happen and why it is the best thing for them right now.

Mhok's fear of losing another person because he isn't there to help or pick up the phone is absolutely valid (and so real and relatable that I feel personally attacked). He doesn't stay with Day out of pity, which has been established multiple times throughout the series - but the trauma of what he went through with Rung and the fear of possibly repeating that again with Day has made his anxiety cloud his judgement and his heart. It's not a healthy way to live - constantly worrying about your partner, to the extent where you cannot live for yourself, is not sustainable for a relationship (I also find this quite ironic because up until this point Mhok has been on his own for a long time now). We saw the manifestation of this fear in episode 11 multiple times too, with Mhok leaving in the middle of the shift to check that the guest that was hit by a car wasn't Day, and then when he was freaking out when Day wasn't answering his phone. Imagine going through all of that, but this time, your partner is 15 hours away by plane.

Day choosing to break up with him is, in my opinion, more complex than just "he lied to me and pitied me". That's part of it (and will come back at the end of this post), yes, and he does have the right to be upset that Mhok lied to him. Again, it's not healthy for the both of them if they are going to continue a relationship. I also want to point out that Day is at a disadvantage here because while he is capable of living his life independently as a blind man, he can't actually see the emotions on people's faces when he talks to them and that's can be important for picking up what others are putting down. Day can't see the changes in Mhok's expression when his smile fades, he has to rely on the other to talk to him when something is up, so lying is a BIG no-no here (as it would be for any relationship). So far, they've done a great job at communicating, so this is presented as new issue - but, it's a big one. So yes, the lying is part of it, but it's not ALL of it.

"But what IS all of it!?" I hear you scream into the Tumblr void. Well, by now, OF COURSE Day knows that Mhok truly loves him and KNOWS that the other doesn't pity him - he's said so many times. So, Day must realise at this point - of which the timeline is probably at a year of them knowing each other, give or take - that Mhok is deliberately holding himself back from good opportunities because of that love. It must hurt like hell, knowing that you're the reason your partner is self-sabotaging, but there's nothing you can do to change their mind because everything is out of your control. It's so much easier for Day to say "Mhok pities me and lied to me and that's why I want to break up" instead of "I'm the reason Mhok won't go".

It's heartbreaking, but what's the solution here? Long distance? Sure, maybe - but that's not going to stop Mhok from worrying about Day and being distracted from his job. It's not going to stop Day from feeling like he's a burden to Mhok. Not only that, with timezones and such a huge distance, there are even more complications to worry about. Plus, let's say something DID happen to Day while Mhok was in Hawaii - it goes back to exactly the problem that Mhok had which is what can he do about it? Long distance is a solution, but how long will they last living like that?

"Okay emo, so why doesn't Day just go to Hawaii with Mhok? Then they can be together and Mhok can fulfil his promise to take him there and they don't have to break up and they'll live happily ever after." I see you!! But... that's a BIG decision. Mhok and Day's trip to Songkhla may have been a test to see how they weather the storm of living together as boyfriends, but it was only for a few days. And Day - for most of it - was alone in the room while Mhok was working. That's not a way for Day to live, and it still won't stop Mhok from being worried, probably even MORESO now because they're in a whole other country.

So... what's left?

Day's decision to break up with Mhok is heartbreaking, but is probably the only solution that makes sense to me. Mhok CANNOT live a life like this. He can't. It's already debilitating him and it'll get even worse if he's constantly prioritising Day over himself in every aspect of life. Of course a person should think about their partner, but not to the point where it becomes unhealthy self-sabotage. Day also cannot live happily like this. He's come to terms living with a disability and already is aware of how different his daily life is to that of a sighted person - but the little voice in the back of his mind, the one reminding him that he's the reason Mhok is not living his life to the fullest, is making the entire process more difficult for him (and the lying really doesn't help).

So... yeah. A necessary evil that unfortunately to many will be written off simply as the "episode 11 curse". An evil that has people already saying that Day is stupid and immature, when I really believe this is the most rational he's been. I know even the actors have said it's about the lying but this is P'Aof we're talking about here - he's a brilliant story-teller, and there's always more to his art than what we see on the surface. It's happened in other shows he's directed, which is why they rate so highly. Last Twilight is no exception, and the complexity of the love story between Mhok and Day is nothing short of a masterpiece. That's how I see it, anyway.

Would love to hear other thoughts and perspectives!

#last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight episode 11 #character study #mhokday #jimmysea #backaof noppharnach

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reidslovely · 2 years

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That’s the Price (Mob! Peter Parker x Reader) (Chapter One)

Request: Yes/No

Summary: Leaving an abusive household in your early 20′s should be liberating. Instead, (Y/N) was forced into an arranged marriage with a stranger who only ever watched her from a far. Now Peter, the soft but rigid man, will do anything in his ability to make her feel safe.

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse (physical and emotional) on the part of readers father, talks of murder, passing mentions of outbursts of anger on the part of reader, reader has a trauma response nothing too intense but still be warned. I think that is all please let me know of anything I missed.

Disclaimer: This is my first time since like 2017 writing any type of mob au! All my inspiration comes from the different interpretations of Mob! Peter I’ve seen on here. My skills may be a bit rusty, but the more y’all request him the more I will write of him.

series masterlist link

playlist link

Please, please reblog! It helps writers more than you know. Enjoy!

Young girls always idolize the love story of Belle and the Beast; the idea of a strong, misunderstood man whisking the unhappy girl away from her unhappy life sounded so beautiful as a kid. All those wishes (Y/N) made as a child, to be whisked away from her miserable day to day, had crawled up and bit her in the ass.

“Mrs. Parker?”

Her nose twitched as she admired the flowers sitting on the vanity, ignoring the faint voice of Mr. Morales who, no doubt, had come to tell her Peter was requesting her presence at breakfast. A beautiful array of green, and baby blue hydrangeas sat in front of the open window of their bedroom, a form of apology from her new husband attached.

‘Neshama sheli,

Green for renewal and rebirth, blue for my apologies.

I hope to see you today, it has been a rough couple of days but we can’t ignore each other forever. We can do anything you want, my time is yours.

-Peter.”

It was his handwriting alright, capital letters where lowercase should be and slanted slightly to the right. She clenched the note in her hand, tears building in her eyes as she remembered the first letter she had received from him. Her father forced it into her hand as he explained the situation as she sat sobbing on the floor, her cheek throbbing from the punishment after she had said she wouldn’t be married off.

“It’ll be good for both families, clear any bad blood. It is your duty to marry this man, it has been a long time in the making.” Tony explained, kneeling in front of his daughter. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. “So stop your fucking crying. We have a fiance to meet. Put something on that.” His finger prodded at the red, throbbing mark under her eyes.

Silence fell over the room as she wiped her eyes at the memory, it was a terrible memory that made her feel sick. There were not many memories of her father she thought too fondly on, they all sent her into a state of sickness. The door of the bathroom pushed open, (Y/N) jumped up from the vanity as she caught the tall figure in the mirror.

“I’m sorry..I was going to come down. I was on my way down. I- I wanted to look presentable for you.” Her apologies rolled off her tongue, as Peter's figure stalked towards her. His hands dropped into his pockets, in what he believed to be a non threatening position- but he had a lot to learn.

“I’m not angry, dove.” He pulled his hands from his pockets, placing them on his hips. “I was worried, Miles said you didn’t answer. We didn’t want a wedding day repeat, d’ya love.”

His steps towards her continued, each more careful than the last. His hands lowered, settling her back into the chair of the vanity. (Y/N)’s glossy eyes stared at him, shocked by his kindness; her cheek nuzzled into his palm. Her breaths evened out, and her eyes flooded with displaced tears.

“It’s alright, Dove. I’m here.”

“You scared me..”

Peter pressed his lips together, working her through the moment. He knew what she had gone through, Aunt May had warned him of her delicate state but the vase of flowers to the wall on the wedding day sealed the door.

Tony, (Y/N)’s father, was a deeply distrusting and unkind man. Peter had watched his future in-laws at a distance for years, even when the business between the two families was at a low. He hadn't trusted Tony since the day he laid eyes on him, he remembers the first interaction very clearly. It was at Ben’s funeral that (Y/N)’s father told Peter, to his face, that he was a kid and that he could never run this business. That after Ben had died, it should have been Tony who took over, not the unofficial son of Ben Parker. However, Peter had abilities that Tony was never capable of. Ben knew Peter, though he was just freshly eighteen, would improve the empire they had built.

That day was also the day he had been told what he and (Y/N) would be one day. May had informed him that was the girl he was going to marry one day.

(Y/N) was gorgeous, she was anything a man could want in a wife. He watched her interact with his men’s children; the way she happily played games with them. Peter thought of (Y/N) interacting with their future kids, he smiled at her when she caught his stare. She smiled back, sweet and shy. That’s when he noticed the other parts of her. There was a big bruise, poorly covered on her collarbone; the mark showing from the neck of her dress. He wondered how it had got there, when her fathers had squeezed down on her shoulder followed by a daring glare. That's when he realized how. Peter wanted to prove it, to run to May and tell her what he saw, ask what Ben would do. But, there was no actual proof- it was one bruise and visible anger he saw it wouldn’t prove liable. He saw her on and off after that, never alone enough to ask what her father did to her. Not at least up till the weeks before their wedding, he saw it with his own eyes. It was time to make any sort of case that he could against Tony.

Their wedding day changed everything. (Y/N)’s only request to May was that her father was not invited- and that their flowers be red hydrangeas. Check, and check. (Y/N) had her red flowers, and her father escorted from the building. Peter had got to cradle his bride as she broke down in his arms after their vows, he felt her pain, almost as if they were connected. It didn’t last more than a few minutes, because (Y/N) hadn’t seen the innocent touch way he had, she saw herself as being restricted physically and metaphorically. Tony always told her she was something to keep the Parker’s happy, and off his back. Her coldness returned, before the vase of red hydrangeas sitting on the table went barreling past his head and to the wall. It was misdirected anger, he couldn’t blame her. She was a fragile, and shaken animal and right now she saw him as a predator.

In this moment though, the green and blue hydrangeas sat firmly in the windowsill not moving and not coming towards his head.

“Better?” He asks his thumb stroking her cheek, his eyes roaming her face. (Y/N)’s eyes found him, she nuzzled her face into his palm as she nodded. She has taken a liking to him in the weeks after.

“Okay..come eat breakfast. You’ll feel better.”

Peter stood, reaching his hand out to her, (Y/N) placed hers in his letting him lead her down the stairs to the kitchen. The rest of the morning went perfectly, they talked and laughed. It was the first time since they met that they felt like real people towards one another. (Y/N) even started to allow him to kiss her, briefly, before he had to disappear into his office.

His feet were propped on his desk, as he stared out the window. Lost in thought as Miles explained an ongoing business deal with the Reid’s Hauling company; but all he could think about was the woman downstairs waiting for him.

“P- Peter..”

Her voice carried in the small room, over Miles even. Peter snapped his head towards her in a smile. “Hi, Dove.” His feet carried him over to her quickly, his hands settling on her side as he kissed her forehead. “Did you need something?”

“No I just..I finished my shower and wanted to see you.” (Y/N)’s hands held the opening of his suit jacket, looking up at him. “But if you’re busy I can..”

“No, no. This is your business too- everything I plan I tell you. This is a partnership, Dove.”

(Y/N) looked at him with soft eyes, his hand on her waist leading them back to the desk. (Y/N) nestled on his lap listening to the young men talk, (Y/N) twisted Peter’s wedding ring around his finger as they plotted out a line of attack. Peter treaded carefully around his words, not wanting to trigger anything in (Y/N); but when he looked at her she was far away.

“Miles, a second.” Peter nodded towards the door, the protege left, closing the door behind him. Peter fixed her on his lap, causing her to look at him. Her eyes glistening with salty tears, guilt building up in them

“I know you hurt, and that’s okay my love. But you need to tell me when you’re not in a good mindset. I am going to say things that might..”

“I just feel so guilty Pete, for hearing this stuff. For being here..” He couldn’t finish his sentence before she had fully started to cry. His tone was maybe too rough in scolding her, all of this was still so fresh for both of them. He held her against his chest, his hands rubbing her back as she cried, his lips resting on her forehead.

“Don’t feel guilty. What did I tell you? You’re allowed to have a voice in your life, in our life Dove.”

“But my dad, he never let me hear this stuff. Said that I need to-”

“Be in the kitchen and make the men you’re serving happy. I know, but I don’t want that from you. He was a mean man, and those are things we don’t stand for anymore. Times have changed, this is our family, and our business okay baby.” Peter held her face in his hands. “Tony was a mean, disgusting man who did incredibly wrong things to you. And even through it all, you became better than he could ever want to be.”

His thumbs wiped away the tears off her cheek, her forehead dropped against his.

“You’re sweet, kind, and so understanding. You don’t understand how badly, and how long I have wanted to make him pay for what he’s done to you.”

“Then do it..”

The words shocked both of them, Peter stared at her looking for any sign of truth in her eyes. It was all he saw, she was pleading with him. He tucked her hair behind her ear, as he reached for the phone on his desk. As he dialed the number he stared her down, waiting for any cue to stop while he was ahead of himself. He kissed the apples of her cheeks, as the other end picked up.

“Tony, it’s Peter. Yeah, yeah..listen man, why don't you meet me for a late lunch. We have some things to work out man.”

As he spoke his hand tightened around his girl, holding her close assuring her it was all going to be okay.

-----

tags

@bxcketbarnes @sincericida @helloheyhihowdyheya @marrymetheonott @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @theonlymaddie @lateridk @andrews-lovr @adhdhufflepuff @thatsassyhufflepuff @megmehz

#mob!peter parker #peter parker x fem #tasm peter parker x self insert #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x self insert #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker imagine #peter parker imagine #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!spiderman

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ramp-it-up · 1 year

Text

Bucky Charms

Summary: You learn more about Bucky other than the physical. Are you ready to risk it all?

Pairing: Dark CEO! Bucky Barnes x Journalist! Reader

Warnings: As always, 18+ ONLY, SMUT. Minors DNI. ANGST. Fluff. Descriptions of past trauma, kidnapping, death, violence. Steve and Sam, Pining, lust, flirting through music, teasing, karaoke, non con surveillance, oral sex (m recieving) degradation kink alongside praise kink, Sir kink, good girl/bad girl kink, p in v (wrap it up!) lil bit of breeding kink, Soft Dark Bucky.

A/N: This is part of the Playlist Series. Read the previous part, F*cking Bucky @ysmmsy and @blackwidownat2814 are my exquisite muses who created the playlists, with more to come. 😉 Thanks you both! 🥰 please leave feedback, like and reblog. It helps to inspire me. 😊

The playlist is real and is linked here!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

I’ll stop the world and melt with you/you’ve seen the difference/ and it’s getting better all the time/there’s nothing you and I won’t do/I’ll stop the world and melt with you…the future’s open wide…

You listened to that cut over and over until you fell asleep after Bucky left your apartment and woke up with it still on repeat.

You’d certainly melted for James Buchanan Barnes last night, and he melted all over you. You smiled at the window, feeling light and buoyant as air, but then sat up and frowned as you realized what Bucky said.

“Professional.”

He’d suggested that you could both be professional. After last night, you didn’t think you could do it, but you had to try. You moved to get out of bed and realized that you were still sore.

You grinned as you padded to the bathroom and ran another hot bath. You didn’t regret a single thing about the night before.

And you had a feeling that despite what Bucky had said, neither did he.

Bucky was late to work. For him. He walked into the office at 8:45 am.

Steve and Sam shared a look across the shared space, but didn’t say a word. Until Bucky put in his AirPods and started singing Frank Ocean.

A tornado flew around my room before you came/Excuse the mess it made…

“Okay. What the hell is going on?”

Bucky stared up at Sam who was now hovering over his desk and who’s broken through his noise cancellation.

“Hunh?

Steve got up and walked over to Bucky.

“Don’t play dumb with us. You are late, and in an awfully good mood. Singing, Buck? What happened last night, Bucky. Did you get with Y/N?”

Bucky looked up at the two men who were most like brothers in his life. He couldn’t hide anything from them.

“So what if I did get lucky last night?”

Bucky put his long legs up on his desk and leaned back in his ergonomic chair.

“What makes you think it was her? There are 4.3 million women in this city.”

Steve and Sam just stared at him, then Steve spoke again.

“Sure. But there’s only one that you are laser focused on.”

Sam agreed.

“Yeah, you’re like a dog with a bone.”

Bucky’s grin got wider and he just shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

Sam shook his head.

“I’ve heard that before. That means this is serious, because in the old days…”

“We got a blow by blow. Literally.”

“Fuck you Steve. And fuck you Sam.”

Bucky threw up double birds at his friends.

“And step the fuck back from my work space. I’ve got work to do.”

