#it sickens her because of what her family put her through | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

collectivecloseness · 5 months

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11 with whatever stranger things character works best ig. 11 nearly *just* makes it but is always left out, ones that don’t quite make it onto some lists are always interesting, like 6 or 51, or the last 100 or something lol

Babes... the fact 11 is literally Nobody by Mitski... the lonely left out one 😭 Anyway this is poor Stevie fr 😭😭

(Cw: this fic is about Steve’s mental health after dealing with all the upside down trauma the past few years)

Steve Harrington x reader

Steve doesn’t sigh, he doesn’t groan, he just doesn’t make a sound when he finally wakes up. He’d fallen back asleep a couple of times after opening his eyes, just hoping to shorten the day and stay somewhere peaceful a moment longer, but his body couldn’t take anymore sleep. He was awake now.

There was no work today. No alarm to make sure he could be autonomous and run on autopilot to brush and teeth and rush to the car in yesterday’s work clothes, and no radio call from one of the kids in danger giving him the boost of adrenaline to get up either.

But tapping his fingers on his plain grey quilt, Steve couldn’t handle the realisation he’d be alone with his thoughts right now if he didn’t get up.

Pushing himself with a sigh, Steve winces as his feet hit the cold fooorboards, slumping over to put some black socks on first, before he finds a shirt to throw over his head. He looks down to his sweatpants, but suddenly the thought of changing out of them, and into something else made Steve’s head ache and feel faint at the same time. So he didn’t care about wearing what he’d worn to bed downstairs as he dragged himself to the living room.

Steve was used to being alone in this house. His parents basically treated the place he grew up in as a holiday home, rather than a home, being there around a weekend every six weeks, if they were ever that scheduled. He never knew when they were coming back.

Steve basically owned the house now, as the sole person who actually lived there. He’d turn his parents room into a spare room, maybe have Robin as a roommate, he knew she wanted to move out away from her parents, but even mentioning it to his mom, his dad overheard him over the phone and he had yells and disappointed chidings of how selfish and inconsiderate he was assaulted down the speaker. ‘They still lived there!’ They said, although they hardly ever turned up to prove their point.

At least people visited, even if Steve couldn’t truly make the house his home yet, no decorating of his own. But being alone here, it at least made his house the designated hang out zone. It gave him good memories here. You visited a lot, and Steve was so grateful to have you as a partner. He wondered what you were up to today...

There was nothing for Steve to do here. Definitely not alone. And he definitely couldn’t risk messing something up, and his parents deciding to drop in from the other side of the country. But standing at the base of the stairs, looking around at his open, and empty home, something vile and sickening clawed at his chest, trying to scrape up his throat, split open his head from the inside. Steve went straight to the television, his chest in pain enough it made Steve flinch, turning the tv onto some random channel, any, just turning it up. A sitcom being on air, and the noise of a family all chatting together made Steve feel less alone.

Steve nearly sprinted to all the windows in the house, opening them up so he could hear noise from the outside, the things happening in the real world. He opened up the curtainless window of his kitchen, and he stood there a moment, the one further away from the tv, as he let the world go by. The wind stroked comfortingly through Steve’s brown hair, from the open panel at the top of the glass, where he was. Steve closed his eyes, letting the touch encouragingly pass. But soon there was another reason he wanted his eyes closed, because it was beginning to get harder to look outside.

He listened to cars honking hello to each other, teenagers chatting to their friends on the way to school, parents repeating road safety with their eager kids. Pushchair wheels rolling and dogs yipping and leaf blowers working. Everyone talking. In their own conversations, taking part in lives separate to the others they pass by without even noticing them, but everyone out there at least has something in common. Something Steve envied and yearned, but just could not find it in himself to seek at this moment.

The wind was cooler now. Biting him. Not meant for him. Everyone had someone else around, shielding each other from nature’s course, holding onto each other to avoid puddles, stepping away from the leaves blowing near them, or in one case, jumping on them themselves.

Steve retreated to his television. He didn’t know this family in the show, he wasn’t even watching, his eyes on the tv, but unfocused and mind not taking any of the images in. He just wanted them to keep talking.

As soon as he’d sat down, Steve realised he probably should have grabbed something from the kitchen to eat. And now he was thinking about it, his stomach churned in hunger. He knew he was hungry, even if it was the type of hunger that made you feel nauseous. But Steve had already sat down. And standing up again, just to get himself some food, just could not be prioritised enough for Steve to motivate himself to get his legs to move.

All Steve wants is somebody. Somebody near him right now. Somebody to be with him. He was a changed man after his first encounter with the upside down those few years ago. Battling creatures with his baseball bat, his ex and her new guy, and learning all about the horrible world underneath this one. Becoming the protector of others and the perpetual and never ending punching bag at the same time.

He looped it all in with the upside down, all these events, the Russians torturing him, what happened with Nancy, the possible state of his future, his relationship with his parents, almost losing the people he loves even though he always puts himself on the line first he just!!- What else can he do?!! And why isn’t him throwing himself into every danger to protect the people who actually deserve to be protected ever enough?!

Why do people still get hurt, when Steve will always let himself get hurt for them!?

Steve puts his head into his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs but he just pushes them in harder, his bitten nails barley doing damage as he scrapes them into his head whilst he’s burying his eyes. “Shut up shut up shut up.” Steve growls softly to himself, knowing he wasn’t helping anything.

He was a coward.

He acted strong, in front of the others. Proud to always be ‘the’ badass around the kids, especially Dustin. And he always headed straight on for danger if that would mean it helped the others. But he was so changed when it was just him now. He wasn’t the same person before; and he was glad, he’d been an asshole - something Steve winces into his hand at, as he remembers - but he’s not like he used to be.

He used to be able to get through his nightmares about his childhood. He used to come home and just chill. Enjoy the house to himself, and throw parties. He never felt like this until he went through all that trauma, as you’d promised him it was. He never felt so troubled, so down, so exhausted, so scared, so lonely. So just everything all at once.

He knows it’s not up to anybody to save him, he knows that no one can. Or at least, he thinks that, sometimes. Even though Steve sometimes feels like screaming, begging you to save him, even at the moments he’s least in danger, just in his own home. Even with you right there holding him. Not actually risking his life like he’s done so many times, like he’s made you cry over, watching him be so selfless, and brave, and hurt, again and again. Needing you to help save him, after it all too. But part of him feels like a coward for wanting it. The other half remembers all your loving words, all of them, not one is ever forgotten by Steve, and he’s able to regain control over those thoughts again most times he slaves over this.

Before you, there would have been no one to save Steve first, no one he was most important to, during all these life threatening events. Steve almost allowed himself to be okay with the thought no one would save him, even as he was first to throw himself in head first if it meant protecting his friends. Everyone had someone else. Someone they’d check up on first. Steve was glad he had you. Even when you promised him he wasn’t just your first choice to save, that others would pick him too. Even that helped Steve. Not just you being there, but you, you being the one to be his partner, you who just always knows how to help him.

All he wanted was to feel alright. Not great, just alright. Something he always used to take for granted. Something he can start to feel again, whenever he’s with you, or surrounded by his loved ones. ...Steve’s lips twisted up, his head tilting slightly as it came out of his hands. Why was that something so hard, for him to be able to feel alright? Why was his life like that?

But you at least told him he wasn’t a coward. You got through it with him, you let him be changed even when he wasn’t alone, you-

Steve’s head shot up as he heard the key in the door. And his heart froze like a cool zap in his chest, as he prayed inside his head to let it be you. That you somehow knew he needed you today. That you were coming for him, like you always did.

And Steve felt relief pour through his body so hard, his frozen fingers and toes flooded with such warmth, allowing him to actually feel able to move his muscles, as he reached his arms out for you from where he was sat on the couch, as you made eye contact with him from where you’d hung your coat, your own eyes filled immediately with your knowledge.

“Oh... Oh baby.”

You spoke so softly. Steve loved your voice. He kept his arms open as you rushed over, sitting by him on the couch and immediately pulling Steve into your arms with a big breath. Steve melting his face into your collarbone, as he let himself listen to your breath, your heartbeat, the creak of your trousers against his couch, and he felt whole not being alone at all anymore.

Steve is happy to listen for moments longer, his brown messy hair nestling into the crook of your neck, as he smooths his cheek over your warm skin. He can smell the body wash he uses when he showers at yours. His hands crawl up to hold you by the side of your chest softly. Steve happy to start to listen to the beat of your heart, and see if his will follow rhythm, like it does when he pays attention to it.

But you start speaking again. At least, filling his home with your voice. “Stevie darling. I’m here. You’re okay Steve.” You kiss his soft hair, stroking his head, and Steve leans into your touch. “You’re okay. I’m staying with you today.” You promise, knowing he likes when you do so, and when you plan it for the rest of his day.

Steve nods, letting you know he heard you, and he’s thankful, but a big sigh leaves his lungs, tickling hot against your collar, as he thinks, at least now while in a safety bubble of your warm hold, having wrapped your arms and legs, all of you safely around him.

Whether he’s been big or small, tough or soft, he’s still never good enough, still nobody wanted him. He was a douchey smartass, then a loser dumbass, and he wasn’t liked as either of those - never wanted, Steve thinks. Until you.

His thoughts still wandering around those paths, as he starts to let you take over for him this morning. He’s got to remind himself those thoughts he just aren’t true, during spirals like this. You do want him. You, his best friend, his other friends, the kids, Joyce, Hopper, hell even his parents.

He is wanted.

Steve’s just got to remember it even in his lonely times. It doesn’t matter whether he’s brave and macho, or a dorky himbo, he’s still him, and he’s still loved by somebody. By multiple somebodies. And turning his head, peering his soft brown eyes up into your own, Steve constantly knows you really love him.

Steve leans his hand up, not even thinking about how his body no longer feels tired or achy anymore, just brushing your hair away behind your ears so he can see more of your perfect face, and also touch your soft hair.

“Good morning.” He speaks up, smiling crookedly and smally at you, but Steve feels relieved and wondrous, hearing his own voice in his big house.

“Good morning Steve.” You smile down at him. And God are Steve’s eyes sparkly as they look mesmerised at you. You moving to stroke Steve’s puffy brown hair, as his longer fingers still caress over your own. You smile, and Steve smiles back. No ache in his heart, his thoughts just full of all he can do with you today now his house is not so empty, or you can even leave the house together, if he chooses that he wants to. And that small other aware part of his thoughts, so happy and thankful that in this moment, that you are here with him.

Even though Steve can tell you know he was sad. That he was going through it a bit again. He’s obviously much better now he’s practically laying across your lap, his toned body fitting perfectly in your arms, and his head tucked warmly at the bottom of your chest, looking up at how you peer down at him, holding him, cradling your boyfriend safely, and Steve brings his hands to rest on your forearms, smiling as he swallows in his throat, relaxing in a position Steve loves.

Steve’s not asking you to fix him, he knows it’s not as simple as that, and he knows you don’t need any pressure. You two are working on it all, together. Both your issues, both your needs, and importantly, your wants. Steve so happy to be able to share his wants with you just as much as his needs, and have you take care of each other’s, of each other. Steve’s not asking for you to fix him, instead he’s licking his dry lips, and with a small and endearing smile, asks “Can I have my kiss now?”

His adoring smile only growing as you gleefully and slowly move in, pressing your warm lips against his own. Giving Steve the one thing he needed to start feeling properly alright again. Allowing Steve to hold your face close, as you both chuckle softly into each other’s mouths, the small sound so audible to Steve with how close you both are. As you happily, and so open heartedly, honestly, lovingly, both share a sweet kiss, for the start of his better day.

#I think I heard the word ‘nobody’ at least 200 times listening to this song again for this #I know I *intially* said these would be blurbs but I can literally never help myself #I’m also gonna give out bonus points any time a song is on my playlist for a character so- point to you haha!#also bc I’m doing a lot of these and shorter ones in one go I’m trying to get them out quicker so I hope there’s no spelling mistakes after #editing aha #Steve Harrington/reader #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington fic #stranger things #mitski #my fics #ask #anon #2.6k

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miraculouscriticismshub · 9 months

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Why Gabriel doesn’t deserve a redemption - the Hypocrisy of the Writers - Miraculous Season 5 Finale spoilers Ahead.

If you have seen the finale then you already know what happens to Gabriel . He dies but gets remembered as a hero and his reputation was unscratched. The writers have the audacity to say a teenage girl will never become a better person because her actions are unforgivable but they go ahead and redeem Gabriel Agreste - a literal terrorist and abuser - who has done a lot worse. This post will explain why Gabriel doesn’t deserve a redemption arc and how his character feels ruined.

Part 1 - Gabriels crimes and why the writers think they are justifiable. Triggers of Child abuse and terrorism

This man has committed atrocious crimes of which the most obvious was child abuse. Mainly towards Adrien. The writers think due to Gabe losing his wife - it is justified why he neglects Adrien - it is a sign of grief. That he spends every day terrorizing Paris because he wants Emelie back to complete Adrien's family. They say he does all he does because he cares about his son. While this was the case during seasons 1-4 , his character changes in season 5. He no longer does it for Emily and Adrien but for power. He abuses Adrien even more this season by trapping him in a room and separating him from Marinette.

However his Character is ruined in the season 5 finale. He wishes Emily and Natalie to live and pleads with Marinette to make sure Adrien remembers him as a good father. That's not her burden to carry or her responsibility . Gabriel had the audacity to ask the girl he traumatised to keep every crime he has committed a secret from his own son ! Despite everything Gabriel has done to Marinette - she finds out he was Hawkmoth - she still forgives him and helps build a statue of Gabe in his honor. The writers think Gabriel deserves redemption because he did show remorse for what he did to Adrien and cried when he watched Emilie's tapes. But Adrien wasn’t his only victim and child abuse wasn’t his only crime. Gabriel never showed remorse for what he put Marinette through (he knows she's a ladybug .) He never apologized for separating her from Adrien or for the trauma he inflicted on her as Ladybug. Even when Ladybug gave her a chance , he blew it by paralyzing her.

He is also an international terrorist who primarily targets children. He threatened to kill Alya’s family and murdered many Parisians in Strike Back but still gets remembered as a hero. Even in the final fight , he says he doesn’t care about the innocent victims he hurted. He never felt bad about what he did. It gives kids a bad message. While I think Gabe dying in Emily's place isn’t a bad idea , the fact that Gabriel gets away with his crimes and is celebrated as a savior is disgusting. At the very least , he shouldn’t be presented as a good man and should be remembered as the villain and a terrorist. It’s a slap in the face for all his victims. The fact that all of Gabriel's other crimes are forgiven just because he felt remorse for one is sickening.

Especially in Season 5 , where the writer makes Gabe to be sympathetic by having his relationship with Emelie mirrors Adrienette’s relationship because he and Marinette both came from humble backgrounds. That's why the writers think Gabe is redeemable , because he and Marinette are similar and both care for Adrien. The fact he basically got what he wanted and is being remembered as a savior is so unfair to Marinette and Adrien. Sure he died , but Emelie came back or he reunited with her (depending if you think it was Amelie or Emelie). Therefore , Gabe doesn’t deserve redemption because he never proved himself or felt remorse for most of his crimes. He manipulated Marinette till the very end into thinking he was a good person when in reality , he doesn't care about anyone except for himself , Adrien , Natalie and Emelie.

Part 2 - Obvious hypocrisy

It is no secret that Thomas dislikes Chloe. However in Season 5 he has taken his hate for her way too far that he sacrificed good writing to bash her character and hurt her fans. He repeatedly says on his twitter Chloe will never become a better person because she is a bully and has done too many unforgivable acts. Surprisingly , in season 5 episode 26 , they go ahead and redeem Gabriel - a terrorist , child abuser , groomer and manipulator - who has arguably done so much worse. I don’t mind if the writers don’t give Chloe a redemption arc , not all characters need a redemption but it feels hypocritical saying a teenage bully is irredeemable but an adult terrorist is sympathetic. Especially of how rushed and badly written Gabriel's redemption arc is.

So when Chloe does something evil , the writers say she in irredeemable and deserves every bit of Karma but when Gabriel does something worse , the writers justify what he has done because of his sympathetic motive and give him a redemption story. This disgusts me because it is shown time and time again that Gabriel likes to use Chloe in his heinous plans. Three episodes ago Gabriel was manipulating and grooming Chloe into joining his side. Gabriel is partly to blame for Chloe's worst crimes , he enabled her and put the ideas in her head. But the writers act like Chloe is more in the wrong than Gabriel when he is clearly more guilty than she is !! They act like it is OK for Gabriel to manipulate and akumatize Chloe because it's for the sake of getting his wife back. Chloe is not a good person , but it is unfair how she is the only character to face consequences when Characters worse than her are getting rewarded and receive happy endings !! Chloe is disowned by her father and sent to live with her abuser while Gabriel reunites with Emelie (depending on which sister you think it was at the pool party) and is celebrated as a saviour. Gabriel being more moral in the eyes of the writers than a misguided teenager - who also is one of his main victims - is sickening. Therefore Gabriel redemption isn’t deserved because it shows the double standards the writers have for Chloe.

To conclude - Gabriel's character in the Season 5 finale is basically ruined. Gabriel receiving a redemption is an example of bad writing and feels rushed. He only felt remorse for what he did to Adrien but never felt bad for terrorizing Paris or using Chloe. He never apologized to Marinette for separating her from Adrien or for other crimes he did. His redemption feels Hypocritical compared to the character of Chloe - who was one of Gabriel's main targets. Hopefully in season 6 , Adrien finds out about what happened and Paris receives the justice they deserve. However if you like what they did with his character , that is perfectly fine . I’m not saying you are not allowed to dislike Gabriel. This is just my opinion . Feel free to disagree :) . Please stay respectful.

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posletsvet · 7 months

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I frequently think about how challenging it must be to write convincing antagonists. It's relatively easy to justify morally driven, righteous thinking and good-hearted actions (that is, if justification of something like this is at all needed). Pulling off solid reasoning behind uncompromising, dedicated malice is harder. I think that is because benevolence comes naturally to us -- that's what our evolution as social beings taught us to be beneficial. So more often than not villains come off as cartoonish, false and awkward with their cardboard-thin beliefs and exaggerated petty grudges. And that's why it's always exciting to see characters who are objectively horrible people but still exhibit intricately nuanced and dimensional personalities you can at some extent empathize with.

