#so he agrees to use scarlet witch's powers to share his memories of his time on the thanos' ship with thor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

samstree · 3 years

Text

You are too well tangled in my soul (5/5)

(Geraskier, 1.6k, time travel, hurt/comfort, soft geralt, now complete, cw: mentions of abuse)

Inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife.

Read on AO3

Yennefer comes in a whirlwind of buzzing magic, a portal opening up in the middle of the empty courtyard, blowing up the melting snow everywhere.

Of course she can come through the protective ward around the keep like it’s nothing.

She steps onto the ground of Kaer Morhen with her usual poise, all shiny raven curls and sparkling eyeshadows, breathtaking as ever. Only her proud demeanor shifts into something marginally softer when those enchanting violet eyes fall on Ciri.

The princess approaches the sorceress in tentative steps, before picking up the pace and running into her embrace. Yennefer is visibly taken aback by the sheer force of it but soon gives back a loose hug. The girl, being a head shorter than Yennefer, steps back and smiles brightly.

“I saw you in my dreams.”

Those violet eyes become more curious.

Beside Jaskier, Geralt’s voice rumbles deeply. “Yen, this is Ciri. My Child Surprise.”

The corner of her lips quicks up. “Nice to meet you, Ciri.”

In the main hall, Jaskier sits in front of the fire and watches the three of them talk quietly at the table.

A lost princess with immeasurable chaos in her body, a witcher who protects humanity with nothing but two swords on his back, and a sorceress so powerful she scorched an entire Nilfgaardian army all by herself.

They make a perfect family, beautiful, powerful, and well-matched.

Lost in thoughts and the wine in his cup, Jaskier never notices the young princess going off to sword lessons with Vesemir or even Geralt settling down on the thick carpet next to him.

The witcher adjusts the blanket draped on Jaskier’s knees absent-mindedly. “By the way, Yen, what did you think of our ward?”

“It’d be a good idea.” The sorceress looks down at Geralt, posture elegant from the vantage point of the chair. Her hand flattens the folded wrinkles on her embroidered dress. “Don’t worry, Geralt. I’ll enhance it for you so no mage can get through. You child will be safe in here.”

Geralt’s voice turns solemn. “Thank you, Yen. And thank you for coming.”

“I came for her.” Yennefer’s gaze studies Geralt up and down with a piercing curiosity, and softens ever so slightly. “Fatherhood looks good on you.”

Geralt hums without answering.

“Did you ever doubt destiny’s decision?” Jaskier challenges her, regrettably drawing attention to himself.

Yennefer finally looks at Jaskier for the first time since she arrived, amusement creeping into her expression. Geralt sighs long-sufferingly next to Jaskier, braced for the usual snarky jabs between these two.

“Bard.”

“Witch.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “The gray hair suits you.”

“Not being tortured by Nilfgaard suits you.”

From his peripheral, Jaskier sees Geralt tense but keeps his eyes on the sorceress. Framed by the flickering candlelight, everything beautiful about her now is a sharp contrast to the last time Jaskier saw her – tied up, depleted of magic, and covered in blood.

Her lips curve dangerously. “Still saved your sorry ass, didn’t I?”

This time when Jaskier returns her smile, it’s genuine. “You are right about that one. I never got to show any gratitude.” Geralt’s questioning gaze is burning a hole on Jaskier, but he’ll have to wait. Jaskier continues the peace-offering. “So thank you, really. It’s good to see you again, Yen.”

“Don’t call me that.” She takes a jab at him but there’s no malice. “And destiny often makes shit decisions. You should know.”

Yennefer looks between the two of them and Jaskier’s breath hitches. Somehow the sorceress knows about their bond. Jaskier turns to look at an equally startled Geralt. “Did you tell her?”

“Oh, please,” She cuts in, “The temporal magic is all over you two. I felt it the day you first barged through my door.” She pulls a sealed letter out of nowhere and holds it before Jaskier’s face. “I only meant this.”

The Pankratz insignia carves into the scarlet wax seal.

The buzzing of the world drowns Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s been years since he received news from home. Distantly, he knows Geralt is asking if he’s alright, the warmth from the witcher’s large hand seeps through the fabric on his back.

He reaches for the letter and tears through the seal in an instant, and pauses.

“You know what it says.”

“The news traveled faster than a letter.” Yennefer offers a tight smile. “My condolences, Jaskier.”

Jaskier is perched on their shared bed while Geralt paces around the room. He clutches the thin piece of paper, reading the words again even if he’s stared at them for so long they’ve begun to blur.

…Alfred Pankratz, Count de Lettenhove, passed away in his sleep three days ago.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier rubs his eyes when they lose focus, and that’s when he notices how stiff his joints are for staying in the same place for too long.

He blinks and Geralt has come to sit next to him on the mattress, gently prying the letter away from Jaskier’s tense fingers. His knuckles are turning white for gripping it so tightly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, who instinctively wraps an arm around him. “I don’t know.” He adds, “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs.

“Why?” Jaskier nuzzles, seeking comfort. “You never had kind words for the man.”

The pain from childhood flares up again. Memories of sitting by the lake crying and nursing his hurt as a child almost make panic bubble up Jaskier’s throat. He has to calm down by focusing on Geralt’s solid touch and the rise and fall of his breathing.

It does the trick, as always.

“You still mourn him, despite everything.” Geralt answers, drawing circles on Jaskier’s back slowly.

Jaskier lets out a tight chuckle. “I should hate him, and maybe I did for many years. But…in the end, he was just my father.”

They sit in silence. Jaskier melts into Geralt’s continued soothing touches, letting reality sink in. A plan comes together in his head.

“I should go back.”

“To Lettenhove?” The movement on Jaskier’s back stops.

When Jaskier pulls back, there’s apprehension in Geralt’s eyes. His brows furrow in distress so Jaskier eases it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m still the heir. There are things that require seeing to. I don’t want his title, so I’ll have to be there to renounce it. The estate and all the fortune will go to my cousin – Ferrant is quite a natural leader. He will do well being the head of the family. As for my mother, she’ll want to see me. It’s been too long since I wrote her.”

Geralt frowns again at the idea but reluctantly agrees after a moment.

“I don’t like the idea of you being back there.”

“Oh don’t you worry, my love,” Jaskier says. “It just got me thinking. My father died and they didn’t even have a way of reaching me. If Yennefer hadn’t come across this funeral invite at some random court I would still be in the dark. Not that I’ll be back in time for the funeral of course. It takes too many days just to get down this mountain. Still, it could be nice to see my family again. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Hmm.” Geralt runs his fingers through the hair at Jaskier’s temple, where he knows a strand is peppered with silver as Yennefer so kindly pointed out. “Speaking of. Since when are you best friends with Yen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaskier teases him. “I’m sure you’ll have all the time in the world to get the story out of her, now that she’s around to give Ciri magic lessons. I’m sure she won’t paint me in a heroic light in our little Nilfgaardian prison adventure. Too bad I won’t be there to save my image.”

“Jask.” Geralt blinks, taking Jaskier’s wrist in a gentle hold. “You know I’m going with you, right? You are not going alone.”

“But Ciri’s training…”

“Yen is taking her to a safe house just outside of Novigrad. Triss will be there too. The chaos Ciri carries is raw power. It’s so complicated they’ll be lucky to figure it out within a couple of months.”

“Don’t you need to go as well? To stay with them and protect your daughter?”

Geralt smiles at the word daughter. No matter how many times everyone or even Ciri herself uses it, the word still brings him so much joy.

“I’ve had her all winter, taught her a lot about being a witcher. Now she needs to learn from real magic users. Besides, I think she’s getting tired of being cooped up with five men for this long. Staying with the ladies might do her good.”

Jaskier stares at the warmth flowing in those ember eyes, suddenly feeling lighter like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t have to do this alone.

“You’ll come with me,” he muses the sentence.

“You’re hurting, Jask. I would never leave you like this.” Geralt’s tone is so casual it’s like he’s stating the weather. Gods, this ridiculous man has no right to make Jaskier’s heart swell three sizes like this.

He picks up Geralt’s hand and presses a kiss to his calloused palm. “We’ll go straight to Novigrad soon as business finishes at home. Even I’ll miss her too much.”

Jaskier gets pull into Geralt’s embrace again, breathing in the smell of the chamomile soap he insists on the witcher during baths. It feels like Geralt is marked by him somehow, covered in his signature scent.

“I love you, Jask.”

“Mm-hmm. Enough to face all the nobles for me.”

Geralt hums, perhaps surprised.

“You know there’s gonna be a lot of them, right? Many will be there to pay respect. I’m a noble, in case you forgot. If you can barely tolerate me, imagine the chaos when we get there.”

The laugh rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest, and soft lips press on Jaskier’s hairline at his temple.

“Only for you, Jaskier.”

(Feedbacks are much appreciated! Tell me what you think of it!)

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #it is finally finished!#there's still a sequel but it counts as finished #hooray!#geralt/jaskier

22 notes · View notes

ticklikeabomb · 5 years

Text

Birth in Reverse : Part 4

Pairing : Avengers x Plus Size Reader (ships next chapter)

Warning : Language

Word Count : 1.9k

Inside the room once everyone was seated, Tony plugged the drive in. A close-up shot from a man was seen. It was dark, the only light on the room illuminating his face. "Hello Y/N. If you see this, it means I'm dead. I know you must be confused right now and you don't know who to trust anymore. One thing is for sure, don't trust anyone." There was a small pause where he would check his surroundings. "The first thing you have to know is that you're part of Hydra." You gasped and shocked your head "No", feeling all the Avenger's eyes burning holes in your skin.

Your breath got stuck on your throat after this affirmation. You couldn't even dare looking at anyone, shame and shock possessing you. "When I say Hydra, I mean you were", the man on the screen continued. Your head lifted up, your features screaming confusion. "I was part of it too. It took me a while to realize that I was on the wrong side all along but Dr Jules knew. She knew you had to be saved. Hydra became uncontrollable, their madness reaching the verge of understanding. I know you're a little confused right know." He kept looking at his surroundings.