When his business partners had safely retreated, Bucky picked up his phone to text you. He couldn’t not text you the morning after, but he had to be careful.

“See you at 4 o’clock. Looking forward to moving on with this project.”

You read the text, your heart beating a mile a minute when you saw the notification. You took some deep breaths as you walked to the subway station to go into the city. It was pretty straightforward. No subtext to be parsed out.

There was no way to know that you were the project that Bucky was talking about.

Both of you went through your days, listening to the playlist Bucky was building throughout the day. This was not the music to do work to. The songs were cute and flirty, silly, surprising, and in some cases full of emotion that went well beyond a professional relationship.

But it was just music, right?

You two sent songs flying to the playlist throughout the day, flirting with music in place of words, glances, and touch. Etta James, Savage Garden, Monica, The Pogues, Frank Ocean, The Darkness, from the 80’s to last month.

It was a very eclectic mix that seemed to summarize both of your personalities perfectly. On the A train that afternoon, you caught an older woman smiling at you as you cheesed at your phone.

Bucky was becoming more and more active on IG since your interview and he’d posted a photo. It was a close up selfie of him staring off into space at his desk in a dark grey suit with a purple line-patterned tie. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his blue eyes were dreamy.

This man was posting thirst traps fully clothed. And judging from some of the comments, plenty of people were falling for it. There were over 1200 likes in the 90 minutes it had been up.

You didn’t want to like the picture, but then you read the caption.

No time to relax! Finished a full day of work, looking forward to working on a passion project this afternoon. #Icanseethebluerskieslikemulticoloredflowerfields

You scrolled through the comments, people saying how handsome he was, sending their coochie through the interwebs. You sighed, and liked the picture, and then posted your own comment.

I drifted off the Earth to march in your parade/Colors on me moving slowly

Bucky was waiting for your comment, ignoring all of the thirst replies and hoping that you’d respond. He replied with two perfect words.

Technicolor, girl.

Then came another slew of comments about his response and you started gaining random followers.

Oh lord, you thought, this was going to be a lot.

You decided to get control of yourself before 4 pm. If not, you would fall right into Bucky’s arms as soon as you arrived. And that wouldn't do, would it?

45 minutes later, you stood in front of Bucky Barnes’s brownstone for a minute making sure you had composure. You did a mental check of all your systems.

Heart rate: normal.

Breathing: easy.

Panties: dry.

You were confident that you were in full control and could be professional. You paused and bit your lip as you thought of the night before Bucky had made you feel like no one else had. You shook your head to clear it.

You could do it. You could be strong. He probably wasn’t as attractive as you were making him out to be. After all, it had been a while, you were horny, and now, you were fine.

Your hormones had made him out to be more than he actually was. He wasn’t all that. The dick was only amazing because you’d been sex starved. That was it. He had no control over you.

You stood up straight, your self-talk making you confident, you reached up to knock on the door.

Bucky watched your internal struggle on his laptop. He admired the body that he felt like he knew so well after just one night. Your choice of outfit was modest, but sexy. Blue chambray shirt over slim fit black pants and tank with wedge sandals. You were covered, professional, yet comfortable. There was only one upgrade he would recommend.

His blue chambray shirt. But all in due time.

Bucky studied your countenance and posture as you paused before you attempted to enter. The way you bit your lip made his cock shift, but he willed it down. You looked as if you were confident in your self restraint.

Perfect.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt as you knocked, once, twice, three times and when he saw you look around and lick your lips, tentatively reaching for the digital lock on the door was when he went to open it.

Your heart started beating off kilter when your knock went unanswered.

System one down.

You moistened your lips and looked up and down the street. There was no mistaking what he said last night. It was the right time. And the right place. You had the combination to the door, but you remembered what happened the last time you entered. But you screwed your courage and reached for the lock.

The lock drew away from your hand and you moved as if you were falling down Alice’s rabbit hole when Bucky opened the door.

First sensation: the sound of The Internet playing on a sound system behind him and you knew you were in trouble.

Know you wrong/But sho you right/Home alone/For the night…

Second sensation: falling in slow motion into Bucky’s arms as you tried to follow the knob.

“Oh!”

You stumbled forward further into his chest.

“Hey!”

Bucky chuckled as he held you fast. You two stared at each other and you forgot to breathe. Damn, he was as handsome as you thought. Even more so.

System two down.

Bucky inhaled a good whiff of your scent and smiled down at you.

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

You looked up at him, slightly confused as you attempted to process the next sensations of Bucky’s hands on your body, the smell of him all around you, and that sexy tenor in your ears. And that smile, that face, that mouth. Your serotonin spiked.

Bucky just continued to smile as you remembered yourself. You pulled back and straightened your clothes.

You concentrated hard for system three to stay afloat. But then you looked back up at him. i

Damn. He was beautiful.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Your panties were not as dry as they were. You wanted to climb the man in front of you, your hormones going crazy with flashbacks of the night before.

James Buchanan Barnes had put it down and now you were addicted.

But you couldn’t just flow with that. You were a professional.

“What-”

“I mean… no worries.”

You smiled brightly at him to cover your embarrassment.

“It was my fault, I should have waited–”

“My fault, I should have checked-”

You both spoke at the same time, and then laughed. You loved Bucky’s eye crinkles.

You cleared your throat and straightened your spine.

Bucky covered a moan in his throat with a cough. That body was his weakness. His cock thickened with thoughts of pulling you in his home and then fuck you on the hallway floor, but instead he stepped back and put his hands in his pockets awkwardly.

He smiled, and you blushed.

“How are you?”

Bucky ducked his head and smiled that smile at you. He looked so young.

“I’m good, Y/N. Real good. And you?”

His smile was hopeful, and full of knowing. God, you were a simp. Professional wasn’t going to work.

“I’m good, Bucky.”

You smiled at him and you two just stood there grinning.

Bucky just continued to stare at you. His smile and his nervousness was doing something to you, so you cleared your throat again. This was so not what you were expecting.

Finally, Bucky realized the awkwardness of the situation.

“Shit. I’m being rude. Come on into my office.”

You laughed again and followed him into the room, noticing his laptop. It made you grow warm.

“How did you sleep last night?” asked Bucky.

What a question.

He was closer that you thought, but farther away than you hoped. You turned around and looked at him, biting your lip and shifting on your feet.

“After a nice, hot bath, I slept like a baby.”

That eyebrow raised and made you squirm with the faint sensation of him inside you. You could still feel the effects of him.

“Hot bath, huh?”

“Yes, with Epsom salts. I was a bit… sore. Needed another this morning.”

You lowered your eyes to your fingers which were clutching your bag, and then raised them back up to his face. That tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip and his teeth captured it. You dragged your eyes up to his and saw the desire there. But he also looked contrite.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.”

You interrupted him, fighting to keep your eyes wide open while they were on his. You tried to keep your voice from cracking when you said, “I liked it.”

Bucky took a deep breath and stepped to you.

“Y/N. I want to talk to you… about ground rules. With us.”

You lowered your eyes. You just knew he was going to shut all of this flirting down. You weren’t going to beg him, you just had to suck it up. Even though this thing between you felt like crack.

Bucky tipped your chin up, the feeling of his fingers on you shooting electricity straight to your core.

“I don’t want there to be any.”

“What?”

You were confused.

“I thought last night would get it out of my system, but it only served to make me want more.”

What was he saying?

“More? More what? You want more sex?”

You were thrilled and disappointed at the same time. Bucky Barnes had you stirred up.

“Of course I do.You’re beautiful. That body, the way you feel…I’m not dead.”

Bucky stood there and his eyes raked over you with possession. And you let hIm, wanting to belong to him. That realization had you shook.

“But I want more. More than just sex. And if you just want sex, then that can’t happen. Feelings would get involved. At least for me.”

Bucky drew in a ragged breath.

“So you have to know that you are in control of this…” he moved his hand between you both, “this situation. Because I can’t trust myself to not go headlong over this cliff with you…”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours and you tried to return his honest gaze. His words were so fucking charming that you were ready to jump as well. But you had work to do.

“I get it, Bucky. Let's just take it moment by moment. Right now, I’ll behave and be a good girl.”

Bucky released a light groan and shook his head as his eyes dilated slightly.

“Please stop. Unless you want me to…”

He stopped, and you could tell that he was holding himself back by the way his jaw clenched. The knowledge that you had this power over him was heady stuff. But you decided to chill.

“Okay, you’re right, we have work to do. Now is not the time for.. more.”

You looked up at him and bit your lip.

“Definitely not.”

“Totally.”

You took a deep breath.

“Where’s the manuscript?”

Bucky’s eyes swept over you one more time, then turned to his laptop, sat down and typed for a few seconds.

“In your inbox.”

He was calmer now, and anxious for you to read his story.

You sank down into the couch and opened your bag to grab your own laptop.

You looked up at him one more time before you started to read, and when you began, you were quickly immersed in the narrative.

An hour and half later, you looked up at him, tears in your eyes.

“Bucky… I…”

“Is it any good?”

You looked at him in a totally new light. This was a different level of intimacy than just sex. This was his soul laid bare..

“Is it any good? Bucky, it’s fantastic! The honesty, the raw emotion…thank you for trusting me with this.”

Bucky gave you a sad smile and your heart twisted. You centered yourself by observing details and realized that his tie was now off and his sleeves were rolled up. He seemed more relaxed and natural and now that you knew the full story of Bucky Barnes, he was a marvel.

You put your laptop aside and stared off into space, trying to process. Bucky watched your profile, anxious and wanting to pull you into an embrace. But you were setting the pace.

You looked back over at him after a full minute.

“Are you sure you want all of this out there? This gives insight into your most personal, devastating moments. It will give people a lot of access to things most people hold close. And it opens you up for a lot.”

You had an entirely new perspective on James Buchanan Barnes. One that went far beyond sex.

“Yes. Writing this down has helped me to heal. Publishing it will bring closure.”

Bucky stood up and poured himself a drink, and offered the brown liquor to you. You nodded and took the glass, realizing that it was probably Macallan 18.

This man had lost his wife, his whole life… you couldn’t imagine. And here you were wondering if he were playing games.

“It must have been horrifying.”

Bucky nodded and looked down into his drink.

“At first I had no memory of what I’d done and how I’d done it. I woke up in the hospital and saw the headlines that the CEO of CapTech had been found injured and sobbing hysterically as he cradled his wife in his good arm. The most anyone knew was that Sarah was killed in a failed robbery attempt. No one knew about the kidnapping.”

You rocked back in your seat, remembering the rumors around that event. Word was that Bucky went almost insane with grief.

You realized now that the rumor was true.

“My heart was buried in the casket with Sarah, and after everything that happened, I went into a type of hibernation, holed up in the Manhattan penthouse above our offices. Steve and Nat challenged me to get back to work a year later, telling me that they were taking up my slack.”

Bucky laughed bitterly, shook his head, and took a drink.

“It wasn’t until Sarah’s birthday two years later that I finally noticed that Sam was grieving as hard, if not harder, than I was. And I realized how selfish I’d become.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained look on his face and you shivered, feeling a fraction of the emotion he must have been feeling. You wanted to cry.

“Bucky… I’m so sorry.”

Bucky looked at you.

“Don’t be sorry, Y/N. It’s alright. I’m ok now.”

“But… how?”

Bucky smiled at you.

“Well, intense therapy for one. Family therapy with Sam. Running. Running with my friends, or… with strangers I bump into.”

He gave you a smile and you smiled back, hopelessly connected to this man.

“Another thing that has helped me immensely was meeting you and seeing the way you crafted our interview, and experiencing the response to it. I’m communicating about myself more with the public.

“Yes, I’ve noticed the response you’re getting on social media.”

Bucky just chuckled at your thirst trap shade.

“I need you to help me tell this story, Y/N. Please. Help me.”

You leaned toward him. You two gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Your story is powerful the way it is, but right now, the way it reads leaves you open to some liability for what happened to those men in that warehouse that day. I believe you that it was self defense, and defense of your wife. That was such a hard thing to live through and to write down. I have an idea on how to revise the story to keep the emotion, but protect you, and Sarah and Sam at the same time. Hear me out.”

—--

Two hours later, you’d sketched out revisions to Bucky’s memoir. You were emotionally spent. And starving. It was almost 8pm. You looked at Bucky when you were done and he read you like a book.

“I ordered Thai food 45 minutes ago when you were on a roll outlining. I hope you’re hungry.”

You sighed and smiled.

“Feed me and I will love you forever.”

You laughed at your joke, but Bucky did not.

“Don’t tease me, Y/N.”

Suddenly, the air was thick with need.

“About that… Bucky… I want to work with you on this project. But I can’t deny that… that I am attracted to you in the worst way.”

Bucky smiled and cocked his head.

“’The worst way.’ Is it that bad? I feel like I need to apologize.”

You nodded.

“It is bad. If we need to be professional.”

Bucky looked up in the air.

“Well. Think about last night…”

You shifted in your seat.

“I mean, we just did some pretty good work tonight. After what happened,…”

Bucky grinned

“Well. You’re not wrong…”

You grinned back at him. You just liked him so fucking much.

The tension was thick. You were about to climb onto Bucky’s lap when the doorbell rang. He looked disappointed, as if he was reading your mind again.

You stood up, drank some water and tried to get your head on straight. Bucky came back in with and you remembered your hunger for food.

When you’d eaten, Bucky had a suggestion.

“Listen, we did some good work, had some good food, but I don’t want the night to end. And it is Friday. Don’t need to get up early tomorrow.”

Bucky looked at you like a little boy again.

You raised your eyebrow at him

“What do you suggest this late that we haven’t already done today?”

Bucky grinned at you.

BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE/THE WAY THAT YOU FLIP YOUR HAIR GETS ME OVERWHELMED/BUT WHEN YOU SMILE AT THE GROUND, IT AINT HARD TO TELL/ YOU DON’T KNOW OH-OH/YOU DON’T KNOW YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!

You two were laughing through belting out the One Direction song at the top of your lungs at Upstairs Karaoke bar, not far from where you both lived. You were both jumping around and acted like idiots, as one does when they have a proper fun time doing Karaoke.

“Omg! Bucky! That was terrible.”

You grimaced, thinking about your singing voice.

“I bet you’ve reconsidered this idea after that.”

Bucky just ginned and swung the mic around in a circle as the music for the next song came up.

“I can do this all night.”

I can't fight this feeling any longer…

You grinned back and joined him in singing REO Speedwagon.

——

Three hours later, at almost one am, you walked back toward Bucky’s brownstone, and your apartment. When it came time to turn in the direction of your place, you took Bucky’s hand and tugged it toward his place. You walked in silence toward his house until you spoke up again.

“I’ve been through the gauntlet of emotions today, Bucky.. I mean in the last 24 hours.”

“Hmmmm?” said Bucky.

“Yeah. Lust, uncertainty, infatuation, nervousness, sympathy, motivation to write, attraction, hunger, silliness, and just plain fun. It feels like we’ve lived a lifetime today.”

Bucky stood on his stoop and looked down into your eyes.

“I feel the same. With maybe a couple more thrown in.”

You cocked your head.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Mmmmmm. Not ready to reveal that just yet. But I do want to explore a couple that you’ve mentioned. But, like I said earlier, that’s not my call.”

“Which ones?”

You didn’t know why you were holding your breath.

“Lust, infatuation, attraction… and hunger.”

You knew he wasn’t taling about Thai food.

“Oh.”

You tugged his hand, leading him up his own steps and put the code into his door.

“I would like to experience, more of those. And more of what you want. Bucky. Let’s drive off that cliff.”

With that, you pulled him inside.

You two kissed all the way down the hallway to his living room, where you ended up on his leather couch, pulling off your jacket and pulling the sweater he had put on over his shirtsleeves up over his head. You were feral for him.

And so, it seemed, he was for you.

“Come here, Doll.”

Bucky grabbed your neck and pulled your lips toward him as he devoured your mouth and his hand roamed your body.

“Been wanting to kiss you all night. Want to kiss your lips. I love the way they suck my tip.”

His hoarse voice in your ear did things to you, although you were confused at first until his put his hands in your leggings past your panties and used two thick fingers to part your pussy. He wasn’t talking about the lips on your face.

He used your slick to lubricate his digits and entered you, pumping a few times, watching as your head lolled back on your shoulders. He kissed your neck and cleavage as you succumbed to the pleasure. Then, he pulled his hand away and toward his mouth, earning a whine from you.

Bucky meant to just taste you, but that taste stirred something in his soul.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

He kissed you, letting you taste yourself on him, then rested his forehead on yours as he asked a question.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

“Let me suck your dick, Bucky.”

He pulled away from you, and looked you in the eyes.

“You’ll get anything to ask for.”

This was a different Bucky, not totally unlike the night before. Still sex on legs, but this Bucky was gentle, but still oh so sexy.