I guess that is also why I like Toji as an antagonist so much. (Yes, this is a Toji Fushiguro post,, Why do I feel like I should I be sorry?) He is essentially a case study of a deeply flawed, disrespectful and inexcusably violent character with a plethora of other gruesome traits (I mean, the anime adaptation isn't even remotely subtle about showing his nastiness) who's also... just another ordinary human being. He eats take-out food. He overspends inpulsively. He watches sport and gambles. He loves and misses his wife and settles down while he's with her. Toji has harmless basic needs like entertaining himself with a hobby in his free time and having someone to keep him company while doing so. He seems to seek simple human connection (like when he suggests that he and Shiu go eat out in some fancy place after receiving their reward). He gets genuinely amused with the job's destination which is Okinawa and expresses his confusion over the cult's representative's bigoted speech in a mundane, kind of goofy way. He's curious when something goes slightly off a pre-established course of action and asks Shiu about it. He gets nervous and tries to calm himself down by strategizing. He thinks of his family in his last moments.

I'm saying all this with no intention to condone Toji's terrible actions or make them seem more forgivable. I guess it just drives home a point for me that while he destroyed the destiny of entire Jujutsu society he was really just minding his own business by going through another job. Yes, he was in some way taking out his spite on the Jujutsu world by trampling on the 'blessed talents' of both Gojo and Geto, but there was never an emphasis put on it. Defeating two Special Grade sorcerers wasn't a prime event in his life (well, up untill he died as a consequence of it, I guess). Even if there were some strings attached to this job, Toji was in it first of all for the money.

He's mundane. The extent of his cruelty and filth is sickening. He's just like those people you could pass by in the street. He's so morally corrupt it's alienating. He's both unthinkably horrible and still just an ordinary person.

Toji is a walking representation of the duality of man, really, and I find it truly admirable how Gege tied all those conflicting traits into a coherent and convincing character.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk analysis #toji fushiguro #shiu kong #hidden inventory arc #star plasma vessel #really i don't think there's a character i don't find at least in some way appealing #so it's kind of weird for me to see people fighting over characters #and i genuinely find toji to be an amazing villain #he's immensely interesting to think about him #and the body of meaning he introduces in the narrative #he was a character who opened my eyes to the theme of cycles in jjk #all that perpetuating the cycle which he himself was a victim of stuff #all that said #i can't stand him #i hate him and everything he did SO MUCH #jjk meta

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bunniekittiee · 7 months

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heaven beside you- johnny slaughter x reader

Warning: DEAD DOVE, suicidal reader, suicide, abuse, Johnny is a POS again.

18+ MDNI

The gentleness in those rough, calloused hands sickened her to the core. The same hands that mutilated her friends in cold blood were the same ones he used to give her pleasure, abuse her, caress her. He feigned innocence at the beginning of her capture, always being sweet with that Southern talk he made to reel her in. Made her fall in love. But that innocence rotted away like her friends did in that basement. As time passed, he began to show more and more of his untrustworthiness. He was only gentle when he wanted something from her, and she had no other choice but to obey.

It was hard when the only person she relied on was a monster. A monster who raked his claws into her body, savoring her taste and licking his chops. The monster that stared at her with steel, cold eyes. No signs of fondness. He only wanted her for himself, making sure the others knew she was not for them. It was isolating.

It took a toll. Eventually she slept through many hours of the day, barely awake when he was ravaging her body. Sleep was an escape, she dreamed of what could not be. She saw her friends, happy in a field of flowers, sunflowers. When she was dreaming, the emptiness dissipated. But as soon as she opened her eyes, realizing she was not with her friends or family, it seeped back into her body.

She was always tired. Tired of being stuck in that decaying room, tired of being chained up like a rabid animal, tired of being a play thing for a murderous man, tired of this life. She wanted to move on, she was not welcome in this life anymore as it had been overridden with tangled weeds. It was not hers anymore. But he noticed that his little bunny was not who she once was.

“Why are ya’ always sleepin’?” he asked her one day, tapping her face with an open palm. “Ya’ always asleep when I see ya’. I miss ya’.”

But she knew he did not miss her. The serpent was speaking his lies again into her ear, just as the serpent convinced Eve to eat the Forbidden Fruit. She did not reply back, she stared at him with vacant eyes. And he stared back.

The routine had changed up for the first time one day. Instead of Johnny bringing her a plate of an unknown meat that made her queasy, it was Bubba. He sauntered in, a little nervous and she perked up immediately. Bubba was one of the more “nicer” ones of the family as he did not make an effort to make her more miserable. He grunted as he set the plate down, glancing at her.

“Hey,” she rasped.

Bubba looked at her, tilting his head slightly for her to continue.

“I have a favor to ask.”

He side-eyed the door, afraid Johnny would come in and see them interacting. Bubba heeded his warning and stayed away from his prisoner because he was afraid of what Johnny would do. He groaned worriedly.

“Kill me.” she said as she crawled to him. “Kill me now. Please, please put me out of my misery.” Her eyes were glossy, the first signs of emotion she had shown in a long time.

Bubba began to sound frantic. He shook his head quickly, stepping back away from her.

“Please, you don’t understand. I need to die. There is no other way to this, please kill me.” she begged. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Shaking his head again, Bubba turned to leave the room. He ignored her weeping so he did not feel guilty. But he did anyways, he did not want her to cry. He felt like he was at fault for her outburst.

She cried just like she did when she realized all of her friends were dead. She sobbed for the girl who died in her, now left with an empty shell of a used, broken body. The boy did not play with his toys nicely, he liked to break them into pieces and glue them back together, only to break them again. Break the brittle porcelain and smile at the mess he made.

The thoughts of suicide never left her head. There was a lot of time to ponder and think about it before she was taken back to her sanctuary she created in her brain.

Johnny knew he broke her, and he viewed it as a success. To him, it was his usual game. Why show mercy for a play thing? He never played nice, he was known for that. Sometimes he wondered if it was even a good idea to have her in the first place, but he was reminded of the goodness of it when he sank inside of her. Nancy often pestered him to kill the girl, but he was not finished with her. She was an unfinished art project that needed a few more touches. Just as Bubba made masks and Nubbins snapped pictures, Johnny was an artist in his own way. He enjoyed defiling women and turning them inside out. The empty eyes of a broken spirit stroked his ego and made his body tingle in excitement. He got off on making individuals miserable, cackling at their pleas and the fresh, hot blood that spilled from the crevices of their corpse.

She felt like a corpse herself. The bunny stopped fighting when trapped in the jaws of the wolf, she accepted her fate. She wished he had killed her like he did her friends. They would be rotting together, whether it was in the bellies of her captors or where they disposed what was left of them. Johnny mocked her when she cried for her friends. He slapped her and told her to “close her damn lips before he glued them together”. The tears continued to fall, but the cries were quieted down in fear of him. He liked to throw his intimidation around and terrorize her when he could. Whether it was waving body parts in her face, forcing her to eat “jerky”, cutting into her body with his knife, or abusing her repeatedly, Johnny took pride in his creation. Sometimes he took pictures of her and stashed them away for his own viewing. She was his pretty girl, his own art piece.

There was a thought that crossed her mind that God did not shine his light upon the hellish beast that the Sawyers called “home”. Within it, it felt void of any saving, and with the amount of times she cried for the Lord, he did not answer back. The only Lord that answered her calls was his creation of man who laughed in her face.

“Ya’ think God is going to save ya’?” he giggled as he waved the knife in her face. “God doesn’t do any savin’ around here, the only God ya’ worship is me. There ain’t no God that will touch this place, for the Devil already marked it as his sanctuary.”

Debating on her thoughts, she stared at the ceiling unblinking as he slept peacefully next to her. Her lower half throbbed from his perverted touch and she could not sleep. Her brain was running a thousand miles per hour, wishing and hoping for a new beginning. Maybe she could grant herself that, she deserved it after all she put up with him. Her skin burned when he fondled her, like a demon would when a crucifix was placed upon their skin. The Devil snored quietly next to her like a predator would with his prey confined between its jowls. She wondered if he awakened during his slumber to watch her.

Maybe God did watch upon this Hell. Johnny released her from her restraints, saying she had been doing very good lately and would be granted just a small fraction of freedom. She was grateful, but her brain worked at the many ways she could leave. She felt guilty for feeling this way because some part of her loved him. When he was gentle for only mere moments, he kissed her softly, he smiled at her with amusement, he cuddled her close to him and left small kisses along her throat. Those times he did that, she wanted to stay. She wanted it to be like that forever. But just as quick as he could kill, he was just as quick at switching his moods. When he laid kisses upon her throat, he bit down to draw blood and shock her. When he kissed her, he chewed at her lip roughly and sucked on her blood. When he smiled at her, his smile morphed into an evil, dark smile. When he cuddled her, he dug his fingernails into her soft body and left claw marks. It reminded her that he was not someone to love, but someone to be terrified of.

It was a chilly November evening. They sat at the table together to eat dinner with the rest of the family. They studied her as she chewed slowly to prevent herself from getting sick. They were not used to her sitting at the table with them to eat after Johnny had kept her away from them for so long. However, he made it clear to not talk to you. You were only his, they did not need to converse with you. Sissy annoyed Johnny about it, getting under his skin on purpose and smiling at his clenched fists and the sharp clatter of his utensils. Bubba stole small glances at you but avoided your gaze. It was better he did not look, he did not want to anger the beast. Nubbins and Chop Top giggled at the table as they watched your frightened form shake as Johnny became more angry. He was like a bomb ready to explode as the vein in his forehead throbbed and his jaw clenched.

Dinner was a long ordeal, and it was very tense with the way the family continued to irritate the Slaughter boy. She was fearful. She knew that once the door to his room closed, he would devour her. And she was scared for the first time in a while. Clenching her wrist, he dragged her from her chair and upstairs, making her stumble along the steps as he hurriedly pulled her with him. His grip was tight, and it activated the rope burns that had melted into her skin like wax.

Throwing her into the room, he slammed the door shut. His breathing was uneven as his eyes glistened with animosity.

“All of this is your fuckin’ fault.” he spat as he wrenched a hand into her scalp. “If ya’ hadn’t come around here in the first place, I wouldn’t have ta’ hear my family’s yappin’.

She stayed silent. It was best to not argue back. He never took it too lightly.

“They want me to kill ya’. They wonder all the time why I haven’t killed ya’. I’m not so sure myself either.” Johnny bore into her soul. “There ain’t no other purpose to ya’ besides fuckin’ the stupidity out of ya’ and usin’ ya.”

Glistening with tears, her eyes did not let them fall. She knew this already. She knew he did not love her. He never meant anything he said. Yet, it hurt her, it deeply punctured her heart. She felt herself losing the ability to breathe as her heart cracked, her mind replaying his words over and over.

“If I had to do it all over again, I would have kept your other friend instead of ya. Or I would have killed ya’.” He watched to see her reaction to his words, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction. He enjoyed hurting her. But she could not hold back.

“I hate you.” she cried out. “I fucking hate you.”

He laughed. “Not as much as I fucking hate ya.” He pushed her onto the ground. “Did ya’ really think I loved ya’? Seriously, what ever gave ya’ that idea?”

“I don’t know, Johnny, maybe all the times you told me I was your ‘pretty girl’ or the times you actually treated me like a normal human being!” she screamed, her tears flowing down her face as he watched her breakdown. “You are fucked in the head. You are insane!”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, bitch.” he replied as he began to take his belt off. “I don’t like this attitude ya’ suddenly developed.”

Rage. Rage filled her entire body to the brim and radiated off of her. She had so much pent up anger and she did not care what he did to her. She wanted him to be pissed, to be distraught just like her.

“Fuck you, you fucking dick!”

Johnny snapped his belt and frowned. “Bad decision, Y/N.”

She never received corporal punishment as a child, for she was a good girl. Even if she did cause issues, her parents did not believe in hitting their child. So she never experienced it before, until now. The belt cut into her skin as he slammed it onto her body repeatedly. Sometimes it got her face, her arms, her legs, her stomach, wherever he could hit. She tried to back up but she hit the wall, and he stepped closer to her. She wailed in pain and anger, like a pissed off cat in heat.

Kicking her feet out, she struck his shin. Hissing in pain, he threw the belt to the side. “Oh ya’ gonna’ get it now, ya’ fuckin’ bitch.”

“Fuck you.” she said sternly, not backing down. “Fuck you and your whole family.”

She could barely remember his fist colliding with her face. She thrashed her body around, kicking her limbs wildly as she did so. She hoped it would hurt him just as her nose ached from his punch. Warm blood poured and smeared across her face as he landed another punch on her face. Another one went into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. She wheezed and she felt her lungs squeeze every last bit of air out. He was not done, but she was tired of it. He had done this long enough.

Charging up her elbow, she slammed it into his crotch. Johnny chomped down on his lower lip, immediately tasting iron in his mouth as he felt himself go dizzy. His face felt hot and the nausea tensed his stomach up. Getting into his knees, he tried to fight the nausea away. His vision was blurry as he could see her get up quickly from the floor and dash to the door. He reached out to grab her but failed, falling onto his face. His attempts of crawling were futile as he had to wait out his pain. He was pissed, but he could not act out due to the fact he could not walk currently. That bitch was going to pay.

The bunny hopped down the stairs while holding her ribs, her wide eyes searching for an exit point. She knew she could not escape with the condition she was in, but she knew that she could leave her vessel behind. The rest of the family were nowhere to be seen so far.

Sprinting out the back door the best she could, she made her way to one of the sheds they had. If Johnny could tie her up, then she knew they had what she was looking for. She was terrified of Johnny finding her. However, this life was not for her anymore. It had been consumed by the wolf and she could not take it anymore. He was so selfish. So vain.

Johnny stumbled to his feet, his sensitive area throbbing in pain and the nausea still present in his stomach. Walking down the stairs, he clenched his jaw tightly. He was going to sniff out his prey again and maybe this time end it once and for all. She had given him enough grief and caused too much turmoil in his life since she decided to come along. He noticed the back door was cracked and the demented smile that came upon his face hurt.

With very little moon light shining upon the shed, she had some difficulty finding what she needed. However, her hands wrapped around the coarse thickness of it. Rope. She chuckled sadly. This is what it had come down to. Her only exit out of this place that gave her full control of her body once again. She did not know what that felt like anymore.

She peeked her head out the door to see if Johnny had come outside, but she did not see any sign of him. Now, she only had to climb up a tree and tie the knot. Quietly walking, she crouched and carved her pathway to the one of the bigger trees that could support her decision without stopping her from doing so. Sometimes, branches were weak. Here and there, she heard rustling in the bushes which made her heart race and her hair stand on end, but she continued to make her way to the tree. Then, she finally heard him.

“Hey there!” he cackled from the back door, eyes glistening with rage. “Where do ya’ think you’re goin’?”

She took off running towards the tree, hoping and praying that she could make it in time to climb before he could. He was still a little a ways from her and it would take him a bit longer to get to her since she had hurt him. But she knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Get back here!” Johnny yelled as he started stomping towards her.

With some difficulty, she crawled up the tree like a tarantula escaping the sight of a human being. Her lungs ached, the cuts stung, her nose was sticky with blood, and she was exhausted. She glanced back and saw that Johnny was still making his way to her. She still had a bit of time. She settled in the highest trees branch that even Johnny would not be able to cut her down from the ground.

She moved her hands as fast as she could, tying the knots and securing it tightly. This would not fail her. She was going to get out of here. Not alive, but she would be reunited with her friends once again. Frolicking in a field of sun flowers together and laughing at random nonsense. Her eyes watered with tears as she began to laugh manically. Balancing on the tree branch, she began to walk to the edge of it to tie the end of it to the thick branch.

Johnny could not tell what she was holding in her hands, but he was extremely frustrated that he could not move any faster because of how much pain he was in. He tried running, but it hurt badly. The bitch really got to him, got the upper hand on him. He neared the tree but still had difficulty making out what she was holding or going to do.

Her success was nearing within the minutes. She looked down and saw Johnny was getting much closer now, so she had to act fast. Sliding her neck through the knot, she studied the ground as the tree branch creaked from the weight. Tears fell as she smiled. She would be free. She would be with her friends again. She would be at peace. No more Johnny. No more cannibalism. No more crazy families or bloodbaths. No more hurt. No more pain. She was looking forward to it. Lifting one foot and hanging it off the edge, she smiled once more before plunging down.

Johnny’s heart stopped. His breathing hitched as he heard that familiar cracking sound. The sound of a broken ligament. His eyes settled upon her hanging body, unmoving. He could not move right away. His body did not let him.

Until he let out a scream of agony, one that a person would hear from a mountain lion in the woods. It echoed back to him, the night sky glittered with stars taunting him. She was too far up for him to reach her from where he was at, so he hurriedly climbed up the tree. He forgot the pain in his crotch, what hurt more was the pain in his heart. One that he buried a long time ago.

He shimmied along the branch and slipped out his knife, sawing away at the rope. He felt like he was going to faint. Her body toppled to the ground with a sickening thud, but Johnny knew. He knew she was not there anymore. She was just a corpse now. But he wanted to believe that she was still there. Practically jumping off the tree, he raced to her body and fell to his knees, running his hands over her body to feel her heart beat. A sign of life. Yet there was nothing, nothing reflected back to him.

“Why…” he whispered. “Why did ya’ abandon me like this?”

Picking up her body carefully, he cradled her close to him. Something he never did when she was alive. Her head was moved to an unnatural position as the rope had snapped parts of her vertebrae and neck.

Sissy had heard his cry of pain, but she was not ready to be faced with her family member holding their “lover’s” body. Staring at the girl’s corpse, she opened her mouth to say something but Johnny pushed past her. He was shaking, whether it was from rage, sadness, or anguish, Sissy was not sure. But she was sure that the woman he held was not alive anymore. The rope burned itself into her neck and colored it blue and black. The girl’s face was pale, eyes hazed over with no signs of life.

“She… she abandoned me.” Johnny said as he laid her body on the table. “She abandoned me.”

