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randomshyperson · 3 months

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R U Mine? - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: A game of cat and mouse begins between an Avenger and a criminal. But perhaps there are no winners, as they both fall.

Warnings: mentions of typical canon violence, hints of abusive past and unhealthy work dynamics, some superhero routine lore, more shapeshifter power mentions, mutual pining, forbidden relationship, some teasing, (first) kiss and then a lot of kisses and steamy make out, some fluff and comedy. | Words: 6.965K

A/N-> How many references to Killing Eve can one put in a story. And also, references to the Witch's Road comics. This here is the extra chapter about their first kiss, enjoy reading.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Series Masterlist

-&-

Before.

"I know what you're doing."

Three weeks prior, Natasha's sentence would have made her jump with fright. Perhaps she would have tried to hide all those files and lie and lie again, until she could convince herself the whole thing was about the job.

But today? Wanda was tired. She had spent the last few hours stumbling into dead ends, no progress on whatever she was trying to do with all that vague information Shield had on you.

So she lifted her face to the redhead who appeared in her room late at night, two cups of coffee in hand, and chuckled weakly at the statement. It was obvious that the drink was an invitation - perhaps even a sign of 'hey, I'm not trying to start a fight. I want to help,' and Wanda accepted without hesitation.

"It's not like I'm doing a good job of keeping it a secret." She retorts to Nat, who smiles before taking the empty space on the bed. Practically all the Shield files - now labeled Avengers - about you are scattered on the mattress. It's a mess, and to Nat, it makes sense that Wanda hasn't made much progress.

"To be fair, for a first-time Investigation, I think you're doing all right." Says the widow after a sip of her coffee. "You covered your tracks and even used an official justification for researching her. Your mistake was involving Vision."

Wanda sighs. "Let me guess, he talks under pressure?"

Nat chuckles, nodding. Wanda rubs a tension point on her forehead. Taking advantage of this, Natasha gestures to one of the files. "I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't do, Maximoff. But this doesn't seem very healthy."

Wanda gives a sad smile, and Nat expects her to defend herself. But instead, the smaller girl sighs. "I know." She murmurs sincerely, forcing a faint smile at the widow. "But I need this, Nat. It's the first time in months that I've managed to think about anything other than Pietro. And I know it doesn't look healthy, but it's all I've got. I'm an Avenger now. Maybe it's just time to get to work, and arrest villains or something."

Natasha frowned at her, absorbing the confession for a moment before rebutting: "Is that what you want to do with Y/N, though? Lock her up?"

Wanda swallows dryly, looking down. "Of course, Nat."

"You're a terrible liar."

The brunette sighs. "I mean it!"

"And I don't believe you." Nat insists in a good mood despite everything. "Look at all this, Wanda. You've been at it for days. Studying her. Did you even remember to eat anything in the last few hours?" Wanda snorts, gesturing to the breakfast leftovers on the dresser in the corner of the room which makes Natasha let out an incredulous laugh. "Wow, a nutritious example you are."

The witch tosses her hair back. "If you've come here to try to babysit me, please leave."

Natasha rolled her eyes and ignored the other woman's stubbornness. She put her coffee down between her crossed legs and started organizing the files.

"You're naturally perceptive and clever, Maximoff. But you lack experience and practice. You need to put together a timeline and find the gaps." The widow began, and masterfully, all the security camera photos, reports from shield agents, and unexplained crimes related to thieves with no identifiable faces began to connect and make sense. "But I must warn you, I did all this years ago. When I started at Shield, your little friend was already some sort of the goose that laid the golden eggs, or stole the gold for the saying to work."

"She's not my friend." Wanda murmured, her gaze fixed on the files so Natasha wouldn't see her blush. The widow ignored the comment and continued talking.

"My point is that I didn't get very far." Nat says with a sigh. "To be honest, it was an insult to my ego. She was just a kid back there. And she managed to flee much more experienced agents. She had endless, untraceable disguises. She doesn't need to impersonate, you know? She can create faces. It makes her almost impossible to monitor. When we met for the first time, it was she who found me." Nat says, swallowing dryly at her own memories. Wanda's eyes widen softly, listening carefully. "I never told this to anyone, but when Clint first met me, he told me that he felt something. As if he knew I wanted to escape. And when I saw Y/N, I had the same feeling."

"What did you do?" Wanda asked and Nat sighed.

"I couldn't do what Clitn did for me, Wanda, I'm sorry." Said the widow sincerely. "She attacked first. And I had to defend myself. It wasn't just protocol, it was all I'd learned to do."

Wanda frowns. "Why are you telling me all this, Nat?"

The redhead sighs. "Because it's important. It means that she doesn't trust easily, and attacks when she feels threatened. She reminds me of both of us, to be honest." Nat comments, getting a small smile from the witch. "Besides, I want you to be really careful if you do dig into this."

"I will."

"I'm serious, Wanda." Insists the redhead. "Careful not to miss a gun hidden in her dress." She remembers the last official report Wanda made, regarding her first mission, the night she simply couldn't stop thinking about, especially after your secret vision to the compound, and the witch swallows dryly. Nat doesn't mind her hesitation. "Careful in a way that you'll use your powers if necessary."

Without looking the widow in the eye, Wanda retorts between her teeth: "I get it, Nat."

"You're not going to carry this on until you look me in the eye, Maximoff. And swear it."

Wanda's stubbornness falters, and she returns her attention to the widow, looking at her seriously. Nat gives her a small smile as she adds, "It's not just Clint who cares about your safety. We all do. I'm not going to allow you to throw yourself headlong into something dangerous just to escape your grief, Wanda. Swear that you'll be very careful, and you'll walk away if it gets too dangerous."

Wanda is surprised by the tenderness, and a little embarrassed. It takes a moment but she finally nods. "I swear." She says before adding. "I want to help Y/N. Like Clint helped you. Not lock her up, like I said before."

Natasha chuckles. "I know, kid. I know."

With the Black Widow’s blessing, she kept digging those files. And Nat didn't lie, you're untraceable. Every time you meet, it's clear that you've let yourself be found. Even with handcuffs on your wrist, you keep smiling as if it was all part of the plan. Judging by the way you always escape from prisons, later going public that some confidential information for the police was stolen, this is easily confirmed.

The Avengers are getting used to the strange persecution, very much because each of them has their secrets. And just like his protégé, Steve Rogers had side missions to pursue Bucky. It would be hypocritical of him to hold anything against Wanda for being after you.

And Wanda couldn't stop. Even after hundreds of dead ends and ridiculous escapes. She had to meet you, and have less than five minutes in your presence with another twelve agents and the whole Avengers present every fortnight when they manage to track you only for you to escape again. She didn't know why, but she had the impression that you looked forward to these moments as much as she did.

Like a little private game of mouse and cat, only you and her were part of.

-&-

There are a hundred things to do in the Capital of Crime.

The most complete list of gambling games imaginable, right down to a mural of targets to be captured.

All these things are at your disposal, and all you can think about is the new addition to the Avengers team.

Wanda Maximoff was born in the country that fell from the sky around the same time that Baron Strucker was playing Pinky and the Brain with your cells in a secret laboratory of the now-destroyed Hydra. A Stark bomb made her an orphan, and after bouncing from orphanage to orphanage, often expelled for getting into trouble with her twin brother, Wanda embarked on protest groups in search of civil rights until she was finally recruited into a human experimentation program that turned her into an enhanced version of herself. She was the only reason for the first time in your life that you wished you hadn't split with Strucker so soon - If you'd still been his puppy instead of the clients he got, you would have met her. You may have become friends.

"She's doing it again." Xu Xialing whispered to Layla, the two engaged in a game of Beat the Hero - a competition of colored cards that contained electronic figures detailing the abilities of real-life superheroes. It was, in a way, training for possible battles in real life, where they learned about their enemies by playing. The two of them were sitting in opposite armchairs, while you were practically lying on the sofa, drinking with a lost look on your face. According to them, fantasizing for the tenth time in a row about the Avenger you met in Italia weeks ago.

Layla giggled when she saw your expression before turning her face to Xu Xialing again. "You know, they say Maximoff has psychic powers. Maybe Y/N is under a spell."

"A love spell, that is." Mocks the Chinese woman, getting a laugh from the other.

You only came out of your trance of thoughts about Wanda with the bell from the private room you were in. Your face changed before the curtain opened, and Xu Xialing was the first to look at the security guard entering, somewhat annoyed at having her private time playing games with friends interrupted.

"Forgive me for intruding, madam. The Countess is here and requests the Sage to join her." The man said, and Xialing nodded in understanding. She turned to you, but there was no need. With a soft leap from the sofa, you got to your feet and took one of Layla's cards from her pile - you threw it on the board and helped her win the game, taking the opportunity to leave the room while the two of them discussed whether the assisted victory had been fair or not.

The Golden Daggers Club was as packed and vibrant as ever. The next round of betting for the fights was due to start soon, and there were a lot of people shouting their bets to the judges, and joining the fight cages, so you had to make some effort to follow the venue's security guard into the special area of the place - where federal agents were given even more privacy to be around.

Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine was waiting for you alone, but behind a door with six security guards guarding her. Each of them gave you a look of contempt, but you walked past them without any reaction until you were with Valentina in a room with no windows, every inch of which was covered in priceless works of art, many of them stolen throughout history, which you and Layla recovered together in the service of the Ten Rings.

"You wanted to see me, Countess?" was your greeting, softly snarky. You weren't in the best of moods, especially since Valentina had interrupted your rest.

The woman gave you a false smile from the armchair where she was sitting waiting for you. A closed file and a glass of wine lay on the corner table.

"Oh, what a surprise, after your last defeat, I thought you'd given up on Sage." She comments with a certain venom on your disguise, the same one you wore two weeks ago when you went on what she called a streak of bad luck in the Club's fighting competitions, but which Xu Xialing called a distracted lovesick puppy. You try to disguise your clumsiness by clearing your throat.

Checking that the door is closed, you return to your real appearance and Valentina gives you a small but genuine smile.

"What do you want?" you insist, and in response, she pats the file resting on the table. You sigh. "What's this?"

"Last month has been very busy, but I've finally had time to review some of your late missions reports." She begins and you hide your nervousness, knowing full well where this conversation could end. "I apologize for taking so long to check them, darling. I hope you don’t think I’m jeopardizing your learning progress."

"Stop stalling, Valentina, just tell me what the problem is." You retort grumpily but she chuckles, her fingers tracing the paper before she grabs the file.

“Normally, I trust your experience, but I've heard that you've been particularly... antsy in your last few operations. Of course, you've successfully made it out of all of them, after all, we're having this conversation, but for a master of disguise, the increased number of encounters with the Avengers attracted my curiosity. I thought I'd take a closer look at your original encounters with them, and found an interesting passage in your report on Italy two months ago."

The page is already marked and in the next moment, she begins to read;

"My exit was interrupted by the presence of a new Avenger. A woman, perhaps the same age as me. The new, improved one from Sokovia. Average height, brown hair. Green eyes. Intense. Hypnotizing."