"You and your twin sister lost your parents when you were young. Hydra planned their assassination and pretended it was an accident but what they didn't plan was that you were both with them. For some kind of miracle you and your sister survived and were taking in. Dr Jules was part of your education ever since. You've been trained and controlled. The difference between you and you was that one got powers and the other had to work harder for it, your sister. She trained non stop, eventually become the perfect soldat, the perfect death machine but she made a mistake. She became reckless, always trying to take matters into her own hands without anyone while you were the voice of reason, seeing the futur, preventing major Hydra costs. The leaders couldn't bare her stubbornness anymore and found the perfect way to shot her out. Their greatest success I might say. You ! The new you. They modified your genome and planted part of her brain, cells and blood in you. The reasonable mixed with the fierceness, the perfect combination. Dr Jules couldn't bare what they've done to both of you and freed you, erasing your memory and implanting a new life inside your brain. I reached out to her and she told me how to reactivate you. If you're seeing this tape it means you're you again, -ish and that not only is Jules dead but so am I. DON'T LET THEM GET TO YOU. Good luck Y/N."

The screen went black, silence filling the room. No one dared to speak up, everyone as shocked as the other. Your vision was blurred, waves of tears on the verge to cascade your face, while your breathing quickened. "They killed h-" 'Yes they did. Kind of', you heard the voice in your head. The voice you thought was yours since you've got reactivated, turning out it was your sister's. "Y/N?", you heard a faint male voice coming closer. You looked at the source's direction and saw Bucky kneeled in front of you. That's when you lost it and fell into the spirals of your oceanic tears. You felt the room compress around you, heath engulfing you and noticed that the Avengers stepped closer, trying to transmit their support in their own way. 'Stop crying, they must be pitying us. I hate it.' Hearing her voice, knowing it was part of her in you made you sob even harder. You put your hands on your head, rocking your body back and forth until you abruptly stopped. Your mouth slightly agape, your blank expression and your lifeless eyes replaced your natural state. "Boss she's going into a complete state of shock", informed F.R.I.D.A.Y

"Y/N hey kid stay with me. Come on", said Tony inched from you. The tears kept sliding down your face but with a silence that made everyone's blood cold. Your eyes locked with Tony's brown ones and you whispered, "I'm tired, so tired." 'So dramatic. GIRL the F.' Wanda stepped closer and slowly took your hand in hers. "What's your name?", she asked. 'Why is she asking your name?' She chuckled and looked you in the eyes, "No, I mean what's yours? I don't really wanna refer to you as Y/N's sister." You frowned and remembered Wanda could read minds and was trying to communicate with…'Nadia'. "Nice to…meet you Nadia. Ehm could you help Y/N in calming her down or something?", asked the Scarlet Witch calmly. 'Why would I do that? She failed me', was the last words you heard before feeling darkness invading you.

Screams. Screams getting louder and louder by the second. 'Y/NNNN.' A hand stretching out to you and your eyes terrified looking back at you. Her eyes. 'HELPP.' A louder scream pulled you up from the darkness, the only light shining in the room was the moon's reflection. Sweat covered your body and heavy pants leaving your mouth were the best terms to describe your state. You stood up and walked to the bathroom, discharging your clothes to the ground and leaving the boiling water hit your skin. 'It might be your body but I still can feel it burn. Turn the water down'. You didn't obey and kept it at the hottest level. You heard her curse you out and blabber in your mind and cut her off in a whisper, "Nadia." She didn't respond. "This is so fucking weird", you mumbled under your breath. 'No shit', she commented. "I…I don't remember", you said, tears tickling your eyeballs. 'I know but you will. Eventually.' You turned the water down, took a towel wrapping it around your body and exited the room. Your head lifted from the ground and you saw Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed. When his eyes met yours, they widened and he turned his face, a small blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. "Fuck, sorry Y/N. I didn't mean to-" 'What is Jesus doing here?'

"What are you doing here?", you asked. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze focused on the wall opposite from you and cleared his throat. "I… F.R.I.D.A.Y noticed me you woke up and I was worried." "Oh", was all that left your mouth. You sat down on the bed and told him it was ok to join you. "I'm covered. You can sit down if you want to." He did as you said but his blush kept darkening, his mind telling him your luscious and soft body was naked underneath the towel. "How are you feeling?", he asked with a slight crack on his voice. You looked at him and shrugged, "Like I don't know myself anymore. Like I thought I was this person and find out it was complete bullshit, not even starting on the fact that I share my consciousness with my twin sister. It's…I don't know. I'm lost." He nodded, his eyes clouded with pain and understanding. "I know exactly what that feels doll", he breathed out, his hand ceasing yours in a comforting squeeze. "If you need anything I'll be always here for you, alright?", he commented not even aware where that came from. You nodded and closed the gab between you, engulfing him in a hug. Not expecting it, Bucky's body froze before letting himself go and hugging you back. You disengaged and apologized for stepping onto his personal space. His response to that consisted of him hugging you again this time tighter, your sweet scent invading his nostrils. 'If you two become a thing I fucking riot', Nadia commented. A small chuckle unintentionally left your lips at her words before disengaging the hug again. "I need to put some clothes on", you noted. He stood up and stumbled on his way out. 'Well fuck.' "You never shut do you?", you asked Nadia. 'Nope.' "Great", you mumbled.

As you told Bucky, you put on some clothes and decided to walk to the kitchen. You thought it would be empty but at your surprise, the house was on full mode. Their animated conversion stopped abruptly when you entered the kitchen. A small smile made its way but quickly faded. The silence and their stares made you uncomfortable. That's the precise moment Thor chose to step towards you and took your hand, leading you to the table. Astonished by his action, he replied with a bright smile and drops a plate with freshly backed pancaked in front of you. 'Well that's a man', Nadia commented in a rather silky voice. "WHAT?", you asked. "Ehm Y/N, are you ok?", asked Scott. You looked at everyone and noticed Wanda's amused smirk taking a gulp from her coffee. "Yeah, sorry", you replied and plunged on the food in front of you. "You sure? You've been out for two days", added Clint, who received a slap on the shoulder from Natasha. "Ouch", he hissed and rubbed on the spot. "Don't pay attention to him", she declared and smiled at you. 'I wanna spare with her', commented Nadia. You shook your head in disagreement but play it off. "Y/N!!", you heard Roger's in authority. 'Arghhh I can't stand this one', told Nadia to which you couldn't agree more. He was really getting on your nerves and apparently you weren't the only one. "We talked with among us and we would like for you to stay with us, be part of the Avengers", he continued in a more quiet tone, a small smile crossing his features. 'Well I wasn't expecting this.' "Eh I don't know", you replied back hesitant. "Just think about it", he said. Well that definitely caught you off guard. you though he would push you into accepting but were glad he didn't. You continued your meal, your eyes scanning the crowd who continued their previous shenanigans and your eyes focused on Thor. He was telling Rhodes and Scott about some Asgard adventures, putting all his heart into the story. 'Godly indeed. Hmmm', whispered Nadia while you were taking a gulp of your drink.

Obviously you choked on her words and coughed out load, "Fuck Nadia." Wanda helped you clean up, trying to contain her laugh but Nadia wasn't having it. 'What all I'm saying is that I wouldn't mind to hold his hammer.' To that Wanda lost it completely while you wished you could disappear down a hole. "What is going on there?", asked Tony with a suspicious look a small smirk forming. "Nothing", you replied way to fast. "Are you alright Lady Y/N? Does your throat hurt?", asked Thor innocently. 'It could hurt if you want too'. Your eyes widened which let a confused look appear on the God of Thunder. "Nope, my throat is completely fine. No need of assistance", you replied your voice trembling. Wanda was bend down, laughing her ass off and your eyes shot daggers at her. Your pleading gaze met Bucky's whose expression looked tense : jaw clenched and dark eyes. He stood up, put his plate on the sink and left the room. "Shit", you breathed out. 'Someone looks jealous', commented Nadia. "Shut the fuck up Nadia", you replied through greeted teeth. 'Make me !', she spat in a menacing voice.

* gifs not mine, credit to owners*

PERMANENT TAG LIST : @arrowswithwifi @poetic-pixie @theshortegg @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @prettybubblesintheair @yafriendlyfangirl @marshmallow-witch @ms-cellanies @the-feckless-wonder @cfisher290 @thefangirltheycallviolet @river-fics @lilulo-12 @fanfictionrecommendations-com @spetzerfehn @angieptt @wayward-timetravel-collecter @ashley17jacobs @lokithedancingqueen @wildsoul1221 @introvertedsin @robertconradjr @francezka10 @titty-teetee @breezy1415 @lunarprincess3977 @thelostallycat

Series Tag List : @everything-is-awesomesauce @queenquazar @imthegirlyourparentswarnedyouof @lavender-writer @katsen13 @dewdieboo @black-is-beautiful18 @disastr-femme @crispywolftreeflower @volstrangelove @darkdragonpheonix @tcnyparker

#avengers x plus size reader #avengers #plus size reader #tony stark #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff #Thor Odinson #clint barton #bruce banner #Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #vision #scott lang #james rhodes #hydra #series #birth in reverse

97 notes · View notes

azaisya · 6 years

Text

stars in our veins

I have a modern fantasy au?? I don’t want to post this to ao3 bc my timeline has changed but , , , i still like it and also the Peredhil kids and Aragorn are Good

Whispers shifted at the edges of Aragorn's consciousness, pulling him from the dark mists of his dreams. With great reluctance, he found himself awake.

Brow furrowing, Aragorn twisted in his blankets, instinctively reaching for his girlfriend. When his fingers grasped nothing but empty sheets — startlingly cool despite the warm night — Aragorn sat up, blinking bemusedly in the dusky light.

New York — eternally awake, even when in the throes of night — glittered faintly beyond the gauzy white curtains that covered the windows. The quiet felt pervasive and unnatural; it felt as if a haze had fallen over the normal honking and nightlife of the city.

Aragorn had just opened his mouth to call for Arwen — their apartment wasn't very big, after all — when he heard her voice, lowered to a whisper.