Sissy stood in the door way when Nancy came into the dining room. Her eyes laid upon the body and she sighed. “I told ya’ she was a bad idea.”

Johnny’s eyes were glossy. “Mama… why did she abandon me? She left me…”

“Well sweet pea, her and ya’ other mother have somethin’ in common.” she replied flatly. “There ain’t no sense in worrying about it. She was just a girl. Nothin’ special about her.”

“She was my girl.”

“Yes, and so were about fifty other ones too.”

He stayed silent. His brain ran wildly. Why did she leave him like this? His biological mother left him too, just like Nancy said. Left him near a garbage bin to rot away. But Nancy, savior Nancy, saved the young boy.

Now, who would save him from this? He did not want another woman right now, he wanted the one he had adjusted to. He wanted her. But she was laying upon the dining room table with pallid, bruised skin and a broken spine. He wanted to cry but he did not allow himself to. Not here, not now.

“It’s best to forget her, boy. She was nothin’ but trouble. It was bound to happen, Johnny. Ya’ cant trust anyone outside of family. Otherwise, ya’ will be abandoned over and over.” Nancy said as a final warning to her son. “It’s not your fault, ya’ can’t control who leaves ya’.”

Her words stabbed into his heart. Johnny knew he was easy to abandon. His mother did it first, and now she did it. It made him feel helpless, like he had no control of his life.

Nancy left the room and Sissy continued to watch as Johnny picked the stiff body up and began to slowly tread up the stairs, his footsteps sounding haunting. She felt herself hurting as well. She was not sure why, but she did.

Treating her with more gentleness than he did when she was alive, he carefully settled her onto the mattress. The mattress she laid on waiting for him to come back from his chores. The mattress she slept with him on. Now, she was nothing but a memory.

“Why did ya’ abandon me?” he choked out, feeling like his younger self wondering why his biological mother left him to die. “What made ya’ think you could do that?”

No response.

“You left me…”

Silence.

Revolting silence.

“Why did you do this to me?”

#johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter #tcm johnny #slashers #slasher community #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #horror

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marximoff · 2 years

Text

i just feel you | w. maximoff

summary: when you return to your family, ghosts from the past keep you from moving foward.

warnings: mentions of smut, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, canon typical violence, so much angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 9k

A/N: this one is part two of "as it was", and honestly i don't know how many chapters this fic will have, but once it's established i'll put it all into a series.

until then, enjoy!

|series masterlist|

|part one||part three||part four||part five||part six|

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

You leave a few crumpled bills in the rough palm of the grim-faced driver before opening the tin door and stepping out of the vehicle in a state of complete silence.

He starts the car and drives away, quickly and quiet; you see only a silhouette of the vehicle fading into the distance, vanishing until it gets small and goes missing into the horizon.

With shrewd eyes, you look back and forth along the empty street, your worn-out pair of sneakers stomping softly on a tuft of green grass; enormous brown and green trees and large, comfy houses lined up as far as the eye can see – the New Jersey suburbs have always been calm and welcoming, with an air of serenity and a perfect pleasant environment for the consolidation of a family; for raising children, for the establishment of a longstanding and solid family nucleus.

An ideal location to let the kids romp outside until sunset, to have weekly neighborhood barbeques and to attend carnivals with the whole family during festive seasons.

A domestic atmosphere indeed.

It reminds you of your own childhood – your parents, your dog.

Comfortable.

Maybe that's why Wanda decided to move to Westview with the boys some time ago, when the pair were still vulnerable little babies, still immaculate and inexperienced, longing for her own children the perks stolen from her in childhood, when she was so young and so innocent – at the time, you already were no longer included in her plans, but you were fully aware that this was all your fault and not hers.

You sigh, your gaze migrating toward the two-story house across the street; a compilation of empty windows stares back at you, silently judging your presence like you're a misplaced filth, something inapt that doesn't deserve to be there in the first place.

The walls are painted a pale aqua-green, interspersed with streaks of white paint, and the closed door is like a sickening, somber metaphor for your miserable life – your family is all tucked inside, all of them under that same roof, breathing the same air and eating the same food, and you are outside, watching, not daring to open the raised door between you and them.

Even if the weather is pretty warm in the middle of the spring morning, you wear a dated leather jacket over a slightly worn tank top that was the first clean piece of clothing you found in your closet; and, with your left hand, you search for something inside the inner pocket of your jacket.

Something to calm your nerves down.

The tips of your clever fingers successfully find what they were looking for, because you pull a crumpled pack of cigarettes halfway out of your pocket, and from inside you pull out a small white cylinder and slip it through the gaping breach between your lips without making it a ceremony.

Smoking cigarettes, for you, is an ordinary (hollow) everyday act.

You plan on reaching for a silver lighter in the back pocket of your jeans, but you give up on the idea before you even make it. Something deliberates on your heart as an oscillation of realism washes all over you. You run the palm of one hand over the length of your face, and the urge is to deliver a punch against your own stomach as you do so.

“…Shit” you utter to yourself, closing your eyes for just a second “What the fuck, Y/N…”

You're going to see your kids, you think, so what the fuck do you think you're doing? Wanda would hate for you to get close to the boys and bring your obscure, depressing cloud of cigarettes and melancholy into their innocent world; ten-year-olds shouldn't know what self-pity is.

And you think Wanda has enough reason to hate you; because, in fact, she has.

You then put the cigarette back in the pack before finally tucking it into your jacket pocket again. A groan slips from your uncheerful lips, and without much enthusiasm to do so, you hide both your hands in your pockets before walking lethargically towards the front door of the house.

Every step is an agony, raising and lowering your knees, and the closer you get, the more that place seems to push you away like an invisible shield – you want to escape, because that's what you do. You tuck your tail between your legs and turn your back on like the coward that you are.

Standing on the porch, facing the dark oak door of your ex-wife's house, you consider that you might as well turn and flee, and she would never know you were even there. That you ran away again.

But no, you think, you can't abandon them (one more time). Not when they need you most.

And it is with that thought hammering in your mind that you raise your right hand and, being seized by a sudden acidic angst that gnaws at the walls of your compressed stomach, you press the digit of your stretched index finger against the bell switch.

The sound that then resonates inside the house seems to reverberate inside the cavities of your own bones, and your tongue seems to be too big to fit inside your mouth. You feel your knees throbbing with an impassive desire to elope, but you just stand there, stiffened on the porch, waiting.

And waiting.

And then, the door opens.

Your stomach scrunches inside you because you see her there, standing in front of you like the painting you aimed to see inside a museum exhibit.

Wanda.

At this point in life, having been through so much in so little time, she no longer dyes her hair a coppery red, so the brunet color of the silky brown locks you see harks back to your past, when you were just two teenagers playing lovers, exploring and getting to know each other's bodies like if you were attentively scrutinizing a map, and your heart crams inside your rib cage.

A nasty wave of nostalgia fills your lungs, pouring homesickness into your bloodstream. You miss Wanda so much it hurts inside your bones.

But Wanda is no longer a teenager, and neither are you.

She's older, prettier, more mature, more centered.

Her face swelled into firmer, more polished features, with a sharper jaw and more prominent cheekbones, becoming more oval and less round, less childlike with her age; but the little freckles speckled here and there on her attractive face are still kissable and tempting – you remember you used to kiss them before bed, and your heart feels heavyweight inside your chest.

Teen Wanda's burning passion, however, was mostly undermined by adult Wanda's unsympathetic disinterest – by the downbeat feelings that had blossomed within her over the years, all conceived towards you. But you understand her, and you don’t hold any grudges about it.

After all, you were the one who abandoned her with two kids to raise alone in the first place, after the perishing and eventual return (after a five-year time window) of half the universe.

But she looks your way, aiming at you with that greenish gaze as she did so many years ago, during the fierce battle that spanned all of Novi Grad in the outdated Sokovia, and you swallow hard, being peered up and down by the excruciating sight of your ex-wife.

But there's a trace of weariness in the dusky green of her irises.

You want to be her safe haven again, her calm and hope, the love of her life. But you just press your lips together and clench your fingers into fists, to censor your urge to lift your hands and touch Wanda's exhausted face.

“Hey Wanda” you greet her in a low voice when she doesn't do it to you first.

"Y/N" she then murmurs in your direction, upper teeth digging into the contour of her lower lip "You look okay"

"You look fine"

You two lie to each other (because you two have the fullest notion that you both look drained and exhausted, and you are aware that your face is thin and pale and that there are deep pockets of tiredness under your world-weary eyes), and then silence settles between you like a third person present in your conversation, haunting both of you to your souls.

She steps to the side and opens the doorway wider, reservedly giving way to you.

“Wanna come in?”

And then you sigh. Your stomach is in knots. But you look into her eyes, and she into yours. And then you nod your head in consent.

“I- I would love to. I want to, yes"

ᗢ

It was a pouring night, that second hazy early hours spent that month in Dundee, on the east coast of Scotland, just at the mouth of the river Tay. The city was vast and full of activity, and it had been about a year since you last took shelter in Scottish territory – so much had changed, in fact, that you could barely keep account with the events.

For you and your wife, it seemed like a good plan to adopt the tactic of hiding in plain sight, just two strange faces in the big, undistinguished crowd.

Wanda liked Europe, of course – the green and the gray, the mountains so tall that they seemed to want to break through the shadowy sky.

It reminded her of home, a place that no longer belonged to her (as a fugitive wanderer, roots were not a reality in her daily life; with the accession of Sokovian territory by adjacent countries after the fall of Novi Grad, the meaning of home, for Wanda, was wherever you were present).

The sky was gray and grizzled during the torrential, glittering rain, and it was past ten o'clock at night when you sat up in the coziness of the bed to read the pages of a novel; a cup of black coffee placed at the side of your right elbow, just up of a bedside table beside your side of the bed, with little clouds of steam floating in the air.

You hadn't even skimmed through more than two chapters interspersed with a few nips of warm coffee when your wife walked into the comfortable room, half lit by a pair of yellowed lamps, and moved toward the glass-enclosed window, standing there, watching the water droplets running diagonally through the clouded glass.

“Wanda…?”

You called to her, taking your eyes from the words spilled across the pages of your book to stare toward the dark silhouette of your wife; long, auburn hair falling toward her back, locks lit by the streetlights outside, like a cascade of wildfire.

She didn't answer you right away; Wanda seemed to be in a daze, not even having heard you. You closed the book and set it on top of the sheets, got up cautiously, and stepped carefully toward her.

“Wanda, love?”

"Y/N..."

Her greenish gaze shifted from her own reflection in the glass to looking in your direction.

She was wrapped in a thick gray wool sweater and her legs were dressed in soft, cotton pajama shorts—and in that way, she looked perfect in your eyes.

You raised your hands and held her face by the sharp sides.

“Is that again? That… that feeling?”

"Yes" she rested her cheek against the warm caress of your left palm, seeming to relax her shoulders inside the wool sweater "Yes, malyshka, I... I can still feel it, it’s like it’s talking to me. It’s just so… so loud, Y/N"

It had been a few days since Wanda told you that she felt a stiffness in her chest, a certain uneasiness that went beyond the limitations of her corporeal existence – a feeling of foreboding reverberating in the magic spots within her own core, agonizing anxiety and chaos magic echoing inside her all at once.

You suppose it would be something to do with the Mind Stone, the source of all her power; and therefore, to the other Avengers, or, to put it even more accurately, something concerning the Vision.

The sustenance of your theory was because Wanda could sense the synthezoid whose body was the receptacle of the Infinity Stone – he was like her second birth brother as a being made of pure chaos magic.

Having been without news from your other teammates for a few days, it was conceivable that the connection created from the magical bond between Wanda and Vision alerted her to something that even she couldn't be completely sure of what it was.

It was as if some invisible force was stealing the oxygen that filled her lungs.

“Tell me how you feel now”

You asked her, still caressing the skin of her face, touching a small mole beside the right side of her sharp cheekbones.

But Wanda took your hand with her own fingers, bringing it close to her pearly lips so that she could thus place a kiss on the gold band placed by herself on your ring finger, your wedding band (one of the symbols of your bond with her), before lowering her face to sprinkle another warm kiss on the bundle of skin found at the tender junction between your palm and wrist.

“I just feel you”

She still didn't seem in a serene state of mind as she cupped your face by the sides, pulling your head towards hers so that you two could share a slow, lingering kiss; the predominant slowness in the act, just to seal, between your tangled tongues, the promise that everything would be all right, that you would be there for her, and she would do the same for you.

You sighed.

The synchronicity of the twins was such that the children's whimpers soon became a single harmony of cries and screams reverberating through the thin walls of the small apartment.

"I'll check on the boys, all right? Don’t worry" you whispered against her lips, a small trickle of saliva breaking between your mouths.

She nodded her head.

"Okay"

“Love you, little witch”

You placed one more tiny peck against the corner of her mouth before pulling away for good; Wanda felt the immediate lack of the intimate heat of your body against hers, and suddenly went cold.

She followed you with her gaze as you crossed the room, until you walked out the door and turned down the hall towards the yells of your newborn children.

And then she craned her neck, looking thoughtfully back at the rain pouring down over the city. And she whispered to the wind, more a murmur than a sentence.

“I love you too, Y/N”

A thunder erupted through the darkness of the night.

ᗢ

“So, there's a 10 AM train to Glasgow to give us more time before we go”

Wanda notified you one night a few days later, her arm hooked through yours as the two of you walked side by side across the chill, interlocking brick of an avenue well lit by white streetlamps—both wearing thick winter coats on your bodies, your wife much more used to the excruciating, bone-chilling European cold than you ever were.

At that moment, the twins were not more than four months old; still infantile and raw, only acquainted by the presence of each other (from the womb) and the gentle supports of their maternal caresses; there was so much for them to do, and a whole world to get to know.

Fighting side by side on a frontline was quite different than raising two newborn children as first-time parents, but together you could handle the new tribulations incumbent upon you. And every day with your wife and newborn children was a new experience.

Slow, frugal walks to the preludes to the soft twilight were often taken after the children came, accompanied by the scent of cinnamon and tea emanating from Wanda and your little Billy and Tommy.

But, that night, it was by the silver glint of moonlight targeting the parallel structures of the city that you walked as a family; this turned out to be your new means of acquiring your daily doses of physical exercise as parents.

“What if we” you breathed, still a little hesitant in your speech “What if we miss that train?”

“There's one at 11”

"Wanda, what if this time we just... just missed all the trains?" you stopped walking, and so did she.

The stroller stopped turning its plastic wheels and you turned your gaze to your wife, staring into her intriguing greenish eyes.

“What if we didn't leave this time?”

"Y/N..." she hesitated for half a second, but it was enough for you to see the glint of hope in the green of her irises giving way to a shadow of distress and concern "You... you know we can't. You gave your word to Steve and Natasha, and so did I. Even more so now, with the boys... We can't, malyshka. We both made promises”

"Yes, but I also made a promise to you" your hands traveled gently towards her shoulders, holding her so that you both sustain a constant eye contact.

Her hands didn't take long to brush the sides of your waist, fingers adorned in rings stroking you through the thick fabric of your dark jacket.

“All this time we've been stealing these moments, trying to see if this, our family, could work. And it works"

"It works," she agreed, a lovely half smile plastered to the pulp of her lips, tenderness brimming with the greenness of her passionate eyes.

"It works" you exclaimed, smiling too.

“When we don't run away or hide, when we just live our lives like any other family out there, even despite this situation, it works – you, me and the boys, we work. And maybe running from place to place was the right thing to do when it was just the two of us, but with Billy and Tommy it's different. They deserve stability. They deserve a home to grow up in and call their own. They didn't ask to be born to two runaways in a world that is divided about their parents, but they certainly deserve more, much more, than all of this. They deserve a home. We deserve a home, darling”

"Y/N..." she seemed to contemplate, pondering. The half smile on her lips perished quickly.

"Let's stay, Wanda. Stay with me"

She spread her mouth so she could answer you, but the response never came, having drained out of her throat.

A thunderous explosion echoed, loud and reverberating in the distance, a burst fending through the night, like the roar of a fierce dragon, spitting flames of scalding fire.

You frowned in a blend of apprehension and notorious misunderstanding; Wanda raised a ready hand in promptness, eyes burning a watchful shade of scarlet red, a crimson mist encircling her fingers at once; an instinctive protection for her children and her wife branching swiftly into the young enchantress who stood, in a defensive posture, by the stroller that held her two precious boys.

You felt your muscles strained like a smooth sheet of metal as another blast split the silence of the night, this time sounding even closer and more menacing, as the portent of the coming calamity.

"Fuck, I'm starting to think we should have stayed in bed"

A heavy thud, like a bowling ball falling to the ground, sounded booming as something imploded from the structure of a nearby building, hurling itself onto the solid ground next to you and Wanda.

Between pieces of rafters and wood and brick, covered in dust and soot, was Vision's metallic body, red and green and yellow clashing with Dundee's gray floor, as if paint cans had been spilled onto the pavement's dull bricks. On the synthezoid's torso, a golden diagonal glow pointed to a slit in his green suit that hadn't been closed even with his regenerative abilities.

The twin babies started crying in their stroller because of the bang. The joints of Wanda's limbs stiffened in concern.

"V-Vision?!" you moved towards the ragged synthesoid, holding him by the arm so you could help him to his feet and out of the crater caused by the impact of his own metallic body against the ground “Vis!”

His long golden cloak behind his large shoulders was muddy and frayed, like a dirty mop.

Wanda, however, was stagnant near the crying children and wouldn't be leaving anytime soon; that sick feeling in her chest was back, swallowing her up inside.

“M-Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff” he whimpered, bewildered, instinctively pressing his red palm against the distended fissure in his greenish abdomen, his piercing blue eyes looking horrifically in your direction “Protect yourselves, please, protect yourselves. They followed me here”

“They who, Vision?” you asked him in a sharp tone, full of tension “Who are they?”

"The Stone warned me about them" the robot man mussed in an uneasy timber of voice, chatting more to himself than to you properly "The- the Stone… the Stone warned me..."

“Yes, I felt it too” your wife whispered in a grim tone of voice, though not looking at the synthezoid, her gaze fixed like a vigilant watch dog in the direction Vision had been flung.