He pushed you backward until you stood up before him and he took off his shirt, and then his pants. You reached for him before he took off his underwear, pulling his waist band so that his hard cock slapped his abs. You stared down at it but didn’t touch it.

“I’ve been dreaming of this since last night, when you denied me.”

You swiped your thumb along his tip and then sucked it, making him lick his own lips.

“Sit down, please. Sir.”

Bucky sat, and then you kneeled in front of him on the hardwood floor. Bucky noticed and put a pillow down for you to kneel on. You smiled at him as he started stroking himself. You stared, your hand trailing song your neck and chest absentmindedly as you admired him.

“It really is a thing of beauty. Ever since I saw it the other day, I’ve been obsessed with it. How it would feel, how it would split me apart. How it would taste.”

You looked up at Bucky and it was like he’d been shot with a magazine of cupid’s arrows.

“Damn, Doll. You sure do have a way with words.”

You reached for him, grasping his shaft in one hand that looked small now, and his balls in the other.

“I’m not all talk…”

And then you leaned forward to lick a stripe on the underside of his cock, from his balls to the tip, stopping to suck the thick cap vigorously.

“Ooooh, shit… Doll. That mouth.”

Bucky’s head was sideways, cocking his head to watch you from that angle.

You opened your mouth and took as much as you could in your mouth and relaxed your throat to let him in there.

“Gotdamn.”

He placed his hand on your head but placed no pressure on you as you bobbed freely for his pleasure. And yours.

You placed your hands on his tensing thighs as you came apart as a result of your mouth, and he shuddered when you released him with a pop just to grab it again and trail your tongue back down his length. You drew his balls into your mouth, one at a time as you continued to stroke him off.

Bucky was looking at you with disbelief. He was putty in your hands. He leaned forward to kiss your sloppy face.

“I want to be inside you, wanna make love to you. Take off those clothes.”

He spoke to you softly, yet with a command your body remembered. You stood up slowly and tried to gracefully shed your garments as he stroked himself and looked up at you like you were the moon.

“So beautiful.”

Bucky reached out and made grabby hands for you as you stood naked before him.

”C’mere. Climb on. Let me in again.”

He continued to stare up at you, kissing your sternum and each breast as your thighs trembled on either side of his as you slid down over his mushroom cap.

“Buckyyyyyy.”

The feeling of him splitting you open caused a delicious pain, the soreness from the night before still evident. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to his size.

And you didn’t want to.

“Fuck me baby doll. Fuck me good. Fuck your self on this dick.”

Bucky slipped his hand between you two and started circling your clit in tight little circles.

“Oh my god Bucky! I can’t. Can’t breathe, can't concentrate…”

Your mind was mush as Bucky drove you toward your peak and up over the edge.

“Shhhh…”

Bucky leaned down to lick your nipple and suck briefly, teasing each breast in turn to work you up even more.

“Don’t think. Just feel. Release all thoughts. Cum for me.”

“Jeeeeeezzzzzzuzzzzzz!”

You came ferociously, clenching around Bucky and causing him to pulse inside you.

“Thaaat’s a good girl.”

He did not let up on your clit and drew your pleasure out until you were a complete mess on his lap.

Bucky licked a stripe up the middle of you, from your belly button to your cheek as you lay back in is arms, cock drunk, and still impaled on his very stiff dick.

“You tastes so fucking good, Doll. Tasted you in my dreams last night.”

You your surprise, he stood up, holding you and turned around to place you on the couch. The fine leather stuck to your sweaty skin, but you didn’t care.

“I don’t want to service you anymore.”

Bucky started pumping and telling you how he felt. All you could do was moan in response.

“Want to make love to you.”

He watched your fucked out face and started stroking more insistently.

“Of course, if you were mine, I’d service you anytime you needed it. Give you everything your heart, mind, pussy, body could want…”

“Yes, Bucky… yessssss.”

You were blissed out, hearing and feeling all the sensations you wanted at the moment.

“What are you doing to me doll?”

Bucky’s eyes moved from where you two were connected to your face.

“So beautiful…”

He grabbed your hand from where it was resting on his abs, picked it up, and brought it to his mouth, kissing your palm. Your back arched at the added sensation of his lips on your hand and the long fingers on his other hand grabbed your hip as he continued.

Bucky’s ice blue eyes were watching you as yours closed in ecstasy.

“Yes.”

He started moving your hip, long fingers digging in and sure to leave a bruise.

“You like this? Like how I’m giving it to you? You deserve it. Such a good girl.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

You started moving, loving the feel of the wiry hairs at the base of his cock against your clit.

“Feels so good. Feels like this dick is mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were focused on yours now. He held your stare, which bloomed new warmth in your belly.

“You want it to be yours?”

You didn't answer, just bit your lip and nodded.

Bucky’s hand snaked up behind you and grabbed the hair at your nape, causing your neck to bend and your body to arch backward.

He admired your form and the way your breasts moved as you did. You could feel him swell impossibly more than he already was.

“I’m trying to be gentle. Sweet and slow. Like a good girl should be fucked .But you just make me want to… make me wanna fuck you. Like…”

Bucky groaned and squeezed your hip.

“Take it, Bucky. It’s yours.This pussy is alll yours.”

You rotated your hips so as to feel all of him, and which caused him to spurt a little inside you.

“You trying to make you cum inside you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You moaned as Bucky’s hand came around and grasped your throat skillfully. His other hand grows and pinched your nipples, causing your hips to move wildly.

“There’s my bad girl. Damn. I think I…..”

“Y-yes Sir?”

Bucky almost let it slip.

“I think I wanna cum inside.”

He leaned down to whisper into your ear. That voice making you clench harder around him.

“Would you like that? Hot load of cum in your tight little snatch?”

“Oh, ohhhh shittt. Yes!”

“So fucking pretty when you’re needy, Doll.”

The combination of filth and praise sent your over the edge and you detonated around him, causing Bucky to hike your knee over his elbow and start chasing his own end.

“I can’t… No. I won’t deny myself any longer. I want this. I want you and I’m gonna. Shit can I? Can I please cum inside?”

Bucky begging got you hot and bothered again. You nodded vigorously.

“Please, I want it too!”

“Circle that clit for me. Circlie it. Cum again for me just one… fuck, just once moreeeee!”

Bucky came inside you with a shout, shooting hot ropes of cum onto your cervix. You came when you felt that and as Bucky pumped like a jackrabbit inside you.

“Holy shit.”

He chuckled in your ear.

You curled yourself around Bucky and gladly accepted his weight for a few minutes. Then, he lifted himself off of you and knelt on the floor.

“Was that? Was that okay? Did you really want this?”

Bucky looked so earnest. You nodded.

“Yes Bucky. And I want more.”

You bit your lip as he smiled down at you.

“Wanna spend the night?”

You shook your head.

“No.”

Bucky’s smile dropped. You put your hand on his cheek..

“It’s practically morning. I’ll sleep over and let you feed me breakfast later. And then we’ll talk about spending the night.”

“Anything that’ll make you smile, Doll.”

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eatmangoesnekkid · 13 days

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My new work-- print books, audiobooks, kindle, online school/temple and future blog will not be for any woman or female-bodied person living in active-trauma. I have been there before, I know that sometimes in life, your nervous system and other systems can't handle the challenge. Some addictions have to cleared. Some relationships have to be resolved. And to know your capacity is incredibly power. In this work of love, you must be able to hold and tend to yourself as you read and be activated and expanded in your cells and tissues as a result, I promise. In my online school/temple, I will be your openhearted guide and able to witness you deeper, but you also have to be ready to open up and meet the trapped stories living in specific parts of your body in order for your energy to start to flow again optimally. Freedom of Heart, Freedom of Regeneration, Freedom of Time, Freedom of Diagnoses, Freedom of Nervous System, Freedom of Desire, Freedom of Energy, Freedom of Biology, and Freedom of Living Adventure Real life is what we are up to but a lot of unlearning is on the menu. We have to unlearn ourselves (our cells) and unlearn the behaviors and conditioned responses taught to us by the world. We have to rebuild our foundations from the ground floor as well. While I'm a deeply loving "Lila" woman to my core (meaning -a divinely playful woman as referred to in Hinduism), I also traverse blindfolded into murky rivers--often doing things in life that feel uncomfortable which is the key to being masterful and unstoppable. The average person does not play this game to win. They stay comfortable in their little boxes, traumas, and socializations that keep them in perceptions of safety. While my work is full of undeniable love and expansion, all that juicy gooey intimacy, softness and sweetness, it also carries a charge of shameless blood splatter that runs cervically deep. You must to want to play this game properly, if not, you tend to repeat old never-ending cycles. I'm tired of seeing women in the same cycles as our Beloved foremothers year after year, lifetime after lifetime, story after story, diagnosis after diagnosis. As Audre Lorde brilliantly channeled "I'm not free while any woman is unfree even if her shackles are different than my own." For many of us, it is time for some real truthful cycle-breaking and pattern-disrupting which means that sometimes you will be triggered. The world makes us so timid and weak (of course, not written to shame illness) with all of its coddling and fears while we low-key pretend and tell lies to ourselves about how powerful we are when we actually don't believe it. "Being triggered" and meeting your patterns with delight are mature essences of one who wants to create new narratives. And what's also true is that you don't have to ready for any of it yet or ever and if so, my work, Beloved, is not for you. This melody of love work is ultimately an intimate love story about the potency of female body from the lens of a Lover-Warrior. Polarity is how the human soul masterfully creates. Never forget that, loved ones. If you remember nothing else from me, never forget that. As I will say many times throughout the series"bring love but also bring a machete." One Loveliness... --India Ame'ye, Author

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patiencetakestyme · 1 year

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What She Deserves: Locklyle Fic

A/N: After watching Lockwood & Co. on repeat for over a month, I dug into the books, and I just finished them. The ending left something to be desired, in my opinion. Don’t get me wrong: I love the books, I love the characters, I love how the plot wrapped up. But that last scene between Lockwood and Lucy…something was missing, and it wasn’t just a kiss. This is my attempt to contribute to that scene; it picks up basically right where the last page ends. Oh, and it’s in Lockwood’s POV!

What’s to follow is nothing extraordinary, I’m sure; I’m sure this has all been done before and has probably been done better. I’m new to the fandom, so I have not perused a lot of fics, so I’m sure something like this exists out there. But there was just something nagging at me when I finished that last page, and I felt like I just had to get it out and get it on the page. This is my attempt at doing that. I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: There are spoilers for the entire book series throughout this one-shot but especially The Empty Grave. You've been warned!

As he waited on the curb where it met 35 Portland Row, Lockwood found himself fidgeting. He was usually the image of charm, poise: a cool collective in a crisis.

But today was different, for a number of reasons. For starters, he couldn’t stop tugging at the collar of his new coat. Sure, unlike his old one, it was not plagued by the claw marks from the opening of Mrs. Barrett’s tomb, but what it made up in novelty it lacked in character; he found himself missing the old, familiar, comfortable coat he had owned for many years.

Still, the coat had been sacrificed in an effort to save Kipps, and as that effort had ultimately proven successful, he did his best not to mourn the coat too much. It had died serving a good cause. With a return of his smile, he found that that brought him quite a bit of comfort and joy.

But it was not only the coat that caused him discomfort on this particular day. He was waiting for Lucy, and there was a certain measured weight to this waiting period.

Would she be wearing the necklace? Every second that ticked by—he counted them. The longer it took her to join him, the longer she had spent considering the gift. Did she approve of it? Did it offend her? Did she understand—truly understand—the full complexities of the message he was attempting to send with such a gift? Did she even see it, carefully concealed, wrapped around the legal paperwork he had delivered?

With a sigh and another counted second, he came to a realization that he suspected he had always known deep down: he owed her more than that. A vague—yet weighted—gesture that may or may not be misinterpreted—or, hell, even seen—was not proportionate to what she meant to him.

He knew what that meant—what he had to do. He would need to be more direct; Lucy appreciated straightforward, raw, and honest communication.

He knew that, of course—had known it for many years. But just as he knew that was what she might need from this conversation, he was equally as aware of his struggle to provide that for her.

He was great at fooling people. He was always so good at talking to the others. Need a motivating speech to breathe new life into your bedraggled army? Lockwood was your man. Need a condescending comment thrown casually—yet oh-so pointedly and painfully—that will simultaneously help you become a better person and make you feel like the worst human being alive? Lockwood was your man. Need someone to put George in his place when he was on his soapbox? Lockwood was your man. This skill—it had many applications.

Expressing his private feelings was not one of those applications. Opinions, observations, critiques, compliments—all of these things, he expressed quite easily.

But anything personal? His stories, his experiences, his traumas—his actual human feelings and emotions—all of these things came rarely if at all.

It had frustrated Lucy for quite some time after they had first met; he knew that with confidence. While he had always appreciated and respected what she chose to share with himself and George, she had struggled to understand why he had, in turn, failed to reciprocate.

In her eyes, this felt like a lack of confidence: an undermining of their relationship, worse, an impediment upon their relationship; he was sure of it. If he wasn’t willing to share with her, did that mean that he, much like she had experienced with her own family, only kept her around for what she had to offer—for what she had to bring to the Thinking Cloth, so to speak?

Lockwood keeping Lucy at arm’s length resulted in her doing much the same, which was, in a sense, ironic, as, while he kept her emotionally at a distance, physically, he called out to her at every turn. Lockwood remembered all the times he had reached out to her—the caress of his hand on her arm, the way he would run that hand down her arm to interlink their fingers.

He remembered, specifically, the first time they had really seen each other after George had been attacked. His posture had been wrecked, his back aching with the burden he had carried. He was responsible for what had happened to George; he had been the one to insist on George pursuing his research; he had been the one to keep pushing George towards that boundary.

He could barely even bring himself to look at her—the stuttering, the stumbling, it was all there, just as he feared it would be again now, in this upcoming conversation.

He remembered looking at his hands—his fingers. He didn’t even recognize them as his own. Then, just as suddenly, he—and those very hands—had led a revolt. He threw pretense away; he swooped in, pulling her into a hug.

That was how he communicated. He suspected the situation with George had been enough to at least hint at this preference he coveted.

In the time that had passed since the attack on George, he felt fairly confident she had now cracked that code: that she now realized what he was doing, and how he was doing it. That was merely how he chose to express his feelings. He had always been one to reach for her, almost since the start of her time at the agency. It had only increased with time, and since their first trip to the Other Side several months ago, he had grown increasingly reliant upon it.

It was, to him, a simple truth: he simply didn’t open up to people often. But once he did, he knew it meant something. He wondered if she saw it now—the weight that it carried; to him, their bond and their relationship had been cemented when he had opened up to her, when he had opened the door to Jessica’s room.

Lockwood knew she was aware of this, to some extent at the very least. Their dynamic had changed once he had started opening up. She appreciated his words, and he could admit that he appreciated the challenge that came along with that: the push to better himself in the task of sharing things—with her, at least, if no one else.

Still, he could acknowledge that that was her preferred method of communication; she preferred words and gifts of sharing: a sharing of information. That was what she needed in this conversation, here and now: for him to meet her in the middle and make sure her needs were met, as well as his.

Another second had ticked by, but he was no longer worried; he could hear her running down the stairs. Hearing her approach, he became even more resolved to his task. It didn’t matter if she was wearing the necklace, he decided; he would make sure she heard what she needed to hear, necklace or no necklace.

He turned to face her just as she reached the curb of Portland Row, his new coat billowing around him as he did so. It wasn’t quite up to snuff with his old one yet, but he had hopes that it would be broadcasting his energy, sweeping anyone in the vicinity in and along for the ride, in no time. Even still, the coat may not have been consistent, but his smile was; he could already feel it pulling at his lips before he even met Lucy’s eyes.

Lockwood knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself; his eyes wandered down, looking for the distinct sparkle of the necklace. He spotted it at her neck, and his eyes couldn’t help lingering, taking in the sight of it. To be honest, he stared at it. He resumed counting the seconds again; at three, he forced himself to meet her eyes once more.

Words weren’t exchanged, but an understanding passed. He faltered in his goals; was putting words to his feelings strictly necessary, now that she had elected to wear the necklace?

He thought about Lucy—about all that he knew about her, about all that he loved about her.

Yes, it was necessary. She deserved more, and she would get it.

Silently, they fell into stride next to each other. Dusk was setting; houses would be closing up very shortly. With any hope, these days would be numbered.

As always, he had a goal in mind: a goal for their destination and the path they would take to get there, both in terms of the physical route as well as the trajectory of their conversation.

Lockwood, true to form, started talking; he always had topics ready to avoid any form of apprehension: he wanted to make everyone as comfortable as physically possible, and that meant avoiding uncomfortable silences at all costs.