"—won't tell Ada, and that's why you're here, isn't it?"

Another voice, lower and indistinctive, responded. Aragorn's frown deepened. That vice, muffled though it was, tugged at something in his memories, like a once beloved dream.

Arwen's soft murmur sharpened into something more dangerous. "I said I wouldn't. But I still think you should tell him."

Another indistinct reply sounded, different from the first but still eerily similar. It was like listening to an echo, or a memory.

"I don't care," Arwen's gentle voice replied, "He worries. He deserves to know that you're still alive."

With mounting concern, Aragorn kicked his legs over the side of the bed and padded silently into the living room. The shadows in the apartment seemed to come alive at this time of night, twisting and fumbling and seeking to tear themselves away and join their fellows in the night sky.

It's the witching hour, Arwen always said, voice glittering with traces of star-bright laughter.

Without a sound, he poked his head through the hall, seeking his girlfriend's dark hair and summer-blue night gown. He found her easily, a brilliant wisp of a dream in the quaint lamplight of their almost painfully mundane living room. She sat on the arm of the couch, bent over another figure, her pale fingers flashing as she wrapped a strip of gauze around pale flesh.

For a second, Aragorn thought he was seeing double. Two seemingly young men sat perched on the couch, long limbs sprawled carelessly on the suede. They were raven-haired and fair of face, with slate-grey eyes and danger in their footsteps. There was a strange feyness to the slant of their eyes and the overwhelming grace of their bodies, a trait they shared with the lovely girl standing over them.

But unlike Arwen, there was a haggardness to their faces, a terrible sickliness that seemed to cling to their bones and seep from their pores.

Aragorn knew them both, knew their every mood and jibe, and their state both startled and worried him.

Now content that Arwen hadn't summoned a demon while he'd been sleeping, Aragorn entered the room fully, scuffing his heels on the floor as he did so.

Arwen looked up, the movement bird-like in its abruptness, and her lips twitched into their customary smile: brief but genuine, like the moon at its height.

But the twins reacted as if they'd seen a ghost, faces paling and jaws falling slack. "Estel?" Elladan asked, puzzled, "What are you doing here?"

Aragorn leaned against the couch beside Arwen, dismayed at seeing the bloody cuts that covered both twins. The first-aid kit was propped open on Elrohir's lap, and the younger twin twisted around to stare at Aragorn.

Arwen made a clicking sound in the back of her throat. "Don't move unless you want me to make this hurt."

Elrohir dropped back into his previous position, watching Arwen warily as she stitched up a particularly bad cut on his arm.

"What happened to you two?!" Aragorn demanded, shocked. He'd grown up sparring with the twins, and he'd never seen them with anything worse than minor bruises.

Elladan, who was not being tended to and thus could move however he wished, swiveled his head to stare at Aragorn, fathomless grey eyes narrowing. "Why are you here?"

"I live here," Aragorn replied patiently, already reaching for the alcohol swabs to clean the cuts on Elladan's face. "Now tell me what happened."

Elladan was as poor a patient as ever, twisting out of the way when Aragorn tried to clean his face. "But why do you live here?"

Arwen finished her task and fixed her oldest brother with a sharp stare. "I'd like to know what happened as well."

Elladan ducked under Aragorn, who mumbled something inappropriate under his breath, and protested, "But, Arwen, why is Estel living with you?"

For the first time that night, the vicious creature that dwelt beneath Arwen's skin was revealed. Eyes piercing, she smiled deliberately, teeth suddenly sharp beneath her thin lips. "Elladan."

Elladan immediately sat still, and Aragorn happily began cleaning the grime from his cuts. Stripped from his humor and bristling, he felt suddenly brittle, as fragile as a fledgling fallen from the nest. His skin felt papery beneath Aragorn's fingers, and he frowned to see the thin black threads — like forgotten shadows — that twisted beneath Elladan's skin.

Elrohir shifted until he was at his twin's side, gaze oddly defiant. "We've been putting to right what is wrong."

Aragorn tossed his swab into the trash and replied warily, "Righting wrongs is not always your right." He knew his brothers, knew how quick to anger they were.

They made a sorry sight, sitting on the couch with their marble skin marred by strange cuts and all-too-human bandages. Darkness lurked beneath their eyes, and there was a stalwart defiance in the sets of their shoulders. But exhaustion exuded from them both in waves, and Elladan seemed nearly sick with it.

There were those who said Elrohir was the gentler of the twins.

They would be wrong.

Elrohir's lips drew back into a feral snarl, and a streak of raven feathers erupted across his skin. "We did not come here to be judged by you!" The feathers faded, and his skin returned to its unnatural whiteness. The cuts that Arwen had not covered stood out, starkly scarlet against his star-pale flesh. "By either of you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Of the three blood siblings, Arwen had always been the intellectual one. Elladan and Elrohir were the ones with their souls forged in flames; Arwen had always belonged to the stars, distant and cold. "Yes, but you came anyways and knew we would.” She paused, considering, and amended, “Or, you knew I would. You didn’t know Aragorn was here. Tell us what happened, El."

Elrohir looked down, unexpectedly chastised by the childish nickname. Aragorn seized the lull in the conversation and extended his hands towards the younger twin, fingers brushing feather-light above his injuries. A power — as natural and unexplainable as the universe itself — shifted, pooling at Aragorn's fingers and spilling into Elrohir. The burning of his cuts calmed, and his flesh knitted itself back together.

Elladan raised his head to look at his sister, allowing her to see the emotions that stormed beneath his glassy grey eyes. "We need somewhere safe to stay, Arwen."

There was history in those words, history that Aragorn didn't understand, and he paused in his work to frown at his girlfriend.

A shadow passed over her face, and her voice was carefully neutral when she spoke. "You've been hunting the Corrupted?"

Elrohir felt the shock that lanced through Aragorn at those words, and his eyes flashed fleetingly to him. "It's not as bad as she makes it sound."

"No," Aragorn agreed, "It's not. It's worse." He drew his hands away, for his hands were shaking now, and he didn't want the healing bond to be active when he was so distressed. "The Corrupted are twisted abominations of that which was fairest. They’re dangerous." There was some resentment in his tone, just the barest whisper of anger. He loved the twins, but he would forever be angry with them for vanishing without a trace on his eighteenth birthday, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs and the ceremonial longswords that hung in Elrond's study.

Elrond had been shattered to discover his sons had left, vanished into the night as they had decaded prior, and Aragorn had missed them terribly.

A bright light — foul and foreign — entered Elrohir's eyes, and he insisted, "We're dangerous too, Estel! Elladan and I— it is our sacred duty to keep the streets free of those monsters."

"But you needn't vanish for years on end!" Aragorn said abruptly, louder than he'd intended to.

Both twins flinched, for Aragorn so rarely raised his voice. He'd always been a happy child, and he'd grown into a noble adult.

"You don't understand!" Elrohir cried, making to stand. But Elladan grabbed his arm and kept him down.

"We have other people to fight," Aragorn protested. "Glorfindel has always kept the peace in Imladris—"

"But Imladris' borders don't even reach Maine," Elladan said quietly, "And Glorfindel cannot protect everybody."

Confused, Aragorn asked, "So you take it upon yourselves to singlehandedly hunt down all of the Corrupted?"

"If that is what it takes to protect innocents, then yes," Elrohir snapped.

Frustrated, Aragorn demanded, "Do you know how many of them there are on the East Coast alone?"

Arwen's voice, soft but powerful, cut through their argument. "Naneth died to give us a second chance."

The twins flushed angrily and, for a second, something foreign and ugly and dangerous filled their eyes. Elladan exclaimed, "And we're taking it by avenging her!"

Arwen's eyes flashed, and something very old awoke within her. "She didn't die so you could waste your souls on something as foul as revenge! Did you learn nothing from Ada's lessons? Would you honor her memory by squandering your souls on killing?"

"What else would you have us do?!" Elrohir cried, voice cracking. "Go to a school that can teach us nothing? Buy an apartment in New York? Live with our little brother?"

Arwen stood still as a statue, but there was something darkly angry under her passive expression. "Aragorn is not my bother. I was not raised with him, and what little blood we share has been diluted enough that I don't care. I don't care if you think college is useless! I'm not telling you to live my life. I'm telling you to live. You deserve so much better than devoting your life to vengeance."

Aragorn murmured, "Ada will be happy to see you again. He hasn't been the same since you left."

Something crumpled beneath Elladan's eyes. "I- I don't know if I can do that," he whispered, and everybody in the room noted his switch from we to I.

"You can," Arwen said fiercely, reaching forwards and grasping his hands, "You can let go of your anger and your revenge and even your oath!"

Elladan just stared miserably at her. "You don't understand," he said, but the words were weaker than before. "We've spent so many years hunting. If we give up now, what was it all for?"

Elrohir cut off whatever Arwen had been about to say, eyes blazing. "We can't just stop! We swore an oath, Arwen!"

"Then break it," she replied, matter-of-factly.

Elrohir's lips curled into a sneer. "You don't understand."

"But I do!" Arwen exclaimed, her frustration finally breaking her calm mask. Something swift tore across her face, and she leaped from the couch and turned away from them. "You don't! I loved Nana just as much as you did, but I don't go on a massacre because she died!" She turned abruptly, star-bright eyes suddenly glittering with tears. "Can't you see that you're doing nothing but hurting everybody?"

Taken aback, Elrohir could only stare. Aragorn scowled at his brothers, and raised his head to look at Arwen. He felt her mind, feather-light, touch upon his, and he sent a wave of reassurance to her. The panic in her eyes faded a little, but she didn't stop crying.

Elladan slowly stood, and it didn't escape Aragorn's notice that he was favoring his right leg. "Oh, no, don't cry." Dismayed, he tried to step forwards, but Arwen stopped him with a look. "Arwen, please. We're sorry. I'm sorry. I just—" He trailed off, clearly miserable.

Quietly, Elrohir murmured, "I'm sorry too." He looked sheepishly from his blood sister to his foster brother. "We've been idiots, haven't we?"