“Y/N, get the boys and Vision and take them to a safe place"

Your children continued to cry, and for half a second you felt a burning desire to do so with them.

“W-what?! No, no way, no!” you gestured arduously towards her "Wanda, I'm not leaving you!"

“Y/N, please” and then she turned towards you; the sober green of her eyes was clouded by the tears compressed there “Let me take care of my family, detka”

ᗢ

Wanda Maximoff is a great mother to your children.

The kind of mother who kisses their sore bruises, bakes warm cookies to congratulate them on some new achievement, sings them lullabies before tucking them into their beds with good night kisses, and knows how to treat a cold or, in the worst case, a terrible fever (with ginger and honey tea and black radish – or, as her mother used to call it in her native language, "chyornaya redka").

And you, well… you pay child support on the correct days, and you don't forget about their birthday.

There's never even been any doubt about the fact that your ex-wife is one of those people who were born to have a child (to play the role of a mother figure in a child's life), of course, but even so, you can't help but gaze with an air of tenderness at the picture frames that hang around the length of a high wall. Your stomach feels heavy.

The pictures greeted you with a warm welcome as soon as you entered the house, following closely behind your soundless ex-wife – fearing that it was indeed a crime on your part to roam within the walls of that home while unaccompanied by the figure of Wanda.

Like you're not welcome there at all.

But it makes sense, after all, you never lived there with them. Your books weren’t piled up on the shelves, your pillows weren’t managed on the sofa, your favorite mug is not kept in any cupboard. Your favorite cereal isn't in the storeroom and your preferred ice cream flavor isn't in the freezer. Your jacket isn't hanging inside her closet. Your blanket is not on her bed.

There is no trace of you inside Wanda's home.

It is the most diverse photographs displayed there on the wall, however, that immediately catch your attention; your meticulous eyes look towards the dozen portraits, and in them the boys are everywhere, smiling, pointing, showing something or just playing like the jovial children that they are.

There are holidays, parties and domestic situations eternalized with all the warmth of a mother's gaze symbolized in the molds of photographs; it doesn't take more than a glance for you to notice that each and every moment summarized by the lens of a camera, hanging there as an eternal reminder of that burning sensation in her chest (love), deals with situations in which Wanda would wish to always remember, keeping to herself the memory recorded on small pieces of paper, saving the remnants of moments to when she would like to reminisce about the twin boys' lives.

She is monitoring your children in most of the photos, being a figure that exudes affection, always accompanying them while carrying the most genuine of loving smiles on her face; they are kissing her cheeks and she is hugging them most of the time.

From the other images, the twins are either together, or next to at least one member of your old circle of friends.

You are not present at all at first, and the full notion of it is an unpalatable truth, too bitter to swallow – but which sinks easier to the pit of your stomach when steeped in whiskey or brandy.

But then, there is a photograph almost hidden among the others, looking a little timid, but which you quickly recall the moment as soon as there is a second of hesitation and recognition on the part of your own memory. And you let a small, dejected grin take care of the contour of your lips, the immediate sensation is that of your heart melting within your chest.

It's a photograph that you took yourself, a few hours after the birth of your tiny children so many years ago, on the backs of that comfortable wooden cottage built on former Sokovian territory.

The picture portrayed is a little dusky because most of the lamps that lightened the hovel were shattered during the exhausting hours that Wanda spent in an excruciating labor, but the small brightness is enough to find, in there, a couple of full-sized, genuine smiles on both the faces of the young first-time mothers – a youthful couple who could barely look away from the newborns or even each other in that moment so intimate, so pleasant.

The bundle cuddled in the protection of Wanda's arms is Billy, the last one she gave birth to, and he finds himself clad in a pale blue jumpsuit, supplanted by her chest like a puppy seeking its mother's bodily warmth. The grumpy little figure dressed just like him, standing on your own prop, is a tearful Tommy with his mouth open exposing some rosy, toothless gums, both brothers not having more than a couple of hours of existence in this world when the photo was taken.

The young Wanda in the photograph still wore her old locks dyed in a profuse copper color, and her sweaty head rested tenderly on the length of your right shoulder. She was just so peaceful that it ached in your guts.

You feel your heart constrict inside your heavy chest.

But the worse feeling takes over soon after, without giving you a measly second to recover from the initial shock; because, right next to that homely family photograph, there is an image of a Natasha Romanoff sitting on a gray sofa, with baby Tommy supported just to the left leg of the former spy, while baby Billy is sitting on the opposite side of his brother, just to Natasha's right kneecap (both the assassin's hair, cut short to above her shoulder height, and the strands of her very sharp eyebrows, were bleached from the original auburn coloring to give way to a shade of blonde as bright as the sun).

(You remember hurling that same picture frame against the wall, blasting it into dozens of shards right after Tony Stark's funeral, days after Thanos' defeat and the return of those who were blipped five years before that same day)

You recall that day pictured in that photograph, after the Vision's assault on Scotland. When the rest of your team rescued you all before it was too late, that being the first time both Steve and Natasha had ever gotten to know the twins.

You miss them.

ᗢ

“Please tell me that at least one of them would be named Natasha if he was a girl”

The former assassin grinned affably, holding in her embrace little Billy who was peering with his curious gaze towards a face he had never seen before in his life, otherwise than through the square screen of a cellphone - trying to decipher her, even at such a young age, trying to understand her and find out about the role she would fit in his still so recent life.

(Steve and Sam were playing with baby Tommy not far from Wanda's maternal gaze)

You chuckled softly, nodding your head slightly, both your hands tucked under your armpits, interspersed with your forearms crossed just above your chest. You were one of the few people who knew Black Widow's innermost secret, of course; you knew all about her sudden weakness when around small children.

“Wanda prefers Talia”

“Talia?!”

Natasha replicated aloud while still holding your youngest son against her, turning a well-cut brow toward your wife who was standing beside your left elbow, a loving arm neatly wrapped around your waist. She gazed at Wanda and narrowed her eyes accusingly.

“Traitor”

ᗢ

"Mom!"

In the course of a sudden dizzying microsecond, your discernment about the whereabouts of the small body in a displacement occurs, only, when it is located just beyond a tiny distance from your position in front of the wall as you are, splitting through the oxygen molecules around you like a little blue comet; which, then, impacts against the middle of your body in a resounding compact thud, like a hammer blow to a wet cloth.

You're barely know what hits you, flinging you towards the front door.

There is an upright launch that, when it collides with the bottom of your rib cage, kicks you backwards in a ricochet, snatching, in a chain effect, the rest of your body. As a result of this, as in a domino effect, your forearm goes back and finally your shoulder, causing an inevitable fall with your back open against the wooden floor. A loud smash reverberates through the house. Wanda raises a worried hand toward you.

“Y/N!”

In a fearful squeal, like a startled mouse, Tommy sprints toward your, leaping, kicking his little heels across the floor, hoisting the kneecaps of his small slender knees up to his hips. The boy and Wanda stand side by side, and your concerned ex-wife offers you a hand to get you up.

"Mo-mom! Mom!" Tommy calls out to you, standing nervously just to Wanda's left side “Are you- are you okay?! Did I hurt you?! I-I, I'm really sorry, I-!”

“N-no, no, it’s okay Tom, it’s okay, don’t worry” you support the weight of your torso on your left elbow before finally sitting on the floor, hoisting a hand towards the grip offered by Wanda so you can stand up.

“Here, take my hand, Y/N”

The touch lasts for a measly second, and ends before you're even aware you've done it, even though the ghost of an electrical current has passed through your bloodstream, making you see a bright shade of red; but the familiar tingle is still there, creeping through your skin, and she feels it too because she soon tries to stroke her palm against the material on the side of her pants (a cute pair of clean mom jeans), in a failed attempt to erase the sensation of your warm hand squeezing her palm.

"It's okay, I just... I didn't... I wasn't expecting a hug that was... Uh, like that"

You look at Tommy and he looks overly vexed, his little hands fluttering in eagerness. Wanda soon comes to lay a caring hand on the boy's shoulder, offering him a slightly anxious little smile.

"Your mom’s fine, baby, she’s fine" and then she turns back to you, coercing cooperation on your part amidst a desperate look.

"You're fine, right, Y/N?"

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m all right. You... You're just stronger than I imagined, son" you then muffled under your breath, still a little dumbfounded.

Tommy is fast. And strong. Dangerously fast and strong.

"Sorry..." the boy whines, creasing his thin eyebrows “Mama said I should be more careful with other people now...”

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. I’m not like other people, you know that”

You cautiously approach him, and just like that, you touch the pale skin of his left cheek, dotted with a galaxy of tiny freckles.

Wanda once told you that, like your son after he was born, she herself had freckles during her childhood, but that they faded away as she grew up (she was pregnant at the time she told you, and you couldn't help but envision, with your head lying on the pillow just before bedtime, what a little girl would look like with your eyes and her nose, with her small chubby face all covered in freckles, dots sprinkled here and there on her childish cheekbones).

But Tommy just happened to be the next owner of the freckles after young Wanda.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Tommy. I'm fine, see? I’m fine. It was just a silly scare, that’s all. You caught me off guard there, young man”

“Promise?” The boy sniffles, still a little apprehensive about your physical condition.

But you smile, stroking the top of his head with your hand, messing up his medium-size brown hair as you do so.

“Uhum. I promise you, little dude” you wink with one eye towards the boy, just to calm his nerves down, and the act seems to work very well – because he flashes a wide smile in your direction after that.

His smile still looks like yours. You wonder if Wanda thinks about it too every time she sees Tommy smile.

“You know it takes a lot more than a small bump to bring your mother down, right?”

"Yeah, kickass!" the boy grins, back to his usual moods, but Wanda just frowns as if she wasn't sure what she'd just heard.

"Kickass...?" she undertones to herself, interspersing a curious look between you and your son.

“Yeah, Wanda, kickass” you smirk towards your ex-wife, but she doesn't take long to look away, so your eyes go back to the energic little boy in front of you “Where's your brother, Tom?”

Tommy turns to the stairs that rise just behind him.

“Billy! Mom’s here!”

And there’s the ten-year-old boy's intention to sprint upstairs, but before he can even pace onto the wood of the first step with the sole of his well-kept green sneakers, a red haze encircles his small childish body, levitating him like a balloon to a few inches above the carpeted floor.

Thomas floats as if led by the slim shoulders by some invisible entity in a tangled, uncertain, clumsy drape, stagnant in midair as he finds himself bound by invisible scarlet ropes. The boy's brown eyebrows twitch in confusion, and an upset veil spreads across his annoyed gaze, moving his arms and legs from side to side as he does so.

“H-hey! Mama! That’s not fair!”

Wanda has one hand raised toward your son, a grimace not so cheerfully demonstrated in her sharp facial features, the primal source of the same crimson mist lying entwined just at the length of her pale, elegant fingers – between its extensions there is no longer any ring to be seen, be it the usual adornments that she used to wear when she was younger or even the retired wedding ring.

The emptiness of her hand is a reflection of the same emptiness found within your core.

“Please Tommy, no running up the stairs, baby” she asks just once, before putting him back down in his feet with all the care in the world.

The boy nods, albeit in a bad way.

“I know, mama, I know” and then he turns back to the stairs, this time taking them one step at a time at a sliver of speed, still calling out to his younger twin brother “Bil-ly-yy!”

Before following your son upstairs, you glance at Wanda, wordlessly waiting for a nod from the other woman. But she just looks dreadfully drained, and barely signs silently for you to do so before pacing away to another room in the house. You then take a deep breath and slightly shakes your head before following the path previously traced by Tommy, one step at the time.

The boys will always be your priority.

You know which is the twins' room along the vast hallway, climbing the steps of the perpendicular staircase in zeal.

The hallway is covered in a languid flickering luminescence taken from the morning light, white walls lit by sunbeams, and you don't even have a hard time reaching the children's room. There, within those walls painted a profuse navy blue, there are two single beds in each corner of the room, but only one of them is occupied – the other is comfortably arranged, with pillows and plush toys neatly placed on its headboard.

Your stare, however, locates Tommy sitting on the red sheets of the bed to your right, carefully stroking a mound found under the covers that you just know is Billy (your confirmation comes from the way the other twin touches up the boy lying there, because Thomas was always quite zealous when it came to his younger brother).

"Billy" he murmurs under his breath, but even so the words reach your ears as you're standing in the doorway "Billy, mom’s here"

“I know” a small, fragile voice from under the covers replies to the information given to him by the other twin “Her thoughts are too loud”

And you recall adolescent Wanda, because when you were just young lovers attached onto each other's bodies, snuggled in her bed back in the compound, so many years before your children were even born, she was also afflicted by emotions far greater than what she would be able to handle – when establishing a family together was, for you both, just a remote wish in your core that you had not even had the courage to share with each other.

Your ex-wife used to say, in the obscurest days that plagued her disturbed mind, that everyone seemed thought too loudly and it was just too much for her, dozens of feelings echoing inside the fortifications of her cranium; she just wanted to curl up on the bed and disappear, because if she disappeared she would become the void, and in the void there would be no sound to bother her troubled brain.

You almost step on a plastic Spider-Man toy with your right foot as you approach the two little boys cuddled in bed.

“Hey, Bill” you call out to him in a diminutive tone of voice, showered with tenderness and complacency when you squat next to the boy on the bed.

“Hey, can you hear me buddy?”

As motherly custom requires, you sit down next to Tommy and snuggle close Billy's small body on the blandness of the bed, uncovering him from the duvet, revealing a pair of weeping eyes with irises similar in color to those that decorated the eyes of your deceased mother (a woman that none of them have ever met, whose face you no longer remember with clear precision).

"Hi, mommy"

You smile warmly, brushing the light-brown bangs away from his eyes with your bent right fingers. He still retains the same bone structure as Wanda, and you see the predominant Maximoff genetics sculpting, as much as his maturity allows, Billy's childish facial features. He has her cheekbones and the same shape of her eyebrows. If Tommy has a lot of you, Billy has a lot more of Wanda.

“Hi, Bill. How are you feeling, bud? Your mama told me you've been having some trouble with loud noises up there”

The gaze that he gives you is very unhappy, half crestfallen and a little tired. You are already familiar with that same facial expression, and it bothers you deeply, that your kid has to go through this at such a young age.

“Yeah... everything is just so loud, mommy. My head feels… weird. It’s, like, really noisy. I don’t like it”

“I know, baby, I know. It’s okay, Billy”

You place a chaste kiss at the root of the boy's hair, and he breathe heavily in noticeable relaxation next to your body. You remember all the care you once had for a young Wanda in a similar situation with that of your son, and now you do the same for the apprehensive little boy. Tommy snuggles close to his brother, offering the other twin a half smile.

“See, Billy? I told you that you got the calculation wrong!”

You raise a confused eyebrow at your children, glancing between the two boys in a somewhat curious act as you let out a confused giggle.

"Calculation? What calculation?”

“Billy said that mama said that you would come see us every fifteen days, and he counted the days and you didn't came, so I told him he that counted wrong. And I was right, see? I was right!"

You blink once, and then twice.

And Tommy smiles towards you exhaling airs of expectation – that same smile similar to yours, that reminds you so much of the child that you once were.

And then realization washes over you like a bucket of cold water – because fuck, he's your son. These are your children. Bones of your bones, flesh of your flesh. You are their mother, and you don't fucking act like one.

You'd think getting punched in the face would hurt less than the boy's words at the moment. Because, in fact, you've been punched in the face numerous times before, and none of them hurt that much inside you.

You hold back an excruciating sob that nearly spews out of your throat in a rip, pressing the palm of your right hand against the pulp of your silent lips. You squeeze your eyes into two pained lines, almost shaking your head, swishing the strands of your hair against the contours of your miserable, pitying face.

The sensation is like having a boulder stuck in the middle of your larynx.

So, you laboriously gasp for more air than your lungs see themselves as being able to hold in their irresolute core, shoulders almost shaking in little leaps, chest heavy as your ribs were composed of lead and cement. And you perform a pathetic smile towards the twin boys; there's no telling if they really understand all the stress that triggers like an infectious disease inside you.

And you feel uneasy, incapable, stupid and idiotic. You feel liquidated.

And then you feel the searing heat of the closeness of your children close to your body, which embraces you to maintain and care for, to protect you from all the evil your own head could create, like a languorous specter, to haunt you whenever you closed your eyes before falling asleep.

The boys are looking at you expectantly in their childish gazes, waiting for an answer that only you could give (because you're their mother, so you imagine they expect you to have all the answers to everything).

But this time you don't.

You just lift both of your hands and take in each of the twin boys' affable faces. They are Billy and Tommy, your greatest pride, your greatest treasure to guard and maintain. The living proof that Wanda once loved you as much as you loved her. They are the result of your union with the woman who is the love of your life. You can't possibly love them more than you already do.

"I... I'm here now, all right?" you look from one of them to the other, sounding as confident as you've ever been in the past few years “I'm here for you, for all of you. I will always be here for you”

“We know” Billy says, trying to emulate the most adult tone he is able to achieve "Mama says family is forever. And you are our family, mom"

“Yeah, family is forever!” Tommy repeats in corroboration of his brother.

You want to cry, but then you smile. You just smile, like a fucking idiot.

“Yes, bud. Family is forever.”

ᗢ

Upon reaching the vast living room (a large rectangular area, simulating even more space due to the well-dimensioned furniture throughout the room), a fanciful lure hooks the top of your esophagus in a piercing turn, when you see the that you are in Wanda's company without the twins placed between the two of you – being the boys the factor that forced Wanda to wrap her prudence around you, in order not to express to her children the troubled past that their mothers share.

But it turns out that the boys are upstairs, and Wanda has her entire attention focused on the television set by the unlit fireplace, where some episode of I Love Lucy elicits a few chuckles from her—and you remember that episode, for you had watched it with her over and over again by the years you spent enjoying each other's company as a couple of young lovers.

And she is perched on the linen sofa seat, sipping, in sheer brio in her polished and well-bred form, a smooth caramel-colored liquid placed in the heart of a tall porcelain cup, with her back turned to you, who are standing awkwardly at the end the staircase.