You swallow dryly, looking down at your feet. You're grateful to have control over your own body, or Valentina would be able to watch your cheeks blush.

She continues reading. "We faced each other briefly. The girl doesn't have complete control of her abilities, it was a quick fight. I immobilized her and departed in the getaway vehicle. No disguise was compromised, no other witnesses." Valentina narrates, finally raising her eyes from the file to you. "You know what's funny, sweetheart? The Avengers submitted their own report on Sapienza, and Wanda Maximoff describes the encounter with a Shapeshifter in detail. My question is, why are you lying for someone who didn't hesitate to use her special abilities to show her team your real appearance?"

You're caught off guard. A conflict of emotions rises in your chest, from anger to disappointment. It hurts. It's confusing and suffocating, and you feel the urge to start crying. But none of these emotions floats over your expression, your nails digging into your palm are enough to keep everything well buried.

With a soft sigh, you look Valentina in the eye.

"I don't trust the CIA."

Your boss chuckles, closing the file and crossing her legs. It's not exactly her best lie, but it seems to work on her.

"If this is about the Hydra clean-up in the public sector, I can assure you that we're safe." Valentina says. "Besides, your job is to trust me, Y/N. Not the CIA, or the Ten Rings, or any of your contractors. Only me, dear child, must you trust."

You bite your tongue hard, tears almost escaping this time.

"I just..." You try, not knowing exactly what to say. "There was a conflict, and the girl, she beat me. Effortlessly. That energy she possesses revealed my disguise immediately, I had no chance to try another one. So I made a choice, and I omitted the part that I thought would do me any harm. Isn't that what you taught me to do?"

Right answer. Valentina grins, before sighing and standing up. You don't want her to touch you, but she puts her hands on your arms and you resist the urge to pull away.

"I'm proud of you, you're getting cleverer every day. I want you to be this way, Y/N. Strong-willed, resourceful." She compliments you, her hands moving up to your cheeks. You try to smile, but Valentina squeezes your skin tighter. "That doesn't mean you will lie to me. Understand?" She asks but doesn't expect a vocal response. Your nod is more than enough for her to give you a fake smile and loosen her grip. "You're my most valuable employee. I don't want you to put yourself in vulnerable situations without a reason."

Valentina steps away, and you decide to take a chance.

"She's like me." It's more hesitant than you'd like, but it's enough to make your boss raise an eyebrow at you. Swallowing dryly, you continue. "Wanda and her brother were also Strucker's experiments. We are the same. I thought I could-"

Valentina interrupts with a spiteful chuckle that makes you cringe like a frightened child. "The same? Is that what you think?" She retorts in a mocking tone that makes you feel too ashamed to even broach the subject. Leaning her waist on the table, she looks at you. "I know you've been digging through my files on her, Y/N. I don't blame you for being curious, but by now, I imagine you know very well the conditions of the experiments Miss Maximoff was part of. How she volunteered for all that. How can you say you're the same?"

You hesitate uneasily. "I don't mind that she volunteered. War called for desperate measures. I just... I've never met any other of us. Another who survived the Baron. I've been thinking if I could just see her-"

Valentina bursts into laughter, and you fall silent, concentrating so that she can't see your red ears. "See her? Now what's that, huh? Romeo and Juliet of the supers? What an absurd idea, child!" Refutes your boss, still chuckling as she walks away to the table. She finishes her glass of wine in one long gulp, and to your surprise, throws the file in your direction. You catch the item flat against your chest. "The notes the Avengers made about you are on page 24. Read what she said about you, and draw your own conclusions about who you call an equal. I came here to confirm your mental state, and this conversation was enlightening. I'll arrange an assessment."

"Val-"

"It’s not open for discussions Y/N." She cuts you off, a car key already in hand that makes you groan to yourself impatiently. "You're not going back to work until you talk to Doctor Grand."

She leaves without saying another word and you're left alone with the file in your hands. Without hurrying, you flip to the page mentioned earlier and sigh when you find a photograph of Wanda wearing a uniform with the Avengers crest embroidered on it. Below is her statement about the mission.

You trace your fingers over the passage "An extraordinary and dangerous skill from an equally impressive fighter" but hesitate when you read the passages about how she felt scared and unsafe. About how she thought you were aiming at her. About how she felt she failed by not bringing a high-risk criminal into custody.

Your tears finally fall, staining the page before you quickly wipe them away, closing the file tightly after ripping Wanda's photo out.

It was time to wrap up loose ends and get back to your perfect record.

-&-

In the fake drawer hidden on the floor under your bed - safeguards for someone whose apartment is frequently visited by a two-faced countess - you kept some personal things. Hydra's last record of you, small souvenirs from missions, and a photograph of Wanda Maximoff.

And this morning - and any other morning really - you were supposed to ignore that drawer, leave any weapons at home, put on a presentable outfit, and meet Valentina in the lobby promptly at 10 o'clock. She would take you by car to Dr. Grant's office who would do a standard assessment of your mental state that would tell whether or not you were fit to return to work.

But instead, you took the photo of Wanda out of its hiding place and put it in your pocket. You stood up, walked through your closet, and chose the least flashy backpack you owned. Then you armed yourself with three different types of knives and two pistols in a chest holster, very similar to that of American detectives. And speaking of the police, your drawer of false documentation provided by Valentina was studied without haste until you had in your pockets the identity of a Shield agent who never existed but was meant to be a little tribute to the job you were performing today.

With your disguise ready, you left the apartment two hours before your scheduled meeting with Valentina, and you had barely boarded the ferry when she called you.

"Our appointments aren't something to be skipped, young lady." Stated the woman seriously, but you gave her a weary sigh.

"I don't wish to see Doctor Grant."

Valentina chuckled, as you handed your ticket to the clerk passing in the corridors. On the other end of the line, she then spoke;

"You're not getting away with this, Y/N. I'm not authorizing your return to work until Roland confirms to me that your mental state is stable for you to continue."

You prop your feet up on the seat, switching your cell phone to another ear. "Val, I'm not running away, I promise. I just needed a break. Give me a few days, okay? Reschedule the visit, I'll be there. I'll even be there early."

She pauses thoughtfully, you can hear her breathing. And then she sighs in defeat and you smile. "Okay. If it's any encouragement, your next service is already being prepared. It's something you've never stolen before, and I'd like it to be yours. Of course, if you prove suitable."

A few weeks ago, the temptation would have been too much and you would have turned around and gone to the appointment just to win Grant's approval and be cleared for the job. To prove not only to Valentina, but to the world, and to any other colleague, that you could complete that mission.

But now you let out a short laugh, and that surprises Valentina enough for her to keep quiet. "Reschedule for the end of the week. I guarantee that I'll have Dr. Grant's approval and you'll have your order in no time."

The promise seems to be enough for her, and after another sigh, Valentina hangs up. You put your cell phone away and return your attention to the now-stamped train ticket to New York.

The trip didn't take long, and within a few hours, you were in the bustling city. Especially today, at the inaugural Heroes of Earth celebration event, Manhattan was almost chaotic.

With fans and journalists from all over the world filling the streets that had been closed off for a sort of open-air Comic Con, you had no trouble at all going unnoticed in the crowd. You wore a disguise, of course, but you didn't have to. A few minutes into the fair, you really did look like a tourist, with your Avengers sweatshirt, cap, and colorful glasses.

The knives in your backpack were well hidden under the amount of superhero souvenirs you got.

You were trying to choose between an Incredible Hulk smash-burger or a portion of Thor's worthy chicken when the bell announcing the photo session with the Avengers was about to start.

Your appetite disappeared, anxiety taking over your whole body at once.

It was time to move.

The queue was huge, as was to be expected. At least, most of them were there for the best-known Avengers. Thor wasn't even on Earth, which meant that the other five originals were competing with each other over who got the most autographs. The new members, like Wanda, the Falcon, or Vision, were given presentation stands but had much more free time at the event.

You tried to ignore the pang of pride when you saw that among the new members, the queue of people to see Wanda was the longest. A considerable number of children were very excited to ask her to do magic tricks.

Your strawberry milkshake - Black Widow's Special - almost fell out of your hand when you finally saw Wanda leave the curtains dividing the dressing rooms and join the autograph table.

She wasn't wearing the soft hoodie with the Avengers symbol from the photograph you sneak a peek at almost every night, nor was she wearing the pathetic disguise she wore the first time you saw her. No, somehow, she managed to look prettier. Like all her teammates, she was wearing an outfit similar to the official fighting uniform, probably designed just for the event. With a black tactical outfit covered by a red jacket, the gloves that didn't cover her fingers were probably your favorite part.

Despite her relatively unfriendly uniform, Wanda offered such lovely smiles to the people who came to greet her that you thought the milkshake made you sick, judging by the way your stomach and heart were unsettled.

When the Meet & Greets began, you had to go to the ticket booth and buy a single ticket in cash; to meet Wanda, of course.

It would take place back in the fair's improvised dressing rooms, and after waiting for almost forty minutes, you were finally guided inside. Your backpack wasn't searched, perhaps because your weapons were hidden by Ten Rings technology, a gift from Xu Xialing on your last assignment, and when it went through the X-ray at the entrance, all they detected were the countless fair toys you had acquired. And the knives hidden in your body, well, it's obvious to say that when it comes to changing aspects of your anatomy for any situation, passing a security search was quite easy.

"Miss Maximoff will be here in a minute. She had a little problem with her costume, the children who came in before you caused a little milkshake accident."

One of the organizers informed you, and you gave her a kind smile, commenting that the Black Widow special was essential, even if it might cause minor accidents. The employee chuckled before going to answer a call on her communicator that could have been your intentional flooding of one of the toilets to occupy as many of the staff as possible.

Wanda's dressing room was the most intimate environment of hers you've ever been in. It didn't have many things, of course, but for someone who only had access to government documents, it was paradise.

Curious fingers traced all the belongings you could reach, from more comfortable pieces of clothing for her to change into during the event, to different types of tea and books, until you found a music device.

The password protection on a Stark Industries MP3 player made you laugh to yourself. "What a distrustful little witch." You murmured affectionately, stowing the item in your jacket pocket and moving over to the schedule board.

You had already read the row that marked the start of the Meets, probably described there and in all the other dressing rooms, when your gaze caught a small notebook forgotten in one of the armchairs.

You got the chance to take it in hand and smile at the sketches on the first few pages before the item was suddenly lifted and pulled out of your hand.

"Sorry, but this is private." Wanda grabbed the item out of the air, but you stood there, static like a frightened animal, unable to breathe properly under her gaze. She seemed to realize that she had been too harsh and huffed out a laugh, the notebook clutched tightly against her chest. The sound made you swallow. "I shouldn't have kept you waiting, I guess you got bored. Sorry about that. Let me put this away, and we can, um, get started."

She didn't use magic to return the book to a safe place, you didn't know that yet, but Wanda was still learning to trust her powers. And if she could help it, she usually didn't use them.