"Yes!" Arwen cried, tearfully furious, "You need to grieve, not kill." She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes.

Aragorn perched on the opposite side of the couch and asked, "You'll stop disappearing now?"

Elrohir shrugged. "We'll try. We can't break our oath."

Aragorn only knew bits and pieces of the twins's story. He'd picked up hints and whispers and sorrow from his foster father and from Arwen, and it horrified him to learn that his brothers had truly sworn to wipe out the Corrupted.

"But you can visit home more often," he suggested, tactfully not mentioning the last three years that had passed without a word from either twin.

"Or not bring swords to Thanksgiving," Arwen added, "And . . . I know I cannot ask you to break your oath. Just . . . please don’t be so reckless." She alighted on the suede, hair fanning out on the back of the couch, and Aragorn instinctively reached out to rest his hand o her shoulder.

Elladan closed his eyes. "I don't know if we can stop, Arwen."

"You can," she said decisively, "Hunting the Corrupted is not a bad thing, El. But to do so out of hate? For revenge? That will destroy your souls."

Both twins flinched and Aragorn's eyes widened. "It has, hasn't it?" His grey eyes suddenly flashed silver, and the sleep-mussed human man that had been sitting there moments ago was replaced by something otherworldly. To his eyes, Arwen gleamed with starlight. She was pure and beautiful and whole; she belonged here. But the twins. . . .

Their souls were torn nearly to ribbons, blackened feathers drifting from pale strings that strained to hold skin onto bones and life onto flesh.

Horrified, Aragorn reached out. "You can't Phase anymore, can you?" His fingers touched Elladan's knee, lightly, and the older twin flinched as though struck. Milky light streamed from Aragorn into Elladan, soothing the rifts in his soul.

Elladan relaxed against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. "Estel, we haven't been able to Phase since Nana died."

Arwen shuddered and ran her hands over her bare arms. "I can't imagine being trapped in my own skin."

Elladan cracked one eye open. "It's not fun," he said miserably.

Aragorn maneouvred around Arwen to repeat the process with Elrohir. Elrohir protested at first, but Aragorn firmly placed his hands on the younger twin's shoulders. "I've gotten better since last time," he said mildly, "I won't turn your skin blue."

"As if I'd trust you," Elrohir said, his voice trembling with the memory of the banter they'd once had.

Aragorn flashed a brief smile, unsure if he had forgiven his brothers yet, and sent his power into Elrohir. The younger twin immediately sighed and fell limply against Elladan, eyes slipping shut as well.

Arwen unfolded herself from where she sat, eyes lidded with exhaustion. "They'll fall asleep soon," she murmured.

"That's good," Aragorn replied, holding his arms out to her. "They need healing, and lots of it. How long have they been hunting?"

Arwen threw herself at him, her form shifting into a raven halfway through her leap. He caught her and held her close to his chest, taking comfort in her familiar feathers. In his mind, she said, Too long.

"That's true enough," he agreed, checking one last time to make sure the twins were alright. They were both sound asleep, expressions peaceful for the first time that night. "They'll need Ada to see to their souls. I'm not sure if they'll ever be whole enough to Phase again."

In his arms, Arwen trembled, and he ran his fingers over the soft feathers on her head. They wouldn't have come to us if they hadn't been injured. Their promises tonight might just be their exhaustion.

"I'll text Ada in the morning," Aragorn said decisively, turning to head back to the bedroom, "And I'm linked to them right now. I'll notice if they leave."

They'll be angry, she murmured, They've spent so long avoiding any sort of comfort.

Aragorn shrugged. Arwen shifted and took to the air. By the time she hit the bed, she was human again, her night-dress stained pitch black, and she curled up in the covers and closed her eyes.

Smiling softly at her, Aragorn settled in beside her. "They'll be alright though," he murmured, burying his face in her hair, "We won't let them fall into darkness again."

She turned to grasp his hand, and he could feel the stars beneath her skin. "Not ever again."

(The Peredhil are shape-shifters in this world. Aragorn, who’s descended from Elros, isn’t able to Phase like Arwen can because his “other” blood is too diluted by “human” blood, but he has enough “otherness” to heal)

#aragorn #arwen #elladan #elrohir #lord of the rings #modern fantasy au #siov #more words #lotr fanfiction #elrond and celebrían are mentioned only #i might write their story one day #candleswriting #here down in the valley

10 notes · View notes

anonthenullifier · 7 years

Text

Witchcraft

Title: Witchcraft

For: @thissweetmoment

Rating: T

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12032184

Word Count: 4,531

Warnings: None

Summary: Vision contemplates why Wanda is so distracting to him.

Message for thissweetmoment: I hope this fulfills what you were hoping for with the prompt

Prompt: A fanfiction from MCU Vision’s perspective that embodies the atmosphere of the song “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra. If possible, I’d love for Vision’s way of thinking (and/or dialogue) to revolve around these three words: bewitch, witchcraft, and witch.

Other note: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, @atendrilofscarlet! You are more awesome than words can describe.

Made for the @scarletvisionexchange2017

The sizzle of oil in the pan crescendos when he lays the chicken down, a satisfying sound that means he might actually have the pan hot enough on the first attempt. Vision curls his fingers anxiously around the spatula, always tempted to touch the food too soon out of worry it might burn, but he has suffered the consequences of premature flipping too many times and so he tries to hold back. The key, he finds, is to allow his mind to stray just a bit, distract his natural instincts long enough to cook the food. So he focuses on the noise around him, the bubbling oil intermixing with the plopping sounds of boiling water, the gentle click-click of the chicken-shaped timer (a recent addition made by Sam and one that Vision, without admitting it to anyone but Wanda, of course, is quite fond of) tracking the progression of the focaccia bread in the oven, and the honeyed robustness of trumpets filling the room. Beyond all of the immediate sounds in the kitchen he can also make out the nightly news that Rhodes and Natasha are watching in the common space, a habit the two have after particularly dicey missions to assess the reactions of the public. Vision is unconcerned, at the moment, with what they are saying, but finds himself intrigued more so with how they refer to each Avenger.

He’s discovered that you can parse out the perceptions of the team utilizing the monikers used to describe them in the news. Steve is referred to as Captain America, Captain Rogers, or, for the casual name-drop, Cap, all suggesting a veneration for his military service and an acceptance of his ideals as their own. Natasha they call Black Widow, a sense of admiration and bone chilling terror at her prowess, any mention of her actions said with a reverence, a deep seated surety that she is not a woman to speak ill of regardless of whether the person agrees with Natasha’s actions or not. Iron Man is ubiquitous with Tony Stark, used interchangeably depending on the mood, and this seems right, there is no difference in antics whether he is in the suit or outside of it. Rhodes, well, he has changed his official superhero name too many times now that they simply give him respect for his service by talking about him as Colonel James Rhodes. It annoys him that War Machine has not stuck, but such is public opinion. Sam is Falcon or the bird guy, not to be confused with the air of bewilderment when the arrow guy is mentioned, which is rarely, a thorn in Clint’s side at the disrespect he gets, though he shrugs it off well. Scott has it even worse, an anchorwoman one time mentioning Ant-man to an immediate response of confused silence. Vision is, well, he is The Vision, there is no qualifier, no attempt to justify his existence as anything worth a second name, a general agreement that his inhumanness is aptly construed with two syllables preceded by a very articulated The.

Then there is Wanda. A disquieting trepidation vibrates the voices of commentators when they speak of the Scarlet Witch. Vision understands the Scarlet aspect, her powers most closely resembling the eponymous color, though he would argue she is her own unique shade of red. But Witch, this has always put him on edge, a sordid undertone in the history of the term, an implied layer of supernatural malevolence. Her powers are not difficult to comprehend, in his opinion, she reverses the molecular polarity of items when she moves them, including the molecules in the air when she sends out a stream of scarlet. Mind reading is a bit more difficult for him to matter-of-factly explain at a level accessible to the average listener, but, regardless, her powers, just as his own, are deeply rooted in scientific explanation. Yet no one else is ever willing to concede to this point. To be fair, he reasons, fingers growing restless as he taps the spatula against the edge of the counter, Wanda has all but given up on countering the term, she even dressed as a witch the prior Halloween, but he is unsure if she is embracing the moniker or simply doesn’t want to fight it any more.

Vision tenses at a sudden pressure on his back, mildly concerned at his failure to detect another person entering the kitchen, but his muscles loosen slightly when arms snake around his waist, his thoughts turning far away from monikers and witches when a kiss is pressed between his shoulder blades. The path of his free hand is predetermined, an automatic response whenever she embraces him like this, falling to cover her hands interlocked over his abdomen, a smile perking up his lips at the difference in texture between her skin and the thin bands of metal around her fingers. “Wanda.”

“Hey, Vizh.” The words absorb into his back, a rush of heat moving up his spine at the way her breath sneaks between the fibers of his synthetic sweater to pierce his skin. “What are you doing?”

It is an odd habit, one that all of his teammates seem to share, asking what a person is doing when it is fairly easy to ascertain the answer. “Preparing dinner.”

Wanda unlocks her hands, stepping around to stand at his side, though she does not remove her right hand completely as she readjusts, allows it to run lazily along his body, sliding it up from his stomach until it is resting on his chest. A slight, effortless press of her palm turns his body so he can take in the breathtakingly easy smile that is paired with her enthusiastic, “Smells delicious.”

His body has come to react in certain ways outside of conscious thought, forming muscle memories for moments and actions that are frequent in his life. Now is such a moment, his body bending just enough to meet the upward momentum of Wanda lifting onto her toes, everything predictable down to the pressure of her lips against his own and the angle of her hand pressed to his chest, an unnecessary source of balance, but one she blissfully continues out of habit, and finally the emergence of a tiny, lopsided smirk that reaches her eyes when she pulls back.

This smirk and the happiness filling her eyes kickstarts the second half of the programming, the pads of his fingers brushing along her cheek, eliciting a barely perceptible sigh from her lips as he follows the curve of her cheekbone up to the strands of hair that are always loose, his fingers dipping below the hair as he pushes it up and behind her ear. “Are you speaking of me or the food?”