You know it's hibiscus tea what she’s drinking without even having to taste the contents of the mug.

You only see the top of your ex-wife's dark-haired head and want to momentarily sink your nose into it to sniff the scent of her locks, only to see for yourself that she still exudes that same mild strawberry shampoo scent that you always appreciated so much.

But you gasp in a ragged, half-embarrassed sigh when your ex-wife's voice is soft in your ears, pulling you out of your little bubble of intrusive thoughts.

“You always had loud thoughts, you know?”

You feel a constriction in your stomach, and inelegantly tuck both your hands into the pockets of your jacket. She's told you this before, when you were just two teenagers, so immature for everything.

“Yeah, I’ve heard”

And then there's the discomforted silence; neither of you dares to be the first to start the next sentence.

But Wanda turns her chin over her left shoulder, turning toward you, and you feel her sharp gaze scanning your flesh, searching for some information within your soul; the inexorable greenish gaze is steady and when aimed at your own eyes it's the trigger, and you look away to stare at an opaque stain on the white fabric of your worn sneakers.

"How are they?"

“Tommy seems to be doing fine, he just needs to learn to keep a constant check on his abilities. I've been through it too; you know how it works when you're that strong. It's... difficult to control your strength, sometimes."

You say it without thinking, but then your cheeks burn a profuse shade of pink as your blood bristles within your veins, and you see her shift on the couch and reach for a sip of warm tea because you know that the same memories flood suddenly in the deeps of her mind – the two of you are haunted by intense nights that ended up ending with a broken bedframe and torn sheets; she sweaty and her chest panting heavily, the insides of her thighs wet with the final remnants of her climax (of her pleasure), dripping red across the room and from within herself.

You scratch your throat clumsily, trying to get the sight of Wanda's naked body beneath yours out of your brain.

"Now Billy..." you whisper in a prickly voice "He reminds me of you back then"

“I know” she smiles, a small, ghostly smile against the rim of her cup “He reminds me too”

But her sweet smile perishes within seconds, and she gnaws at her bottom lip, looking hesitant and uncertain.

“I…I'm scared, Y/N” she confesses to you in a sigh, licking her lips “I'm afraid something bad will happen to them because of their powers. They might end up getting into some sort of accident, and-”

Wanda stops herself before finishing her own sentence, but it is not necessary for her to say more for understanding to be present inside yourself. The saliva in your mouth is suddenly too bitter to swallow.

Lagos.

You know what she meant.

“They're just kids, Y/N. They’re my babies. Our babies. I don't want them to end up caged like animals, I... I need you. I need you here, Y/N, I can't do this alone anymore. I, I just... I can’t do this without you anymore, I can’t. I don't know how to do this without you"

Her gaze is not at all wrathful, rigid, or perhaps even mischievous, but it was because of it that something pressed sharply into your stinging core – for you to witness Wanda's mild irises as they are, tempting you with their melancholy green. Her eyes look fractured like a shard of glass, submerged in a deluge of compunction, uncertainty and anguish.

The excruciating eyes of a broken heart.

She takes a fresh sip of tea from her cup. You walk around the couch and sit next to her. She looks at you, but it's too much; you look away.

"Wanda, I..."

But whatever you were going to say next is caged at the top of your throat. You hesitate and she stares at you, a knot of flesh and gall taking shape at the top of your larynx. You even almost raise a hand and intend to touch her, but the same hand has remained stagnant over your own thigh.

There's so much you want to say, but you just don't say it. Not now. Not again.

You can no longer make promises to her, because you know you are unable to keep them.

ᗢ

You promised Wanda that everything would be all right when you went to Wakanda, both of you tasked with escorting Vision through the painstaking procedure of extracting the Mind Stone from its current location at that moment, embedded in the center of the synthezoid's forehead.

You would be doing it for Billy and Tommy, you told her, who at the time seemed so hesitant to join the fray.

Wanda never truly aspired to become a hero, and in all honesty, neither did you at first. But at that moment, the whole universe needed you. And at that time, you had something worth to fight for.

You would be protecting the world one last time to secure your children's future.

When that infinity war ended, you would go back to your ordinary, domestic life and raise your children together in some small suburban town, that's what you promised her.

She asked you where, and you suggested somewhere in New Jersey, where the weather seemed to be nice.

But before the extraction was completed, Vision fell into Thanos' hands, and so did the Mind Stone. The tyrant titan, by then, already had possession of all the other five Stones. He was unstoppable, and you knew it. A relentless wave of bone-chilling fear ran all the way down your spine.

And when Vision convinced Wanda that she alone held the power needed to destroy an Infinity Stone, she cried because she didn't want to.

Wanda shook her head as her darkened eyes filled with pale tears, looking disturbingly towards the synthezoid as she heard his final wishes.

"No, no, Vision- Vision I- I can’t. I can’t"

She, who had already lost so much, did not want to lose another loved one so dear to her.

But she knew it had to be her; you were running out of time and the future of the entire universe depended on your wife's actions. And you hated that such a barbaric decision had to be blamed on Wanda, who already had grieved enough in her lifetime.

But you always thought she was the most devout Avenger among you all.

And she had the fullest notion that if Thanos took the Stone, half the universe would die.

It wasn't fair that it was her, but that's how things turned out. Life didn't used to be fair to people like you (people like her).

And in the copious tears that spilled down her gorgeous face, you perceived that she thought of Billy and Tommy as she lifted a trembling hand and dispensed a continuous swirl of scarlet magical energy against Vision's forehead.

And then, at the same time, you felt something piercing through your flesh.

The excruciating pain took hold of your nervous system almost immediately, and every cell in your body seemed to rip apart as your confused gaze migrated downward, only to find, there, slashing diagonally across your abdomen, a thick blade opening a stewing slit in the skin tissue of your stomach.

And it surprised you, actually, to see something go through your internal organs, because as far as you knew, the fibers that made up your body were supposedly impenetrable.

But Thanos had been able to rip your belly open with the dual blade he so proudly wielded.

And fuck, it hurt like hell.

A trickle of warm blood trickled down your chin. Wanda glanced in your direction precipitously, and a guttural scream soaked in dread exploded from the depths of your wife's throat when she came across the image of you being impaled in midair, so close to her.

“Y/N!”

It was enough; she lost her focus and with the help of the Infinity Gauntlet, Thanos attacked her from afar. You're not quite sure what actions took place in the meantime, when your heavy body fell with a solid thud against the earth, like an old rag doll, and your consciousness began to shift, leaves and branches being painted by a deep crimson color that gushed from the long slit opened in your flesh; the wound stinging hot in your muscles, the blood seeping from your abdomen.

But you blinked in lethargy, one, two, three sluggish times.

Your body temperature was gradually dropping as your blurred vision caught Wanda's tearful green eyes; your wife had your head on her thighs.

And you cried, because you didn't want to die in Wanda's arms. You didn't want to be another person who would walk away and leave her behind. One more name in the long list of people Wanda would never see again in her life.

You wanted to see Tommy and Billy grow up. You wanted to grow old beside her in a fucking suburb.

You didn't want her to see the life drain from the shell that was your perishing body.

“Y/N!” Wanda sobbed, her hands reddened not by her magic, but by the sludge of blood pooled on your suit. “Y/N, no, please! Y/N! You promised! Please Y/N, you promised! Y/N-!”

Your pulse was dangerously weak. Your heart greedily struggled to keep beating.

Your brain fought to keep your organs working, so your vision could barely make out when the fingers touching you suddenly disappeared from the grip around your injured body. Her hands thinned around your wound, and the desperate touch in your flesh was suddenly gone.

It was like the void staring into your soul. But you slowly noticed that Wanda's forearms turned sandy, and it crept up her body like the ramifications of a fast-moving disease, undoing the joints of her elbows and then her shoulders and her collarbones, and that's when she caught the air that her pretty face dissolved into a haze of dust right before your blurry eyes, her facial expression forever etched in your memory.

A thick tear fell from Wanda's chin before her body completely melted, and it dripped onto the top of your icy left cheekbone, the tear feeling warm against your pale skin.

She was gone.

For five long years, she was gone.

So far away, on the Barton ranch, both babies Billy and Tommy had also become dust with all of Clint's family – you learned about it a week later, when you woke up inside the compound’s med bay, with Natasha's pained gaze scrutinizing your injured body (she had lost her sister too).

Your wife and newborn children, your entire family, gone. All of them but you. You were the lucky bastard left behind.

And that's when it started; the alcohol and the cigarettes, the sleepless nights and the incurable emptiness that settled inside yourself.

You never promised anything again in your life.

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

#wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda reader #wanda maximoff imagine #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x you

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itstheghostofmypast · 3 months

Text

🌻Imperfections🌻

Draco Malfoy x (f)Reader (Hufflepuff)

Summary: Perfection is what defined those who were above the rest- yet, she could not be part of the perfection that defined him. Defined his society and very presence- defined her own family but not her. She was the imperfection within his world of perfection, the bright sun in his cool, pale blue sky. For even if she was the warm sun, he was nothing more than the silver moon- both destined to live in the same sky but never together.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

AU: NO VOLDEMORT - Plus Cedric is vibing, I'm sorry he's too precious.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts

Part- 4/?

Masterlist / Previous

28th September

I truly fail to understand how a parent cannot love a child. Is blood not to be thicker than water? A being stronger than a name or title, perhaps these were all metaphoric beliefs passed down by a delusional fool, for my family has, and always will, prove to me that my birth is a sigil of shame on the insignia of our family. A birth that only exists for the family archives, in a file locked away behind the vault.

It is only worsened by the letter I had received today- letters actually, though one hurt me more than the other. Mother really is a work of art. I feel like the only bright side of today was meeting Draco. A bit weird- a few screws too tight but he's alright.

Scoffing at the conclusion, he flipped the page, "Like she's any better."

29th September

I have a feeling that I'm going insane. I've done so much, and tried so hard, but that same nightmare keeps haunting me. The moment my head hits the pillow it starts to manifest around me. One minute I'm up in the skies and the next I'm falling and falling and falling.

1st October

I think I've got it, maybe I've been dreaming of falling off the astronomy tower, maybe because I sit so close to the edge. Draco told me to move too- could be it. Sometimes, perhaps, more often than just some, I do wonder if I were to tip-off. What if the only way to end this curse would be to do

Frowning at the statement he flipped over the page, to find a new entry. Why did she stop, what was the cure? Wait, so there was a way to end the curse- but then again, he didn't know what the curse was in the first place. She just assumed it was the fact that she was a Puff- but technically that's not a curse. Well, it is in its way- but not the hex kind. Maybe if he dug into it a bit- no wait, what was he thinking, not only had he made it clear to her how the two were from two different worlds, but she most probably could not even stand listening to his name, let alone have a whole conversation with him- especially one that revolved around such an unpleasant topic. Sighing he flipped onto the next entry.

3rd October

Draco confuses me, at times I feel like we are friends, but only moments later I am reminded about my status, being put back in place. Like that day he was staring at me in class, I could feel it, and when our eyes met...it was like it was just us, no one around us, nothing stopping us- or perhaps I am but a foolish girl, my own heart has begun to play tricks on me. Or maybe I finally saw someone of the same air not judge me? Not belittle me or not look at me with pity. Then he was upset during practice like I was nothing more than a stranger to him, well, I do feel like he was not upset, but jealous, Zabini had come a bit too close for comfort, and if he had not pulled away the fool, I may have let my intrusive thoughts win, much to everyone’s displeasure- especially Cedric.

Why in the good name of Heaven must she mention that fool? Scoffing he scowled at the name, bloody bastard took most of her attention and time- creep needs to be put- wait, did she just? His eyes scanned through the paragraph once more, again, and again, so it was true then. Zabini was right, this sickening feeling of being choked into ecstasy was not a one-sided curse he was suffering, it was her too- well, probably not anymore, considering he had just been humiliated for the last time. He’d be lying if he were to say he felt any joy in doing so, once again, this was done for two reasons; to preserve his reputation and to keep her out of harm’s way. Only this little tactic had begun to take a toll on him, whether he would ever admit it out loud or not, she had slowly seeped into his being, the essence of his soul- his mind (much like now) had been racing with thoughts of her, his fingers would twitch at the subtle thought of her, or if he’d see her in the hallways, during the time of ‘abstaining from the puff’ as Zabini called it. He was itching to feel her warmth, to feel her soft palm against his cold, clammy ones, using her warmth to put an end to the blizzard that had frozen most of him. These thoughts were nothing more than thoughts though, no good came from acting on them, which is why he held back- in fact, he was surprised that he was able to hold back tonight when she was only a breath away before confessing, his brain had malfunctioned, fixated not on the argument but her lips, noting the slight quiver of her lip, wanting to feel them against his, that would explain how he hand ended up confessing, instead of saying something else, something that would have hurt her less. Perhaps, at the end of it all, he was just a hormonal teenage boy, wearing a cloak of pretence- a mere boy, with no self-control, or maturity; so, was he then, imperfect?

4th October

It disgusts me, no, it haunts me, these feelings, these things swirling inside me. I cannot get rid of them; I cannot get rid of him. I feel as if my own heart has it against me, pulling me towards what I can never have, people who will never love me. I fought with Cedric today, it was awful, I felt awful, especially if I consider our history, how he has been nothing more than readily available to pick me up whenever I fell. A part of me enjoys it, embracing it as some kind of love, such as finding a lost duck or an injured animal, one you only help bring back to its feet and then let go of it. Then I wonder if I am no different than a feral animal. Is that what I am to him? Is that what I am to my parents? Does Draco think of me in such a manner as well? Or perhaps I am a mere jester, he is keeping sound for his own amusement. I think of this, yet, I spent hours begging the same fool I fought with in the morning, begging him to give me the handbook for captains. What's funny is he knew, he knew why I wanted it, and while giving it to me he gave me that look. The last time he looked at me like that was when I almost- I mean I was about to do it. Can't anymore though, the grill is installed pretty well. Once again, it was sickening, watching him care for me, being upset over my actions. I had assumed Draco would have the same look when I handed him the book, no, he didn't. It was different, it made me feel different, like a prickling sensation, one that had my imprudent, immature heart struggling against my ribs, wanting to jump into his breast pocket, to be closer to his own.

Slamming the diary shut he sat up, his own hands covering his face, palms pressing against his warm buzzing cheeks. This may have not been a good idea, but she was so hard to read and the fact that she felt this way about him, his parents were never this excited to see him and then this random puff pixie fluttered into his heart. Sighing he slid off the bed, feet pressing against the cold floor, his body too warm for comfort, the enormous room felt like it was closing in on him. Grabbing his robes, he marched out, taking in deep breaths, he was going to do it. He was going to find the cure, he was going to fix this curse, perhaps only then could he be free to have her- even if she was a Hufflepuff. While on his journey up a flight of stairs, he realized how his muscle memory had led him to the astronomy tower once more, but the bubbling cluster of endorphins left no room for annoyance. That’s what surprised him even more, for months, no almost years, he had been wrapped in the claws of every bitter feeling out there, and here he was, just thinking about her, he was willing to throw to waste the efforts of ignoring her for the past few months, impulsively jumping into a puddle of feelings, an unknown territory.

With a boom the door burst open, feet planting firmly on the floor as his eyes scanned the room, nearly missing the figure standing a bit too close to the edge. Closing the door behind him he walked in slowly, trying not to scare the person- her off, a flinch would have been enough for her to topple off. “Hey- get off from there.” He spat, wincing at his tone, really Draco Malfoy, use that tone with someone who is already at the edge, literally and metaphorically.

Flinching at the tone, her head whipped in his direction, what was he doing her? Bloodshot eyes meeting his, watching his expression morph into one that represented terror that is seen in the eyes of a lost child.

“Y/N”

“What…are you doing here?” she whispered, not moving an inch, standing still at her spot.

“I just wanted some fresh air and- get off, get off from there this instance, I- you-move!” stumbling over his words he moved closer to her, only to freeze when she turned back to look up at the sky, taking in a deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to savour the peace she had lost long ago.

“I’m so tired…I’m going to fix this once and for all, so leave.”

“WAIT!”

Sighing at his tone, she opened her eyes, staring ahead. “I’ve never liked the night, it’s dark, I’ve always been afraid of the dark. It’s so quiet you can hear the thoughts of your thoughts, do you know, the lake over there, you can’t go there at night. They have creature patrolling around it, and even if you do make it to the water, they have night watchers in the water. I tried it you know.” With an empty chuckle she pointed ahead, not that he was looking at it, he was far more bothered for her safety, slowly inching closer to her, “But I’ve yearned for it, the darkness, I realised long ago, that this was the only way, but those bloody fools pulled me to the surface before I could fully embrace the cold.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I am terribly sorry, I was wrong, it was wrong and selfish of me.” Whispering he stood a few steps away, “But I promise I’ll help you find the cure and then we can-“

“THIS IS THE CURE YOU FOOL!” turning around in rage, she almost lost her footing, somewhat glad she wouldn’t be facing her end like that, confrontation was never her strong suit, not was looking at the face of her problems, who knew the person who loved to fly across the skies was willing to fall down from grace within the same space.

Never in his life had he moved quicker, perhaps not even in the field, not while playing against Potter, not while running away from his fears, but for her, at that very moment, he realised he would face death itself, fight it with his bare fists, just to keep it away from her. For once he was glad his mind let his body run on autopilot, no argument, no debate or pondering about the pros or cons, but a quick flip of a switch had led him to grip her wrist, jerking her towards him, her body colliding on top of his. The persistent ringing in his ears slowly faded away, trying to rearrange his thoughts he slowly blinked up at the ceiling, his arms tightening around the shivering figure pressed into him, a hand pressed against the back of her head, forcing her to let it all out, pressing her face into his shoulder. He was unsure of wear he had picked up on this, never really one to receive comfort in such a physical manner, let alone provide it to someone else, but once again, she wasn’t just someone else. His other hand gently stroked her back, and slowly it began to piece together, the grills at her window, the disappointment of Cedric, this wasn’t just a one-time occurrence, how could he have missed the signs? He was reading her diary, but was so caught up in his own little emotions like a little school girl that he had not been able to take in the bigger picture, what she had assumed was the solution was not beneficial for her, but for others around her, her family. What kind of twisted lunatic would come up with such a solution? He understood the whole notion of being selfless, but this was not an act of selflessness, it was mere stupidity, why was she to suffer for the lack of tolerance and abundant ignorance her family possessed? Why was she being punished for being herself? Who were they to punish her for something she had no control over? At this point he wondered if the curse was her being a Hufflepuff or being born in a family of bigots.