He started with familiar and comfortable topics, a fact Lucy seemed surprised by, if the widening of her eyes was meant to indicate anything. They discussed any updates afforded by his most recent conversations with Barnes—things he had hesitated to tell the others just yet, for fear of a lack of permanence.

Barnes had solicited their help in the matter of cleaning up the Fittes foils, and Lockwood had turned him down, but Barnes had remained quite adamant—far more adamant than Lockwood had let on to the others; he was still pressing the matter with Lockwood fairly regularly.

Lucy was his partner. He had gone to Hell and back with her—twice. If there was anyone who should know the full extent of Barnes’s pressing, it was her. He did not hesitate to share this with her, just as he knew he would not hesitate to hold the line with Barnes—just as he knew Lucy would not fear his ability to hold the line with Barnes. He did not tell her this in an attempt to seek support on holding the line or to bolster his resolve; he was more than equipped on his own in that matter.

No, he shared this with her so that she could hopefully feel appreciated: so that she could feel consulted. He wanted her to feel validated. Hopefully—selfishly, he amended, that voice in his head sounding: the one that always appeared when he had something to blame himself for—sharing this with her and her alone would reaffirm the underlying initiative he sought in this conversation.

As the topic of Barnes came to a natural close, he cleared his throat. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he could nearly feel Lucy’s suspicions rolling off of her in waves; she had managed to feel the change in his tone, and it was reflected in her own mood.

He could not say he was surprised; he was not one to hesitate, so it was unsurprising that this would raise a red flag for her. He had done it moments before, in the attic, but that, too, was an uncommon experience for him. Still, it didn’t overly concern him. If she drew the connection, she would not be wrong; he was hesitating now, just as he had hesitated then, because of the sensitive matter of the content he wished to discuss.

“Luce,” he started, once he thought he had found his footing; still, his eyes evaded hers—yet another uncommon sign that he knew she was likely to pick up on. He hesitated yet again, only to laugh at his own embarrassment.

With a shake of his head, he started again, settling into simply being honest and relying upon the realizations he, himself, had only managed to come to earlier. “It’s so funny. Words typically come so easily to me. Manipulating Barnes into investigating Fittes? Easy,” he released a humorless laugh. “Persuading Kipps into the most dangerous action imaginable? I didn’t even break a sweat. But here, right now,” he released a deep sigh. “I’m struggling to find my words.”

He took another break, allowing himself to feel the full burden of the task he had undertaken. He needed to do this—he owed her this. Still, he felt his fingers flex reflexively; even subconsciously, his hand ached to reach out for her.

Abruptly, Lucy’s hand was in his, her fingers weaving through to link with his own. Warmth radiated from the meeting point, and he could feel that very warmth spreading through him from head to toe. In no time whatsoever, it had reached his face, daring to escape from his smile, his eyes, as he moved his to meet hers.

“This doesn’t mean you get the free pass,” she started, and he could hear the irony dripping from her voice; somehow, the challenge her words issued made the message he wished to convey even clearer, easier. “Go on,” she waited, pausing on an encouraging nudge of her head.

“The necklace—” he started, with another shaky breath. “It was, as I told you before, gifted from—”

“Your father to your mother—” she continued for him, seemingly deciding to help him out.

“Yes, a very special gift—” he confirmed.

“Given once they had gotten together?” she questioned, her confidence in the facts growing frail.

“As a symbol,” he continued, releasing a final deep breath, even as he nodded to confirm her understanding. “Of his…undying devotion.”

With a subtle turn of his trajectory, he brought them to their arrival point: his family’s cemetery plots, including the infamous empty grave. This had been his plan all along: to bring her here. But even he could admit that a chill ran down his spine at the sight of the still-empty grave.

If it hadn’t been for her, he probably would’ve occupied it long ago. She gave him a reason to go on living. He knew that. He hoped that she knew that, but, with any hope, and if things went according to plan, she would certainly walk away from this conversation knowing it. But that wasn’t the only reason he owed her—the only reason he had her to thank for the fact that the grave remained empty to this day; she had saved his life on numerous occasions, just as he had saved hers.

It was a partnership. He saved her; she saved him. He adapted to meet her needs; she adapted to meet his needs. That was why, despite the struggle he felt at putting these things to words, he would do it, because she deserved nothing less.

When Lucy followed his eyeline and spotted the focal point of their destination, he didn’t miss her barely repressed gasp in reaction. She released a shaky breath, her eyes locked on the gravesites.

Through their still-connected hands, he guided her towards the fallen headstone—the one they had occupied on their last visit here—and eased them into a seated position. He nestled in quite close to her; given what they were here to discuss, there was no reason to be coy about it, and, to be frank, the brushing of their knees brought him comfort in an uncomfortable setting. He needed it, just like he knew she needed to hear what he had to say.

“I know you’ve worried about me a bit in the past, Luce,” he started, his eyes glued to the empty grave—for now, anyway; he was determined to force himself to look at her, and soon. “The last time we were here, I told you…” he trailed off, slowly finding the courage to force his eyes to run from the empty grave to meet hers. “I mentioned that I—I sometimes feel like I don’t want to be left out: like I’m missing something by not being here.

“In the time that has passed,” he continued, with another humorless laugh. “I have come to realize how those words could be interpreted. I want to make one thing abundantly clear,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers with renewed intensity. “Yes, I miss my family. Do I wish they were here? Of course. Do I wish I was on the Other Side with them?” He shook his head. “As if two trips there wasn’t enough to inform my decision of just how much I do not wish to inhabit the Other Side just yet, there are, still, other factors.

“Maybe I did at one time,” he mused, his eyes wandering back to the empty grave, but only briefly. “Before I met George, before I met you—and Holly, and even Kipps.” He stopped, but only to scrunch his nose at his own sense of surprise at his words.

“I miss my family,” he started again, his eyes coming back to hers, with nothing but resolve in them. “But I have a family here, too: you and me and George and Holly and Kipps, and even Flo, come to think of it. You are all factors that make it impossible for me to wish for death.

“I wish they could see us, in truth,” he paused, smiling. “If they knew the things George did with that skull inside their house…” He paused, contemplating the exact reaction his parents would have to such news. “It would be quite interesting, I’m sure.

“But above all else,” he continued, his tone becoming serious once more. “I wish they could meet you. You are my partner, Lucy—my family. That’s why I gave you the necklace.” He leaned in, his tone full of passion, his hand reaching for the object in question. For the smallest of moments, he allowed his fingertips to play with the gem found at the end of the gold chain. He thought he might’ve heard her react—just the smallest inhalation of breath—but it was gone before he could definitively prove that it had happened at all.

“I want to reassure you, once and for all,” he continued, pulling back slightly, but his passion was still in his eyes—even he could feel it. “I do not have a death wish. The Fittes thing—it had to be done. It had to be done,” he repeated, his eyes still locked on hers. “Morally, it was the right thing to do. Even if Marissa hadn’t killed my parents, she needed to be brought down.”

Lucy nodded but kept silent. He barely withheld a broadening of his smile; it was the physical reassurance that he needed in that moment—it drove him on, pushing him forward with his confession.

“But at no time was I looking to die pointlessly. I would’ve died for you—I still would die for you,” he continued, only to pause; her horror was abundantly clear upon her face, and it needed to be addressed. “I know that’s what worries you,” he smiled, unable to avoid acknowledging their common understanding.

“But don’t you think that’s just part of it?” he asked. “Part of what we’re doing here? You say you worry about it: about me being willing to die if it means I can save you. But did you not go up the elevator to Marissa’s office all by yourself, specifically so you could try to save me?”

It was Lucy’s turn to smile; she looked away from him for the first time since he had started talking, but her sudden bashfulness only made him stare at her with a broadening sense of intensity. He did not wish to corner her, but he needed to know.

“That’s fair, I guess,” she conceded, if only partially. He smiled at her tenacity, but he was not yet done.

“If you had died up there,” he started—hesitated. It hurt—it physically hurt to put words to this, but it needed to be done. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If you had died up there, and I was left with nothing but a body to bury—here, next to my mother, my father, my sister…” he trailed off, but only for a moment; he needed to push through, or he wouldn’t have the stamina to see this through to the end.

Next to him, even Lucy was visibly struggling with this; he could feel it, as she broke off eye contact and ran her hands repeatedly over the material of her leggings, almost as if she were desperate for something proactive to do. “If I was left with nothing to do but to put your body in the empty grave, how do you think I would feel about that?”

She nodded, and he knew she had seen the logic in his reasoning. “I did have that thought,” she confessed, her eyes still avoiding his. “When the pillars fell, and I had nowhere to go, and all I could do was run, and I found myself suddenly dumped back by the elevators, I thought…” she trailed off, her eyes now coming to the empty grave. “I could do it: I could go up the elevator and finish her off while you attended to Kipps. If I was quick about it, you wouldn’t have to play any part in it,” she added, her eyes finally coming back to meet his.

He smiled, but there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes; he could feel it. “No more doing that, okay? I think what I’ve learned, at least, from this whole ordeal is that we’re better when we fight together. When I cleared the debris in the Hall of Pillars, and you weren’t there—”

She sighed, nodding again in understanding. It seemed, to him, that she had perhaps not thought of that: of the paralyzing fear he had experienced at not being able to find her, knowing there were ghosts littering the room, knowing that Marissa was just an elevator ride upstairs.

“What can I say, Lockwood?” she started, turning back to him again. He could see it there: she knew he was right, but her tenacity was not thrilled at the prospect. “Meeting that Fetch in the basement of Aickmere’s…” she trailed off, but only for a moment. “It got in my head. That ghost told me this was our future: that you would sacrifice yourself to save me.”

“I may still yet,” he interjected, armed with his charming smile.

“Don’t kid—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted again, his tone now completely serious. “Wouldn’t you do it for me?” he asked, abandoning his usual go-to smile for a plea for honesty.

She seemed to consider this, but only for the smallest of seconds. “Obviously.”

“Then, it’s settled,” he pulled back, his air of charm returning. “Moving forward, we’re going to categorize this as a perfectly logical reaction to loving someone, not as an expression of a death wish.”

It was the closest he had ever gotten to directly telling her he loved her. He knew it, and judging by the expression on Lucy’s face, she knew it too. He knew it needed to be said—he knew it, just like he knew it was a mountain he had yet to climb. He felt it—felt it so strongly it physically hurt sometimes. But saying it…that matter still remained challenging to him.

He didn’t get the sense that Lucy had experienced an overly loving and affectionate childhood. One of several sisters and born under a woman that seemed only interested in what her children could do for her, Lockwood had the feeling that, perhaps, Lucy had never actually been told that she was loved.

This made his task—his purpose—here all the more important. She deserved to hear it.

“Because you know that, right, Lucy?” he asked, looking at her expectantly. She didn’t appear to know, from what he could see written upon her face; it spurred him on. “Our family is worth living for: Holly, Kipps, George—and you. You are worth living for.”

This, at the very least, seemed to be a somewhat familiar concept to her. She startled at it, assuredly, but she seemed to adapt to the idea with an ease that had not been present thus far in the conversation. Still, the fact that she had been startled by this comment at all meant his job was not yet done.

He had taken a gasp—prepared to push on—when she beat him to the punch. “You are too, of course—even if you’re occasionally taken under the spell of some extremely promiscuous spirit, causing me to have to use a trapeze wire to fly through a theater and save you.”

This change in topic shocked him, to the point where all he could do verbally was release a humorless laugh. He would’ve considered this topic done and dusted: an old issue that was no longer a problem. Her bringing it back up in this conversation, when no reference had been made to it thus far, told him otherwise. She still needed some follow-up communication on this topic, and while he could see this now, he could admit privately that this oversight indicated that he still had a long way to go towards learning the best way to communicate with Lucy Carlyle.

He knew what she was trying to do, of course—what was to be implied by the informality of her tone: she wanted to imply that this was merely a joke. But that was not truly the case, and he knew it; inadvertently or purposefully, she had exposed an insecurity here, and it needed to be addressed.

Settling into the resolve of finding the best possible way of responding, he looked away from her, but only for a mere moment. “I’ve apologized for this,” he shook his head, his smile beaming, but then he paused, and he screwed up his courage. “You do know what happened there, don’t you?”

“Lockwood…” she trailed off, with a shake of her head.

Immediately, he could see from the dread upon her face that she didn’t—no matter what she had perceived within that situation, and how she had perceived it, she did not have the accurate information at hand; this, too, needed to be rectified, and quickly.

“I don’t know if I necessarily need to hear about your attraction to the creepy ghost girl that slept with everyone’s husbands,” she finished; she had beaten him to the punch again.

No, this would not do. Knowing there was no other option, he decided to call on both of their preferred methods of communication; the situation warranted it. He swooped in, clenching both of her hands in his once more.

“You didn’t see it?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief; his eyes were glued to hers once again. “It looked like you. It had your hair and your eyes. It was still in a dress—she couldn’t let go of her dresses, apparently,” he paused, shaking his head, as if to shake off this entirely insignificant detail. “But it was the color of blue you always wear,” he commented. His eyes lowered to her arm, even as one hand moved to run a thumb over the sleeve of her blue jacket, before moving back to reclaim its assigned hand.

“It even had that same stubborn look you always give me,” he continued, his eyes coming back to meet hers, as he felt his smile come back to pack a punch of its own. “The one you always send my way when I tell you to stay back and let me run into the dangerous situation.”

Lucy seemed to contemplate on this for a while. She looked away, almost as if she were attempting to recall the specific details of that day. He kept his eyes locked on hers; he knew she preferred logic and things she could see with her eyes—which was, unfortunately, impossible, given that they were discussing a tricky situation with an equally tricky ghost—but he just had to hope that she could find something in her memory that prompted her to believe him.

Before long, she had turned back to him, her confidence back in her eyes. “I didn’t know that,” she confessed, and even though relief was washing over him at her belief in his statement, he could admit that he was surprised to hear direct confirmation that she had not known. “And…” she paused. It was clear to Lockwood that she wanted to ask something, but she was in the process of mustering up some courage of her own. He waited her out, nodding encouragingly to her in the process.

Finally, with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, she seemed to resolve herself to posing her conundrum. “So, you didn’t have a death wish at the time of that case. So, then, I guess she didn’t go after you because you had a weak connection to life.”

Her statement: it was a statement, but it also wasn’t; there was a clear question implied in the way she asked in, in the anxiety he spotted in her eyes. She was nervous—he could see it, clear as day, on her face. He wasn’t certain what exactly could be making her nervous, but Lockwood had a feeling that if he just answered her question, maybe she’d answer his as well.

“No—well, I don’t think so, anyway. I don’t recall having a head cold at the time,” he carried on, his smile back in place. “No, I believe Le Belle Dame sought me out because I fulfilled her other category,” he paused, his smile falling away once more, as he allowed the full severity of his confession to show upon his face. “There’s a reason she looked like you to me, Luce.”

He hadn’t stated it—not yet, but he was determined; he would get there, if it took all the courage he had at his disposal.

With a sudden, sharp sigh, Lucy drew in his attention acutely. She shifted, removing her hands from his grasp. “If we’re getting confessional about the case of Le Belle Dame…” she trailed off, hesitating. He could see her struggling, but he had no suspicions as to what precisely she could be struggling with; whatever was coming was quite important, but he had no preexisting knowledge to hint at what exactly was about to come. “It’s my fault she went after you.

“She got ahold of me…” she trailed off, her eyes losing focus. “If George hadn’t been there, I would’ve been done for. She got in my head; she rooted around for secrets, for ways to get to me. And she found…” she trailed off again, and he found himself nearly hanging on the edge of the tombstone he had claimed as a seat; he needed to hear what came next. “Well, you,” she finished, with a shrug, her eyes suddenly meeting his once more.

Seeking a physical way to convey the severity of what he had to say, he reached in again; this time, his hands divided—one reached to reclaim one of her hands, while the other made its way up to cup one of her cheeks, drawing her in ever-so-slightly. “You think it’s your fault. I think it’s my fault. You know who’s actually at fault?” he paused, his warm smile returning. “The damn ghost.”

“Well, with any hope, that’ll all be done soon.” Lucy smiled, but it was different; her voice was hollow, breathless. “But for now…” she trailed off, and, although she didn’t look away from his eyes, he knew she was referencing the change in the environment surrounding them.

The sun had set; ghost fog had started to settle in amongst the tombstones. They would need to return to Portland Row very soon, but that didn’t stop him from hesitating for just one more moment. His eyes left his command, roaming her face at free will. Still, he found them gravitating towards her lips.

An intervening curl of ghost fog broke his trance. “You’re right, of course,” he stated, his voice sounding more business-like than it had since they had settled in at the cemetery; he had a secondary goal within this conversation, and the journey back to Portland Row would serve as an extremely appropriate venue. Keeping their hands connected, he eased her to her feet, and they started the trek back to Portland Row.