Wanda’s smile broadens, eyes rolling as she pulls her hand away and shakes her head, “You do know that using that line every time lessens its impact.”

It is a struggle to remain serious, the rush of adrenaline and the uptick of exhilaration that results by being in her presence difficult to ignore. But he does his best to contain the grin attempting to form on his lips long enough to speak. “Yet your pulse still increases by three beats whenever I use it.”

An amused, small laugh leaves her lips as she shakes her head (which is the final drop that breaks the dam of his joy, freeing the grin he successfully held at bay), angling her hip to give him a slight shove to the side as she glances at the array of pots and pans on the stove. “So, what can I do to help?”

Vision joins her in scrutinizing the setup, assessing where he is currently at in the various recipes for the evening, his teammates all answering his question concerning cravings differently which means he is attempting to satiate all of their individual tastes. “I believe the most pressing task is to quarter the brussel sprouts for Captain Rogers.”

Her response comes as a touch, nothing showy, just a brush of fingers along the back of his neck, a brief, simple confirmation of his request as she walks past him to the fridge. If he had to estimate the frequency with which she touches him in such a way, absentmindedly and automatically after so many years together, it would be in the hundreds, possibly thousands but it does not diminish the effects. Vision smiles, as he always does at the warmth of her touch, eyes trailing along after her, following the casual sway of her hips and enjoying the way it sends her black dress dancing just above her knees. Wanda brushes past him on the way to the cutting board, this time an elbow grazing against his lower back for no other reason than to touch him and, because no one else is in the immediate vicinity, he does not stifle the 30 percent increase in his smile. Instead he basks in the aftermath of her touch, the snaking trail winding down from his neck, meeting the blooming warmth from his back until it creates a layer of peaceful contentment over his body.

Vision pushes aside the warmth for a second as he prods at the sizzling chicken, lifting it slightly to check the underside and measure the changes in its coloring to assess its progress. As he inspects the third chicken breast, there is a flicker in his periphery, his eyes sliding to the right to briefly investigate the source. At first all he can see is auburn hair moving in time with the swish of the fabric of her dress, body swaying to the beat of the music, her hand rising into the air with a bent wrist as she opens and closes the drawer with the cutting boards,. A bright green cutting board floats through the air before she sends out sparks of scarlet towards the knife block – gentle, even arcs rising and falling with the rhythmic wave of her fingers as she chooses the most appropriate knife.

Vision’s attention returns to the chicken for a millisecond before he finds his gaze inching back to Wanda’s hands, watching as her left hand begins a new process with her palm raised towards the ceiling. Her fingertips congregate to pull out thin tendrils of scarlet and from there her muscles take over, thoughts absent, eyes trained on the brussel sprouts laid out on the cutting board. First her pinky bows, straightening back out to hold one of the leafy ovals in place. Then her ring finger extends out, encouraging the knife to slice off the end of the brussel sprout, scarlet reflecting off the metallic bands wrapping around both sides of her knuckle and shimmering along the edge of the knife. She continues this rhythm for each individual slice, a swivel of her wrist sending the quarters in a lazy waltz along an invisible archway into a bowl. Each individual quarter follows this routine, hovering in the air for several mesmerizing seconds, an anthropomorphic joy in their journey before a 60 degree bend of her index finger tempts them down, a final swipe of her hand sending the vegetables into the bowl and the cycle begins anew.

Vision cannot help but grin at the ease of her movements, the perfect synchronization of her powers, fingers always moving, unable to remain dormant for extended periods of time, regardless of if they are in a meeting, at a press conference, spending a lazy afternoon on the couch, or tangled in bed. Most would define this as a nervous tick, accuse her of unnecessary use of her powers, but Vision has analyzed the dance of her hands, devoted countless hours to watching her, and he knows that when she is nervous the sparks she strikes between the pads of her fingers are chaotic, volatile, unpredictable. This right now, however, is none of those, a calming orderliness in the simple task that is executed with well-trained, effortless dexterity.

The longer he watches her the more detached his mind becomes, crawling through time, retracing the feel of her fingers on his skin, finding himself lost fifteen minutes in the past, her arms wrapped around his waist, a peck to his back. Then he is eight minutes in the past, her palm flush against his chest, sending the heat curling along his pectoral plates until it seeps into the creases between his skin and vibranium, where it then begins its swift, yet gentle take-over of his body. Then four and a half minutes, just a simple touch but the trail of heat lingers on his neck, a secondary path tingling along his lower back. All the while the scarlet tendrils continue their hypnotizing journey, the rhythm of the knife matching the rhythm of his heart.

A hand falls on his arm, a gentle squeeze accompanying her, “Um, Vision?”

He blinks three times, irises twisting counterclockwise as the room refocuses around him. “Wanda?”

“You okay?” He sweeps his gaze over the counter, trying to identify the source of her question, uncertain how to answer her. Despite his attempts to ascertain the issue, all he can seem to register is the tapping of her black-lacquered nails on his bicep, tiny sparks of red flashing and then disappearing with each tap, his attention transfixed by the movement, drawn up along her arm by some invisible string until he is met with a knowing, coy smirk, which paralyzes his already floundering mind. “You’re letting the chicken burn.”

The acrid whiff of blackening chicken and slight burn in his eyes from the charred spices finally urge his body to act, his hand bringing the spatula to flip the chicken, rescuing it from a fiery death that is, sadly, not uncommon on his cooking nights, but only when Wanda is nearby. “Thank you, I,” he pauses, unsure what justification exists for his lapse in attention, “seem to have been lost in thought.”

Slowly she removes her fingers from his arm, lips smacking in disbelief as she raises an incredulous eyebrow. It does not require mind reading to conclude she is aware of the hollowness of his answer, but she never fully acknowledges this awareness, favoring to lay the foundation for him to come clean on his own. “Yeah? What were you thinking about?”

“I,” Vision tries to decide how to proceed as he wrestles with his actions, uncomfortable with how easily she can entrance him, how effortlessly her presence decreases his ability to function. Instead of simply saying this, he finds himself tumbling back into his previous thoughts about the woman next to him. Wanda’s encouraging hmm cements his next course of action, eyes following along as she flicks her fingers to lift the lid of the pot where Rhodes’ favorite rosemary cream sauce is simmering, “do you mind being called Scarlet Witch?”

There is a brief falter in her smile as she glances in his direction, “You back to obsessing over superhero names again?”

The wording is a bit much, “I would not call a dalliance of contemplation obsessing.”

“Semantics, Vizh.” It has become her response anytime he attempts to lessen or redirect her observations, Wanda far too perceptive, sometimes uncomfortably so, in determining his thoughts. Though he would say, and has argued quite vehemently with her, that he does not obsess over anything, too much. “You know it doesn’t. Still bothering you?”

“I-” He watches as she wraps scarlet tendrils around the spices sitting on the counter, a lazy rotation of her wrist hovering them through the air in front of him until she can grasp them in her hand, “am not personally bothered by the term, though I do believe they,” it took him many years and a lot of encouragement from Wanda to not always define the pronoun, particularly when it is a repeat conversation, and so he allows her to draw the connection between his they and the public, “seem to use it quite ominously.”

Wanda shrugs, sniffing each spice before placing the containers back on the counter, her free hand proceeding to move to the other pans on the stove, double checking that he is not ruining any of the other food. “There is fear in the term,” the spatula is pried from his fingers before he realizes what is happening, attention far too focused on the movement of her lips as she mulls over her words and the scarlet mist surrounding the handle of the skillet, holding it in place while she checks his half-blackened chicken. “But also admiration, a witch,” the uptick in her voice highlights the word, draws his eyes to her face and the mischievous grin overtaking her mouth, one that easily and briefly steals the air from his lungs, “is not to be trifled with.”

“It appears I was not informed of this.”

Her laugh is breathy, happy, intoxicating, a reward that has helped shape his humor since his creation due to the satisfaction planted deep within his chest whenever he can elicit such a reaction from her. “Oh no,” Wanda places the spatula down, arms wrapping around his waist, her hands coming to rest on his lower back, fingers toying with the edge of his belt, “you were warned, multiple times, if I recall, and yet,” she pauses as she lifts onto her toes, mouth hovering just below his lips, her breath a steamy rope connecting to his chin, tilting his head down so that their lips are barely separated, “you still willingly continue to” she narrows her eyes, a conspiratorial edge lacing her voice, thickening her accent as she whispers, “lay with a witch.”

All it takes is the deepening of her voice mingling with the waft of her lavender shampoo to render his mind inert, senses overloading at the force of nature that is Wanda, thoughts collapsing as he stares into her eyes, registering the impish grin on her lips, one that grows more pronounced as her hands inch lower, fingers dipping into the back pockets of his pants. Vision finds his hand lifting, brushing the perennially loose strand of hair from her face as he feels his body giving in to her allure.

The clucking from the chicken timer breaks the spell, his feet automatically phasing through the floor, forgetting how to function, as he backs away. “Excuse me,” Vision finds his words have yet to return to him, still mesmerized by the woman in front of him, meaning he has to point at the oven and try to explain what he needs to do, “bread.”

Wanda’s mouth puckers in amusement as she steps back, yet even with the distance he can still feel the lingering trace of her fingers on his body, breath on his lips, and the silkiness of her hair against his fingertips. “Go for it.” His attention finally shifts to the bread, reaching into the oven to remove the pillowy loaf. When he resurfaces he does not immediately see Wanda and confusion settles uncomfortably around his shoulders until he hears a tapping to his left, eyes following the noise to find her at the tablet affixed to the wall, scrolling through the music on his cooking playlist. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“Whatever you prefer.” The music that falls from the speakers situated around the room is not much different from what had been on previously, though Wanda tends to prefer the songs laced with allure, a sultry trill in the brass that twists and turns into a burst of cymbals. Vision grins at the selection, an approving tone as he identifies the artist, “Frank Sinatra.” His hands move quickly, yet still in time with the beat of the music, as he checks the chicken, stirs the sauce, places the brussel sprouts into the oven, and brushes the bread with oil and a finish of rock salt. “Wanda could you,” the intent is to ask her to hand him the pepper, which somehow found its way to the opposite counter, but when he turns to face her he stops, lips parting as he takes in the smirk on her face and the swing of her hips as she approaches him.