“Draco?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you- I mean, can I- umm…”

“I’m still very upset with you.”

“I know but I-

“What.”

Lifting her head up she stared at him, eyes puffy and a nose as red as a cherry, cute- until she placed her hands on either side of his head, watching a faint blush spread across his face. “I know you like me, but skipping to third base isn’t my style.” With that she pressed herself against him ever so slightly, causing him to shift uncomfortably, slowly pushing her off until she way laying beside him, staring at the same spot on the ceiling with him.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re the first person I’ve met who says that but doesn’t let me di-

“Shut up.” Turning his head to glare out her he growled, “I swear upon my own life if you ever try to pull something like that again or even think of it, I’ll” pausing for a moment, trying to think of a threat, “…I’ll…do something.”

“I’m sure you will.” Following his movement she met his eyes, “thank you.” Their words slowly turning into hushed whispers, subconsciously moving closer to one another.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I umm…kind of found your diary.”

“…”

“I’m so sorry, I- I couldn’t help myself from reading it.”

Sighing she looked away, choosing to look back up at the ceiling once more, trying to hide her flushed face, clearing her throat, “It’s…okay.”

“In my defense, your expression of writing is beautiful.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“You’re phrasing and choice of words is immaculate.”

“Okay. We really don’t have to talk about it.”

“I have similar feelings towards you but I was unable to decipher them, but you, no the way you expressed it all-

“And we’re done for the night, thank you very much, I’d like you to” instantly sitting up she dusted off her robes, “return it to me tomorrow, like a good boy.” Eyes darting to his laying figure, noticing the smile that had graced his lips, not one of the small one’s she had seen before, no this was different. It was one of those boyish smiles, wide and cocky, you’d read about in teen romance novels, those sappy things you’d keep under your bed, one that had the girl’s heart leaping with joy, much like hers did at the sight.

“Or we could,” standing up, much taller than her he peered down at her curious gaze, “burn it together. Write something else, something new, something better.” His hand slowly reached for her face, fingers grazing over her warm cheek, trying to keep the urge of kissing her at bay, “What do you think?”

“I’d like that.” Her words but a whisper, too focused on watching him slowly lower to her level, hovering a mere breath above her face, the puffs of their breath mingling together, “Can I…” his eyes flickered to her lips then back at hers, waiting for her approval, one he’d thought she’d readily give him; he was Draco Malfoy after all and on top of that she did like him- as was proven in many pages of her diary.

“Earn it.”

“Thank- excuse me?” He squawked as she gently pushed him away, licking her lips, teasing him- he was sure of it, as she walked towards the door, turning to give him one last look before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“Earn it, Draco Malfoy, can’t write the climax before settling in with a few establishing chapters.”

Oh, he was in one hell of a ride.

A/N: Well, this took forever. Honestly, I wrote several chapters but nothing clicked, finally wrote something which seems decent enough. I hope you all like it- dw the next one is pure fluff.❤️ If you want to be part of my tag list please fill the form on the Navigation Post❤️ (I've tagged a few people who aren't tagged, so I'm not sure why this happened)

Taglist:

@buckyandgeraltsupremacy

@spphrj

@jensfraise

@dramatic-long-coats

@m00nie-m00

@iellasgrave

@danywonderland

@whiterain1997

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@hearmyharmony

@ruethemazerunner

@missstratford

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hyperactivewhore · 3 months

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In your opinion who is the best mother in the TVD universe? I think it has to be Hayley. She had made a lot of mistakes, but at the end of the day, Hope has never once doubted that her mother truly and unconditionally loved and supported her. Hayley practically raised Hope by herself. All Hayley wanted is for Hope to have a normal, happy childhood. And unlike many people I don’t think she ever abandoned Hope. Yes, she sent her away to the Salvatore school - but I think that’s because she knew that Hope couldn’t live a normal life in New Orleans and she thought that the best chance of Hope having a semi normal childhood is if no one knew who she was. And in legacies, it’s said that she still visited Hope at school frequently.

Hayley Marshall without a doubt was the best mother in tvdu, especially considering the events regarding her pregnancy, daughter and her daughter's family.

Hayley loved Hope from the very beginning, don't bring up how she tried to abort Hope because that's just rubbish: she wanted to do it because it would be better for both of them, but ultimately couldn't bring herself to do it. Claiming Elijah was the first person to care about Hope is so wrong, he didn't give a damn about the fetus but what it could mean to Klaus and his fucked up family at the beginning, he only saw his niece as her own person when she was fifteen years old.

Motherhood was forced upon Hayley and she had no other choice but to accept it, Klaus and Elijah made that very clear and it sickens me how people brush over Hayley herself saying how terrified and scared she was during this period of her life. She was barely an adult, thrown into the most dangerous family to ever live just because she happened to carry a baby and was killed twice because of that same family.

Saying Hayley was a bad mother is crazy, she loved Hope and put her above everyone almost always (I won't praise her for this, though, loving your child is the bare minium a decent parent should do) even if it was above people she cared about. People always bring up how she "stole" Hope in season two to try to put her in a bad light and it's embarrassing every time.

Was it a dangerous and risky choice? Obviously, yes, but Klaus, the father of her daughter, was jeopardizing Hope at the time with his paranoia and refusal to trust his family, and at the time everyone believed he had killed Aiden, a member of Hayley's pack, of course she would panick and run away with their kid. It was wrong nonetheless because she was putting in danger her whole pack, her husband, her daughter and herself, but I'll never blame her for it considering how much shit she went through only because of the Mikaelson.

Like Klaus, Hayley was scared too and this is often "forgotten" by the fandom: like him, she never had any good parent, but this didn't make her stop talking to Hope suddenly. The fandom often justifies Klaus abandoning Hope because he had daddy issues and because of The Hollow, but was it that hard to write letters, answer her phone calls? He ghosted his own daughter when she was nine because she saw him murdering someone, but somehow Klaus is the better parent in tvdu and the one Hope loved the most. Make it make sense.

Caroline was away too from her daughters, but she didn't ghost them the way Klaus did. Hayley was co-leading New Orleans, a whole city full of supernatural creatures, but she didn't abandon Hope either: as you said, Josie herself said she used to come to Mystic Falls frequently just for her daughter. Sending Hope away to school after nearly dying and losing her father was too soon, and while Legacies made everything they could to make these women look like bad mothers (Hope being basically depressed as a child, wanting to belong into the Saltzman family, her line in season three "my mom and dad will come back for me" - though I'm not sure if it should consider it proof, considering it was a weird Star Wars episode -, Lizzie feeling neglected by her mother, etc) they simply weren't.

Caroline and Hayley were both forced to be mothers and both proved to be better than everyone in the series. People should start criticizing the actual bad parents in this show instead of them.

#hayley marshall #caroline forbes #hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #josie saltzman #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #jackson kenner #the vampire diaries #the originals #tvd #to #tvdu #phoebe tonkin #candice king #candice accola #the originals meta

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alexmeeksmartin · 11 months

Text

chosen family - pt i

pairing(s): wes hicks x male reader, slight chad meeks-martin x male reader

synopsis: the one where y/n roberts, survivor of the 2011 woodsboro massacre and brother of ghostface killer, jill roberts, is roped into another string of murders when his friend, tara carpenter, is attacked by someone taking on the moniker

a/n: new series! not sure if i’ll end up finishing this, but i would like to at least do a couple parts! hope u enjoy <3

wc: 1.9k

it was more than enough to struggle with the fact that your sister, jill roberts, had decided to stab you alongside your mother when you were only eight years old. ironically enough, your fame-hungry sister’s sickening plot to become a sole survivor is what thrust you into the limelight. for years, the media hounded you about the ghostface killings of 2011. it took you forever to get a group of friends who wouldn’t try abuse your connections. you were finally in a stable position…

…but now some fucker had decided to put on that damned mask and go stabbing again.

“that was sam.” your boyfriend, wes, let everyone know. you were all together, minus tara, obviously. you, wes, chad, mindy, amber, and liv. and nobody was taking this seriously, not even you at this stage. none of you had really processed it all properly yet.

you watched as amber’s interest was immediately piqued. “she’s coming?”

“yeah.”

“watch everything get worse.” amber says with a sigh, clearly unhappy about sam’s upcoming return to woodsboro.

“listen, all i’m saying is, with everything going on right now, i think it’s time we take our relationship to the next, most intimate level!” chad pleads with liv, doing his best to convince her.

“yuck.” you add across from the happy couple.

“it’s fine, y/n. he only wants me to accept his ‘find my fam’ request.” liv explains to you, removing the expression of disgust from of your face.

“it’s the smartest option with a would-be killer on the loose. you know exactly where i am and i know exactly where you are.” chad continues, building up his case.

“aw, you can stalk me like a jealous boyfriend.” liv giggles.

“and you can stalk me like a jealous boyfriend.” chad jokes as you and mindy make eye contact, signalling to each other your repulsion towards chad and liv at that moment in time with just one look of your eyes. it’s funny how much two best friends can say in just a glance.

“is this because you two aren’t having sex yet?” amber bluntly asks, looking between the two of them.

“you actually bring up a very good point! not that i want to sound like a stereotypical jock, trying to get into his girlfriend’s pants-“

“great!” liv says, stopping chad.

“come on, wes, you get what i mean?” chad asks, trying unsuccessfully to get some back up, but you shoot wes a death stare, making him think carefully about his next words.

“absolutely not. i wouldn’t dare.” wes begins, clarifying that he doesn’t agree with chad to you before moving onto liv, “don’t do it, liv, there’s some pyscho out there. you make yourself harder to find. delete social media, tape over your phone camera, disable gps-“

“yes, thank you very much, edward snowden.” chad says, cutting wes off. “actually, your mother just interrogated me about tara’s attempted murder.”

“i’m sure she’s asking everybody, i mean, ghostface is back.” wes responds. a chill goes down your spine at the very mention of the masked murderer.

“she hasn’t asked me.” you chuck into conversation, noticing how the sheriff hadn’t even seemed to have looked your way yet.

“yeah, because you’re like sheriff riley’s adoptive son. plus, you and her went through the same thing.” liv says.

“ex sheriff riley.” mindy adds, “also, the press still isn’t saying ghostface.” and another chill.

“my mom doesn’t want to cause a panic.” wes explains.

“it’ll get out by the second or third killing.” mindy says, nonchalantly.

“mindy, come on.” you say. you loved her, but her insensitivity could be an issue on occasion.

“jesus, mindy, there wasn’t a first killing. tara’s still alive.” amber says, slightly angry.

“that means she could still die.”

“what the fuck?” amber is progressively getting more and more agitated at this conversation, you note.

“or the killer could come back for her.”

“fuck, mindy!” chad says as you screw your face up, “come on.”

“i’m just telling you, arm up, okay? pepper spray, check, taser, check-“ wes lists off his weapons.

“y/n in the bedroom repellent, check.” amber cuts in, laughing at him.

“again, ew.” you say, turning away from amber to wes, “i’m glad you’re keeping yourself safe.” you smile at your boyfriend.

“keeping us safe.” he says, pulling you into his arms.

“oh, shit, is that… vince?” liv asks.

“wait. that creep you hooked up with last summer?” chad asks liv, concern immediately showing on his face.

“yeah, he worked with me and tara.”

“he worked with tara?” amber asks inquisitively.

“he’s been stalking my instagram the last couple weeks, posting the creepiest shit.” liv adds.

“probably time to introduce him to hobbs and shaw.” chad says, flexing his biceps.

liv puts his arm down to his side. “maybe not the best idea to incite violence right in front of the sheriff. looks like he’s leaving.”

“plus, i don’t think ‘hobbs and shaw’ are scaring anyone with names like that.” you say, laughing at chad.

“oh, please. you’d love to take hobbs and shaw for a spin.” chad retorts, smiling back at you.

“tara says she fought back hard. you’ve got bruises.” amber states, observing chad’s somewhat battered and blue arms.

“from football practice.” he says, defending himself.

“oh, sure-“

“tara’s awake! she just texted.” wes says, his face lighting up. “i’m going to the hospital, you guys coming?”

mutters of ‘yes’ and ‘sure’ are said by your friends, but what stands out is liv saying: “i can’t, but i’ll meet you guys later.” another thing to take mental note of.

“alright, i’ll see you later.” chad says, kissing liv on the cheek goodbye. you wait up for chad as wes, mindy, and amber walk on ahead and descend into playful conversation him.

you were all gathered in tara’s room at the hospital, with wes’ arm draped around your neck as you sit on the chair right beside tara’s bed. amber stands over you with a very concerned look on her face as the twins make small talk on the other side of the room.

the door opens, and everyone looks to it. sam. sam and- who?

“you came.” tara says with a small smile.

“of course i came.” sam says, giving her sister a very gentle and light hug. “this is my boyfriend, richie.”

that explains who the random guy is.

“it’s so nice to meet you, i’m so sorry if i’m intruding.” richie says to tara.

“nice to meet you too.”

“hi. thank you for calling.” sam says, giving wes a hug.

“of course.”

“look at your hair! i like it.” sam compliments, ruffling your boyfriend’s hair like she’s his mother.

you get up and embrace sam. god, you’d missed her. even though she had her own shit going on, she never failed to be the big sister you wish you had - a loving, protective figure. not jill.

“these are chad and mindy, the twins, wes, and y/n. i used to babysit them all.”

“which is always how i like to be introduced.” wes says, to which you let out a slight laugh.

“and amber.” sam finishes her introductions, locking eyes with the dark haired girl. “hey.”

“hi.” you can feel the tension radiating between them. they do not like each other at all. “nice to see you.”

“hi, um, i’m richie.” richie says, amber looking him up and down. you weren’t too sure if you liked the guy either, seemed a bit fidgety. maybe just nerves, with ghostface going around and all.

“hi.” amber says.

“where’s mom?” sam asks tara, a worried expression crossing her face.

“she’s stuck in a conference in london. she called me earlier.”

“yeah, for all of ten minutes.” amber adds with a judgemental tone to her words.

you look over at tara, who looks tired out of her mind, probably from the painkillers. as someone who had been in a similar position, you knew that it’d be best to make an exit right about now. not only that, the reality of the situation was starting to kick in now. how were you all going to navigate this and stay safe?

“guys, maybe we should give tara a little space. getting a bit crowded in here.” you say, concerned for tara.

your friends respond with a chorus of ‘yeah’s, and you all begin to head for the door.

“not you, sam. i want you to stay.”

“okay.” sam says, sweetly smiling at her sister before sitting herself back down.

“but the rest-“ chad says, looking back to you, mindy, and wes affirming that you guys should go.

you all walk outside of the hospital, and it’s really starting to hit you now. this couldn’t be happening again. you couldn’t lose anyone else to some stupid fucking legacy. to ghostface. you lost your mother, your aunt, and even your sister - all because a pair of stupid, deranged, psychopathic men picked up some halloween mask in 1996. it wasn’t fair.

you start to walk slightly ahead of the group, with none of their conversation registering in your mind. tears start to form in your eyes as you hear them calling out your name. this isn’t fair. you don’t deserve this. tara doesn’t deserve this. nobody deserves this.

you’re brought out of your trance when you feel mindy’s hand touch your shoulder as she walks in front of you.

“hey, you good?” she asks, but sees the tears in your eyes. you shake your head, and she turns to the boys and amber. “we’ll just see you guys at the bar later, okay?”

“you sure? i can stay.” wes says, but you turn around to speak to them.

“no, it’s fine. i’m fine. i’ll see you guys later.” you say, putting on your bravest face and best smile for them. you can tell they’re not quite buying it, but they know mindy’s got you so they keep walking. you see chad turn back multiple times to check on you again, and can tell amber and wes are already bickering again by the time they get in the car.

when they’re gone, it’s just you and mindy sitting against a tree.

“mindy, i don’t think i can do this again.” you say, sighing.

“it’s fine. we’ve got you. me, wes, chad, amber, and i guess liv have got your’s and tara’s backs. we’re here for whatever you need. especially me. you’re my best friend, y/n. nothing is more important to me than your well-being. got it?”

“i love you, minds. you’re the best.”

“i love you too, y/n. and remember, we understand if you need space, support, anything right now. sam’s got tara, and we’ve got you. okay?”

“thanks.” you say, a real smile making its way onto your face.

“anyways, i need to go show chad that i still am the king of eight ball. you coming?” mindy says, getting up and sticking her hand out to you.

“i wouldn’t dare to miss chad getting his ass handed to him.” you laugh, letting mindy pull you up as you head to the car.

maybe it wasn’t so bad. it was cheesy, but maybe with your friends by your side you’d get through this again. maybe.

a/n: hope you all enjoyed! have a couple parts already in the drafts for this so shouldn’t be too long till the next is posted !! thanks for reading 🫶

#chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #scream #scream x reader #tara carpenter #spotify #scream x male reader #scream 5 #scream 2022 #sam carpenter #amber freeman #liv mckenzie #wes hicks #judy hicks #dewey riley #richie kirsch

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booktomoviebrawl · 7 months

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We are not judging how bad the movie is, we are judging which adapted the book the worst. There are good movies that are bad adaptions.