“I do think you should reconsider my offer, Luce,” he started, admittedly—privately, at least—serving his ulterior motive.

“What offer? You make several of them a day,” Lucy responded, with a sideway glance and a laugh. “It can be hard to keep up, you know.”

“To move into the guest room, of course. It would be nice to have you a little closer.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t like the idea of me living in your old bedroom?” Lucy asked, with another pointed laugh.

“On the contrary, I’ve found that to be quite a comfort over the years,” he responded, his eyes sliding to meet hers. “I merely mean to suggest that, if you should wish for it, I would not object to having you a little closer.”

“Yeah, but Lockwood,” she started, with a sigh. “Me? In your sister’s room? Wouldn’t that feel a little…” she trailed off, her nose scrunching in evidence of her discomfort. “Morbid? Inappropriate?”

“Oh, yes,” he started, his tone calm, cool, collected: detached. But his heart was hammering in his chest; this was the very precipice he had been hoping to navigate them to. “You’re quite right. That would be strange, wouldn’t it? No, why don’t you just move into the big room? With me?”

She came to a stop, as he had anticipated she might. Her grip on his hand slackened but maintained. She stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide; no effort was made to check her surprise.

He, alternatively, painted a picture of calm intellect, as he always did. His heart was still pounding in his chest, yes, but it was excitement that drove him on, not nerves.

Lockwood couldn’t be entirely certain when this idea had occurred to him. Perhaps it had been earlier, when he had been visiting her attic bedroom. It was perfectly adequate, and he had not been lying; he had often found that he quite loved the idea that he was able to share his childhood bedroom with her. It had created a sort of unspoken bond that had existed from the moment of their meeting, in a sense.

The truth was, Lucy, much like Lockwood, had outgrown that room. In his opinion, that room was a room of necessity—of acquaintance. Kipps was worthy of that room, and Holly had long been worthy of at least that room, but Lucy…she deserved more, and as he had sworn to give her what she deserves, he intended to see that through, even on this particular point.

“You—you want me to move in with you?” she stuttered.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Lockwood started, with a scoff and a dismissive wave of the hand she wasn’t holding. “That would be silly, as you already live with me, and have for several years. Come on, Luce. I thought you’d at least know that.”

“Lockwood,” she started, taking a step to approach him; her voice was admonishing now, in that way it could be when George did something to really peeve her off. “Now is not the time for jokes. Tell me what you want.”

He nodded, understanding. It was as he suspected: words were the method she sought as comfort, and it was his job now to seek to meet her needs in that area. His grip on her hand tightened, as he noted she had never released it; she was working to meet his needs, and he owed her the same courtesy.

“I want you to move into the master bedroom with me because I love you. I have loved you since…” he trailed off, genuinely thinking through the progression of events they had experienced together. “At least our first trip to the Other Side, if not earlier. I do not know what I would do without you, and I have no interest in finding out. Move in with me, please.”

He let that last word hit and hit hard. It wasn’t begging, per say; it was a deep, raw drive to be honest: to honestly express just how much he wanted—no, needed—her companionship. She was his partner, in every definition of the word, and he would have it no other way.

He expected a fight. He loved her because she was stubborn, not in spite of it. He was not disappointed.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“We’ve known each other for two years.”

“But that’s hardly long, given our age—”

“Lucy, we’ve been to Hell together. Twice.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change our age—gray hairs, maybe, but not age.”

“I know it doesn’t.” She gasped to interrupt him—to continue the bantering match—but he cut her off again. “What it does impact is our relationship, which, I think you can agree, has been fundamentally changed by our time spent on the Other Side.

“I could never be with anyone other than you,” he stated, his eyes refusing to stir from hers. “That is an incontrovertible fact for me, because, while George and Kipps and Holly can understand that second trip, they can never grasp the consequences of the first: the pure fear we felt at realizing where we were, the fight to survive, the closeness—physically and mentally and emotionally—prompted by the loss of your cape.”

He shook his head, recalling the pressing fear he had experienced on the Other Side with her, as if it had happened merely yesterday. “That is an experience that I will only ever share with you—that only you will ever be able to understand. I want someone sleeping next to me at night that can understand the horror—the misery—of that: that might just understand when I wake up in a cold tremor in the middle of the night fearing a little girl—barely more than a child—in a blue dress.”

She nodded, clearly recognizing the reference to the child they had seen on the Other Side, but said nothing else, as she paused for the smallest of moments. Lucy seemed to be processing, and Lockwood did his best to simply follow the pounding of his heart. The nearest ghost lamp flickered on; ironically, the light of it would be casting a shadow on the floor of the attic bedroom they were in the process of discussing. It shed light on the room, unseen, but, for him, it also shed light on the missing part of this conversation.

He released her hand, choosing, instead, to run both of his up to cup her chin. Lockwood paused, as he more felt than saw her draw in a hissing breath. Her eyes finally made their way up to meet his, and yet, still, he waited. “Am I pressing too close?” he asked.

It echoed. It echoed around the empty street. It echoed off the iron strips leading to the front door of 35 Portland Row. It echoed off the window panes of the exact room in question.

But more importantly, it echoed through his mind—to a time standing on the Other Side, to a time spent sharing a singular cape that was literally the only thing keeping them alive, to a time when he had asked if he was pressing too close, to a time when, internally, he begged that she wouldn’t say no, for he feared that he could not withstand the loss of her closeness, her warmth, her love.

And, just as she had said then, she settled for a simple, but resolved, “no.”

Audibly, the ghost lamp turned off, entering its dormant phase.

Barely able to contain the pounding of his heart in his chest, he closed the distance between them. His lips met hers.

Lockwood did not often prioritize taking care of himself. He took care of all others. He sought to check in with others regularly, and if they needed anything, it was his job to get it for them.

He had taken care of Lucy in this conversation. He had finally—finally—told her he loved her. He had seen to her needs—her preferences for communication.

This, alternatively, was his preferred method of communication: touch. He craved contact with Lucy; it was why he always reached out for her, especially in the darkest of times.

Lucy, for what it was worth, seemed to have perceived this. Whether consciously or subconsciously, she seemed to have an appreciation for the fact that he had been the one to predominantly take the risks in this conversation; at every turn, it had been him initiating the broadening and deepening of their relationship. Now, Lucy seemed to understand that it was her turn.

Lockwood initiated the kiss, but she didn’t let it stagnate. She pressed in closer, her arms moving to snake through the opening in his jacket and encircle his waist. To his surprise, he heard his own verbal reaction to the move. His fingers moved, weaving through the line of her hair at the base of her neck and pulling her in even closer.

He had often daydreamed about sharing this very moment with Lucy, and he didn’t let a second pass unnoted. He tilted his head, pulling on his height to deepen the kiss. Lucy’s arms around his waist tightened their grip, pulling him in even tighter.

This was how she told him she loved him. Her resolve, her tenacity, her confidence—all those wonderful things she brought to a conversation with him: it was all clear in this moment, with the ghost fog swirling around them, with the moonlight reflecting on the pavement, for once shining brighter than the dreaded nearby ghost lamp, which still lay dormant.

Their lips parted, as they tried to catch their breath, but their foreheads sought to connect; he brought his to rest upon hers, and hers met his in the middle.

“Okay,” she started, her voice sardonic—but he could hear it: the irony. “I’ll move in with you, I suppose.”

“Good,” he responded, his smile returning. “That was the correct answer.” At her gasp to bicker, he sought to move quicker. He reached down, interlinking their hands once more, before moving swiftly to approach the door to 35 Portland Row. “Now, we can make all the necessary preparations tomorrow, of course. Moving will be far easier by daylight, obviously.” He spoke quickly, throwing his words over his shoulder at her. “But for now, I think we’ll have enough to get by, don’t you? Just go get changed, whatever you need to be comfortable for the evening, and I’ll wait up for you.”

“Is that a request or an order?” she asked as they made their way through Portland Row’s front door and started to ascend the stairs, their hands still connected.

“It’s neither, of course!” He had the decency to sound indignant. “It’s a suggestion, naturally.”

Quick as a flash, he had gotten her up the stairs to reach the door to the attic. “I’ll see you in a few?” he asked.

Yes, he asked. For all his confidence, for all his charm, for all his presumptions, for all his persuasion, he knew how to show his insecurities. It was rare, and it was difficult to discern; this was intentionally done. But when he needed to ask, he asked.

And he was asking here, now. Sure, he had presented the idea with nothing but confidence—and he was confident, to a certain degree. But he didn’t want to take a step backward; he wanted to show her his vulnerability, in his own way, with his words—when he could and when he felt comfortable.

This was that moment. And, true to form, Lucy didn’t let him down.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, assuming I don’t get lost on the harrowing journey down the stairs,” she answered, with a small smirk.

###

He waited up for her, as he had promised. And, just as she had promised, she was there within five minutes. Still, he used each of those five minutes to the best of his ability. He tidied his already extremely tidy room. He made sure he was satisfied with the furnishings, fluffing any pillows, refolding already folded blankets, turning down the bed so that she knew she was well and truly welcomed here.

He slipped into his pajamas: a simple white shirt and pair of black fitted joggers. He tucked his clothing from the day away in its assigned spots: dirty clothes chucked in the hamper residing in the closet, new coat hanging from the bedpost, just as the previous one always had.

He had found just enough time to complete three laps of pacing when she opened the door. She didn’t knock; he liked that—it indicated this was now just as much her room as it was his.

Suddenly, she was in the room, in the pajamas he had seen her wear on several occasions. He released a deep sigh: a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in as a result of his anxious awaiting of her arrival.

“We should get to bed,” he stated, seeking a sense of normality. He approached her, reaching for her hand yet again, and guided her toward the bed. “You never know what tomorrow will bring.”

“Maybe the Problem will be over, suddenly and sharply.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he scoffed. “Far more likely, yet another meeting with Barnes, during which he’ll beg us for more assistance,” he continued, slipping into bed. Their connected hands led her to slip in behind him.

When he turned to face her, she was settling in, shifting comfortably on her pillow. “You’ll hold him off,” she said, with a scrunch of her nose indicating her confidence in his defiance. “He can deal for a few days. We’ve carried more than our fair share of weight for a while—earned a leave of absence, we have.”

He smiled; he couldn’t help it. Seeing her here, hearing her validate any and all of his feelings: his heart was pounding painfully with the weight of the happiness of it all. “Quite right. Do you mind hitting the light behind you?” he asked, with a nod in the direction of the lamp on the nightstand behind her.

Silently, she rolled over and did so. Hoping he wasn’t pressing too close in an unwanted way, he slipped in before she could roll back over to face him. Settling his arm around her waist and placing his head to share the same pillow that hers occupied, he waited, attempting to read her body language for any signs of displeasure at this move. On the contrary, she settled in, easing back further into his chest. The affirmation had impeccable impacts upon him; he breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his eyes to ease close.

In the dark, she whispered, “I love you, Lockwood.”

His eyes opened sharply, but his body did nothing to indicate his surprise; he made no movements: he did not startle. “I love you too, Lucy.”

He allowed his eyes to ease close once more, the relief at having her here consuming him, and helping him drift off to the most peaceful sleep he had experienced since the death of his sister.

His last thought, if he could even call it that, as it was not fully formed, was that she deserved this, but he deserved this too.

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this! It means a lot to me! If you liked my writing style, and if you’re looking for something to read in the fantasy/YA genre, please consider checking out my book!

#lockwood and co #lockwood and lucy #lucy carlyle #fan fiction #lockwood and co fan fiction #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood & co #lockwood & co fan fiction #lockwood & co fanfiction #locklyle #locklyle fanfic #locklyle fanfiction #locklyle fan fiction #lockwood and co fanfic #lockwood & co fanfic

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darklinaforever · 5 months

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Sylki is not incest / autocest / selfcest :

So… I risk repeating myself, but I really hate hearing that Sylki is incest, or autocest. Quite simply because it's not true.

Incest : Sexual relations between close relatives (marriage is prohibited) ; incestuous love.

Sylvie and Loki are not close relatives, for the simple reason that they do not share the same blood / DNA. (Variant = genetically distinct) Beyond that, they didn't even grow up / live together, so also can't be bonded like Loki is with his adoptive family.

Autocest : The act of cloning oneself and having sexual relations with said clone.

First of all, Sylvie is not a clone of Loki. She was conceived naturally and born naturally. And even as a variant of Loki she is not him. Once again, she does not share the same blood / DNA as the latter. Beyond that, in terms of pure personality, no, she's not the same as him. They act differently and think differently. Episode 3 is probably the one that illustrates this best during season 1. The number of times Loki points out that he would not act the way Sylvie acts and she replies that, well, she is not not him. Which is completely normal, since the two have not had the same life experiences. What shapes who we are as a person is the trials of life, our experiences. And Loki and Sylvie definitely didn't have the same ones.

“My interpretation of it is that they're both Lokis, but they aren't the same person. I don't see them as being like brother and sister. They have completely different backgrounds… and I think that's really important to her character.” - Kate Herron.

So in summary, they don't share the same blood / DNA. They also don't have the same experiences, so as a result they have different personalities.

So… literally, this incest and autocest bullshit has no backing.

The whole series spends its time reminding us that Sylvie is not Loki. She says it herself several times. Moreover, to clearly reinforce this trait, “Sylvie” is literally a name that she chose for herself, precisely to differentiate herself from Lokis. It's hammered home throughout the series, Sylvie is her own person. This is also why Loki reminds Mobius that Sylvie, well, her name is Sylvie, when he tells him that he has fallen in love with himself, in 1x04. To remind the viewer that no, Sylvie is not Loki, she is again her own person. And it's problematic for me when so many people try so hard to reduce her to being a Loki. Even from those who love her. Simply because it's something Sylvie hates : Being called / cathegorized by Loki. (Probably because it removes the impression of being a person and brings it back to the fact that the TVA only sees her as a variant, and therefore that she should not exist, knowing that she just wants to have a life and live it)

“Also, Sylvie's not Loki. Sylvie is Sylvie.” - Tom Hiddleston.

The only thing Sylvie and Loki really share internally is being the deity of mischief. Which translates into a role / identity given to them within the universe / timeline they came from, with the same power base ; the witchcraft. Something that is learned and not transmitted by genetics in the MCU universe. So there is nothing biological about it that could relate to incest and even less to autocest.

“They sort of have the same role in terms of the universe and destiny, but they won't make the same decisions.” - Kate Herron.

Are Sylvie and Loki alike ? Yes. But no more than other fictional couples are capable of being. That they resemble each other in some way is not proof that they are the same person. Especially since as said previously, they do not have the same personalities / lived / dna / blood...

Once again, Reylo is the perfect example in terms of comparison to Sylki : - Different, but complicated pasts which return them to their feeling of loneliness. - Their problem of opening up to the world because of there traumas. - The feeling that no one else really understands them. - Similarity in combat techniques and synchronization of movements at various times, etc.

Then, something else that both annoys me and makes me laugh a lot… It's those who use Sylvie's line during episode 5 from season 1, namely “we're the same”, the only one of its kind you will notice in Sylvie's mouth, but ardently use by the antis to prove themselves right in their argument that Sylvie is absolutely the same person as Loki, so that the relationship is considered incest, or autocest. So… I don't know what these people's consumption of cinematic media is, but they must have missed a lot of romances… No, because it's a classic phrase / expression in this area, to express that two characters are alike ! Example :

Telling another person “we're the same” is not a contradiction to “I am not you”. And I can't believe this is something I have to explain / needs to be explained to some people.

“I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.” - Tom Hiddleston.

I mean... No one is seriously going to say that the spidermans of the Marvel shared universe are the same person. Are they ? Because I've never seen anyone do it. Normal. Since that would just be completely stupid ! No ? Also, directly in the case of the MCU we were treated to Thor and Jane, both being thunder deities, which didn't bother anyone, according to my memories !

The fact that Sylvie is a variant of Loki with whom he falls in love is specifically there to bring about the rather clear metaphor / symbolism of Loki learning to finally love himself as a person (besides loving someone else entirely), even though he considers himself a monster. Because yes, Loki's narcissism is essentially just a cover to hide how monstrous he feels, something I feel like a lot of people forget.

Loki “falls in love with himself”, as Mobius describes it, is not proof of vanity / narcissism which would prevent any evolution of Loki as Mobius and some antis claim. On the contrary, Loki's love for Sylvie not only leads him to see himself differently, but also allows him a real positive evolution.

“to me, is ultimately about self-love, self-reflection and forgiving yourself, it just felt right that that would be Loki's first real love story.” - Michael Waldron.

“I don't think Loki's relationship with himself has been very healthy,” Tom Hiddleston explains. “Trying to accept those aspects of himself, which he's been on the run from, was a way of thinking about that in a really interesting way.”