She approached you, to put the book away in a bag that you didn't have a chance to peek into, and the sudden movement made your body react in alarm. Your back hit the schedule board, and Wanda frowned, stopping in her tracks with an almost hurt look on her face.

"You don't have to be scared. I'm not going to hurt you, you know." She murmured with the tips of her ears red. "I'm just going to put my notebook away, you see." The backpack floated towards her with a tug, and Wanda hardly met your gaze after that. She tossed the bag into a corner of the room and fiddled uncomfortably with the edge of her blouse.

She was no longer wearing the outfit she'd worn before, she was wearing a comfortable set, too soft and domestic for you to be calm-minded about anything.

You forced your brain to work because you thought the whole thing was getting ridiculous.

"I'm not scared." Your voice comes out very hoarse, so you clear your throat. Wanda raises her eyes, finally, and the green irises make your cheeks warm. You don't hide it from her. "As a matter of fact, I'm not the one who usually gets scared when we meet, am I, Maximoff?"

Taking the time she needed to understand, you removed your colored glasses and cap, your face changing back to its original appearance. Wanda sighed shakily as soon as she recognized you.

"Hi, Y/N." She greeted, too sweet for you to do anything but smile shyly, forgetting for a moment exactly what you had come for.

"Hello, Wanda." You tried to sound just as gentle, but you must have done a poor job, to blame it on your body that doesn't seem to be working properly. Wanda swallows dryly, her hands moving slowly in the air. You watch the unhurried gesture - the way her fingers draw the air, and how the items of disguise float away to the armchair, and in your hands appear handcuffs that don't prevent you from moving them, and don't hurt either. The most you feel is a tickle.

"I've come all this way, just for you to put me in chains, little witch." You try to tease her, and you think it's a victory the way Wanda tries to hide a smile, approaching with her head down until she's close enough to touch you.

Her hands should be gripping the magical handcuffs, but instead, they hold yours. Wanda sighs.

"You can't be here." She whispers, meeting your eyes, and you think it's ridiculous that you made any plans at all. You could never do anything to harm Wanda, and that was just the truth. "Then why are you?"

Unlike her, you don't hide your smile. You shrug as if your heart wasn't thumping in your chest, and revel in playing with Wanda's buttons.

"I was in the neighborhood. Wanted to say hi." Your casual reply makes her snort impatiently.

Her hands release yours, and you raise an eyebrow at Wanda's audacity to start searching you.

"Wow, take me on a date first, love." You joke, but despite the new color her cheeks acquire due to the joke, the fond nickname, Wanda doesn't stop. She gropes in your pockets, reaches into your jacket, and grimaces with disapproval at every illegal item she finds. The false documents, the Shield badge, the guns. The MP3 is in the front pocket and Wanda gets a little closer to reach it, enough so that you have to lick your lips trying to control the instinct to break the distance. She just looks so kissable and smells so good.

She offers you an incredulous look at the stolen item, which floats back to the table as she gropes for the other pocket. Finding the train ticket, she lets out a short laugh.

"Six hours of travel is not being in the neighborhood." She comments, raising her eyes to you.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort with a little smile, discourteously glancing between her eyes and her lips. "That I couldn't help myself and had to get on the first train to see you again? That I can't even go back to work because I can't stop thinking about you?"

There's this thing that Wanda's eyes do. The pupils get huge, and the green darkens. And she looks at you as if you were something to be devoured in every detail as if you were worth admiring. As if you were worth any of her time.

She speaks again, so low and hoarse that you wouldn't be able to hear her if you weren't close.

"Your thoughts are loud. Are you always so hard on yourself?"

You swallow dry, caught off guard. Your hesitation makes Wanda sigh. She looks ready to apologize when you nod.

"It doesn't matter, every time we bump into each other, you make me feel different. Better. You look at me as if you can see more. What do you see, Wanda?"

She sighs deeply, and her hands move to touch your face. It's too gentle, and affectionate in a real and true way that you never experience. Your body goes rigid, not knowing how to handle the tenderness, but Wanda doesn't catch any request for her to stop touching, so her hands continue to hold your cheeks.

"I can see your anger, just as I can see your fear. I see the thief, and the murderer, but I can also see only you. No disguises, no lies. The person you are underneath it all." She says, swallowing dryly as she lets her gaze fall to your lips. "This is the person I let get away. And the person I'd like to meet, if you'll let me."

Your chest is heavy with confusing feelings. Your traumas beep in unison, your defenses beg you to push Wanda away and flee before the rest of the Avengers decide to show up.

But instead, you return watery eyes to Wanda and gasp softly; "Why? Why do you care?"

And Wanda tries to lie. "I think you could use a friend."

You chuckle dryly, pulling away from the touch. "Hard pass." You mutter, but Wanda doesn't let you move away entirely. She decides to risk everything.

She grabs your chin and tilts your face towards her. It's a miscalculated kiss, you both flinch and gasp at the first contact of your lips and being taken by surprise makes you lose your balance in the middle of the movement to get away from her.

You fall into the armchair, and Wanda should apologize, but she doesn't even bother. She pushes your tense shoulders and straddles your lap, this time, when her mouth meets yours, it's much hungrier and more determined.

The handcuffs disappear into thin air with the first gasp that leaves her lips, and you waste no time in grabbing her waist, roughly pulling her down and holding her tight against you as your mouths move together. It's a passionate kiss full of urgency, charged with all the tension you've built up.

Your tongue slides into her mouth without warning, more experienced than Wanda, you manage to get a whimper out in no time. She wants to shrink away from the sound, but your hands slide down to grab her ass and pin her down onto your front, and suddenly all she can do is moan.

It seems absurd that you've gone a lifetime without kissing Wanda Maximoff when you both seem molded to do this with perfection.

You don't even move apart to breathe, a battle of restless hands and hungry mouths panting against each other. Wanda begins to grind herself into your lap in search of friction and you let out a sound you didn't know you could make.

Everything is suddenly so hot that Wanda doesn't hear her surroundings. She doesn't hear the curtain or the footsteps. But she definitely hears the machine man's surprised exclamation.

"Oh, forgive me, Wanda." Vision's back is turned the second he catches a glimpse of what's happening in that armchair.

Wanda jumps away as if she's received a jolt, and you groan in displeasure at the interruption. Despite the way every cell in your body seems to be vibrating with euphoria, you manage subtle changes in your face that prevent the Synthesized from recognizing you if he decides to turn around. "I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"Vis, please leave." She demands with ragged breathing, her face bright red. Wanda looks neither at you nor at Vision.

The man clears his throat, stuttering. "Of course, Wanda, I'm so sorry." He says, but although he mentions leaving, he doesn't. Stopping just before the curtain, he risks a glance over his shoulder. "There was a forced distraction with criminal indications in the western sector, the fair has already been interrupted. The captain has asked everyone to gather for a patrol check, in case there's an attempted attack. I just wanted to warn you. It would be appropriate to send your... friend away." explains the machine, exchanging a quick glance with Wanda before leaving the dressing room.

You'd like to kiss her again, but Wanda sniffles at Vision's departure and you frown in a mixture of concern and confusion.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" She deduces annoyed. "To try a bloody attack on a children's fair? God, I’m so stupid. You’re obviously using me to distract your partners-”

But you stood up with an impatient sigh for the anxious and nervous conclusions of an avenger who has been caught in the act.

You grab Wanda again and kiss her hard enough for her to lose her balance, and she ends up pressed against the schedule board, and then the coffee table, each kiss more desperate and heated than the last.

Your thigh presses between hers, and Wanda practically meows at the friction. You love how responsive she is to your touch, and you try to push a little further under her clothes, quickly addicted to attracting more sounds.

And you're almost to the edge of her bra when you're interrupted again.

"Jesus, Maximoff, what the hell is going on here?" Unlike Vision, Natasha Romanoff is much more serious and determined to put an end to the whole thing. And she cares little about what was happening against the table. You hide the change in your features on Wanda's shoulder, while also trying to control your own breathing, somehow much more aroused than before. "We're working, Maximoff. There may be terrorists on the perimeter and you're here, well, I'm not judging, I'm just saying there's an appropriate time for everything. I'm sure your friend will survive if you let go of her mouth for a few hours. Who knows, maybe next time you can meet in a more appropriate place?"

When you finally look at Nat, you can see that she's hiding a teasing little smile. You're glad that Wanda is making friends.

And unlike you, who doesn't mind having been caught not once but twice by the Avengers, Wanda looks like an embarrassed tomato who nods quickly while her magic does the work of adjusting your half-open clothes and leaving the objects you bump into in order again.

"Of course, Natasha, I'll send her away. I'm sorry." Wanda practically pushes you out, dragging you to a more secluded area at the back of the dressing rooms.

She tries unwillingly to resist your eager hands or the quick but intense kisses you steal from her on the way.

"You have to go." She struggles to gasp, her hands pushing your shoulders to stop the whole thing or she wouldn't be able to think.

Wanda with her hair disheveled after a proper make-out session, her face flushed and her lips swollen is too much for you.

"Fuck." You gasp and she swallows.

"What?"

You don't know what to say, nothing seems enough. She's awakened something in you that you didn't know existed. Suddenly, the idea of staying away from her seems an impossibility.

"When will I see you again?"

She frowns at the question, laughing nervously. "We shouldn't have seen each other even today."

But your hands pull her by the waist. "Nonsense. We should definitely do this again.” Your lips trail down her jaw, to the sensitive points on her neck that you're trying to memorize. She sighs, and struggles to keep her eyes open, but only for a moment before she pushes you away again, laughing shyly.

"Please, darling, I need to get back, my job-"

"There's no attempt attack, I flooded a toilet so I'd have time to see you." You clarify quickly and Wanda has to shake her head and laugh incredulously.

"You're nuts."

"Honestly? Yes. I think I've figured out what was wrong with me over the last weeks. You’re driving me nuts, Wanda Maximoff. I can't stop thinking about you." You retort quickly, not caring about the irregular beating of your pulse, nor the way she blushes heavily. "I need to know when I'm going to see you again."

She looks back into the dressing rooms and can see that Natasha is coming out through the curtain. She approaches you at once to give you one last intense kiss and whispers goodbye on your lips as you part.

With every inch of skin that Wanda touched vibrating and your heart pounding in your chest, you only remember to regulate your powers and return to a disguise a good few minutes after she has disappeared from sight, and hope that no security cameras saw you there.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #heart shaped series #wanda maximoff series #elizabeth olsen x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 13 days

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Hello! It's me again. I'm probably pestering you, lol. I think a lotta people give flack for the Octavinelle trio being ruthless and "behaving like a Mafia." But I think considering where they live it makes sense? They live in the ocean. And the ocean is a kill or be killed environment, where you have to the strongest and toughest. If not? You at least have to be quick witted and unable to be seen, otherwise you'll be dead. If the trio become too soft they'll be fish meat.