Propaganda below the cut (spoilers may apply)

Persuasion (2022):

They massacred my girl!! That is not Anne Elliot!! The whole point is that she's beaten down and thinks she's missed her chance at happiness and is bullied by her family, not making mean and snarky nods to the camera :( They completely missed the whole point of the dynamic and it's SICKENING! They also cut Mrs Smith who is arguably one of the most important characters as she highlights Anne's lack of focus on title and rank and her family's comparative obsession with it + it's only through her that Anne learns about Mr Elliot's true nasty nature. Also they cut the 'I am half agony, half hope' line from Wentworth's letter at the end so what's even the POINT of adapting it if you don't have that!! Oh my god!! My poor favourite Austen novel :( (I do want to make it very very clear that my issues with the movie come from the writing and adaptation and not in any way from the race blind casting. The casting is superb and I'm genuinely so disappointed that they got such a bad adaptation bc so many of the cast are literally perfect)

Where do I even start? They tried to 'modernize' both the protagonist and the love story and managed to take out everything that made it good in the first place. Anne Elliot in the novel is quiet and good and helpful, full of regret. In the movie, she constantly turns to the audience to mock everyone around her, feeling so much better than everyone, to the point where nobody understands why Captain Wentworth would still be in love with her, or have fallen in love with her in the first place. Eight years before the plot starts, she broker her engagement to him because she was persuaded by a family friend that it was a bad idea. No way would movie!Anne have let herself be persuaded. They just tried to do a Fleabag/Emma type of thing without understanding what made either the novel or those two things work and thereby ruined it completely

Whoever made this didn't understand the point of the novel at all. They completely screwed up the character of Anne Elliot (the protagonist), which in turn screws the rest of the movie, as the original story only works because Anne is the way she is. Also, it's a period piece but the characters are talking in modern slang the entire time. And not in a clever way but in a very cringey one. If Jane Austen knew, she'd probably turn in her grave, and rightfully so.

Legend of the Guardians: Owls of Ga'hoole:

While the animation is gorgeous, it unfortunately condenses basically the entire series into one movie which makes for a very rushed end product that misses a lot of the best moments and characters of the series

While I do enjoy the movie, it acts less as an adaptation, per-se, and more of a... *reimagining* of the books which it's based on. Quite a few plot points, settings, and characters are either cut out or merged, at least a few characters were created specifically for the movie, characters' personalities and relationships are notably altered from the books, characters and ideas are explicitly introduced significantly earlier in the movie than they were in the series, in part because of their merger with other characters and factions... one particular plot point that has always stood out to me was Soren and Eglantine reuniting with their parents at the end of the movie, while in the books they were killed before the events of the third book (which was the final one being adapted, so to speak, by the movie), having been murdered by their third and eldest child, Kludd. This is all putting aside my own personal gripes about character design choices and species alterations between the books and movies, which were presumably more stylistic choices than anything - The Guardians of Ga'Hoole wiki's page for the movie actually has a whole section dedicated to noting the differences between the books and film. I do truly believe that Legend of the Guardians is a worthwhile movie both for fans of the books and those who have never read them, but it is best treated as a standalone reimagining of the story, rather than an adaptation.

They attempted to squash the plots of a 20+ book series into a single movie. It did not make for a cohesive or compelling plot. Ruining any possibility of creating a sequel. Also messed up the worldbuilding.

Different villainous groups were merged completely undermining the commentary the books were trying to make.

Showed information/backstory reveals that was supposed to be revealed later in the series, robbing it of any mystery or significance. The audience was not given a reason to care.

Warped the characterisation of one of the protagonists from contemplative and philosophical to a fool who makes lame jokes.

#tournament poll #persuasion #persuasion 2022 #guardians of ga'hoole #owls of ga'hoole #legend of the guardians

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mugentakeda · 1 month

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as soon as ursa registered that the person that just stepped into the garden was a messenger dressed in white, she knew her nephew was dead.

he'd only departed for ba sing se a few weeks ago. she'd gotten one hawk from him while he was still on his way to the faraway city- passionate descriptions about the beautiful earth kingdom terrain and scenery, his nervousness and dread, how much he already missed the kids and her and home.

she already knew he didn't want to go. just a month shy of 600 days did lu ten manage to hold off on joining his father in his divine quest, to get the capital of the earth kingdom to finally surrender. holding strong to his decision, despite pressure and badgering from every direction. ursa never cared. she knew ozai cared, firelord azulon cared, the whole council and nobility cared- but ursa has always cursed the council and nobility anyway. she knows her nephew's heart is true and hardworking even if he's not the most open about his patriotism, and knows that he's always been stubborn and independent. spirits, if she was a prince, she isn't sure that she'd want to spend her first big military venture in her father's shadow either. iroh had respected his son's wishes without a fight, just like ursa knew her honorable brother-in-law would, and left for ba sing se alone. that should've been the end of that.

azula told her (rather sourly) that the strange navy fellow that lu ten had been peers with while training under admiral jeong jeong managed to convince him otherwise. how, her daughter wasn't sure, and wasn't pleased. ursa had asked lu ten about it not much later, easily confessing to her nephew that she heard through the lychee-grape vine that he'd changed his mind about ba sing se- but he'd been cagey and evasive, and offered no real explanation. the evening later, he promptly announced at dinner that he'd be departing from the fire nation in the next couple days to join his father. and looked like he wanted to vomit afterwards, as firelord azulon put a weathered hand on his shoulder and shook him with satisfaction. she waited up late that night, praying he'd sneak to her chambers, so they could discuss the matter in whispers. but he never showed.

ursa had found him early the next morning, before agni even peeked over the horizon, tending to his beloved jogekama yari.

he sat up straight at the sound of her footsteps on the tile, and sighed heavily. as usual, lu ten knew it was his aunt without looking (unbeknownst to ursa, over the previous years, he'd been memorizing the sound of everyone in the family's footsteps. that way, he could mentally prepare himself for the interaction- lest the footsteps belong to ozai.).

I don't feel like being interrogated right now, auntie, he'd muttered. the young prince didn't sound angry, but terribly drained, and terribly defeated. the days where she could take one look at him and know exactly what was going through his head were long gone, sadly.

i'm sorry, she'd replied sadly. I just wanted to make sure you were truly alright. because… well, ever since I married your uncle….

his face pinched and he looked back down at his spear in silence. the hot morning air was heavy with foreboding. the rest went unspoken, as such things usually do in this suffocating palace they both call home. I think of you as my own.

she'd watched him grow up. she'd been there when his voice dropped, when he started growing sideburns, when he came home from shu jing armed with a mighty staff and bursting in pride, when the first sparks of lightning erupted from his hands and he made history. lu ten had been the only one to check in on her after she gave birth to zuko, and then the same with azula. he held them in his arms before ozai did. he'd been the one to choose azula's wet nurse when ursa was too sickened and depressed to eat well enough to breastfeed her baby girl. he was the one present for azula's first words and first steps- which is all now a secret between them that he's literally taken to the grave. her children's big brother in spirit, ursa's little brother and son from another mother.

the hands clutching the scroll tremble in despair and rage. what will happen now? her only teammate is gone. the one person in the whole world that truly went out of his way to look out for her and hers is gone. i'm not strong enough to hold him off on my own, my nephew, she thinks.

ursa bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds to quell the tears welling up. you won't ever see him again. you're going to have to get used to living without him. he's never coming home. his father didn't keep him safe. it's over.

#dai li lu ten au #<-kinda. I just wanna emphasize how close lu ten and ursa were. it has a lot to do with how I characterize him lol #alicias writing stuff

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amantes-lunae · 5 months

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★ Kate's trans wolfstar faves ★

this list is mainly trans sirius and muggle aus! there will definitely be a part 2 to this list with more trans remus + mwpp fics because i hold them DEAR TO MY HEART 🩷🤍💙

you wouldn't like me - E, 40k

It’s 2005 and Sirius is trying to figure out his gender, their brother, and his new crush.

No More Secrets - G, 5k

Sirius Black didn't know if he would be accepted for who he was. Little did he know that he wasn't the only one with a secret.

Sirius Black and the Great Dress Code Revolution of 1977 - E, 61k

In a misguided effort to fight sexism, Sirius discovers he’s really, really into wearing the girls uniform. What follows is a disastrously oblivious Remus trying to protect his friends, Sirius’ introduction into a world more magical than his own (being trans!), and Marlene McKinnon growing increasingly annoyed with authority. A character study of Sirius’ fucked up gender, his relationship with his family, his body, Remus, James, and Marlene- disguised as a getting together fic.

Gathering Home - E, 74k (unfinished)

Remus flipped the light on and sucked in a breath as he looked over his classroom, as neat and tidy as he had left it the day before. The room exuded warmth, colourful and bright, playmats on the floor and books stacked up along the walls, little boxes of crayons on all of the tables. By the end of the day, ten kindergarteners would arrive to what was functionally their second home, to once again tear it to smithereens. Eleven, Remus corrected himself—four months into the school year, a new student was joining their class. — Remus shouldn’t be attracted to Sirius Hill, not when Remus is responsible for teaching his five-year-old little brother to read and count, and especially not with that mysterious baby strapped to Sirius’s chest. He shouldn’t. He isn’t. He is not.

my jokes are my armour, my kindness is my sword - E, 28k

“My mum died last year,” Sirius says at last, perhaps more bluntly than he intended – perhaps not given the defiant set of his chin. “And we don’t have a gravestone yet, till the ground settles or whatever, so I want something I can put there to represent her and how toxic she was.” Remus blinks. Whatever he had expected Sirius to say, it hadn’t been that. He had inferred that he and Regulus had a complicated relationship with their blood family, but this was a wholly unexpected turn. Unfortunately, instead of the empathic response he knows is in there somewhere, what comes out is: “Yes, that sounds like a perfectly healthy response to grief.”

It's a New Dawn - M, 106k

What took place in the Lycanthropy ward was thankless, rotten work. Sickening for those who didn’t care for the monsters; heart wrenching for those few who did. Remus had an inkling of which category Lily belonged to, and he didn’t think it was fair that she had to go through this so early in her studies. “Why would you choose this ward, Lily?” he asked again, gently. Remus Lupin (19 years old, formerly home schooled, currently employed in a bookshop, forever afflicted with lycanthropy and a cheeky mother) leads a peaceful - if a bit lonely - life. Enter up-and-coming Healer in training Lily Evans, stubborn and determined to make a friend out of the sarcastic little shit that is her favourite patient. Secrets are disclosed, closets are exited, family is found. Lives are changed for the better.

A Fool and His Money - M, 36k

Remus Lupin has an easy life. He manages his University studies and his chronic illness, and lives comfortably with his flatmate Regulus Black. Then one day he meets Regulus’ older brother and his entire life gets turned upside down when he’s offered an opportunity to make his life just a little bit easier. It was supposed to be just a business transaction between friends. Feelings were never supposed to get involved.

Discards - M, 76k

When assistant librarian Sirius Black develops a crush on a college student at the Seattle Public Library, all he wants to know is whether he's cool about dating trans guys. But Remus's life is more complicated than Sirius ever could have guessed.

Without Translation - G, 5k

When Remus moves into the new University housing, he isn't sure what to expect, but the Deaf Artist, Sirius Black is not it. Especially as Remus only has the function of one hand, and sign language is beyond him. But in the end, when it comes to love and communication, the pair find their own way to say I love you.

Whatever Words I Say - G, 23k

When Remus Lupin is hired to control the antics of famous lead singer of the Marauders, Sirius Black, he knows he has his work cut out for him. Sirius is contrary and has absolutely no chill, and loves pissing off the press. Remus feels up to the challenge, but he certainly does not expect to fall head over heels in love from the moment he meets the charismatic singer.

Defectors - M, 53k

I'm supposed to be dead. I was ready for it. More than ready. He struggles to sort quickly through his muddled thoughts. If he's not allowed to die, he needs to find sanctuary. Somewhere where they won't find him. Someone who can destroy it. AU where Regulus survives the horcrux cave and Sirius gets pushed to the edge.

Ghost Notes - M, 12k

AU where Remus didn’t attend Hogwarts. Sirius is smitten with the cute boy he meets at a punk show, and is determined to win him over.

Quick Draw - M, 10k

Sirius has never been a fan of thinking things through, but Remus is always there to keep him grounded. A quick peek at the couple from their first trip on the Hogwarts Express through the AU conclusion in 1981.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #marauders #sirius black #transgender #trans sirius black #trans marauders #trans remus lupin #rec list #kate's wolfstar reclist tag #trans #jkr is a greasy piece of shit

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wmarximoff · 1 year

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𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: when you return to your family, ghosts from the past keep you from moving foward.

warnings: mentions of smut, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, canon typical violence, so much angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 10k

main masterlist| series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

You leave a few crumpled bills in the rough palm of the grim-faced driver before opening the tin door and stepping out of the vehicle in a state of complete silence. He starts the car and drives away, quickly and quiet; you see only a silhouette of the vehicle fading into the distance, vanishing until it gets small and goes missing into the horizon.

An ideal location to let the kids romp outside until sunset, to have weekly neighborhood barbeques and to attend carnivals with the whole family during festive seasons. A domestic atmosphere indeed. It reminds you of your own childhood – your parents, your dog.

“…Shit,” you utter to yourself, closing your eyes for just a second, “What the fuck, Y/n…”

Standing on the porch, facing the dark oak door of your ex-wife's house, you consider that you might as well turn and flee, and she would never know you were even there. That you ran away again. But no, you think, you can't abandon them one more time. Not when they need you most.

Your stomach scrunches inside you because you see her there, standing in front of you like the painting you aimed to see inside a museum exhibit. Wanda. At this point in life, having been through so much in so little time, she no longer dyes her hair a coppery red, so the brunet color of the silky brown locks you see harks back to your past, when you were just two teenagers playing lovers, exploring and getting to know each other's bodies like if you were attentively scrutinizing a map, and your heart crams inside your rib cage.

A nasty wave of nostalgia fills your lungs, pouring homesickness into your bloodstream. You miss Wanda so much it hurts inside your bones. But Wanda is no longer a teenager, and neither are you. She's older, prettier, more mature, more centered.

But something of her is still there, your old Wanda, who slept and woke up beside you. Even if behind the stoning of life, the jovial Wanda who once loved you still shines in the eyes of the Wanda who hates you. Teen Wanda's burning passion, however, was mostly undermined by adult Wanda's unsympathetic disinterest – by the downbeat feelings that had blossomed within her over the years, all conceived towards you. But you understand her, and you don’t hold any grudges about it.

After all, you were the one who abandoned her with two kids to raise alone in the first place, after the perishing and eventual return (after a five-year time window) of half the universe. But she looks your way, aiming at you with that greenish gaze as she did so many years ago, during the fierce battle that spanned all of Novi Grad in the outdated Sokovia, and you swallow hard, being peered up and down by the excruciating sight of your ex-wife. But there's a trace of weariness in the dusky green of her irises.

The redness in her puffy eyes reveals a recent cry. Out of place hair strands point to stress and worry. And you want to hug her, pull her close to you until your bodies almost merged into just one being, so that inside you, you could protect and cherish her. You want to be her safe haven again, her calm and hope, the love of her life. But you just press your lips together and clench your fingers into fists, to censor your urge to lift your hands and touch Wanda's exhausted face.

“Hey Wanda,” you greet her in a low voice when she doesn't do it to you first.

“Y/n,” she then murmurs in your direction, upper teeth digging into the contour of her lower lip, “You look okay.”

“You... you look fine, too.”

She steps to the side and opens the doorway wider, reservedly giving way to you, “Wanna come in?”

And then you sigh. Your stomach is in knots. But you look into her eyes, and she into yours. And then you nod your head in consente, “I- I would love to. I want to, yes.”

ᗢ

But the city pleased you that last year, and so it was that you decided to come back to spend time after your last mission with Steve and Nat, a couple of weeks before; the two of you have rented a modest three-room apartment near the center of the town, close to a winter clothing store and a small, comfy café. For you and your wife, it seemed like a good plan to adopt the tactic of hiding in plain sight, just two strange faces in the big, undistinguished crowd.

Wanda liked Europe, of course – the green and the gray, the mountains so tall that they seemed to want to break through the shadowy sky. It reminded her of home, a place that no longer belonged to her (as a fugitive wanderer, roots were not a reality in her daily life; with the accession of Sokovian territory by adjacent countries after the fall of Novi Grad, the meaning of home, for Wanda, was wherever you were present).

“Wanda…?”

She didn't answer you right away; Wanda seemed to be in a daze, not even having heard you. You closed the book and set it on top of the sheets, got up cautiously, and stepped carefully toward her.

“Wanda, love?”

“Y/n...” her greenish gaze shifted from her own reflection in the glass to looking in your direction.

The small, furrowed undulation between her thin brows portrayed a state of inner distress on the part of your wife, as if she were bewildered and helpless by the very haunting thoughts running through her head. She was wrapped in a thick gray wool sweater and her legs were dressed in soft, cotton pajama shorts—and in that way, she looked perfect in your eyes.

You raised your hands and held her face by the sharp sides, “Is that again? That… that feeling?”

“Yes,” she rested her cheek against the warm caress of your left palm, seeming to relax her shoulders inside the wool sweater, “Yes, malyshka, I... I can still feel it, it’s like it’s talking to me. It’s just so… so loud, Y/n.”

You suppose it would be something to do with the Mind Stone, the source of all her power; and therefore, to the other Avengers, or, to put it even more accurately, something concerning the Vision. The sustenance of your theory was because Wanda could sense the synthezoid whose body was the receptacle of the Infinity Stone – he was like her second birth brother as a being made of pure chaos magic.

It was as if some invisible force was stealing the oxygen that filled her lungs,“Tell me how you feel now.”

You asked her, still caressing the skin of her face, touching a small mole beside the right side of her sharp cheekbones. But Wanda took your hand with her own fingers, bringing it close to her pearly lips so that she could thus place a kiss on the gold band placed by herself on your ring finger, your wedding band (one of the symbols of your bond with her), before lowering her face to sprinkle another warm kiss on the bundle of skin found at the tender junction between your palm and wrist.

“I just feel you, baby.”

When you took hold of her waist, though, an irritated cry ripped through the air, and complementary to it, another childish scream pierced the continual rain; Tommy had woken up, and soon after him, so had Billy. You sighed. The synchronicity of the twins was such that the children's whimpers soon became a single harmony of cries and screams reverberating through the thin walls of the small apartment.

“I'll check on the boys, all right? Don’t worry,” you whispered against her lips, a small trickle of saliva breaking between your mouths.

She nodded her head, “Okay. Okay, darling.”

“Love you, my little witch.”