“Could I…”

His eyes never leave her, hands frozen and mind reeling as she steps up to him, her body still moving with the music as she places her hands on his upper arms. Lazily she walks her fingers up along his shoulder, a swagger to the movement, a surety gleaming in her eyes at the way she affects him that creates centralized points of heat in his skin wherever she touches. Each featherlight touch conjures more heat which makes the shiver that goes down his spine as she brushes her fingers along the exposed skin of his neck all the more distracting. Vision releases a shaky breath, knowing he is committing a fatal error by locking his eyes with hers, “Pass the pepper?”

“Is that,” the coquettish narrowing of her eyes reveals a prescience sureness simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken future victory left blatantly out in the open, one that catches his breath and refuses to let go, “really what you want right now, my,” the next word is whispered into his skin as she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, “beloved?”

Despite the public’s ability to only refer to him as The Vision, Wanda uses different names depending on her mood or purpose. Vision in formal settings, on missions, during press conferences, or when they are fighting or he is brooding and she needs to underscore her seriousness. Far more common is the multipurpose Vizh, a nickname she began using because, as she informed him, while wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and sipping tea, tears still fresh on her face from a nightmare, she thought her best friend could use a nickname. So, if he was okay with it, she liked Vizh, and it instantly felt right, familiar, intimate. But, there are times where Vizh is not quite enough and that is when she utilizes the more evocative, more captivating My Beloved. It is a fine-tuned, powerful, ancient spell that always infiltrates his carefully constructed defenses. “No, but dinner is al-”

Swallowing is superfluous, yet he finds himself pushing synthetic saliva down his throat as he registers the way her lips curl up into a sly come-hither arc, a mystifying challenge to his resolve, and it ensnare him, strips his mind bare of logic and rationale. A perfect microcosm of their relationship, the heady rush of her disregard for normative, orderly functioning clashing with and challenging his logic. It is always a toss up who wins in the end, a thrill in the unknown of this fact that ignites a torrid yearning in his chest. Right now, particularly as he notes the crackle of oil from the still hot pan on the stove, is not the best time for distractions, but his heart seems to disagree, ramming frantically in his chest as her fingers continue to crawl along his body, down his neck, along his shoulder, tracing the curve of his tricep before dipping into the pocket of his elbow, and then her hand finds his, their fingers lacing.

Vision always assumed the ability of her touch to render his logic useless would only occur at the tentative, exhilarating dance that was entering into their relationship, but, antithetical to all his rationale, he believes it may be more impactful now than it was at the onset. Yet there is no denying the intense warmth engulfing his body, one that he cannot easily attribute to the stove or hot pans, its origins based exclusively in the fervent, unquestionable love coursing through his body for Wanda. A love that goes against reason, logic, public opinion, a taboo that should not exist and yet, here they stand. It’s when his mind betrays logic, siding with the beating of his heart, that he concludes no one will care if he burns the chicken again. So he lifts their joined hands to the side, a small flourish of his free hand through the air as he bends slightly at the waist, eyes locked with hers as he whispers a hopeful, “Dance with me?”

The grin spreads from her lips, scrunching her nose as she steps into his embrace, perfectly fitting against his body. “I was worried you weren’t going to ask me.”

“My apologies for causing you concern.” He wraps his free arm around her waist, fully giving in to her persuasion and begins a slow, easy box-step on the floor, grinning at the glee on her face, the press of her chest to his, and the tingle on his thighs where the hem of her dress brushes against him. Vision smiles as he stares into her eyes, heart thudding happily when she lays her cheek on his chest, allowing him to guide her around the kitchen. As they move he begins to realize that it all makes sense, why Wanda can so easily distract him, why whenever he is with her it is nearly impossible to remain logical, preferring to follow the irrationally based needs of his heart. “I have decided that they are correct.”

Wanda’s feet do not miss a beat, continuing their intimate waltz despite the perplexion on her face as she pulls back to stare at him, “Who’s correct?”

A quick phase of his hand frees it from her grasp, palm coming to lay on her cheek, thumb tracing along her jawline, “The people who call you Scarlet Witch. Though their reasoning for the moniker is quite flawed.”

Her confusion fades, replaced by intrigue and a tilt of her head as she studies him. “Oh?”

“Yes,” the music carries them around the kitchen island and into the open space between the kitchen and the common room, the buzz of the television and the voices of their teammates barely registering over the crooning vocals mingling with the seductive trumpets, “they call you that out of fear and concern, but they are wrong.” Vision bends down so he can rest his forehead against hers, close enough to identify every fleck of green and dot of brown in her irises that are not visible from further away. “You are the nicest witch I have ever met.”

The skin around her eyes crinkles as she grins up at him, “Please don’t tell them that.”

“Never.” Vision tightens his grip around her waist as he leans forward, pushing her body off its central axis, a surprised gasp escaping her lips as he dips her. “The name is only correct in one manner: you,” he brings his lips millimeters from hers, hoping his breath causes the same reaction in her as hers does to him, “have bewitched me with your love.”

A sighed “Vizh,” passes from her mouth to his, an incantation as strong now as it was the first time she charmed him with it, and despite the pungent aroma of burned chicken and scalding cream sauce in the air, he closes the distance between their lips for a slow, passionate kiss. As he sinks into her embrace he knows, with stunning clarity and certainty, that he will never long for any other person, content to forever remain spellbound by the Scarlet Witch.

#scarletvisionexchange2017 #sve2017 #scarlet vision #vision #wanda maximoff #fluff #ao3 #scarletvision

39 notes · View notes

chalantness · 7 years

Text

fic: Meet Me Under the Spotlight

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~3200 Characters: Steve/Natasha, mentions of the ensemble Summary: The celebrity social media au no one asked for.

A/N: This started off as just an article I was writing that was supposed to be a snippet in a fic I’ve wanted to write for a while, but I had so much fun that I expanded upon it. I’ve always been a fan of those social media edits circulating Tumblr, and after I’d read a few fics that incorporated texting and social media, I’ve always wanted to try it out. So, here it is! You can also consider it a preview for the celebrity au I’m probably still planning to write.

(Also, this is very raw; as in, I sort of skimmed it for errors, because I'm leaving in a bit. But I'll come back to it for editing when I can take my time.)

Read On: [ ao3 ]

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale and What Next Season Could Hold

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

It’s been a week since the Season 3 finale of ‘Marvelous’ aired and fans are still in hysterics over the state of their beloved heroes.

(Spoiler alerts below!)

Season 3′s Episode 22, “How the Mighty Fall” left Scarlet Witch held captive and under experimentation at the hands of a mysterious scientist, with Winter Soldier and Falcon quite literally at each other’s throats on how to find her. Hulk has disappeared, Thor’s powers have been seemingly sealed away for good. And just as the Captain has come to realize that Black Widow’s betrayal had ultimately been for his protection, he’s too late: Hawkeye is in a coma, and Widow’s memories have been erased.

And you’ll have to wait three whole months to see what happens next.

Upset? Yeah, so are we.

And we made sure that ‘Marvelous’ co-stars Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff were aware of this when Access Entertainment! caught up with them in the AE! lounge.

“He cried [when we did the table read],” Natasha had dished about Steve, who didn’t try to downplay the claim as he almost doubled over in laughter at the recollection. “We all did,” Natasha went on to admit with a laugh of her own. “With ‘Marvelous’ being supernatural, you just never know anyone’s fate and it’s fun. Fun and scary. And it’s as emotional to us as it is the fans. When we read the scene where Wanda [Maximoff, playing Scarlet Witch] is experimented on, it was already a lot to handle. Then to see her crying on the floor like that? It was tough. Such a good performance, though.”

“Wanda blows us away every day,” agreed Steve with a fond smile. Steve has always been quick to praise the talent of Wanda, whom he starred alongside in the romantic comedy Brother of the Bride that premiered the same day Wanda received the news about being cast in ‘Marvelous’. Wanda had shared with AE! before that Steve had been a big reason for her auditioning for the role in the first place. The fact that landing it could mean working alongside Natasha, one of her childhood idols, also helped.

(Related: Wanda Maximoff Posts a #TBT with Steve Rogers to Announce Being Cast as Scarlet Witch on ‘Marvelous’)

After the emotional turmoil that the season finale put us through, it seems like they’re setting up Season 4 to be bigger and better than ever! But if the cast has a clue as to what is happening next, they’re keeping it under lock and key.

“He wants us all dead,” Natasha had joked when asked if the show’s writer/producer Nick Fury had shared some insight on where he wants to take Season 4. “No, seriously. We’re all so close and we all have a lot of fun, and yeah, we get the work done. But there’s some serious teeth-pulling and bribing on Nick’s part to get us to behave. If he had hair, he would’ve torn it all out. So he’d just kill us all off as punishment, one by one.”

“I think he’d spare you,” Steve had said in response to Natasha’s teasing. “She’s his favorite. Which isn’t an issue, because she’s everyone’s favorite!”

The Official Twitter of Access Entertainment @accessentertainment -- May 31 Steve Rogers and his shrinking shirts. You’re welcome, Twitter... pic.twitter.com/sGR1mW...

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn can’t blame Marvelous Wardrobe anymore. you suck at doing laundry and @accessentertainment has the proof

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat you mean they’re not supposed to be skin tight? then what does Captain America draw his power from?

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn those big baby blues... seriously rogers, who’d you sell your soul to?

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat aww thanks nat, i always knew you loved my eyes

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat you’re still in trouble for eating my pudding, though

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn oh god, get over that, grumpy old man. i’ll buy you another one. geez

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat thanks love :)

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ co-Stars Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff send fans into a frenzy over flirty banter on Twitter during AE! visit; fellow co-star Sam Wilson laughs over the reception, shares “that’s just how they’ve always been” (June 2, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale ... (continued)

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

Speaking of sparing the Widow... with her memories gone, fans are already speculating on what Captain’s next move is going to be.