Besides, in the end, to rephrase in a clearer sense, Loki falls in love with Sylvie as much because he sees himself in her (the metaphor of the dagger in 1x03) as he finds her amazing as a person (Loki discovering Sylvie's story at the start of episode 4 on Lamentis).

Something that is once again nothing surprising in a romance. Many couples fall in love because they find themselves in the person they love, in addition to for the differences they share. Even if Loki's metaphor for love with the dagger is not entirely correct, the aspect of seeing oneself in it is for some a truth.

“Love [...]. You can see yourself in it.” - Loki, 1x03.

“When Loki meets Sylvie, he's inspired solely by curiosity,” reveals Hiddleston. “He wants to talk to her and understand her and try to discern what was similar about their experiences, and what was different. He keeps asking her questions because he wants to see if his experience was also her experience. I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.”

So, not only does the incest and autocest argument not work, but the similarities these two share (which seem to bother so many people) and the reason(s) they fall in love, well are in is more of a classic fictional couple coding question designed to represent either the complementarity aspect or the soulmate aspect.

Sylki is essentially two sides of the same coin, or mirrors of each other, like many fictional romantic relationships. (Reylo again for exemple !) Which consequently causes their influence on each other. Because yes, not only does Sylki falling in love influence Loki, but also Sylvie.

Loki obviously learns, as I have already said, to love himself, but also to love someone else unconditionally, to trust them fully. He also learns a new form of magic, and in the end, he even starts playing the hero. Sylvie learns for the first time in her life to trust someone, to open up, to form a team and above all finally develops her first good memories. People often say that Sylvie is incapable of sacrificing herself for anyone, but the truth is that she literally scrambled herself to have a chance of finding Loki, when she wasn't even sure that It would work and perhaps simply kill her, therefore indirectly committing suicide. Additionally, it is also emphasized how Sylki is stronger together than apart.

“They are a mirror to each other. They challenge each other, and out of the challenge, they grow together.” - Tom Hiddleston.

With everything I have just explained / demonstrated, I really have a hard time understanding how this ship can be so controversial / misunderstood…

I don't find the series very subtle on the message for Sylki and beyond that, the writers and actors themselves have already explained these same things in a more condensed way in several interviews.

I mean, I am aware that sometimes the words of directors, screenwriters and actors can be stupid and incoherent (the case of the HOTD series being the perfect example of that…), but here, don't mess around, the series (at least season 1) was very well constructed and visibly thought out.

Really, I don't understand. One of the reasons why people are so uncomfortable is surely and simply maybe the term variants (and again it's because I'm nice...), which for these people necessarily equates to being the same person in all the meanings of the term, which, as we have demonstrated throughout this post, is absolutely not the case… Which can be verified by the series itself, the interviews with the writers and actors which agree with what is shown on the screen, etc. Knowing that in addition I have seen tons of people on tumblr with absolutely remarkable analytical skills (and therefore also in terms of symbolism) yet surprisingly not understanding what the Sylki relationship is, defining it instead as a incest / autocest…

So I can only at this stage, for me at least, deduce that this kind of talk about Sylki is willful and stubborn ignorance from people who simply don't like the ship, trying to justify it from a more “reasonable” and or perhaps “intellectual” way, no idea… than a simple “I don't like it, because tastes cannot be controlled”. Which is OK, because everyone has the right to like what they like / want !

On the other hand, spreading or saying bullshit / false things about the ship in question, to persuade people not to / no longer like it, is something I can't stand.

Please note, everyone is free to say whatever they want, as long as they clarify once again that it is their personal opinion. I am talking about people who speak of their opinion about this ship (or any ship) as fact while making fun of others who like it, make them feel guilty / horrible, or trying to change people's tastes…

Is Sylki weird ? Yes, of course. We are talking about two variants with the same identity falling in love ! Obviously the viewer will find this strange, because it's a concept almost never seen before after all in tv, and complex. But it doesn't necessarily mean bad, toxic, perverse, immoral or unhealthy relationship as the antis argue (knowing that in addition it is in contradiction with the positive message about love for oneself that the relationship transmits), notably to try to take down the ship, especially since Sophia di Martino said she found Sylki “weird”. Which is infuriating, because they act as if the actress's opinion is dominant over those directly writing the story, and that her simple opinion will change the minds of Sylki's fans or should condemn the ship to any possible future ! But also it is mostly infuriating because, well, beyond that, as @where-theres-smoak-2 so well pointed out :

“when you actually look at the definition of the word weird it doesn't necessarily mean something bad. The definition from Cambridge dictionary is : very strange and unusual, unexpected, or not natural. The Merriam-Webster definition is : of strange or extraordinary character, of, relating to, or caused by witchcraft or the supernatural. Which lets be honest fits Sylki, they are unusual, strange, unexpected, extraordinary and you could argue with the whole variant thing its got that supernatural element to it as well. I mean them being weird is what makes them fun and entertaining to watch so honestly I'm not mad that she said they were weird.”

But in itself, is the relationship incest ? No. Because not the same blood / DNA and in no way grew up together like Loki was do with Thor / his adoptive family. Autocest / the same literal person ? Neither. For what ? Because again not the same blood / DNA, and they have not the sames experiences, therefore different personalities which influence their behaviour. Being variants, for Sylki, simply mean (once again) being the deity of mischief, a role / identity given to them within the universe / timeline they came from. That's all. (Damn, some will also tell me while we're at it that the crocodile Loki is the same as our Loki ?! Be a little objective people…) There is nothing bad, toxic, perverse, disgusting, immoral or unhealthy about the Sylki relationship.

Fuck the antis !

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prototypelq · 14 days

Note

vergil for the ask game?

Vergy!

thank you and @river-muse for asking about the series #1 Motivated Loser!)))

favourite thing about them

First place - his inner softness. Vergil is very much his momma's boy, he is emotional, touchy, and he loves with his whole heart, he loves so much that he is scared of the feeling consuming him whole. I thrive on seeing him simply be the older brother, father (and adopted uncle) figure that he wishes to be.

Honourable mention: just how Iconic he is. Vergil is THE anime katana wielder, he is THE Storm That Is Approaching, he is THE Rival Videogame Boss, he will kick your ass into Easy mode without breaking a sweat. Dante is an iconic protagonist for sure, but Vergil is one of THE Videogame Bosses Of All Time and that position is absolutely deserved. And, y'know. He is super fun to fight.

least favourite thing about them

V(ergil). I appreciate all the character development we got out of that time, but I also firmly believe it could have been achieved in other ways, plus V(ergil) just makes the story completely unrelatable. Dante faces human trauma and human struggles. Vergil faces those same problems, however, his path through them is an emotional mess human (and fans') experience cannot account for. For me, that dampens the emotional investment in the story, especially considering how much simpler, but no less impactful in Dante's in comparison to Vergil.

DisHonourable mention: 'Dreams of a black throne I keep on repeat' and 'Call me your majesty' lines from BTL and Fire Inside respectfully. None of those lines fit Vergil at all, and they only further the ginormous amount of misconceptions about him.

(I do adore the demonic pet therapy tho, it was adorable)

favourite line

'We've got plenty of time' (watch me bawl till final stage of dehydration to this)

brOTP

I mean, it's in the name. Sparda Loser Twins, my beloved. I also completely support every opinion that Vergil will get along with Trish, Lady, Nico and Patty just fine.

OTP

I admit, I am intrigued by Vergil/Lady, I think they can have something good together. They both seek challenge, and could provide it for each other (by challenge I also mean just generally new experiences, I don't mean they have to fistfight each arguement). I can see them together in some post-dmc3 AU scenario, but also. Surprisingly. Post-dmc5. Cause Lady very much needs to retire if she wants to live any longer than she has, and Vergil has known nothing but violence for his entire adult life (which is also not much). Post-dmc5 both need to learn how to handle peace times, and this parallel is what I can see driving them together in this setup. Again, I think they can have something nice, also probably much sweeter than in post-dmc3 version.

nOTP fucking incest

random headcanon

Vergil is a freakin romantic to the core. He likes reading, he would enjoy himself in an art gallery, I think he would also like visiting theater and/or musicals. This man forced himself to weaponise his nerdiness and I'd love to see him slowly, badly, but surely, letting go and just enjoying himself and different hobbies. Also, just a totally random thing - I think he'd enjoy pottery (after he breaks a few dozen mishapen figures first, of course)

unpopular opinion

I doubt I can come up with something more unpopular than my previous rant about V(ergil)

song i associate with them

I have a few actually! Vergil would love Bring Me To Life and I Am Right About This. I can also see him enjoying Break The Silence.

youtube

This track is an absolute BLAST, and I have a concrete vision that Vergil would like to learn and play it. This vision was extended by the brainrot into Dante hearing the track, loving it, then bringing himself and Nero along to play the song (just don't ask me how, I have counted at least four different instruments, and it either means Dante and Nero have to switch drums and base guitar mid-song, or that Vergil and Dante have to switch on the guitars). This song is just so beautiful, and I think the losers will have an amazing time playing it together.

Musical Spardas, one of my most critical of weaknesses.

also I wish there was a way to mod Kitsune Dance to be the M19 bossfight music. beautiful song, it has very distinct musical phases which would easily match the fight escalation, and it just sound much more fitting for Vergil than the in-game track.

favourite picture of them

this is one of those pics where the context of the original shot was painful, but the resulting image looks wholesome as hell and I love it. (pls share source if you know it)

#oh boy i am wary of the backlash for this honestly #sorry not sorry #thank you for your patience and for the asks anyway i enjoyed doing this #there are stories where i can enjoy the 'unrelatable' supernatural plotlines but they are rare #and again especially not when dante's struggle is mostly a human one #vergil sparda #dmc

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shikai-the-storyteller · 2 years

Text

Actually no, let’s expand on the theme of memory in Karmaland and how it plays into the series’ overarching story as a whole.

In Karmaland, heroes are reincarnated (or pulled from other dimensions, however you may see it) time and time again. Their memories are wiped, and they’re a complete blank slate with no recollection of any of their previous lives at the beginning of each season.

...Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to go. But some things outlast lifetimes, and two of the biggest examples of that in this series are love and trauma.

Let’s look at Luzu — betrayed, hurt, and left heartbroken in K4 — who cannot shake his fear of betrayal even in a new lifetime. In this current world, he operates with automatic wariness and distrust of everyone (with the exception of Quackity, to some degree), and although he still retains some of his old kindness and compassion, the grief from his past life is so strong it almost erased that part of him entirely.

In Karmaland, the strong emotions and meaningful experiences you have in your lifetime, whether good or bad, leave behind invisible marks on your soul that cannot be erased. And nobody exhibits that better than Rubius and Vegetta, especially after today’s revelations.

An undeniable truth that almost feels written into the very fabric of Karmaland’s universe itself is that Rubius and Vegetta love each other. The problem is: that love has very different ripple effects on the two of them, and each subsequent life they live.

This season, there’s clearly love between both characters, but a lack of commitment to that love, and a emotional imbalance to their relationship as a whole. When trying to explain it to a third party, Vegetta said, “Rubius doesn’t love me the way I love him,” and jokingly likened it to him making Rubius a hamburger, but Rubius refusing to eat it. Vegetta is, of course, always willing to play along with Rubius and reciprocate the affection he’s given, but he’s not expecting anything more from Rubius. The way I see it, it’s almost as if Vegetta’s default response to Rubius’ lack of commitment is resignation. He expects nothing more than what’s given, as though he’s preemptively saving himself from heartbreak.

Except that heartbreak has already happened.

In Karmaland 4, Vegetta gave Rubius his love, his heart, his everything, and the moment they were married, Rubius revealed it was all a con. Regardless of anything that came afterward, in that life or this one, the effects of that moment left behind deep scars on Vegetta’s heart.

Rubius, on the other hand, never seemed to be troubled by any events in his previous lives until today. All at once, he’s forced to remember the life he once lived, but during that confusing revelation, his gut reaction is to ask an old loved one: “What was my relationship with Vegetta?” Rubius is a powerful man with questionable morals at the best of times, but this seemingly instinctual reaction says a lot about him as a character, and his priorities as a whole.

I think one of the most telling moments from today’s event is that, while Rubius remembers the wedding, he doesn’t remember his betrayal. He associates that memory, and his relationship with Vegetta, with joy, and sees it in a positive light.

The difference is: Vegetta associates that hazy memory, and Rubius, with abandonment. And as we’re rapidly approaching Lolito’s and Vegetta’s wedding day, it seems like history is doomed to repeat itself.

With pressure from Rubius and Alexby, and influenced by his own questionable motives and thirst for power, it’s looking like Lolito won’t marry Vegetta after all (and if he does, the marriage certainly won’t be a happy one). Even as Vegetta tries to distance himself from Rubius, he still winds up getting hurt because of his direct and indirect actions. It’s almost as if in every new lifetime, Rubius is coming closer and closer to fully embracing his love for Vegetta, but at the same time, each new timeline is driving Vegetta further and further away from him because Vegetta is subconsciously starting to associate Rubius with negative things.

Broken promises. Lack of commitment. Betrayal. Abandonment.

Rubius and Vegetta are permanently bound together by fate, but that “red string of fate” is slowly killing one of them. Or, to quote a meme shared by another Spanish fan; “You don’t want me to be with you, and you don’t want me to be with someone else. How miserable do I have to be for you to be happy?”

Karma is defined as the sum of a person’s actions in this, and previous states of existence, determining their fate and future existences. So what did Vegetta do to deserve this kind of suffering?

When does love become torment, and when does fate become a curse?

#Rubegetta #Karmaland #Vegetta777 #Rubius #karmaland talk #i talk #obligatory disclaimer that my Spanish is Terrible so if any more knowledgeable Karmaland fans wanna jump in and correct and/or add on to thi #please feel free to do so #I'm always hungry for more information about this series #Karmaland analysis #MANNNN ITS BEEN YEARS SINCE IVE BEEN ABLE TO DO META LIKE THIS #feels good

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aihoshiino · 5 months

Note

What are some aspects you dislike (or decisions which you feel are weak) in Oshi No Ko? And what hopes do you have for the future of the series?

Disclaimer before I get into this that obviously I am deep in the paint for Oshi no Ko or I would not be here LOL but chewing on stories I like and engaging in critique is how I have the most fun! I've also talked about this stuff before to varying degrees in other metas enough that it would be redundant to mention every time it's the case, so please bear with me if you see me repeating myself.

These also aren't, like, in any kind of order necessarily unless I specifically mention so, it's just whatever order they came to me as I was typing.

That said, this first one is the manga's biggest problem imo and it's simply that it's super unbalanced, at least past the prologue arc. The story initially presents itself as being about Aqua and Ruby as co-protagonists who are both equally important to the story's ideas and themes. This results in that nice pingponging rhythm you get up to about chapter 30 where the story switches focus between them at pretty natural feeling intervals, even if they aren't necessarily really rippling out and impacting each other. Things are still weighted more towards Aqua given that he's the POV character for the most part and we spend the most time in his head but tbh given the comparative dramatic intensity of his goal Vs Ruby's, I think that's fine. Once we move into Tokyo Blade, though, the balance irrevocably tips in Aqua's favour and Ruby basically becomes a guest star in her own story. Even as black hoshigan Ruby. That whole arc in hindsight really just ended up feeling like filler to pass time until The Real Protagonist could come back. It results in this feeling of not really knowing Ruby well or making her seem like an underbaked character because we have such little direct insight into her thoughts and feelings in comparison to Aqua or even Kana and Akane.

Spinning off from that point, the way Ruby is treated in the series more specifically is a huge issue. Up until the start of the Tokyo Blade arc, Ruby was actually one of my favourite characters and I think she was a really great contrasting point to Aqua in the story's themes. While Aqua drags people along through manipulation, Ruby's genuine kindness, enthusiasm and love makes her a bit of a guiding star for everyone else in her orbit. She isn't necessarily the deepest or most complex character at that point but like... I don't think she needed to be? Sort of similar to Memcho, I think Ruby in that first stretch of the story has a really fantastic "flat" arc in that while she herself goes through minimal development, the strength of her character inspires positive changes in the people around her. That's great!

It also just unfortunately completely falls off during Tokyo Blade. She vanishes during this arc more or less completely and even though B-Komachi are the focus of the following arc and we get time with black hoshigan Ruby... that's it! Black hoshigan Ruby gets literally one entire arc to herself to shine and do anything meaningful to the story (the Mainstay arc) and even though she's supposedly even more in the revenge sauce than Aqua at this point... she doesn't do anything! Her scheming literally does not impact the revenge plot at all! It's fucking AKANE who finally uncovers the father's identity and passes this info to Aqua and literally nothing Ruby does contributes at all to the scheme before Aqua gets back into the driver's seat.