You placed one more tiny peck against the corner of her mouth before pulling away for good; Wanda felt the immediate lack of the intimate heat of your body against hers, and suddenly went cold. She followed you with her gaze as you crossed the room, until you walked out the door and turned down the hall towards the yells of your newborn children. And then she craned her neck, looking thoughtfully back at the rain pouring down over the city. And she whispered to the wind, more a murmur than a sentence.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

A thunder erupted through the darkness of the night.

ᗢ

“So, there's a 10 AM train to Glasgow to give us more time before we go.”

Your right arm, outstretched in front of your body, was comfortably pushing a double baby stroller by the sidewalk; Billy and Tommy had fallen asleep there, both with tiny wool caps to keep their petite childish heads warm. At that moment, the twins were not more than four months old; still infantile and raw, only acquainted by the presence of each other (from the womb) and the gentle supports of their maternal caresses; there was so much for them to do, and a whole world to get to know.

And with that, you and Wanda have learned to comprehend yourselves in your new encountered way, going through a routine stipulated by the nursing of two small creatures so dependent on you; as mothers and as a couple, as friends and as companions. Fighting side by side on a frontline was quite different than raising two newborn children as first-time parents, but together you could handle the new tribulations incumbent upon you. And every day with your wife and newborn children was a new experience.

Slow, frugal walks to the preludes to the soft twilight were often taken after the children came, accompanied by the scent of cinnamon and tea emanating from Wanda and your little Billy and Tommy. But, that night, it was by the silver glint of moonlight targeting the parallel structures of the city that you walked as a family; this turned out to be your new means of acquiring your daily doses of physical exercise as parents.

“What if we,” you breathed, still a little hesitant in your speech, “What if we miss that train?”

“There's one at 11.”

"Wanda, what if this time we just... just miss all the trains?” You stopped walking, and so did she.

The stroller stopped turning its plastic wheels and you turned your gaze to your wife, staring into her intriguing greenish eyes, “What if we didn't leave this time?”

“Y/n...” she hesitated for half a second, but it was enough for you to see the glint of hope in the green of her irises giving way to a shadow of distress and concern, “You... you know we can't. You gave your word to Steve and Natasha, and so did I. Even more so now, with the boys... We can't, malyshka. We both made promises.”

“Yes, but I also made a promise to you,” your hands traveled gently towards her shoulders, holding her so that you both sustain a constant eye contact.

Her hands didn't take long to brush the sides of your waist, fingers adorned in rings stroking you through the thick fabric of your dark jacket,“All this time we've been stealing these moments, trying to see if this, our family, could work. And it works."

“It works,” she agreed, a lovely half smile plastered to the pulp of her lips, tenderness brimming with the greenness of her passionate eyes.

“It works,” you exclaimed, smiling too.

“Y/n...” she seemed to contemplate, pondering. The half smile on her lips perished quickly.

“Let's stay, Wanda. Stay with me.”

She spread her mouth so she could answer you, but the response never came, having drained out of her throat. A thunderous explosion echoed, loud and reverberating in the distance, a burst fending through the night, like the roar of a fierce dragon, spitting flames of scalding fire.

You felt your muscles strained like a smooth sheet of metal as another blast split the silence of the night, this time sounding even closer and more menacing, as the portent of the coming calamity, “Fuck, I'm starting to think we should have stayed in bed.”

A heavy thud, like a bowling ball falling to the ground, sounded booming as something imploded from the structure of a nearby building, hurling itself onto the solid ground next to you and Wanda.

“V-Vision?!” You moved towards the ragged synthesoid, holding him by the arm so you could help him to his feet and out of the crater caused by the impact of his own metallic body against the ground, “Vis!”

His long golden cloak behind his large shoulders was muddy and frayed, like a dirty mop. Wanda, however, was stagnant near the crying children and wouldn't be leaving anytime soon; that sick feeling in her chest was back, swallowing her up inside.

“M-Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff,” he whimpered, bewildered, instinctively pressing his red palm against the distended fissure in his greenish abdomen, his piercing blue eyes looking horrifically in your Direction, “Protect yourselves, please, protect yourselves. They followed me here.”

“They who, Vision?” you asked him in a sharp tone, full of tension, “Who are they?”

“The Stone warned me about them,” the robot man mussed in an uneasy timber of voice, chatting more to himself than to you properly, “The- the Stone… the Stone warned me...”

“Yes, I felt it too,” your wife whispered in a grim tone of voice, though not looking at the synthezoid, her gaze fixed like a vigilant watch dog in the direction Vision had been flung.

“Y/n, get the boys and Vision and take them to a safe place.”

Your children continued to cry, and for half a second you felt a burning desire to do so with them, “W-what?! No, no way, no!” you gestured arduously towards her, “Wanda, I'm not leaving you here to fight on your own!”

“Y/n, please,” and then she turned towards you; the sober green of her eyes was clouded by the tears compressed there, “Let me take care of my family, detka.”

ᗢ

Wanda Maximoff is a great mother to your children. The kind of mother who kisses their sore bruises, bakes warm cookies to congratulate them on some new achievement, sings them lullabies before tucking them into their beds with good night kisses, and knows how to treat a cold or, in the worst case, a terrible fever (with ginger and honey tea and black radish – or, as her mother used to call it in her native language, "chyornaya redka").

And there’s you – you, who pays child support on the correct days and don't forget about their birthday. There's never even been any doubt about the fact that your ex-wife is one of those people who were born to have a child (to play the role of a mother figure in a child's life), of course, but even so, you can't help but gaze with an air of tenderness at the picture frames that hang around the length of a high wall. Your stomach feels heavy.

But it makes sense, you think, after all, you never lived there with them. Your books weren’t piled up on the shelves, your pillows weren’t managed on the sofa, your favorite mug is not kept in any cupboard. Your favorite cereal isn't in the storeroom and your preferred ice cream flavor isn't in the freezer. Your jacket isn't hanging inside her closet. Your blanket is not on her bed. There is no trace of you inside Wanda's home.

From the other images, the twins are either together, or next to at least one member of your old circle of friends. You are not present at all at first, and the full notion of it is an unpalatable truth, too bitter to swallow – but which sinks easier to the pit of your stomach when steeped in whiskey or brandy.

It's a photograph that you took yourself, a few hours after the birth of your tiny children so many years ago, on the backs of that comfortable wooden cottage built on former Sokovian territory. The picture portrayed is a little dusky because most of the lamps that lightened the hovel were shattered during the exhausting hours that Wanda spent in an excruciating labor, but the small brightness is enough to find, in there, a couple of full-sized, genuine smiles on both the faces of the young first-time mothers – a youthful couple who could barely look away from the newborns or even each other in that moment so intimate, so pleasant.

You remember hurling that same picture frame against the wall, blasting it into dozens of shards right after Tony Stark's funeral, days after Thanos' defeat and the return of those who were blipped five years before that same day.

ᗢ

“Please tell me that at least one of them would be named Natasha if he was a girl.”

“Wanda prefers Talia.”

“Talia?!”

“Traitor.”

ᗢ

“Mom!”

“Y/n! Wait, Tommy–!”

“Mo-mom! Mom!” Tommy calls out to you, standing nervously just to Wanda's left side, “Are you- are you okay?! Did I hurt you?! I-I, I'm really sorry, I-!”

“Here, take my hand, Y/n. C’mon.”

“It's okay, I just... I didn't... I wasn't expecting a hug that was... Uh, like that.”

You look at Tommy and he looks overly vexed, his little hands fluttering in eagerness. Wanda soon comes to lay a caring hand on the boy's shoulder, offering him a slightly anxious little smile.

“Your mom’s fine, baby, she’s fine,” and then she turns back to you, coercing cooperation on your part amidst a desperate look.

“You're fine, right, Y/n?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m all right. Mom’s fine. You... You're just stronger than I imagined, son,” you then muffled under your breath, still a little dumbfounded. Tommy is fast. And strong. Dangerously fast and strong.

“Sorry...” the boy whines, creasing his thin eyebrows, “Mama said I should be more careful with other people now...”

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. I’m not like other people, you know that buddy,” you cautiously approach him, and just like that, you touch the pale skin of his left cheek, dotted with a galaxy of tiny freckles.

But Tommy just happened to be the next owner of the freckles after young Wanda, “Hey, look at me. Look at me, Tommy. I'm fine, see? I’m fine. It was just a silly scare, that’s all. You caught me off guard there, young man.”

“Promise?” The boy sniffles, still a little apprehensive about your physical condition.

But you smile, stroking the top of his head with your hand, messing up his medium-size brown hair as you do so.

“Uhum. I promise you, little dude,” you wink with one eye towards the boy, just to calm his nerves down, and the act seems to work very well – because he flashes a wide smile in your direction after that. His smile still looks like yours. You wonder if Wanda thinks about it too every time she sees Tommy smile.

“You know it takes a lot more than a small bump to bring your mother down, right?”

"Yeah, kickass!" the boy grins, back to his usual moods, but Wanda just frowns as if she wasn't sure what she'd just heard.

"Kickass...?" she undertones to herself, interspersing a curious look between you and your son.

“Yeah, Wanda, kickass,” you smirk towards your ex-wife, but she doesn't take long to look away, so your eyes go back to the energic little boy in front of you, “Where's your brother, Tom?”

Tommy turns to the stairs that rise just behind him, “Billy! Mom’s here!”

“H-hey! Mama! That’s not fair!”

“Please Tommy, no running up the stairs, baby,” she asks just once, before putting him back down in his feet with all the care in the world. The boy nods, albeit in a bad way.

“I know, mama, I know,” and then he turns back to the stairs, this time taking them one step at a time at a sliver of speed, still calling out to his younger twin brother, “Bil-ly-yy!”

The boys will always be your priority. You know which is the twins' room along the vast hallway, climbing the steps of the perpendicular staircase in zeal.

“Billy,” he murmurs under his breath, but even so the words reach your ears as you're standing in the doorway, “Billy, mom’s here.”

“I know,” a small, fragile voice from under the covers replies to the information given to him by the other twin, “Her thoughts are too loud.”

You almost step on a plastic Spider-Man toy with your right foot as you approach the two little boys cuddled in bed.

“Hey, Bill,” you call out to him in a diminutive tone of voice, showered with tenderness and complacency when you squat next to the boy on the bed, “Hey, can you hear me buddy?”

“Hi, mommy.”

“Hi, Bill. How are you feeling bud? Your mama told me you've been having some trouble with loud noises up there. That sucks, right?”

“Yeah... everything is just so loud, mommy. My head feels… weird. It’s, like, really noisy. I don’t like it.”

“I know, baby, I know. It’s okay, Billy.”

“See, Billy? I told you that you got the calculation wrong!”

You raise a confused eyebrow at your children, glancing between the two boys in a somewhat curious act as you let out a confused giggle, “Calculation? What calculation?”

“Billy said that mama said that you would come see us every fifteen days, and he counted the days and you didn't came, so I told him he that counted wrong. And I was right, see? I was right!”

You blink once, and then twice. And Tommy smiles towards you exhaling airs of expectation – that same smile similar to yours, that reminds you so much of the child that you once were. And then realization washes over you like a bucket of cold water – because fuck, he's your son. These are your children. Bones of your bones, flesh of your flesh. You are their mother, you think, and you don't fucking act like one.

“I... I'm here now, all right?” you look from one of them to the other, sounding as confident as you've ever been in the past few Years, “I'm here for you, for all of you. I will always be here for you.”

“We know,” Billy says, trying to emulate the most adult tone he is able to achieve "Mama says family is forever. And you are our family, mom.”

“Yeah, family is forever!” Tommy repeats in corroboration of his brother.

You want to cry, but then you smile. You just smile, “Yes, bud. Family is forever.”

ᗢ

You know it's hibiscus tea what she’s drinking without even having to taste the contents of the mug. You only see the top of your ex-wife's dark-haired head and want to momentarily sink your nose into it to sniff the scent of her locks, only to see for yourself that she still exudes that same mild strawberry shampoo scent that you always appreciated so much. But you gasp in a ragged, half-embarrassed sigh when your ex-wife's voice is soft in your ears, pulling you out of your little bubble of intrusive thoughts.

“You always had loud thoughts, you know?”

And then there's the discomforted silence; neither of you dares to be the first to start the next sentence. But Wanda turns her chin over her left shoulder, turning toward you, and you feel her sharp gaze scanning your flesh, searching for some information within your soul; the inexorable greenish gaze is steady and when aimed at your own eyes it's the trigger, and you look away to stare at an opaque stain on the white fabric of your worn sneakers.

“How are they?”

“Tommy seems to be doing fine, he just needs to learn to keep a constant check on his abilities, but... He will get the hang of it. I mean, I've been through it too – you know how it works when you're that strong. It's... kinda hard to control your own strength, sometimes. You know, like that time when we were–”

You scratch your throat clumsily, trying to get the sight of Wanda's naked body beneath yours out of your brain, “W-well, uh, now Billy...” you whisper in a prickly voice, “Billy, he... he reminds me of you back then.”

“I know,” she smiles, a small, ghostly smile against the rim of her cup, “He reminds me of myself too. I see a lot of myself in him, but... honestly I don’t know how to feel about it.”

But her sweet smile perishes within seconds, and she gnaws at her bottom lip, looking hesitant and uncertain.

“I…I'm scared, Y/n,” she confesses to you in a sigh, licking her lips, “I'm afraid something bad will happen to them because of their powers. They might end up getting into some sort of accident, or maybe get hurt and even end up hurting someone else and–”

“They're just kids, Y/n. They’re my babies – our babies. I don't want them to end up caged like animals, I... I need you,” she whispers, “I need you here, Y/n, I can't do this alone anymore. I, I just... I can’t do this without you anymore, I can’t. I don't know how to do this without you.”

It annoys you, in the most acute sense of the word, that this isn't the first time Wanda has affronted you with her dismayed eyes. Her life was painful, it's true. But you just don't want her to suffer one more time. She takes a fresh sip of tea from her cup. You walk around the couch and sit next to her. She looks at you, but it's too much; you look away.

“Wanda, I...”

“I...” you look at her, “I...”

There's so much you want to say, but you just don't say it. Not now. Not again. You can no longer make promises to her, because you know you are unable to keep them.

ᗢ

Wanda never truly aspired to become a hero, and in all honesty, neither did you at first. But at that moment, the whole universe needed you. And at that time, you had something worth to fight for. You would be protecting the world one last time to secure your children's future.

You promised her that this would be the last time you would put on your suits and use your powers on something as brutal as a combat zone where so many had died and so many more would perish by the end of that day. When that infinity war ended, you would go back to your ordinary, domestic life and raise your children together in some small suburban town, that's what you promised her. She asked you where, and you suggested somewhere in New Jersey, where the weather seemed to be nice.

And when Vision convinced Wanda that she alone held the power needed to destroy an Infinity Stone, she cried because she didn't want to. Wanda shook her head as her darkened eyes filled with pale tears, looking disturbingly towards the synthezoid as she heard his final wishes.

“No, no, Vision- Vision I- I can’t. I can’t–”

She, who had already lost so much, did not want to lose another loved one so dear to her. But she knew it had to be her; you were running out of time and the future of the entire universe depended on your wife's actions. And you hated that such a barbaric decision had to be blamed on Wanda, who already had grieved enough in her lifetime.

But you always thought she was the most devout Avenger among you all. And she had the fullest notion that if Thanos took the Stone, half the universe would die. It wasn't fair that it was her, but that's how things turned out. Life didn't used to be fair to people like you (people like her). And in the copious tears that spilled down her gorgeous face, you perceived that she thought of Billy and Tommy as she lifted a trembling hand and dispensed a continuous swirl of scarlet magical energy against Vision's forehead.

And then, at the same time, you felt something piercing through your flesh. The excruciating pain took hold of your nervous system almost immediately, and every cell in your body seemed to rip apart as your confused gaze migrated downward, only to find, there, slashing diagonally across your abdomen, a thick blade opening a stewing slit in the skin tissue of your stomach.

And it surprised you, actually, to see something go through your internal organs, because as far as you knew, the fibers that made up your body were supposedly impenetrable. But Thanos had been able to rip your belly open with the dual blade he so proudly wielded. And it hurt like hell. A trickle of warm blood trickled down your chin.

Wanda glanced in your direction precipitously, and a guttural scream soaked in dread exploded from the depths of your wife's throat when she came across the image of you being impaled in midair, so close to her, “Y/n!”

A nearby explosion rattled your brain within the edges of your skull, and you were never exactly sure, but you think your consciousness faded for a tiny fraction of a second when you lay there, dying, in the earth. But you blinked in lethargy, one, two, three sluggish times. Your body temperature was gradually dropping as your blurred vision caught Wanda's tearful green eyes; your wife had your head on her thighs.

You felt yourself dying, slowly losing to the very serious wound stretched along your stomach. Life draining away in a sigh that left your lips parted, little by little your energy draining away until the machine (your body) stopped once and for all. And you cried, because you didn't want to die in Wanda's arms. You didn't want to be another person who would walk away and leave her behind. One more name in the long list of people Wanda would never see again in her life.

You wanted to see Tommy and Billy grow up. You wanted to grow old beside her in a fucking suburb. You didn't want her to see the life drain from the shell that was your perishing body.

“Y/n!” Wanda sobbed, her hands reddened not by her magic, but by the sludge of blood pooled on your suit, “Y/n, no, please, baby! Y/n! You promised! Please Y/n, you promised! Y/n-!”

Your pulse was dangerously weak. Your heart greedily struggled to keep beating. Your brain fought to keep your organs working, so your vision could barely make out when the fingers touching you suddenly disappeared from the grip around your injured body. Her hands thinned around your wound, and the desperate touch in your flesh was suddenly gone.

A thick tear fell from Wanda's chin before her body completely melted, and it dripped onto the top of your icy left cheekbone, the tear feeling warm against your pale skin. She was gone. For five long years, she was gone. So far away, on the Barton ranch, both babies Billy and Tommy had also become dust with all of Clint's family – you learned about it a week later, when you woke up inside the compound’s med bay, with Natasha's pained gaze scrutinizing your injured body (she had lost her sister too).

Your wife and newborn children, your entire family, gone. All of them but you. You were the lucky bastard left behind. And that's when it started; the alcohol and the cigarettes, the sleepless nights and the incurable emptiness that settled inside yourself. You never promised anything again in your life.

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