I think the fandom is pretty divided when it comes to perceptions of what the Coral Sea is like. On one hand, you have the people who think of it as like living in Atlantica, which is basically just like living in a peaceful and pretty city (but underwater). Then you have the people who think the environment would be so different it would shape its inhabitants to behave differently as well. The second one tends to be a darker or grittier interpretation which aknowledges dangers such as other undersea creatures and treacherous living conditions.

Personally, I lean on and enjoy the latter, since TWST rarely ever designs purely for the aesthetic of it; one example of this is how the twins are confirmed to be bioluminescent in the Magical Archives. This is a decision that was not made “because it would look cool”, but because many deep sea creatures rely on this trait to intimidate potential predators. It would make more sense for the cold waters of the Coral Sea to change its people rather than merfolks’ cities simply being civilizations moved several leagues under, especially seeing TWST time and time again really consider the geography and history of each new location and how those inform the cultures that form there.

However, I want to state that the Coral Sea would be very different depending on which area you’re in, just like how there are nice parts and bad parts of a city. It’s not ALL nice or ALL bad. For example, the Atlantica Museum in book 3 appears to be in a more photic zone, so there’s more sunlight and it appears pleasant to be in. Even the merpeople there seem to be different than the Octatrio; they less so resemble specific sea creatures and are much more akin to being human-like. We have yet to really see how the benthic zones are—but we do know they must be harsher, since Floyd has mentioned exploring shipwrecks and various dangers there (like sharks).

I also want to point out that there are subtle signs in dialogue which could imply merpeople prefer traits that promote survivability and adaptability in the ocean. Azul’s bullies are noted to taunt him for his weight, but also for his bulky tentacles and inky tears. Now why those traits specifically??? Because these impede his ability to swim swiftly (making it harder to escape danger) and easily give away his location (if he’s in hiding or camoflauging).

I’ve seen others suggest that maybe these comments are because of racism against octopus merpeople, who are a rare kind of merfolk. This is entirely possible, yes! But thinking about it like that… Isn’t it also possible that there aren’t a lot of octopus merpeople at the moment because it’s more difficult for them to escape or to hide from predators? Which then informs and perpetuates preexisting prejudices. In this context (plus the bullying), it makes sense why Azul may have “hardened” as a defense and survival mechanism. The same goes for the twins, who were explicitly taught how to defend themselves (although this also goes into the Leech mob family theory, which is a whole separate matter) and have often made references to fighting others in the Coral Sea. Their upbringings also play a part in their personalities, but so does the environment they grew up in. Like Azul and the twins, you’d have to harden mentally or physically to some degree to ensure your survival through tough circumstances.

It’s hard to say for sure though! A lot of this is speculation based on current but infrequent lore, and the Octatrio themselves are a very small portion of all merfolk. They may not be representative of the behaviors of all other merpeople, and we should keep this in mind when referring to them as our exemplars. That’s why I’ve been hoping for a Coral Sea hometown event so we have a more concrete idea of what life under the sea is like 😭

#twisted wonderland #twst #Azul Ashengrotto #Octavinelle #Floyd Leech #Tweels #Jade Leech #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #book 3 spoilers #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theories #twisted wonderland theory

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sleepimali · 6 months

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Available as a print and sticker set this month only (November 2023) on my Patreon for Professional Napper patrons and above :)<3

As a warning, this month’s lore deals pretty heavily with death and trauma, and has mentions of war (in the past).

Shadowlings and No Magic Zones lore:

If you find yourself in a place where traces of humans are slowly being reclaimed by nature, marked by a glaringly red and yellow coloured sign that says “NO MAGIC” on it, odds are you’re standing at the site of an old battleground from the Long War.

No matter where you go, if there are humans around, you can likely find a no magic zone there too. And the reason magic is disallowed in such places is because they are the dwellings of the Shadowlings, who are said to be soldiers that fell to a curse in the war, and hence harbour very negative emotions towards those who use it. Fear, anger, grief… And all explosive feelings at that. They aren’t exactly capable of rational thinking anymore, so it’s best not to upset them, especially since they tragically harbour a lot of the Wild Magic they resent so much, and can be incredibly dangerous while emotional.

Because of their experiences that live on inside them, it doesn't matter that magic has now become a good and necessary force in human society, or that magic folks and humans have both done equal amounts of good and bad.

Using magic in their presence truly can only be done at the risk of your life for most people, and the exceptions to that rule can be counted on the fingers of just one hand.

However if you do not provoke them, they are completely harmless and very gentle - loving even.

Being a Shadowling is leading an existence that hovers between life and death, unable to participate in life, but also unable to move on from it. And yet a Shadowling is not quite a ghost either.

As newly turned, most Shadowlings retain an almost human shape, but they slowly begin lose their shape and memories with the passage of time, except for a few exceptions who hold onto them as much as possible for the sake of their loved ones.

Still, they know instinctively that they were once humans and therefore tend to seek them and their warmth out as much as possible. In the absence of humans though, they feel the safest around human-made objects that have been left behind in the zone, and with each other. Shadowling are rarely alone, instead they tend to huddle together in big groups where they do their best to comfort each other and help each other hold onto their memories, and dream of the day they’ll be able to return to humanity.

For quite some time after the end of the war, those who lived on would take care of the Shadowlings and the areas in which magic was forbidden. After all, no matter how unrecognisable they had become, they were still people’s beloved family members, lovers, and friends. And if you look into their eyes, regardless of how much they have lost, you can still see and know who they were in life.

But time is ruthless to us all, and the last living generation who survived the horrors of the war has grown old and started to disappear. For some time, their descendants would take care of the no magic zones instead, but the vast majority of these places would slowly become completely abandoned with the introduction of magic in human society.

And so, the Shadowlings kept getting more and more shapeless and wispy, clinging to the traces of humanity they can find in items that were left behind and the occasional visitor.

Few people visit these days. And even fewer still are visitors who still do not have traces of magic on them or aren’t afraid of the Shadowlings.

But maybe one day, as long as there is hope, maybe one day their curse can be lifted.

And until then, the Shadowlings will find ways to keep existing and experience joy and love even with all that they have lost.

#sleepimali #watercolor art #watercolor artist #fantasy art #autumn art #shadowlings #no magic zone #original lore #ditd lore #ditd #long post

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roe-and-memory · 4 months

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every time someone says cars 3 is the worst cars movie another angel punches me in the stomach and pulls my hair.

this is probably just my intense special interest in the origins of nascar, but that movie feels like such a nice send-off for the main “trilogy”, and yes people can have their own opinions but i NEED to talk about how much this movie means to me

first of all, a major misconception is that lightning quit racing - he DIDNT! this is proven by both the end of the movie (where he says hes obviously going to keep racing) and cars on the road where, in the final episode, cruz and lightning wish each other “goodbye” and say they’ll see each other on the racetrack. he was only cruz’s crew chief for that one season, presumably healing from the trauma of the crash (because lets be real his ass did not mentally recover from that in FOUR MONTHS) and also waiting for a permanent crew chief to take his place.

second.. the sheer amount of detail put into that movie is INSANE. the racing center being shaped like grandstands at a track? fireball beach being both a direct reference to the daytona beach race course and also “fireball roberts”, a 1950s racer (he was actually the reason that firesuits were mandated in the sport), we meet a bunch of 1950s racers as well and just augh.. so good. also, the detail of thomasville being in north carolina is brilliant - N.C is the “racing state”, and thomasville speedway is based off of north wilkesboro, a track that was opened in 1949, and last used in 1996 (aside from the series of races in 2010), and it fell into disrepair. (fun fact, north wilkesboro is reopening in 2024 for the nascar all star race!! they fixed my bbg)

third. cars three brings so much more lore than the first movie did. yes, we knew doc raced in the 50s when the sport was getting its start, but in cars 3? they brought in characters based off of real 1950s racers (doc is based off of herb thomas, smokey is smokey yunick, lou is louise smith, junior is junior johnson, river is wendell scott, and leroy hemming is tim flock) (another reference in the movie is “jocko flockos party supplies” as macks disguise - jocko flocko was tim flocks pet monkey that was the FIRST and only co-driver in the history of the sport. he won a race with his monkey in the car with him :) )

as i was saying, the lore we learn is insane. we learn that lou and river had to fight for their place in the sport, which is similar to what both louise smith and wendell scott experienced in the 50s, they show us accurately how racing worked back then too - they didnt have fancy pits, they had a fence and a pit member with a sign that would tell them to come in the next lap for service. all of these cars are gen 1 nascar, which means that they were strictly stock - they had much more intense pit sessions than any of the other “built for racing” generations have ever needed. i recall watching a race wherein smokey yunick had to change the radiator of one of his racers vehicles mid-race due to a crash.

this isnt everything, but seriously for an animated movie about talking cars, they discuss grief and hardships and handle them so well its insane. i know cruz isnt everyones cup of tea, but (in reference to the flip scene at the end of the movie) watching cruz get shoved into the sport must’ve been insane for lou to watch. she saw herself in that girl. it wasnt some movie about lightning giving up, it was him sharing the torch with another kid who lost their way just like he had.

also i dont cry at movies but i literally bawl my fucking eyes out at the letters scene every time. its PATHETIC (its not im literally tearing up just thinking about it)

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #cars 3 (2017)#pixar cars #doc hudson #louise nash #i seriously love cars 3 so much man #and the animation.. augh…. ITS SO GOOD #this was so much longer than i thought it’d be oops 😭

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delulu4dean · 9 months

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“Withdrawals”

Warnings: suicide, depression, anxiety

Pairings: Dean Winchester x sister!reader, Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Prompt: withdrawal from Cymbalta. Based on my own experience

Word Count: 3,624

You are all packed up to go with your older brothers. They were going all the way to the Redwood Forest, and you didn’t want to be in the bunker all alone.

You aren’t a hunter like them, not yet at least. You’ve studied the lore, and you’ve trained a bit, because after all, you are a Winchester. And the name alone is like wearing a giant “kick me” sign if it said “kill me” instead. No, you’re a student, getting your associates online in the exploratory major because you have no idea what you would want to do other than hunt with your brothers.

Sam and Dean promised John they’ll never let you into the life. Your mom died shortly after you were born. Your dad met your mom on a hunt nineteen years ago. She was a nurse in a hospital. There was one patient who was wrongfully treated, and died due to medical negligence. And boy does a vengeful spirit do a lot of damage. John saved your mom’s life, and they celebrated that night. She got pregnant, and she kept John’s number so nine months later, he picks up the phone to find out he’s got a daughter. Dean overheard the conversation and when John said he wouldn’t go, Dean said he has to. It resulted in a huge argument. John eventually gave in, and they went to the hospital to see you, and Dean knew right there and then he’d do anything to protect his little sister.

Your mom killed herself after she brought you home. Family history of mental illness was bad enough, but the postpartum depression pushed her over the edge.

It was not easy showing up at Stanford trying to explain to Sam that he had a baby sister, and that also your dad was missing. It was especially not easy looking for your dad while they had to take care of a baby. Dean often got babysitters to watch you in the motels they stayed in.