“It’s a funny one, you know? It’s a funny situation,” Steve shared when asked about how he thinks Captain and Black Widow’s dynamic will progress in the next season. “He’s always been the first person to vouch for her. He knows what she’s done, what she’s had to do, and he trusts her anyway. He’s always valued her where others haven’t. What’s funny -- well, in a bittersweet kind of way, what’s funny is that he’s also the first person to take her for granted. He doesn’t realize how much she’s come to mean to him until she can’t remember who he is, and I’m sure it’s going to be a real hard hit to be around her when she’s like this. He’ll raise hell to get her memories back.”

That’s how Steve thinks it will go, at least. And we’re sure that fans will be totally on board for that.

As for Widow? We've come to realize that maybe her lack of memories could be for the best. Sort of. “Nick and I talked about it early on,” Natasha confessed. “Widow is who she is, and acts how she acts, because of her past. She doesn’t want to get involved with anyone because she’s scared. But with Captain, she’s also curious. She feels that connection, and what’s stopping her is herself, and ultimately that’s what’s stopping him, too. Because he can read her in a way that no one else ever could, and so of course he senses her hesitation and he steps back like the gentleman he is. So without her memories, she’s going to see him frantic and desperate to help her and that’s going to open her up in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if she’d still had her memories. So that’ll be fun to play off of. It’ll, hopefully, become a ‘blessing in disguise’ sort of thing for them.”

“They need it,” Steve added as he nudged Natasha’s shoulder. “They’re both stubborn, and it’s been a long time coming.”

Yeah, we know, Steve.

Captain and Black Widow have captured the hearts of fans since Day One, and that probably has a lot to do with the natural chemistry between these co-stars off-screen. Though Steve and Natasha had yet to have worked together before both being cast in ‘Marvelous’, they’ve always acknowledged each other’s talent. Steve has said on multiple occasions that he’s been a fan of Natasha since her acting debut in The Russian Princess, and often posted his praise and support for her on social media following the premieres of her movies. When Steve landed his first leading role on HBO’s historical fiction drama “Howling Commandos”, Natasha had posted a glowing review of the show’s pilot on Instagram and paid particular attention to Steve, saying that she looked forward to seeing him “take Hollywood by storm.” Though the show came to an early conclusion just three seasons in, Steve hadn’t had any trouble getting back on his feet.

(Related: ‘Marvelous’ Announces Breakout Actor Peter Parker to be Newest Hero to Join the Fray)

WATCH: ‘Marvelous’ Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff Get Cozy on Social Media During Flight to Hawaii

AE! News - Published on June 5, 2017 - 140,401 views

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 Christmas pajamas in June? #trendsetters @stevefrombrooklyn pic.twitter.com/cA4sBW...

[Image Caption: Steve and Natasha seated together in first class, wearing matching gingerbread men pajamas and Rudolph socks.]

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 @stevefrombrooklyn but let’s get this straight, mine are cuter and I wear them better

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 5 @therussianprincessnat you’re right, I don’t think I can top those Rudolph socks. you must really love whoever bought them for you

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 @stevefrombrooklyn you bought yourself the matching pair, you ass

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 5 write this down: the quickest way to @therussianprincessnat’s heart is through fuzzy socks #shelovesmeforthem

Just In: Steve and Natasha are all cuddles on Instagram during flight to Hawaii; fellow ‘Marvelous’ co-star Clint Barton snuffs dating rumors... or not? “It was supposed to be a cast vacation, but it didn’t pan out. But it’s fine. They won’t even notice that we’re gone.” (June 6, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Spoilers: Cast Teases Fans With Finale on Instagram

May 19, 2017. 9:45 AM PST

[Image Caption: A candid photo of the cast and crew of ‘Marvelous’ drinking hot chocolate, eating cupcakes, and chatting while taking a break from filming.]

Last night’s episodes left fans reeling, wondering how things could get darker and more dangerous than ever in next week’s season finale. The icing on the heartache cake? This morning, the cast and crew teased fans on Instagram with photos of their on-set shenanigans while filming the finale. While it was nice to see some silliness and smiles after all of the arguing and tears from last night’s episode, fans were quick to catch on some of the ominous implications of these pictures. Such as: Tony Stark (Iron Man) decked out in fake blood and gore; the strange and daunting backdrop of a laboratory, not unlike the lab that Quicksilver had been tortured in the second half of season 2; fake ligature marks on Wanda Maximoff’s (Scarlet Witch) wrists, which can be seen as she poses with her arms around Jane Foster (head costume designer) and Darcy Lewis (head makeup artist); and Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) in a hospital gown, laughing with Steve Rogers (Captain) as he wipes away staged tears.

[Image Caption: Tony Stark, bloodied and bruised, carrying Pepper Potts on his back while she wears his prototype Iron Man helmet.]

[Image Caption: Clint Barton taking a nap in the Tower infirmary set, while Sharon Carter and Maria Hill hook him to the medical machine props.]

[Image Caption: Wanda Maximoff, Jane Foster, and Darcy Lewis hugging in front of a laboratory set.]

[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff sporting a hospital gown and fake stitches while laughing with Steve Rogers and Nick Fury between takes.]

Nick Fury also tweeted for the first time since teasingly responding to a few fans’ reactions to the Season 3 mid-season finale back in December. After the cast made a Twitter and Instagram account in Nick’s name at the beginning of filming the first season, Nick Fury became infamous for his cryptic responses and vague tweets that end up tying to major plot points and revelations in later episodes. This morning had been another opportunity to strike:

(screen captures from Nick Fury’s official Twitter account)

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @therussianprincessnat @stevefrombrooklyn I’ll never forget how exhausting you two are to work with pic.twitter.com/bW13sCA...

[Image Caption: Nick Fury giving direction to Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers while filming a scene in the Tower infirmary set. Natasha is laying on a bed in a hospital gown while Steve holds her close.]

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @iambuckybarnes @snapwilson friendly fire pic.twitter.com/wS17jB...

[Image Caption: Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson in costume while filming a fight scene in the snowy mountains. They have their hands around each other’s throats as fight choreographer Helen Cho gives them direction.]

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @littlewandamaximoff @theothermaximoff that’s one way to help your sister out pic.twitter.com/qS0sW...

[Image Caption: Wanda Maximoff laughing as Pietro Maximoff helps her drink from a bottled water with a silly straw. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Wanda’s hands seemingly bound together and tied to something out of frame.]

Fans are already scrambling to figure out what surprises are in store for us in the finale. Caught something that we haven’t? Don’t forget to share it with your fellow Marvels in a comment below.

WATCH: ‘Marvelous’ Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff Recap Latest Episode and Discuss Black Widow’s Shocking Betrayal

Marvelous Cast Wraps Up Filming for the Season

Marvelous Cast Plan Summer Trip to Hawaii During Livestream

[Image Caption: Natasha in a bikini, stretched out on a beach towel, smiling at the camera with half of her face hidden behind a straw hat.]

412,016 likes

stevenrogers apparently this is what “terrible” is supposed to look like

View all 920 comments

JUNE 7 2017

[Image Caption: Photo of a Polaroid of Steve and Natasha taken at a luau, the two of them laughing as he places a flower crown on her head.]

421,610 likes

nataliaromanov the “get lei’d” joke i made while this was taken was a hit

View all 1,004 comments

JUNE 7 2017

[Image Caption: Natasha sitting on a lounge chair with a plate of breakfast in her lap, peering over her sunglasses at the camera as she sips orange juice.]

514,017 likes

stevenrogers apparently noon is too early for her to get up for breakfast

View all 1,060 comments

JUNE 8 2017

[Image Caption: Steve sitting with his back to the camera, busied with his sketching, with the sun setting over the ocean in the horizon.]

526,041 likes

nataliaromanov where else can you get a view like this?

View all 1,074 comments

JUNE 8 2017

Spotted: ‘Marvelous’ Co-Stars Practically Glowing During Hawaiian Vacation

June 9, 2017. 1:16 PM PST

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff laying close together on the sand, both smiling at each other as they talk.]

It seems like these stars are following in their characters’ footsteps!

Well, if you don’t count the superpowers.

Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff landed in Hawaii on Tuesday for a well deserved break after filming finished for their most intense season yet. After plans for the whole cast to vacation together fell through the cracks, Steve and Natasha -- in true Steve and Natasha fashion -- decided to do their own thing and go anyway.

Fans will probably already know that this isn’t the first time that the two ever have vacationed together. After they wrapped up a spectacular first season together, the pair joined fellow co-stars Tony Stark and Pepper Potts on a cruise along the Mediterranean, which both Tony and Pepper later revealed to have been a “spur of the moment” trip, and were pleasantly surprised when the pair agreed. Steve and Natasha then came back to the States, where Natasha would spend a week in Brooklyn with Steve to visit his parents and other fellow co-star Bucky Barnes, who has been best friends with Steve since childhood.

Though scheduling conflicts prevented the pair from spending the following summer together, it seems like they’re back at it again this year. And they seem cozier than ever! In addition to posting their personal photos together on their social media, pictures have been circulating of the two seen out and about around the Hawaiian islands, looking friendlier than ever. Which has always been the case, considering the explosive chemistry we’ve seen between them on and off screen since the beginning. But is it just us, or do things seem to be far more personal between them than before? They certainly seem to have the “honeymoon phase” glow, and lately the pair has noticeably avoided or outright ignored inquiries about a romantic relationship between them as of late. Though, that could just because they’re tired of repeating themselves. It’s been three years now.

Either way, it’s always heartwarming to see these two having so much fun whenever they’re together! Hopefully it’s forever.

[Image Caption: Natasha feeding Steve a spoonful of shaved ice at a cafe along the beach.]

[Image Caption: Steve and Natasha standing close together in the aisle of a supermarket, Steve smiling as Natasha whispers into his ear.]

[Image Caption: Steve with his arms around Natasha, the both of them laughing as he tries to drag her deeper into the ocean.]