And I'm gonna be honest: I really hate how Ruby has been handled since the mutual past life reveal! I hate that an arc that was setting up to be about Ruby untangling her long held maternal trauma got thrown aside in favour of incest bait and I absolutely despise the way the story since then retconned and diminished the importance of Ruby's connection to her mother in favour of framing Gorou/Aqua as her sole important person. This is made ten times worse by the fact that the only insight we've gotten into any of her feelings about this change is her going "omg Sensei squee" in a way that is clearly comedically exaggerated. In general, the story feels like it has a really major lack of respect for Ruby's feelings unless they can be voyeuristically oogled at and mined for sympathy points. This shit sucks!! Justice for Ruby!!!!

Ruby isn't the only character who, imo, suffers this issue of revolving around Aqua to the detriment of her own arc. I've talked in a lengthy post before about my issues with the way Akane has been written post LoveNow and while I am not going to reiterate everything in that massive post (this one has already taken so long oh god forgive me anon) it does give me an opportunity to segue into one of the other major issues with the story, which is its weird reluctance to commit to the effects of big status quo changes.

In Akane's case, this is visible both in way her suicide attempt is just completely swept under the rug and never addressed again without any focus whatsoever on Akane's healing process and the total absence of the persistent online negativity we were promised even in places it should be extremely relevant. The one time Akane ever talks about this is like 50+ chapters later where she vaguely goes "oh, you know how it went with Love Now" in a tone of someone recalling an embarrassing flub and not a harassment campaign so persistent and vitriolic that she almost took her own life.

In general, the story has a bad habit of dropping any hanging plot threads when it moves into a new arc as opposed to tying them off or letting them naturally evolve as time goes by. This results in a story where major upheavals to the status quo and character relationships are *shown* to happen but ultimately do not result in that many meaningful or observable changes within the story, especially ones that might be inconvenient for where the plot is supposed to go. This valuing of convenience over writing that is verisimilitudinous (i'm so fucking sorry) to the previously established characterization and world combined with this tendency of abandoning lingering plot threads rather than resolving them is, imo, why the movie arc feels so weird and all over the place. BUT this post is long enough and wtfever is going on with the movie arc is worthy of its own ramble at some point so I'll cut myself off here.

As for my hopes, I really want us to loop back around to having Ruby address her lingering trauma over Sarina's illness and abandonment. That felt like an arc that was sooooooo long in the making for Ruby and having it just swept off the table is really frustrating. Other than that, I don't have any really big hopes for the future other than just hoping everyone's arcs tie off nicely.

In particular, I hope Aqua's arc has some good resolution... my son has gone through it and I do really just want him to have some happiness at the end of the day. Please let my boy smile, Akasaka!!!

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers

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randomshyperson · 2 years

Text

Rulers of The Multiverse - Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Chapter Five

Summary: Strange’s faulty spell will cause a series of unexpected events, from your reunion with the love of your life in another world to the appearance of a child capable of traveling across the multiverse. This story follows the journey of a very tired Guardian alongside mischievous America Chavez and Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: (+18) explicit language and sexual content, violence, a lot of magic, found family, mentions of abusive past and trauma, mind control, use of illicit substances, mostly top!reader, soulmates analogies. || Words: 6.622k

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Series Masterlist

--//--

Chapter Five - The Witch World - Part I

You were blacked out and Wanda was at a peak of irritation.

With America's help she dragged you by your jacket across the ground - whatever universe you all fell into now, the sunny green forest was infinitely better than the craters of before - and placed you against a tree, panting softly at the physical exertion as she waved her hands to clear the dust. America checked you, you didn't look like you were going to wake up now, but at least you were breathing, before looking at Wanda with a grimace.

"I thought she was your friend." Said the girl, and Wanda raised an eyebrow.

"Wife actually."

"Not Y/N." America clarified crossing her arms. "The huntress."

Wanda rolls her eyes, sighing impatiently. "I merely said I knew her and no, America, that Natasha was not my friend. My Nat is dead." Wanda retorted with a certain bitterness in her voice. "Don't blame me for what happened, it wasn't me who took us to a world in pieces. And if Y/N hadn't taken my magic, I would have been able to read her mind and know that we would be betrayed!"

America sighs in defeat and uncrosses her arms. "Okay, you have a point. Let's not fight, okay? First, because you're kind of scary, and second because Y/N needs help."

Wanda tried not to get so upset about the scary part, but she couldn't really blame America, figuring her appearance shouldn't be one of the better ones now after all the fighting, two interdimensional trips, and the marks of dark hold use. She cleared her throat and looked around, searching for any sign of civilization.

"You can't tell what kind of universe we are in, I imagine." Murmurs the witch as America sits down beside you, wiping some of the grass on your clothes.

"No, ma'am." America retorted. "Not until I arrive."

"An impressive use of your skills." She scoffed and America grimaced.

"Oh I'm sorry, were you born knowing all about your magic then?" She retorted naughtily and Wanda rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "For your information, I just need to train a little. Y/N has been helping me with that. I wonder why of all the Wandas we've met she picked the meanest..."

"Shut up." Wanda commands between teeth.

"And rude too."

"No, America, seriously, be quiet." Repeated the witch looking around, and the child blinked in confusion, and tried to do the same but noticed nothing strange.

Before she could ask, however, she heard in the distance a noise that sounded like trotting. Soon, a wagon appeared on the road a few yards from them and Wanda let out an exclamation before running to wave the driver to stop.

The man looked like a farmer, and was quite startled to say the least by a woman dressed in red jumping in front of the horses - who were also startled - but was kind enough to stop, especially since he saw you and America.

Wanda quickly made up a story about a robbery and without delay, you were put in the back of the wagon. Wanda sat in the front, and America stood beside you.

"We only have healers in town, it's almost an hour away." Commented the driver, casting glances back as he noticed you groaning in pain in your sleep. "Do you think she can wait?"

"Yeah, she's strong." America answered before Wanda, and shrugged at the witch's expression before adding "We've faced worse."

Wanda swallowed dryly, a wave of guilt filling her chest. She knew the "worse" was the creatures she sent, and imagining that she hurt you made her feel very awful.

The driver brought Wanda out of her thoughts when he started to pull up a subject.

"Pardon my asking madam, but you are not from around here are you?" He said looking between the road and her. Wanda cleared her throat.

"Not really." She answered vaguely.

"Are you from the south?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Really?" The man exclaimed excitedly, surprising Wanda in her lie. "I knew you were a witch!" He comments with an excited smile, but his gaze hesitates with Wanda's arched brow. "I-I didn't mean that in a bad way of course. It was because of the dress, Miss. I thought it might be a noblewoman too, but for the lack of a carriage or guards, I assumed you'd be one of the forest creatures. How exciting, giving a witch a ride."

Wanda bit her tongue, thinking about her next questions as the man muttered to himself what an honorable thing it was to help a magical being, and about his family never believed the story once he told it. She exchanged a look with America in the back - who shrugged, slightly surprised - before deciding to ask about the magic in that world.

"Now we have plenty of magic here in the North, despite what they say in the rest of the country." Said the man defensively. "Of course, it's not the same since the Witches left these parts, but we still have dwarves! They own almost every business in the village, and you haven't heard this from me, but everyone knows that merchants hide potions from the Valley of Silence in their potato boxes that go east."

The man gave a little laugh, and Wanda thought it best to do the same, trying to pretend she knew everything he was talking about.

"My, hm, daughter here loves to hear stories of magic, maybe you could please us with some..." Wanda suggested and the man seemed very excited about the idea, wasting no time in getting started.

All the way to the village, Wanda and America learned more about that world. It was magical in nature, with dozens of species she had heard about in fairy tales. Kingdoms were divided among magical creatures, and the driver's excitement was due to the fact that witches lived in the south, and only visited the rest of the country for work. The money was gold coins or silver nickels, all made by goblins, and Wanda was trying to figure out how she was going to get this to pay for an appointment - not getting too hopeful when the man made a joke about treasure chests protected by dragons.

The village was medieval and lived up to the stories. There were humans, but America let out an excited exclamation as soon as her eyes met a centaur. There were also Goblins, Fairies, many Fauns, and monster hunters who, although they looked human, had brightly colored eyes and were very strong.

"Here we are, let me help you." Said the man getting off the wagon as soon as he stopped the vehicle in front of an establishment with a symbol that should mean healing or something. Wanda didn't recognize it when she opened the door.

It was a simple place, it looked like an apothecary from a fantasy movie. There was a back door that should lead to the office, and as soon as Wanda entered the place by the front door, the man who was reading inside raised his eyes from his book.

Man was not the right term, actually. Wanda's eyes widened slightly at the blue beast behind the counter. She didn't want to stare, but the image was shocking to say the least. The stranger didn't even notice, quickly moving as he saw the wagon driver bring you inside.

"Mr. Howlett quickly this way," he guided the way to the little room. The whole group went, and the Howlett man put you on a stretcher inside, while Wanda twiddled her fingers nervously, looking around. “What happened to her?”

"R-robbery." Wanda lied half hesitantly.

"I found them past the royal road, I came as fast as I could." Howlett explained as the blue beast moved to pick up what Wanda imagined were medical objects from that world. "Maybe they were demons. How did you say the outlaws look like, miss?"

"I didn't." Wanda muttered, half uncertain as to what those things were that this healer was holding. "Excuse me, sir, what is that for...?"

But the blue beast ignored her, beginning to mumble some things and gesture with his hands around your body.

As you began to have spasms on the stretcher, Wanda stepped forward with concern. "What are you doing to her?" She questioned loudly, but the man held up his hand for her not to approach, and Wanda only obeyed because, with the next muttering in another language, you stopped twitching, seeming to calm down a bit, your breathing growing quieter.

"Howlett, you did the right thing in bringing them to me. Thank you. Now I imagine you need to go, Charles and Laura should not be left alone on the farm at times of a full moon." Said the healer, and the farmer nodded in agreement, looking at you one last time before turning to Wanda and America.

"It was a pleasure to meet and help, Miss Witch." He said and Wanda smiled short, nodding.

"Thank you, Mr.Howlett."

"Logan is just fine." He says with a small chuckle, the wrinkles of age on his cheeks. "Before you head back south if you'd like, you're welcome to visit and meet my family. We would be honored to welcome a witch into our home. We live at the end of the royal road, you can get our address from Healer Hank if you like." Logan said and Wanda smiled at him before the man waved goodbye and left the room.

The doctor waited for the door to close before speaking again.

"It is not my place to question a witch, but as a healer, I must ask in order to find the best treatment." Hank said. "And forgive me for the language, but by the sacred Gaea, how did she come into contact with unholy magic?"

Wanda blinked in surprise. Okay, think of a good lie, quick.

America was talking before she could, "Blue dude, the truth is we're not from this universe, my friend was thrown between some magic mirrors while fighting this witch and now her cuts won't heal!"

Wanda looked at the child with indignation while Hank stood for a good few minutes in shock. America just shrugged, muttering a justification about the world being magical, but Wanda was sighing and rubbing her forehead.

"Look, my daughter loves jokes..."

"Universe travelers." Hank interrupted impressed, taking off his glasses. "What an amazing thing."

"Wait, so you believe us?" Wanda asked in surprise, and Hank giggled.

"Your daughter is right, witch. We are a magical people, and I know the ancient legends about other worlds. Of course, I've never met a traveler before, but Southern Witches deal with that sort of thing all the time in the capital."

"See, I told you it would be fine." America grumbled giving a gentle nudge to Wanda who sighed.

"Well, Mr.Hank, to shorten the story, we had a little conflict and she got hurt in a so-called mirror dimension. I didn't use any magic despite what the girl says. It was Y/N who put a spell on my head and then took away my powers, and now she is getting sick and I can't help her!" Declared the witch with frustration. Seeing the expression of the other two, she took a deep breath and lowered her tone. "So please, if you have any ideas on how to cure her, I would be very grateful."

Hank cleared his throat. "Well, Miss, I don't know how things are in your world, but here, we don't treat impure magic carelessly." He says motioning to one of the cabinets at the back. "Witches and nobles control and categorize all use of magic, from potions to the simplest of spells. Whatever your friend has messed with, it is unholy magic and is banned in all realms. I can clean the wounds and make stitches, but what I have here won't do much good in healing her."

Wanda sighed in frustration, running a hand over her face. Hank returned nearby with more familiar items - needles and cotton wool - and sat down beside your stretcher.

Wanda was about to suggest to America that they try another universe when the doctor continued speaking.

"Of course, all is not lost. You are a witch, even if not of this universe. You can go to the capital and ask your sisters for help." He says and Wanda lets out a short laugh for the term, remembering her last interaction with another witch.

"That'll be great." Wanda wryly mocks, turning her gaze back to you. "Do you think you can wake her up?"

Hank raises an eyebrow. "Oh, miss, she should rest. You see, the gestures I made earlier are blessing spells. The unholy magic is in the wounds, but it is very strong in the area of her head. Maybe sleep is a defense for whatever is in there."

Wanda swallowed dryly, being able to deduce what you were doing. "Okay, hm, clean up the bruises then. We'll wait."

Hank smiled, and they watched him get to work. But a moment later, America was nudging Wanda with her elbow.

"I'm hungry." She said, and Wanda frowned.

"Can't you wait?"

"For how long?"

Wanda let out a loud sigh, and Hank let out a chuckle.

"There's a fair market down the street. You can buy something for the kid, I'll stay for a while sewing the stitches." He said without taking his eyes off the bruises he was cleaning.

Wanda hesitated but America's expression made her sigh and lead the way out.

Once they were outside, America asked:

"Why didn't you correct him?"

Wanda frowned in confusion, not stopping walking as America followed her. "What are you talking about?"

"Hank called Y/N your friend." America clarified. "Earlier, you corrected me to call her your wife. Why didn't you do the same to him?"

Wanda sighed half impatiently. "It's a medieval and unknown world, America. She needs help and I don't know how tolerant people are."

"Tolerant?" America repeated confused and Wanda frowned.

"Yes, with queer people." Wanda retorted looking at her. "You know how that works, right? I noticed the badge on your jacket..."

"Oh, right. This thing." America said clumsily, looking down at her pride badge for a second before turning back to Wanda as they walked. "Y/N bought this for me actually. In my world, we didn't have those denominations... There are only women there, you know. So, well, we didn't have that kind of thing."

"That sounds lovely." Wanda commented and sounded really sincere, offering a small smile to America, who was also smiling.

"Yeah, it was." She said half nostalgically. And then cleared her throat to continue the story. "Anyway, when Y/N told me about marriage and her Wanda, she also mentioned something about her parents not going to the wedding. And I was surprised by that so she explained to me about sexualities and about some people and customs that don't accept when two same-sex people love each other. And a couple of universes later, we went out for donuts and a girl wrote her number on my cup and of course, I turned into a shy mess. Y/N, after tormenting me during the whole breakfast, also asked me how I felt about love, and I told her that I never thought about boys and she told me she was going to get me a present. In the next universe, she got me this badge and said it meant I was proud to love girls."

Wanda can't help but smile at the story, finding it really very sweet. She can't say much more, because they reached the fair and she stopped walking, putting an arm in front of America for her to do the same. Wanda looked around at the food stalls and people. When she saw some who looked like they were from church with baskets in their hands and a bell, the witch commented:

“Okay, we don’t have money so I think we could try those cardinals who seem to be donating bread…

“Or we could steal.” America suggests making Wanda look at her in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

The girl shrugged. "Y/N and I do it all the time when we're out of money where is needed."

"Oh, she taught you to steal? Such an example, I swear." Wanda wryly commented, rubbing her forehead. "Let's stick to my idea, okay?"

America shrugged, following Wanda as she led the way to the cardinals. The religious's gentle smile turned to hesitant expressions as soon as she approached, however.

"Hello, I wonder if we could...?" Wanda began but was interrupted when the man got down on his knees, extending the basket full of loaves of bread to her.

"Please, Witch, take it all." He said in a mixture of panic and admiration. He kept his head down, and his hands were trembling. Wanda and America both widened their eyes in surprise, and the other two religious men seemed half hesitant to kneel as well. "It is an honor to serve you."

"Cool, free food." America said casually understanding her hand to grab several pieces - receiving a look from the witch to which she only shrugged - before Wanda cleared her throat and extended her hand to the kneeling man.

"Sir, you don't have to bow..." She began but as soon as she touched him, he shuddered, widening his eyes and jumping backward.

"An impure witch!" He charged now evidently in fear, and his speech attracted everyone's attention. "I feel the devil in you, you filthy witch! She is with the devil! May the mother of all take pity on us! Gaea mercy your soul!"

The whole fair began to stare and whisper, and the religious people in the back began to mutter among themselves something that sounded like prayers, while the man crawled away in fear, shouting his accusations.