And now here you are, nineteen years old, aimlessly walking through life. You’re getting an associates in nothing specific just to get some general education done. And that history of mental illness in your family is hitting you hard. You’re on antidepressants, a specific one that treats your depression and anxiety.

Dean parks at the motel, and goes to get keys for a room. You don’t mind sleeping on the couch, out of the three of you it only makes sense, you got tall and taller with you, and it just doesn’t seem fair to make them sleep on the couch when you fit so well on it.

Sam and Dean throw on their FBI getup and go start asking questions while you connect your laptop to the motel wifi. Yay statistics, said no one ever. You’re only doing this to make your brothers happy, you don’t see a reason to get a degree. They say it’s useful to get some sort of decent job, or to one day get a further education when you decide what you want to do. But you already know what you want to do, you want to hunt with them.

You don’t know how you ended up on the couch. One moment you were doing homework and… yeah, that’s enough to make you snooze. You look at the time and it’s 8am the next day. You look into your bag and your eyes wide as you realize you left your antidepressants in the bunker.

“Shit!”

Your sudden outburst awakens your brothers as they both shoot up to see what’s wrong with you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asks as they both run to your side.

“I forgot my meds at home,” you pout.

“Your meds?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“My antidepressants,” you clarify.

Dean makes an “O” shape with his mouth in response.

“Have you ever missed a day before?” Sam asks you.

“No, and this is going to be longer than a day. How am I going to manage without it?”

“Managing your existing problems is the least of your worries kiddo. You’re going to go through withdrawals,” Dean takes a seat next to you. “One of us can stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine, let’s get breakfast, you guys do your research and then I get back and work on more homework, I’ll keep myself occupied,” you assure your brother. They give each other a worried look, not feeling too sure, but you insist you’ll be fine.

The three of you head to a diner, and you check out the menu while Dean checks out the waitress.

“Perv,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Dean orders the greasiest breakfast on the menu, with bacon of course. Sam orders some omelette made with just egg whites.

“And for you, hun?” the waitress looks at you with a smile.

“I’d like a plate of eggs, over easy, and sausages. And an order of chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream if that’s possible. And a cup of coffee if that isn’t too much trouble,” you order.

“Coming right up!”

After a couple of minutes the coffee is ready and she serves you and your brothers your coffee. You add a couple of vanilla creamers. You take your first sip, and immediately regret not blowing on it first. The hot liquid burns your tongue. You set your cup down as your stomach growls, begging to be fed.

On a normal day, you could be patient, wait for your food. But today isn’t a normal day, and even though it’s probably a five minute wait, ten at most, you need the food now. Your leg bounces up and down, as your fingers tap on the table.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Dean asks you.

“Mmhm. Just hungry.”

“The food will be out any minute,” Sam assures you. You nod but it doesn’t make the time pass by any quicker for you.

You watch as the waitress walks over to your table with your food and you sit up. The moment she places your place in front of you, you dig in. Your brothers watch as you focus on your meal. They’ve never seen you eat like this. Normally you try to stay neat and clean while you eat. You talk to them. But right now, your brothers know better than to comment on you eating.

It’s not Dean doesn’t go crazy about food either. It’s just out of the ordinary for you, and you’re off your meds for the next few days, so they’re worried. Eventually they start getting to their research.

After breakfast, your brothers drop you off at the motel, and get on with the case. You open your laptop, log into your student portal, and look at your assignments. This is going to be a long day.

✰✰✰✰✰

You’re sat on the chair in front of your laptop, as you have been all day. It’s been hard to concentrate, you kept checking your phone, playing games. Every time your brothers texted to check in on you, you used it as an excuse to be on your phone again. And then when you finally started concentrating, you didn’t understand it.

You’re sat on your chair, tears streaming down your face. Hugging your knees, you just stare at the screen as the numbers blur together. Math was frustrating. It’s not like you’re bad at it, you’re actually great at it. But your mind is cloudy, and even reading over everything again and again, you’re not processing anything.

You barely made it through your other assignments, and this is all you have left for the day. You’ve been going at it since breakfast, you even skipped lunch to make up for the distractions.

The motel door clicks and creaks open, and footsteps enter the room. You don’t look up from your screen, you just hope they don’t notice your damp face.

“We got dinner,” Dean says, placing the bag on the table in front of you.

“ ‘M-not hungry,” you mumble.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry, what did you have for lunch?” Dean sits at the table, and Sam joins.

You still don’t look up as your brothers take out their food from the take out bag. Dean places your food in front of you as you push it away.

“I’ve been doing homework all day, no time to eat,” you attempt to speak but it all came out in a raspy whisper.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam scoots closed to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m stupid, that’s what’s wrong,” you break down into sobs. “I can’t do simple math equations.”

“You’re great at math,” Dean tries to assure you, but it doesn’t help.

“But I can’t do it today.”

“Hey, hey. You're off your meds. You’re not stupid, you're just not in the right state right now,” Sam tells you, and you nod. “Eat up, and after dinner, I’ll help you with your math, and anything else you need help with.”

Your sobs become small whimpers until you stop crying altogether. You sniffle before grabbing the dinner your brothers got for your. Sam sits next to you and reads over your math homework and explains things. Just reading it didn’t process, but hearing it out loud, from your brother, that helped process what you were actually looking at. Not long after, you finish your homework.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you hug your brother, tightly, and he hugs you back.

“Of course, (Y/N/N),” he keeps you close.

✰✰✰✰✰

You toss and turn, unable to sleep. You’re really starting to miss your antidepressants. Huffing, you get up from the couch, throw on your slip on vans, and take one of the motel key cards. Maybe a walk with some therapeutic music will help you feel better. It really sucks how just after 24 hours, the withdrawal kicks in. You throw in your earbuds and start walking around the block.

Your skin feels all tingly and a burning sensation travels up your leg but you ignore your body screaming. Maybe the walk is what you need. You've been sitting all day, no wonder you can’t sleep.

You put your hands in your pocket as you sing along to the next song under your breath.

“Running low, on serotonin. Chemical imbalance got me twisting things. Stabilize with medicine, there’s no depth to these feelings. Dig deep, can’t hide from the corners of my mind. I’m terrified of what’s inside.”

You take in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs.

“Please don’t let me go crazy. Put me if a field with daisies, might not work but I’ll take a maybe.”

As the song ends, you reach the motel door, but before you can use your key card, the door opens. You look up to see Dean frantically walking out until he sees you.

“Y/N! Where were you?” He whisper-shouts.

“I just went on a walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought it would tire me out.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks you, putting his hand on your back, bringing you inside.

“Honestly my legs hurt, my skin feels all tingly, and my head is starting to hurt.”

“Come on, you’re sleeping in my bed tonight. We can tell each other ghost stories until we fall asleep.”

You smile softly, remembering that’s what Dean would do to get you to bed growing up. You lay down underneath the cover and look at the ceiling.

“Instead of a ghost story, you can catch me up on what you and Sammy have figured out about the case,” you suggest.

And so Dean goes into detail about his day, and how he things by tomorrow night things should be done. Dean is thinking it’s a siren, since these victims were last seen talking about seeing a pretty woman.

“But what were the victims doing before they got killed?” you pose a question.

“One was smoking, another littered, the third being really disruptive,” your eldest brother answers you.

“Hm. Could be a dryad,” you tell Dean.

“A what?”

“A dryad, forest nymph, not a fairy or a goddess but sort of in between. Magical, gorgeous women. There are different nymphs, like water nymphs for example.”

“How do you kill a nymph?” Dean asks you.

“She’s just protecting the forest,” you pout.

“She’s killing people.”

“Talk to her.”

“How do you kill her?” Dean presses.

“You don’t,” you finally give in. “Not without killing nature. Do you want to burn down a tree, Dean?”

“… no.”

“Thought so.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Technically if you can find the one tree she’s attached to, you can kill her. But you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll try talking to her, for you.”

“Thanks Dean.”

✰✰✰✰✰

The next morning you and Dean are both awaken by Sam, who brings you breakfast burritos.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Mmm morning,” you yawn.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Sam asks.

“No, I just couldn’t sleep. So Dean caught me up on your case.”

Sam nods. After breakfast and some research, Sam and Dean get what they need to summon her.

“Since it’s not that dangerous, maybe I can come along,” you offer.

“Homework for the week all done?” Sam asks.

You nod.

“Legs feeling better?” Dean asks.

You nod again.

“You’re lying,” he squints his eyes at you.

“How would you know?”

“The second nod was slower and less confident.”

You groan.

“If you need one of us to stay with you, we can arrange that. If what you said is true, it will be easy enough for just one of us,” Sam suggests.

“I’m fine,” you lie. You’re not fine. Your body is aching, and the anxiety and depression are starting to really sink in.

“Sam, you’re better at talking things out than I am. I’ll drop you off, then head back here. You can call me if you need backup,” Dean says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam nods.

The two of them leave the room and you sigh, laying down. You can’t just stay sitting in this room the whole time. You’re at a bear themed motel close to the redwood forest. You need to experience the nature. You’re feeling trapped and panicked. Your breathing accelerates and you sit up. Pacing back and forth for the next forty minutes, you wait for Dean to get back.

The door opens and he walks in with a bag in hand.

“You’re five minutes late!” you yell at him.

“I just stopped to get some pie,” he sets down the bag. “I got you powdered donuts.”

You nod.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just feeling really trapped in here. Think we can go for a walk, or a drive at least?”

“A drive sounds good,” Dean nods. “But eat the donuts before. No powder on Baby.” He points a finger at you.

“Yes sir,” you grab your donuts and eat, while dean digs into his pie.

After dessert, you two get into Baby. You look out the window as he pulls out of the motel parking lot.

“You want to play some music?” Dean asks you.

“What happened to driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

“This is a one time opportunity, Y/N. You don’t wanna miss it,” he nudges you.

You use a cassette adapter to connect your phone. You continue the playlist you were playing last night.

“You wanna listen to sad music?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I am sad. I don’t have my happy pills,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Honestly? I just want to cry. For absolutely no reason. Well there is a reason, withdrawals.”

Tears well up, and you take a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry kid. I’ll make sure we get home as soon as possible.”

You just nod. The medication doesn’t stop the bad thoughts from happening, but they stop them from hurting as much. The problem was the medication isn’t as effective anymore either. You’ve built a tolerance, so right now the only difference is instead of mild depression, you want to kill yourself. You hate how you look, I mean both of your brothers are considered attractive and you feel like you look… dorky. School is stressful especially when you’re working towards a degree you don’t want.

And then you think of your brothers, who swooped in to take care of you. John wasn’t a terrible father to you, but you know he was too tough on Sam and Dean especially when it came to you. And then when John died, Dean became basically like your dad. He already raised Sam during his youth and then he had to take care of you. You couldn’t help but think that Sam and Dean would have it so much easier without you.

You try to hide your cries, looking out the window, letting tears stream down your face.

“Y/N/N? Talk to me,” Dean coaxes you. “What are you thinking about.”