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ cast barraged with questions on the relationship status between Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff as their vacation get cozier; Wanda giggles when shown the photos during Phil Coulson radio interview, but simply responds with “it’s cute” when asked her opinion. (June 10, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale ... (continued)

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

Nick Fury will have one direction he’ll want to take Captain and Widow in the next season, and fans will want a dozen others. But what do Steve and Natasha hope the future will have in store for their characters?

“Wherever they are, however things may be, I hope they just stay together,” Natasha shared. “They have such a beautiful thing going on because they’ve been the one constant piece to each other amidst the chaos. And they’ve come to really depend on each other for comfort and supports, even just company. I would hate for anything to happen to that. And I personally don’t believe that anything exists for Widow that would be more important to her than remaining right by the Captain’s side. That feeling, I feel, will resonate with her even with her memories gone. She’s so tied to him that her body and her heart are going to remember what her mind can’t. That’s my prediction.”

“I agree,” Steve added. “I think that’s why Cap was just so devastated when he thought Black Widow betrayed him. It hurt him down to his very core and she knew that it would, which is why she said the things she said. To make sure he was so blindsided that he wouldn’t go near her and then wouldn’t end up in the crossfire. And that’s what makes it another huge punch to the gut when he figures out the truth. Because I think he had to have known deep down inside that Widow was looking out for him, just as she’s always been, and he held onto that sliver of hope. So I really hope this teaches him that life is too damn short and you’ve got to fight for what you love. You’ve got to.”

Now if that didn’t move you to a few tears, we don’t know what would.

And we feel a little better knowing that Natasha and Steve are hopeful for their characters’ future, as well as the future of all our beloved heroes. Nick Fury has always taken his cast and crew’s opinion into consideration before taking these characters into the next chapter, and it makes the show bigger and better than ever.

What do you hope to see in the next season? Share it with your fellow Marvels in a comment below!

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 12 @therussianprincessnat are you going to tell them or should i? pic.twitter.com/nAR4o1...

[Image Caption: Natasha cuddled with Steve on a beach towel, hiding her face in his chest as he kisses her hair.]

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 12 @stevefrombrooklyn you impatient ass. you’re lucky you’re cute

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 12 @therussianprincessnat thanks love (:

#romanogers #romanogersday #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #seriously tho i had to much fun writing this sjfhak #marvelous 'verse

89 notes · View notes

wintercherry · 6 years

Text

Scarlet Witch

The brief magic of a night. I believe I've earned my vacation. I did surprisingly well in school, I've been through multiple doctor visits and two surgeries, I'm in the middle of a lawsuit, and I've put up with the seclusion of South Dakotan life. (I must clarify that the vast fields of nothing and corn are very relaxing... if it weren't for my mother-in-law) So, back at it again in my town, my turf, my playground. Homefield advantage and this girl likes to play games. But first, be nice and reconnect with your friends. Isolationism breeds desperation. Oh, crap. Friend wants to go to a party and wants me to come along. Is it too late to take back what I said? When I said "I'm down for whatever" I was expecting coffee or a lakeside promenade. These parties are not only queer-friendly, they are also drug-friendly. I don't do drugs; I can make stupid choices sober. You'll see. Before the party, I have to satisfy my inner weebo. ACEN, an anime convention. Don't tune out, I assure you it's relevant. Not only did I have a chance to hang out with myself after not doing so for so long, I also got to kick names and take ass (oh, I love you, Guardians) in KOF ‘98. Really, what I wanted the most was exactly what I got out of it, channel back my old self. Mindset, personality, drive, confidence... and my bad habits. Old self... old single self. With that out of the way, I'm ready to go to this party. I meet up with my friend and we Lyft there. (#notsponsored) Surprice surprice, other than the host, we are the only ones there. He is quite an interesting character, I give him that. With no reason to be inside, we all stand out in the porch. Eventually, more and more people begin to show up, enough to entice the host to go back in. My friend follows. I follow my friend. Christ, why is she just standing there? - "I thought you said you'd know some of the people here" - "I did, but the people I know haven't showed up yet" Golden. Who would've known walking around the convention's floor would exhaust the hex out of an out of shape girl? I didn't. Crap, I really want to sit down but all these people I don't know (and have little interest in knowing) have claimed every sit. Oh, I know! I'll sit on the stairs! It doesn't matter that the staircase is directly in front of the entrance and sitting there makes me look like the least threatening bouncer in history. Hey, at least I'm a few feet away from all that ruckus. Good; I need a moment alone to plot an escape plan in the form of an excuse equal parts believable and sensical. You picked the worst time to be out of ideas, brain! Sigh. Guess I'm staying. Then she walks in. She is gorgeous. The dimness of the entrance is instantly illuminated by the contrast of her flowing red hair and crimson jacket. The black of the night coming through the opened door fuses with her short black dress and boots, leaving only the pale of her exquisitely defined legs visible. Sitting at the base of the stairs, I am awarded front row privilege to such a spectacle of a woman. Say something. N- no. I- I can’t. People like me don’t talk to people like her. Say something! Now! - “Scarlet Witch” - “Huh?” - “Are you cosplaying Scarlet Witch?” - “Yeah” - “Nice” Now, I’m usually not that quick on my feet. I had just the day before seen Infinity War so the character was fresh in my memory. That, and also added to the fact that she came in accompanied by another girl, another attractive girl at that, cosplaying as Zero-suit Samus. Sharp deduction skills under favorable circumstances. She walks past the stairs, past me, into the crowd. I am in total disbelief. Had I known people like her frequented places like this, this would not have been my first party. The surprise begins to wear out quick as I go back to staring out into the darkness outside, only occasionally breaking my silence to not make my boredom too obvious to my friend… who is still just standing there. Suddenly, she is back. Why are you stretching your arm in my direction? Oh, your name is [SCARLET]? Nice meeting you. I am the bitch. No, I really did say that. She laughed. You know you don’t have to stick around, right? In fact, you didn’t have to introduce yourself. People like you usually ignore people like me. It’s okay. It’s science. Why are you still around? You don’t do well with crowds? This is your first party? Yeah, I can sympathize with those. However, I am not abandoning my position safely situated behind the staircase rails. Strategy is my second strongest genera. Scarlet and I begin to chat; begin to laugh; begin to breed life into this party. You were at ACEN? So was I. You like comics? So do I. You play Skirym? I only play good games. And one by one, people keep congregating to the doorway in order to join our conversation. Our little group eventually encompasses nearly everyone at the party. People. Fucking people. And fucking smokers. The smokers, as a whole, hive-mindedly decide that this is the perfect moment to have a cigarette. The entirety of the crowd spills out into the porch for the second time in the night. The host walks outside. My friend follows. Scarlet’s friend follows. Scarlet follows. I follow Scarlet. Being the last to I step outside, I notice that I am clearly not the only one under Scarlet’s spell. Actually, she sits in the single only chair in the middle of the porch with everyone else surrounding her, like the calm center of a storm. There is a contest for her attention. Several of the attendees joke with her, show videos to her, offer cigarettes to her. She makes sure to acknowledge every single request, yet, doesn’t seem keen on engaging in anything for longer than politeness dictates. She sits, royally, as if waiting for something. Of course that happens. What? Did you think you were special? I quietly linger outside with everyone, lost in my thoughts. Some time later, the cold of the night is forcing those with little care for climate preparedness to go back inside with the pretext of getting another beer and joining in basement karaoke. Everyone flows back in. I stay behind. Briefly. When I go inside, most of the people are in the basement. I have little interest in following so I resume my self-appointed role of guardian of the doorway. I sit on the stairs. Take off my glasses to massage the bridge of my nose. Put my glasses back on to see my friend standing there. Again. - “I’m going downstairs, are you coming?” - “Yeah, just give me a moment” - “Are you okay?” - “Yeah, go ahead. I’m right behind you” Not. Glasses off again. Rub. On again. Figure standing there again. Scarlet. I quickly invite her to sit beside me on the stairs. She accepts. We continue chatting as if we were never interrupted. We joke, we disclose more about ourselves, we open up about our inner demons. There is an undoubtable sense of companionship, of comfort and relaxation solid enough to allows us to be honest with each other. This was her magic. She looks at me with her bright aquamarine eyes so expertly accentuated by her black eyeliner. Sound is coming from her mouth, but I keep surrendering focus to her lips. Their natural rosiness lightly highlighted by gloss, so well defined and symmetrical. Such a splendid lure would rob any man of his senses enticing them to attempt stealing a kiss. I know; I felt it. Yet, I contained myself. This knight’s loyalty belongs to her flower princess. Besides, it’s not like she wou- - “I wanted to say this earlier… I really want to kiss you” - “I don’t think that’s a good idea” Gotcha. - “Woah. Okay” - “What?” - “I guess I’m not used to someone rejecting me, usually I’m the one rejecting guys” - “I bet” Scarlet wrestles with her emotions. She’s recently been through a breakup. Her feelings are getting the best of her. I have been in her exact spot, I’ve shared the anguish she feels inside. I am compelled to offer consolation. I put my arm around her. I offer words of experience while trying to mask the complete shock of her proposition left in me. I want to defuse the awkwardness and her quick emotional outburst, so I offer to join the rest of the group for karaoke. She agrees. No wonder she agreed, she has a powerful voice making her a tough act for anyone to follow. She enjoys the limelight. She sings, she gets complimented, the night goes on and she has seemingly forgotten about this stupid girl sitting in the corner. This is for the best. Still, I find myself wanting more of her. I want to sit next to her, I want more of her time, something, anything. Nothing happens. Eventually, her time to leave arrives. Despite our apparent distancing, she makes the point of coming to me to say goodbye. I offer to walk her outside but make it only as far as those damn stairs. Then, another surprise: she gives me her number. As she walks out the door I make my way to back to basement but I stop to embarrassedly admit to her: - “You know, you are the biggest regret of my life” - “What do you mean?” - “I’m always going to regret not kissing you” She smirks. She leaves. True to my words, I spend the rest of my night regretting, not because I didn’t kiss her, but because I craved so much more of her still and I would never get it. Unless… unless I text her. I did. She replied. Manhattan.

0 notes