Wanda felt her heart racing, panic rising in her chest. She remembers very well the last time she had been in the center of a circle, with people pointing their fingers and accusing her. But this time, America give her a tug on the arm.

"Let's go back to Y/N, Wanda." She asked and Wanda took a deep breath, pushing the emotion away and guiding the way back at high speed.

Wanda felt the judging glances all the way back, but she just pulled America with her and kept walking, hoping that no one would be bold enough to approach them.

When they finally reached the apothecary, she sighed with relief and America looked at her curiously.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked, half surprised that the most intimidating witch she had ever met suddenly looked so disturbed about ugly stares. Wanda cleared her throat, straightening her posture and releasing the child's forearm.

"I'm fine." She snapped back, making her way to the room where you were.

"Okay, sorry for asking." America sneered at her aggressiveness, following the witch inside.

The two of them stopped tense in surprise to find not only Hank - who was kneeling on the floor - and you in the room, but two other figures. Two women wearing elegant white robes with various gold details. The taller one had long gray hair, but the shorter one drew much more attention.

"There's a lot of blue people in this world, huh?" America commented low beside Wanda, and the witch nudged her playfully, America's speech attracting the attention of everyone in the room. The women took their attention away from you and looked at her.

"Travelers, welcome." Greeted the gray-haired one. The smaller one stepped forward.

"Kneel to the High Priestess." She warned, and Wanda raised an eyebrow. The gray-haired one giggled, gesturing to her colleague.

"Raven, please, it's not necessary." She says and with protest from the other, she adds, "Our ways are not the same on all worlds."

The one Raven sighs in defeat, but puts her head down and doesn't insist any further. Wanda swallows dryly, trying to think of exactly how she was going to solve this without magic.

"Ladies, it is an honor to welcome you into our Kingdom." Repeated the tallest one. "My name is Ororo Munroe, I am the High Priestess of the Royal Council of Witches. And I invite you to an audience in our sacred temple."

"Invite or demand?" Wanda challenges surprising the woman. Raven clenches her jaw.

"Impure Witch don't you dare disrespect-"

"Raven." The Priestess cuts in and the other shuts up, lowering her head again. Ororo smiles. "It is an honor to welcome interdimensional travelers, yet we have rules to protect ourselves from those who are not well-intentioned. I'm sure you can be reasonable about that, Miss...?"

"Wanda Maximoff, but you can call me Scarlet Witch."

The Priestess' eyes widen in surprise, and Raven squints.

"Impossible! Lady, she is lying. Punish her for her blasphemy!" Raven exclaims but Ororo raises her hand to her and the woman bites her tongue to shut up.

Ororo takes a step toward Wanda, and the woman covers America with her body on instinct.

"That is a very dangerous statement, Miss Maximoff."

"Dangerous is to test my patience." Bluffs the other with eyes glittering with anger. "I am visiting your universe, and I will not cause trouble if I am not challenged. Your people are knowledgeable enough to know the extent of my abilities."

An impressed glint passes through the Priest's eyes, and the room goes into a tense silence. But then she nods softly and says. "Forgive our indiscretion, Scarlet Witch. It was never my or my people's intention to offend or defy you." Assures the woman and Wanda swallow dryly quietly, mentally praying that no one buys a fight. "My sisters and I monitor the use of magic throughout the kingdom, which is why we have been requested with your arrival. I regret to inform you that I cannot allow you to leave the kingdom without calculating exactly how much damage two witches expelling dark magic and a child of power have caused. And I would like this to be done peacefully."

"I won't repeat myself." Wanda says seriously but this time, Ororo smiles and doesn't reach her eyes.

"Miss Maximoff, I insist. And I assure you that the examinations are not invasive or uncomfortable, and to your delight, besides having what it takes to wake your friend, our healers know how to reverse the blockage in the magical flow in your body."

Wanda blinks in surprise, but at the offer to have her magic back, she sighs and nods. America tries to tug on her sleeve, but she pulls her arm to herself, and murmurs:

"Play along." She warns low before forcing a smile at Priest.

The next moment, the woman's eyes turn completely ashen, and before they can ask, thunder explodes outside. Without delay, a heavy rain begins to fall.

"The water will erase the presence of you and your impure magic on the road and in the village." She explains before turning to her colleague. "Raven, in consideration of your friendship with Mr.McCoy, I give you my blessing to alter his memory yourself. Erase the visitors from his mind, please. And join us when you are finished here." Said the woman, and Raven nodded obediently.

Ororo hovered a hand over you, and your body was enveloped in a white mist, which lifted you onto the stretcher. Then she opened a portal in the middle of the room of the same color, through which on the other side a very beautiful hall was visible.

The Priestess entered first, your sleeping body floating behind her inside. Wanda swallowed dryly, and when America held the sleeve of her blouse again, she didn't pull back.

"Are you sure about this?" Whispered the girl, and Wanda forced an assured smile.

"Y/N needs help, and I need my magic back."

"But Wanda..."

"Just trust me." She interrupts before moving toward the portal, and America follows hesitantly.

–//–

Despite their initial mistrust, Ororo was not lying to them.

As soon as she stepped out of the portal, Wanda found herself in a sort of oval hall that should have been a palace - the floor shiny and white, with a huge luxurious chandelier on the ceiling - from the size. She noticed immediately that at the back of the room were five marble thrones, and her body quivered when she noticed the infinity stones at the top of each chair. She couldn't feel the energy - and couldn't really tell if it was the lack of her magic or not - but assumed that they were tribute copies and that the real stones must have been with the occupants of each seat.

Speaking of people, immediately upon arrival, Ororo was greeted by a Handmaiden - Who was literally a fairy, the wings glowing and golden and the ears pointed - who bowed before guiding your body away.

Wanda instinctively moved toward you, but Ororo put a hand in her path.

"She will be taken to our healers." Clarifies the priestess, and seeing the hesitation in the witch's gaze, she nods to America. "The child can accompany her."

"Why can't I?" Wanda questions with a frown, watching America hurry so as not to lose sight of you in the long palace.

"You will be the first to be evaluated, Scarlet Witch." Ororo explains and nods to the opposite of the path.

Wanda swallows dryly but follows the cue. And as she passes through the halls, and catches a glimpse of the landscape - miles and miles of black, burnt ground - through the long glass windows, it occurs to her that the witches did not lie to her, but to the people.

The castle was very beautiful, the marble shining where Wanda could see her own reflection, and she allowed herself to run her curious eyes over the statues along the way - which ranged from imponent images of Sorceresses wearing the same long capes as Ororo to Fauns and Mythological Creatures wearing coats of arms similar to those drawn on the walls.

Ororo led her to a large room, but unlike the rest of the place - and especially the village with all its medieval aesthetics - it still had chandeliers and the pastel tone of the hallway, but there were so many bronze and metal objects inside that looked nothing like anything Wanda had ever seen. What stood out the most was the tree inside, colorful petal trees with an aura around them, and several fireflies flying through the branches.

It was clearly a medical area, judging by the stretchers and healers walking around with flying books, some of them working on potions and analyzing vials. As soon as Ororo entered, however, the whole room stopped, and everyone bowed before going back to work.

A woman came out hurriedly from behind one of the branches, at her waist, an apron soiled with what looked like the tree's mystical dust, and her black hair tied up in a loose bun. Wanda's eyes widened in surprise when she recognized her.

"Good morning Healer Cho." Greeted Ororo sweetly as the other smiled and handed the dirty apron to one of the fairy helpers before approaching to bow briefly to the Priestess.

"Good morning, high Priestess. How may I help you today?"

"I just got back from the Dwarven village, because of that breach we notified earlier." Ororo explains, receiving a small sigh of realization from the other woman. "This is Miss Wanda Maximoff. She needs to be assessed like the rest of our guests, but the other two are receiving emergency assistance."

"Oh, I see." Cho says and offers Wanda a sympathetic smile. "I'll just finish with the pruning, and I can..."

"Actually I was hoping that Mr.Laufeyson would assist us with this operation, Healer Cho." Ororo interrupts, and to the other's surprise, she lowers her tone and adds. "Given the nature of the magic we can sense in Miss Maximoff."

Cho seems to realize this only when she is told, and Wanda figures it is because of the rush of the day - because she has noticed some of the nearby healers taking their attention away from their tasks and casting corner-of-the-eye glances at her - but the healer lets out only a light sigh.

"Sorry, High Priest, but Loki hasn't arrived yet." She says as she tucks her bun more tightly into place. "You know how busy the Dark Witches get during the Solstice season, and with so many werewolf calls, Loki has hardly been staying at the Council."

Ororo sighs lightly but nods in understanding. "Well, I leave Miss Maximoff in your hands, then, Healer Cho. I need to record this arrival correctly, and I'll be back to see them later." She says, and to Wanda's surprise, offers her a very tender smile before leaving the room.

"Come this way with me Miss Maximoff, you can wait in the evaluation room while I finish pruning our dear Yggdrasil." Says the healer with a tired sigh gesturing for Wanda to follow her deeper into the room.

She is placed sitting on a soft leather stretcher, and Cho asks if she is comfortable before beckoning for the assistant fairies to bring some equipment.

In addition to an iron scale that they place on the small table next to the bed, Cho offers Wanda a small smile as she approaches to measure her heart rate. She murmurs to herself briefly, and Wanda is surprised that with a simple movement in the air, some sort of screen appears.

Although it looks like a computer, it is clearly magic and related to this. Instead of information about her heartbeat or pressure, there are captions about magical species, cosmic nature, astral balance..."

Wanda takes her attention away from the screen when Cho holds out a syringe.

"You're not afraid of needles, are you Miss Maximoff?" Cho asks humorously, and Wanda grunts softly.

"I don't really like them, but you can go on." She says, and Cho gives a little laugh that surprises her.

"Sorry, it's just that I'm always surprised at how many dark witches are afraid of needles." She mutters before starting to draw blood from the other, who shudders a little. She decides that she is going to pay attention to the story and not the feeling, and mutters in a questioning tone, which encourages Cho to keep talking. "It's just that everyone always thinks you are the most fearsome warriors in the world and do all sorts of blood rituals, but, and don't spread this to anyone, Mr. Laufeyson himself turns pale every time he has to see a dissection." She says with a chuckle that Wanda accompanies out of politeness. "Here you go, that was quick yes?" She says walking away after cleaning up and handing the vials to one of the helpers.

Cho went to one of the cabinets in the back, on one of the higher shelves, and stood reading the labels for a few minutes. Then she opened one of the last little doors - drawing a rune on the glass - and pulled out a bracelet of sorts.

"Here you are Miss Maximoff, put this on." She guided, handing the item to Wanda, who frowned in confusion.

"What is it?"

Cho smiled. "An absorption totem of course." She says half surprised that Wanda doesn't know. The redhead twirls the item between her fingers, noting the drawings on the stones that compose the bracelet. "Each rune has a function. We don't keep many items that do that kind of work, but you got lucky. Mr. Laufeyson has just brought in this new collection of Western relics for evaluation, and this one has the runes of Set. When placed in the right way, Miss Maximoff, black items do not release their nature magic, but rather absorb them."

Wanda blinked in surprise at the lesson, looking at her wrist as she fitted the item to her skin.

"We don't allow the practice of dark magic on non-sworn witches around here, hence the procedure." Cho adds and then sighs. "I'll leave you with this while I finish pruning. You can wait here, I was almost done."

As the minutes pass, Wanda swings her legs around on the stretcher, feeling her skin prickle where the bracelet is. It is not painful, but it cannot be ignored.

Just as she is starting to get bored, Cho returns.

"Your results are ready, and look at that, the absorption worked very well!" Cho comments and Wanda is about to ask how she can be sure, but the healer points to the balance on the small table-Wanda had thought it didn't even work because it was standing on one side - but now, it was balanced.

"How...?"

"Or it's very simple, Miss Maximoff." Cho says as she approaches to take the bracelet from her, and hands the item to one of the helpers, who takes it back to the cabinets. "The scales measure the magical equilibrium in your spirit. That's why I aligned it with you. If you keep it that way, you won't have any problems with the council." Cho jokes, taking up the free chair and gesturing in the air again for the screens from before to appear and stand at face height as if she were going to study the results. She mutters to herself as she does so, reading numbers and runes that might even make some sense to Wanda, but she doesn't know how to categorize everything correctly.

"When will I get to see my friends?" She asks, and Cho doesn't take her gaze off the screen to answer.

"As soon as they are released from the Emergency Area, I imagine." Says the healer, and offers the other a sympathetic smile. "I imagine they should be in a really worrying state for the Evaluation to be postponed."

"She'll be fine." Wanda retorts and has the impression that it is more to herself that she is saying it than to the healer. "We got into a bad fight, and she has some bruises that won't heal. Besides not waking up. But she'll be fine, because she's too stubborn to die, and she needs to give me back my magic too."

"Oh, a magical thief? I haven't seen one in many years." Cho comments casually, looking between the screens. She lets out a chuckle next, before Wanda can argue that she doesn't think you're such a magical thief - the only thing that sounds familiar for that in the matter is Agatha, and she's not the same as you.

One of the screens disappears from Cho's front and reappears on Wanda's lap. She frowns at the map of a body with several dots drawn on it.

"Your friend must be a very skilled witch, it is very rare to find witches, or even just scholars, who are familiar with Tenketsu." Declares the healer, and Wanda blinks in confusion.

"Sorry, I don't know what that means." She mutters, and Cho shakes her head slightly offering her an assuring smile.

"It means Pressure Points, Miss Maximoff." She says and stands up to approach Wanda, and gestures to the open map. "You see, you are a natural witch, and although you are not from this universe, your anatomy is quite similar to ours. Energy flows through your body so you can manipulate it and cast your spells. But there is an ancient study, about your body's Chakra map, the Keirakukei, and mystical art of combat, where you learn to block the Tenketsu or pressure points where your magic concentrates."

Wanda absorbs the information in silence for a moment, watching Cho switch the screen so that the map shows these said points. She realizes that this is where you touched her in the fight, and lets out a soft sigh.

"Can you fix it?" She asks and Cho laughs lightly, nodding.

"I don't need to." She says waving for the map to disappear. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, after all I'm just the healer and the council will fill you with questions, but your friend wasn't trying to hurt you, was she?"

Wanda frowns slightly, but her hesitation serves as confirmation for the healer, who smiles again as she charms the chair to move in close again. She sits down before speaking again.

"While the Tenketsu is not forbidden, it is not usually well looked upon among witch communities, and I have met enough travelers to realize that not only in this universe is this a truth." Cho counters. "Magic, Miss Maximoff, is a gift from the gods. It is not up to another being to take it from you. And well, the Tenketsu in its prime, is carried out permanently."

Wanda swallowed dryly, and looked at the new image Cho signaled to appear. The bright dots, are now dark.

"If you use magic the right way, and more importantly, hit the dots at the right time, you can burn them, and doom your opponent to magical incapacitation." Cho explains, tracing the lines on the map, and switching the image to Wanda's again. All were glowing faintly. "But your friend, Miss Maximoff, knew very well what she was doing. She applied only what was necessary to numb your magic. It blocked the main flows, but if you look at the trace of the heart, everything is still here. Recovering slowly."

Wanda cleared her throat. "How slowly?"

Cho hums thoughtfully. "Maybe just a few more hours. We can try stimulating..."

"Yes, do it." Wanda says without hesitation, and Cho gives a surprised giggle.

"Okay, if you're in a hurry." She jokes, gesturing for the map to go out of sight before turning back to the table. "I need to send all this to the Council first. Why don't you head to the room they prepare? I'll come to you when I'm done."

Wanda didn't want to, but as she noticed the helpers approaching and the way the healer went back to work without giving her another glance, she realized it wasn't really a question.

Her desire was to lose the girls, find your room, and tell America to get them out of there as quickly as possible. This place was growing in her suspicion by the second.

But she was still without magic, and well, she wouldn't lie to say that the hot bath and the cleaning of her clothes were not appreciated.

She was smelling of fresh and sweet salts and had just dismissed the offer of having a helper brush her hair, laughing to herself at the sarcastic thought that this universe treated witches like royalty, when she found her image in the mirror.

I don't look scary anymore. She thought with some insecurity about the way the religious people treated her, or how America had referred to her before. But she pushed those thoughts away in the next second.

She lowered her eyes to her hands in the sink, staring at the black stains and realizing only now how really smaller and almost transparent they looked. Wanda frowned as she understood the extent of what this could mean.

When she lifted her face to the mirror again, watery eyes stared back at her.

And not her green ones.

"Help me, Wanda." Your reflection, right next to her, whispered. She jumped in fright, but you weren't there when she tried to look again.

Before she could investigate further, she heard a commotion of people running outside, and even before she opened the door to find guards hurrying toward the main hall, she knew immediately that it had something to do with you.

--//--

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #Rulers of The Multiverse #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader

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