Your silent cries become wails and sobs. And the crying triggers a headache and you feel nauseous and everything is just awful.

“Dean, why do you keep me around?” You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “I’m a burden. You don’t need to be taking care of me, especially when I’m an adult. I’m just dragging you down,” you cry out. “If I were dead, or never born, you’d be so much happier!”

“Woah woah!” Dean pulls over, then looks over at you. “I would not be happier without you. We don’t keep you around to take care of you. You’re grown, independent. We love you. And we’re happy you like being around us too. You’re our family.”

You look up at him, and you can almost see his heart breaks as he looks at your face. He wipes your tears and pulls you in for a hug.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself? Are the suicidal thoughts back?”

You nod, crying into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, baby, these thoughts aren’t your fault.”

You feel something going on in your throat, and you pull away quickly, opening the door, emptying the contents from your stomach. Dean quickly gets out from the drivers side and runs over to you.

“Ew,” you cry. “God that’s gross. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders continue to shake as you resume crying. Your older brother crouches down (avoiding where you threw up) and pushes your hair back behind your ears.

“You don’t need to say sorry.”

“I might have gotten some on Baby,” you say, looking around to make sure.

“I can clean it. It’s just a car. You’re my baby sister.”

You sniffle as a smile creeps on your face.

“You do really love me. You’d never say she’s just a car unless it was that serious.”

“Of course it’s that serious. You’re having withdrawals. Now lets get something in that tummy,” he pokes your stomach. “Something light and comforting. You can wash up in the bathroom. And then we can get Sam and get you home.”

You nod and the drive resumes. You head back to the diner you had breakfast at yesterday. For lunch you get a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Dean gets a burger, obviously. As you wait for the food, you head into the bathroom and wash up.

After lunch, Sam gives Dean a call, saying it’s all over, and to also check up on you. You guys go on your way to pick up Sam. Dean hands the key over to Sam and Sam looks at Dean confused.

“Long drive from California to Kansas. Don’t want to leave her alone. After dinner we can switch off and you can sit in the back if you want,” Dean explains.

“It’s fine, it looks like you got control of the situation.” Sam looks over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like absolute shit. But better than before.”

“When we get home, you take your meds, get your sleep, then we can do a movie night,” Sam suggests.

“That sounds great Sammy,” you smile. You kiss his cheek before going into the back seat with Dean.

“Thanks for being here for me Dean,” you say, kissing his cheek as well.

“Of course. I’ve been here since day one,” he ruffles your hair.

✰✰✰✰✰

The next 21 hours end up being hell. Dean said the wrong thing while trying to comfort you, sending you spiraling. That’s when Sam sat in the back while Dean sat up front beating himself up over it as he drives the rest of the way home. You apologized for being a difficult kid and Dean didn’t deny you were difficult, he just said easy is boring.

Now Dean pulls into the bunker garage, and you run to your room to get your medicine and take it. Dean follows you, wanting to apologize.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You aren’t a difficult kid. You were a great kid. Fun, and a great listener.”

“It’s okay Dean, I’m over it. Really.”

He nods.

“Can you stay with me until I sleep though? You and Sam? I want to hear about the dryad!”

“Sure thing. Sammy!”

Sam runs up to you guys.

“She wants you to tell us about the dryad.”

“Was she pretty?” you ask.

“Yes, she was very pretty.”

You lay in bed as your brothers sit on each side of you. Sam talks about how your plan to talk to her actually worked, and how the conversation went down. You smile as you listen. Your eyelids get heavy and soon you’re out.

#dean winchester angst #dean x reader #dean Winchester x sister!reader #Sam Winchester X sister!reader #supernatural #spn fanfic

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phxntomsdusk · 3 months

Text

Valentine’s day with my bursonas

note; these are just a bunch of bursonas i technically made!! hope you all enjoy <3

warnings: mentions of death (klepto!wilbur), goth!wilma with a fem!reader, other than that fluff fluff fluff !!

tags: @ax-y10 , @joviepog , @pheliiaa , @idontreallyexistyet , @rqvii , @vibestillaxxx , @ivvees-blog , @average-vibe , @lillylvjy , @haunted-headset , @toastyliltoasts41 (ask to be added!)

Klepto!Wilbur:

this man doesn’t even know what the holiday is. he’s been dealing with death for so long, the poor guy never realized you celebrated love!

the first time he realized it was a thing was when he found you upset about it, crying saying you were never gonna receive flowers or candy again, because well, you had died—!

he got to work immediately. he bought you roses, holding back the urge to make them black of course. got you your favorite candy after questioning you, and set up a small picnic spot in the woods.

sure, it was a bit scary, but that’s all he really knows

he even got a raven to befriend you and follow you around everywhere, claiming it was protection

“wilbur.. there’s a crow on my head.” you awkwardly pointed up towards the black bird, furrowing your brows at him. “my love, that’s a raven. and it’s for protection! you can never be too careful in the afterlife.” he smile lightly, before planting a kiss on your cheek.

now, if you had gotten him things? he would lose it

you’d never seen him cry, but this definitely would make him bawl..

just knowing that someone truly loves him for who he is, even with what he does for a living, he can’t help it!

at the end of the day he’ll be happy whether it’s him getting you things, or you getting him things. as long as he gets to spend the day sharing his love for you, he’ll be more than happy

Softball!Wilma:

this damn girl is going ALL out for you

she’ll buy cliche and cringy softball themed valentine’s day gifts, mostly giving you those during the week leading up to valentine’s day

but on THE day?? be prepared ..

you’re getting flowers, candy, teddy bears, baskets, gift cards, everything you can imagine!!

if she’s taking you on a date, she’ll wait to give you everything, taking you back to her house afterwards and telling you to close your eyes before entering her room..

“are we there yet?” you groaned as you nearly stumbled over the stairs again, a hand stretched out as you frantically tried to find a door or wall. “yes, yes.. open your eyes, love.”

you did as you were told, seeing her bed decked out in heart shaped things, red and pink, balloons, stuffed animals, candy and such. your jaw dropped, slowly turning to look at her.

“you’re joking..” you spoke quietly, watching her chuckle and shake her head, before wrapping her arms around you and kissed you softly. “i’m not. i love you, and you deserve it.”

now, if you got her stuff? she’s not expecting it!

she’s only ever gotten those yearly stuffed animals from her mom, that always end up tucked away in a bin under her bed or in her closet..

but if you got her like a basket with gift cards, some stuff she can use during games like eyeblack or maybe heart pattern bat grip, she’s losing it!

you’re being tackled with a hug, attacked with kisses and thank yous, she won’t shut up about how much she loved and appreciates you

and for a date? you guys are going to apple bee’s, there’s no denying it. she’s a softball girl, apple bee’s is their holy grail

Baseball!Wilbur:

so if we go based on the series accurate lore- he’s the one buying things in hopes you finally go out with him

it’ll start at a practice, he’ll bring you a small bag with a note, candy, bracelet or necklace, and a small teddy bear <3

the note will be all romantic, with a heart drawn at the end

dear y/n,

you know i’ve been head over heels for you for.. months now. you’ve been on my mind 24/7 ever since i first set eyes on you. i know you don’t like me and don’t show signs of it, but i still wanted to treat you today :)

love, wilbur <3

of course he watched you as you read the letter, and seeing you smile has his heart racing

he approached you after the practice, blurting out how pretty you are, asking if you wanted to go out with him, to which you had to shut him up with a kiss <3

safe to say he had a valentine !!

Goth!Wilma:

okay, she’s goth, she doesn’t love the color pink and all the bright hearts everywhere

but for her girlfriend? she’ll spend her money on some colors for once <3

it’ll start with something small like a brown stuffed bear holding a bright pink heart, and when she saw your face light up she knew she had to do it again

she started bringing you more heart shaped and pink gifts, little notes about how much she loved you, and even gave in to wearing some colors when she took you on a date !!

“do i have to wear the pink shirt?” she sighed as she stared at it in your bedroom mirror, pulling the ends down a bit. “for me? we’re matching, it’s cute!” you smiled widely, walking close and wrapped your arms around her, placing a few kisses on her cheek. “fine.. just this once. only ‘cause i love you, doll.”

she did feel a little embarrassed out in public wearing the shirt, but with your bubbly smile she decided to forget about all the stares

she’d take you to either an ice cream place or a cafe, spoiling you with whatever you wanted, as long as you paid her back in kisses <3

and that night would be spent cuddling the stuffed animals she got you, with her wrapped around you like a koala

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swampstew · 6 months

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Trafalgar Law, B-14~ Dirty Talking

Summary: You always wanted to travel and so you made it your mission to do so as often as you could. Working from your laptop gave you plenty of freedom and you found yourself spending all your free time overseas. Searching, hunting, exploring, investigating. You never really had a goal in mind besides visiting as many historical sites and legends of myths and monsters that you could in your lifetime. They were your biggest interest growing up and it felt amazing to be able to go to the homelands of all the tales you read about. Interested in the legend of the Rübezahl, you soon found yourself in his clutches. He’s pretty touch starved and affectionate, be careful what you wish for!

Warnings: Spicy - list of sexy pillow talk you'd get from Law, modern monster au Law as Rübezahl with GN reader, suggestive content no actions performed.

Rübezahl: a folkloric mountain spirit with the ability to change his appearance as he pleases. With friendly people he is amiable, teaching imparting medicinal knowledge and giving them gifts. If someone derides him, he will exact severe revenge; he was also known to be a trickster if he felt the need. In lore he could test a person at any time to know whether their heart is pure and that if is, that person would be shown the way to treasures hidden deep inside his mountains.

My Kitten takes me so well, gonna give you so many treats.

I’m going to mark you as mine – no I won’t tell you how, but there will be signs.

So hard to control myself when I see you like this. Needy and bent over for me, like a good little toy.

I lied about the treasure, sort of. You see, the real prize is my tongue.

You were naughty today so know you need to make it up to me. Get down on your knees and tell me you love me. Show me how much you care.

Do you like the way my cock hardens when you graze it? When you kiss it? Does it please you to know that your very scent made me this hard already?

Tonight I’ll give you a choice: anal or oral?

God that face, that fucking face you make could have me bust in a second.

You’re not just my love, my pet, but my personal sex doll. Look at how wet that made you.

I’ll make you cum your brains out, make you go cock drunk. You’ll look so dumb and stupid. If you grow tired, I want you to know that I’ll keep going. Heh, I felt you tighten at that, little freak.

Fuck – you bring my inner monster out.

Tonight I’ll give you a special gift: I’ll let you use me.

Do you like the way my cock drills into your holes to fit me? Do you feel the shape of my cock being molded into you every time I fuck you?

I want to watch my cum drip down your holes, to see it dry and crack on your skin as I keep fucking you.

You bring out the horny slut in me.

7 tiles to go, 50 calls made so far.

#law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 masterlist #raven's bingo board #raven's halloween party #trafalgar law #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #swampstew stories #swampstew bedtime stories #trafalgar d water law

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cherrypikkins · 7 months

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Here is my contribution for today's prompt for @fe-oc-week! Oct 9 - Introductions. I'll be posting about my fe3h oc, Kitt Burgess, as well as some related lore.

Kitt Burgess (they/them) Date of Birth: 14th of the Ethereal Moon (12/14) Place of Birth: Annwen, a village in the southern Oghma Mountains, Adrestia Height: 159cm/168cm Affiliation: Church of Seiros Crest: None (?) Strengths: Axes, Riding, Flying Weaknesses: Faith, Heavy Armor Budding Talent: Reason

Personal Ability: Demonic Resonance - Bonus to critical hit when within the attack range of a monster.

Interests: Wilderness survival, monster hunting Likes: The outdoors, superstition and fortune-telling, peculiar tasting foods Dislikes: Fighting against people, church politics, insect swarms, bland tasting foods

Click the read more for more lore :3 !

Kitt Burgess, Ward of the Church - Part I Kitt is a mysterious orphan who was taken in by the Church of Seiros at the behest of Seteth and Flayn. Though they are enrolled as a student at Garreg Mach, they have yet to officially join a house. Prior to arriving at the monastery, they lived in a remote village deep within the southern Oghma Mountains. Today, that area is but a burnt ruin, infested with Demonic Beasts.

Though outwardly polite and accommodating, they are known to be elusive, especially when asked to speak about themselves and their past. They are reluctant to use their full strength in combat, yet show an unsettling sort of enthusiasm when fighting monsters. They harbor a mutual distrust towards various members of the Church of Seiros, due to the latter's politics and secret-keeping. However, they seem to like the Professor well-enough and view them as a calming presence. They have an interest in superstition and local folklore, especially with matters concerning fate. They spend much of their time exploring the wilderness, investigating any reports of monsters or other unusual activity.

Should they be recruited, they will gladly follow Byleth to the end in any of the four routes. Otherwise, they will remain with the Church of Seiros.

Carnwennan, The Illusory Blade A forgotten relic associated with Gwyn, the Unsung Hero. The history of its usage and origins are unknown to Fodlan at large, as it has been discovered only recently by the Church of Seiros. However, the nature of its very creation is suspected to be 'monstrous beyond comprehension'.

It has the shape of a short blade, though it has the ability to suppress its own relic powers and take on the appearance of an ordinary knife. This would be explain why it has been highly difficult to track throughout history. Its true form is yet unknown. How it ultimately came to be in the possession of one Kitt Burgess is a story that they refuse to tell.

Despite taking the shape of a knife, it can be equipped as a sword.

Requires the Crest of Gwyn/Sign of the Mist Dragon to properly wield.

Chance of inflicting Silence on each attack.

Exclusive Combat Art: Spectral Sword - Might increases based on user's Resistance. Effective against Dragon foes and Mage-type units

Canopus, The Blessed Axe A sacred axe crafted by Saint Macuil, at the commission of Saint Seiros. Its powers are intended to be awakened when wielded by someone bearing the Crest of Gwyn. Because the 'true' bearer of the Crest of Gwyn has been lost since ancient history, Saint Macuil required the assistance of Saint Cichol and Saint Cethleann in order to correctly calibrate the weapon.

During the war between Seiros and Nemesis, this weapon was presented to the warrior Gwyn, who wielded it in defense of Enbarr when it was under siege. Upon Gwyn's departure from the battlefield, it was returned to the Church of Seiros and was last noted as being in the custody of Saint Cichol. Its present location is a secret closely guarded by the inner circle of the Church.

#fe3h oc #fe oc week #fe-oc-week #fire emblem three houses #fe3h

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popatochisssp · 7 months

Note

OMG all the new boys are fascinating but ummm Swapfell Fruition especially?? Sounds so good?? I would love a full lore dump on this concept, I love the idea of Vi playing the long con to get rid of Gaster and it all sounds so good. Incidentally I need to read Dirty Laundry again lol, everything you make with regards to any version of Swapfell is just *chef's kiss*

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Swapfell Fruition

A young Sans’ attempt to kill his creator, the Royal Scientist is a failure.

Gaster survives the scuffle that would’ve toppled him off of the CORE’s scaffolding and gains the upper hand, subduing his traitorous creation and forcing him—and the younger one he’d been trying to escape with—back to his labs.

Sans was reckless, tipped his hand too soon and without the luck to have succeeded on the first attempt, Gaster learns that he is a sneaky little backstabber, capable of appearing obedient but hiding ruthless intentions.

He's almost proud… but of course he can't have that.

It becomes clear to the Royal Scientist that obviously, he needs his creations to have some kind of failsafe. The little one hasn't shown any signs of disobedience yet, but his primary caretaker is a crafty little snake, no telling what he could influence him to do, if given the time or the chance—so it’s back to the drawing board, to the operating table with them both.

Papyrus, at his age, doesn't really know what happens to him, only that whatever was done to him hurt, a lot. He wakes up after in the room he’d shared with his brother, scared and hurting and alone, and when Sans finally reappears, he goes to him for a hug.

Except…

Sans doesn’t hug him back.

He doesn’t hug back, and he doesn’t say anything, no matter how much Papyrus begs him to…

And the next time Gaster summons them to the lab, it’s Sans who picks him up and keeps him from squirming away, holding his arm out for Gaster’s needles.

Papyrus doesn’t understand the betrayal, at the time or in the years that follow.

His hurt turns to bitterness and resentment as his once gentle and protective big brother starts to actively help their creator change him, gradually shaping him into a stronger, more efficient killer.

But even with all the modification and training he’s subjected to, Papyrus isn’t quite the solider or war machine Gaster had planned he would be—he spooks when caught by surprise, he’s easily distracted by irrelevant things, his loyalties twist and sway far too easily for Gaster’s liking…

Well, the Royal Scientist is nothing if not resourceful, certainly able to work with…limited materials and still produce something of use.

With the right mental conditioning, and the right handler to make use of it, Papyrus will still be a valuable asset for the Empress.

After all, there’s always political enemies to the crown that her highness would surely prefer to have…removed, discreetly, and other such dirty work best done in the shadows.

Fast and stealthy, like an assassin, seems more suited to Papyrus’ abilities anyway.

And as for a handler, who better than Sans to fill the role?

Gaster’s prototype was largely a failure, but certainly intelligent and organized, presumably capable of researching and observing targets, briefing the asset on situations and targets and memorizing the trigger words and phrases necessary to keep him operating at peak efficiency.

Sans doesn’t protest.

He doesn’t protest much of anything anymore, not since…

………

Well, it’s not like he’s ever spoken about what happened when everything changed, not even to Papyrus, so when he goes along with this too, neither Gaster nor Papyrus expects otherwise.

So, that’s how it is.

Papyrus becomes the perfect assassin and Sans doles out his marching orders, occasionally following behind on missions to jerk his leash and keep him on track.

Between them, it’s…complicated.

Sans is still Papyrus’ brother, the closest thing to an ally that Papyrus has, both of them stuck in service to a power-hungry, unethical prick.

There are moments where they’re okay, times where a joke will slip out and one of them will laugh, injuries tended to, backs watched under fire, and dozens more little things that just wouldn’t happen if they were nothing to each other.

But the moments never last long.

Reality always comes back in sooner or later—usually in the form of Gaster, demanding an update or issuing new orders or calling them back from the field, to which Sans always, always complies.

Papyrus takes it as a reminder of where Sans’ real loyalties must lie.

He’s some kind of brother, not always awful, and maybe he does care about Papyrus, a little bit, but he answers to Gaster above anything or anyone else, apparently by choice.

He can’t be trusted, not really.

And Sans…

Sans stays quiet and does his job.

Quickly, efficiently, and to the letter—exemplary service, always.

Irreproachable.

He’s almost completely beneath suspicion by the time the last human falls into the Underground.

Gaster couldn’t be more thrilled.

This is a golden opportunity, the perfect chance to prove his worth to the Empress and earn clout and accolades innumerable—to be the one responsible for capturing the seventh soul and freeing all of monsterkind from their centuries of imprisonment and allowing the war against humanity to finally begin!

Well, technically, it would be his creations doing it, but it’s his name that history will remember, him who would rise into legend as the most brilliant and ruthless monster to ever live, the catalyst in humanity’s downfall.

He doesn’t waste so much as a minute before summoning Sans and ordering him to handle it, immediately.

Meet with the Empress, alert her that there’s a human loose in the Underground, and offer her the services of the asset in ending their free roam.

Sans agrees, as he always has, and goes to fetch his brother for the job.

Papyrus is admittedly a little blindsided when not two seconds out of the labs, Sans pulls him aside, out of range of known cameras and recording devices and hisses at him to listen.

He doesn’t know what to make of what Sans says after, either—that he hasn’t earned it and he knows that, but he needs Papyrus to trust him right now, because he is going to lie and everything depends on Papyrus going along with it.

In spite of their messy history and every uncharitable thing Papyrus has ever thought about Sans…right here and now, something in his gut tells him this is no trick.

He agrees to ‘go along with it’…whatever ‘it’ is.

Sans waits until a certain amount of time has elapsed, and then he makes a call to Gaster with Papyrus present to listen.

Gaster is informed that there’s a problem with the latest target. The asset’s programming isn’t taking and he’s refusing to track down the human.

This is, of course, news to Papyrus, who hasn’t been assigned his target yet.

But…Sans said ‘trust me’ and ‘play along,’ so that’s what he does, complaining that he doesn’t want to kill a child, just put him back in his cage and do your own dirty work, old man…

Helpfully—always helpful, always intelligent, always reliable—Sans postulates a conflict of orders might be causing the programming to bug like this. Gaster’s overarching orders are for the asset to kill targets assigned to him, but the Empress has unfortunately countermanded that the human must be brought to her alive.

And again, Papyrus knows differently because the Empress hasn’t given him any orders, they never made it to her for orders to be given and Toriel likely doesn’t even know yet that a human has fallen.

But he said he’d go along with the lie so he keeps his mouth shut, even as he hears Gaster curse on the other end of the line.

Gaster finds Sans’ assessment of the situation as reasonable as it is frustrating, but minds are complicated machines and often behave strangely when conflicts arise. Just look at the Empress, who knows that humans must be killed to free her people, but feels she must perform the act herself instead of the far more convenient option being presented to her!

The asset’s orders being in conflict is a far more annoying stopping block, though, yet another barrier in the way of all the glory that Gaster has so painstakingly earned.

Time is short, stakes are high, he refuses to recall his creation just to debug it and resolve the glitch, not now.

Instead he makes his fatal mistake.

He overrides the asset’s failsafes.

All of them.

Impatiently rattling off a code that nearly makes Papyrus stagger from a feeling like weight being lifted, Gaster disconnects the call with a sharp command to Sans to ‘handle it,’ now that there were no restrictions on his targets or what he could be ordered to do.

Sans is only quiet for a moment before handing a picture to Papyrus, locking him on and beginning the usual debrief.

Papyrus can’t fully grasp what he’s looking at, not at first.

“………confirm target?”

“WINDINGS GASTER, THE CURRENT ROYAL SCIENTIST TO THE CROWN.”

As with any briefing, Papyrus must be informed of his target’s connections, abilities and assets.

Gaster has strong ties with the crown, and between that and his own paranoia, security around him will be tight. He’s intelligent, strong, and merciless, and he won’t hesitate to make use of anything at his disposal in a life-or-death situation.

As an example, he had implanted a condition into his private assassin’s mental programming that would prevent him from acting against or outright attacking him—so it’s fortunate they’ve already cleared that concern.

Now, the top priorities are to ensure that Sans is physically far away from Gaster when the mission is executed, and that Papyrus is at no point seen by Gaster before he’s dead. The entire operation could be sunk if both of these conditions aren’t met.

“why?”

“THERE’S AN ADDITIONAL FAILSAFE, IMPLANTED IN YOUR SOUL. IF GASTER REALIZES YOU’VE BEEN TURNED ON HIM BEFORE YOU’VE SUCCEEDED, HE CAN INSTANTLY DROP YOUR HP TO 1.”

“………and why am i doing this without my handler?”

“BECAUSE I’M COMPROMISED TOO. IF HE SEES ME OUT OF PLACE OR SUSPECTS I’VE BETRAYED HIM AGAIN, HE’LL USE THE FAILSAFE IN MY SOUL TO REMOTELY CONTROL MY BODY AND MOBILIZE ME AGAINST YOU—AND OF COURSE, AT THAT POINT, HE WOULD KNOW THAT YOU’RE TARGETING HIM AS WELL AND BE PREPARED TO KILL YOU.”

And that…

Well.

That sure is a hell of a lot of new information that Papyrus will have to process later, when there’s not a strong compulsion in the back of his skull that there is someone he needs to kill.

He’s a professional, when he’s working.

He will focus on the mission.

To keep up appearances, Sans departs to find the fallen human and trail them on their journey through the Underground. He very much wants to ensure they reach the Empress safely, but there’s an added bonus of being exactly where he’s supposed to be and doing exactly what he’s supposed to do should Gaster check in on him—no need to arouse any suspicion, not before it’s far too late.

In the end, when Chara has befriended monsterkind against all odds, winning over the Empress herself and freeing them all to a life of peace with humankind on the surface, the death of the Royal Scientist is an incidental discovery.

Sans takes responsibility for it, pleading for the Empress’s mercy.

Gaster had wanted the human—kind young Chara, to whom Toriel has taken such a liking—killed immediately as soon as they emerged from the Ruins, and he hadn’t thought that the Empress would condone such an order in light of what she’s always held to regarding fallen humans.

Gaster had been adamant, though, and Sans… Well, he only wanted to serve the will of her highness and to do so, he turned the asset against their master. He hopes only for some leniency for what he’s done, Gaster may have been their father but—

Strangely enough, it seems Toriel had no idea that the asset and his handler were the Royal Scientist’s children. He’d always told her they were employees, volunteers for the things that were done to them and the missions they were told to undertake.

Learning that they had actually been created, intentionally molded and pressed into these roles without a choice in the matter…

Toriel, an Empress first but a mother a very close second, can certainly afford leniency.

The brothers are let loose in spite of their crime, with a bit of funding from the Empress to get on their feet after everything. The money is partially back-pay for their joint service as the crown’s black ops division (for which they were never actually compensated before), and partially amends for how long their…circumstance…went unnoticed.

Sans offers to split the money and part ways with Papyrus, if he’d prefer.

But Papyrus has learned a lot in the past few days to…completely and utterly recontextualize everything he ever thought was true about his handl—…his brother, and…maybe he should stick around a bit. See what’s what.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans)

Extremely restrained and closed off from so many years of being unable to talk to or trust anyone, not even his brother. An accomplished liar but socially unpracticed, tending to read as cold and unfriendly to those who approach him. He’s more awkward than genuinely hostile, though

Issues with being watched, spent most of his life simultaneously going unnoticed and being intensely over-monitored so his feelings about being observed—regardless of context—are complicated, runs hot and cold on it

Complicated feelings for his brother, too: he loves him, of course, and he failed him in many ways, but he was also stuck between him and Gaster for a long time and caught his fair share of hell from both sides and there’s some resentment there for that. He wants to fix things, but he’s not really sure how and just…awkwardly trying his best

Well-organized and skilled at research and thinking analytically, tends to approach most things with a problem-solving attitude and an eye-socket for detail. Extremely talented at finding loopholes and ways around or through the rules—though his respect for said rules is very low to begin with

Likes high and secluded places, mostly rooftops but anywhere it could be difficult for other people to get to. Whether or not those places are restricted by fencing or padlocks or lack of ladders is immaterial, if he finds a high spot he would like to be, he will get to it one way or another and perch as long as he pleases

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus)

Impulsive and driven by self-interest, the years of mental conditioning have broken down his fears and inhibitions to nearly nothing. He does what he wants, when he wants, with little concern for anything else—a dog off its leash who’ll only heel when it’s good and ready to. Unfortunately charming enough to mostly get away with it

Problems with authority, for obvious reasons. Likely to try to bend or break any rule presented to him, just to see if he can, and a severe lack of respect for anyone trying to enforce those rules upon him (especially the arbitrary ones)

Conflicting and highly jumbled feelings for his brother, making them a matched set: he disliked him, maybe even hated him a little for a long time, for helping Gaster turn him into what he is and for being the one to yank his leash and pull his strings…but that was before he knew that he had a kill-switch in his soul and that his brother was up on strings on his own, being pulled by the jackass they both apparently hated… It doesn’t erase everything that happened, knowing that, but it does…change things. (He wants to fix things too, but he’s not sure how either, so they’re both just awkwardly trying)

Needs ‘tune-ups’ every so often to reinforce his mental conditioning and make sure all his programming is intact, even now that Gaster’s gone and he’s retired as an assassin. Going too long without re-upping it causes deterioration, compulsions ‘leaking’ without being triggered and causing headaches and erratic, sometimes violent behavior so…best for everyone to keep his head maintained regularly

Absolutely loves nature and wilderness, hiking, camping, and climbing trees is his idea of an excellent time. Could absolutely go off on a run and disappear into the trees and not be seen or heard from for a week, likely to get some forest-cryptid lore started about him—possibly on purpose

#anonymous #headcanons #undertale #swapfell fruition #sff!sans #sff!papyrus

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witchofthesouls · 2 days

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Bayverse squandered their "Earth is Unicron" subplot and so many characters.

It would have been so perfect to delve into the really freaky and disturbing lore that humans created across the world...

And found out it was real.

Not just King Arthur and Merlin, but the faint remains of Atlantis, the echoes of mad laughter from a revelry in ancient forests, the fox messengers of Inari traveling everywhere, strange and terrible shapes twisting beneath the ocean waves or off the coast of the Diego Garcia base, ghost towns filled with decrepit homes and buildings with the odd sense between hope and despair as they wait, national statues or ancient sculptures that are actually once living people and beings but transformed into marble and rock and sleeping until they feel the brush of the Matrix or the Allspark, wide and empty stretches of road with no one else and GPS glitches along with time (minutes that go on forever, every so slowly, painfully) as they pass the same canyon formation or homemade sign over and over and over-

I live and love the Other aus too much to give them up, so-

Give me a Mikaela Banes who has become a Dragon herself with the blessings by a Primordial (the Great Shadow, Carnage Incarnate, Unmaker's Mirror) that devoured worlds and remade them as she's the one that offered herself as tribute upon their altar.

Give me a Sam Witwicky who has seen the universe in all of its terrible and wicked glory, beastly and divine in the transcendent music that the Allspark weaves in its own song in the grand orchestra -he has seen, he has heard, and he cannot help but remember snippets beneath the breeze that rustles the trees and the soft patter of rain upon his bedroom window and haunts all his dreams and every waking moment because, despite his vocal adamance, he can never return to normalcy.

Give me Judy Taylor that tries to outrun the monsters in her family's shadows and the ghosts that howl for vengeance and protection in her childhood home by eloping with a Ron Witwicky with a similar madness in his own bloodline.

Give me a William Lennox whose luck is too uncanny, too fortuitous, especially in hindsight, as he feels the very signs his own grandmother would foretell as she hangs trinkets in the branches and leaves sweets on the porch.

("Long ago, Man made peace with Magic.")

#transformers #bayverse #transformers bayverse #mikaela banes #sam witwicky #judy witwicky #ron witwicky #william lennox #unicron #magic #fantasy #maccadam #horror #fic ideas #my writing #look the writers are going “Earth is a reflection of a god of chaos #then FEED ME #nature is already illogical and chaotic #i want the Cybertronians and modern humans to freak the fuck out that magic is real

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astralexpressarchives · 7 months

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Bird Symbolism on the Xianzhou

This all started with a question I asked my friend: "Well, have you ever seen a bird on the Xianzhou?"

Birds have played a major role in my very autistic investigations of Xianzhou lore. My intuition just knew that they were important so I started cataloguing every instance of birds appearing on the Xianzhou. I'll start with the more common appearances and then delve into the more obscure ones.

I would also like to preface this by saying I am not a bird scientist nor am I particularly interested in birds outside of the context of HSR. I simply noticed there were some repeating patterns and really wanted to make note of them.

So here's all the times I've seen a bird on the Xianzhou.

The Boring Ones

Sky-faring Commission/Starskiff Bird Symbol

This bird shows up all over the Xianzhou on buildings and signage. It is used on the signs indicating starskiffs but honestly can show up anywhere. Large associations with the sky-faring commission. Highly likely it is inspired by the white bird later in the post.

Jing Yuan's Finches

Another really obvious one as most people are familiar with his finches. As far as I know, they only appear in relation to Jing Yuan and don't seem to have any meaning outside of sheer vibes.

Before Dawn Lightcone:

"Do not make this decision lightly, general... Think about how you will be remembered in history..." The general of the Cloud Knights listens to his subordinates' words with eyes half-closed. "History will make its own judgment, but I have no interest in my legacy." "If I succeed, history will state that I am currently supremely confident in my masterful strategy." "But if I fail, then history will state that I am currently neglecting my duties in wanton pleasure, preferring finches over my people." A finch jumps down from his shoulder, and he extends his hand to catch the small creature. "I have simply made my own decision."

Yukong's Kestral

Similar to the bird that appears on Yanqing, Yukong's Kestral is a symbol that is connected to her beloved Caiyi.

Past and Future Lightcone:

The wings of the paper kite in her hands were broken, brutally reminding her of her beloved's tragic passing. She kneeled next to the fire of war, eyes full of sorrow. "If you are the only one left to do this, then our sacrifice would..." Gunfire raged on, painting the sky red without dampening its majesty. She looked up at the sky, eyes full of fury.

Edit: Qingque and Phoenix

These aren't related to anything as far as I can tell but there is also this bird that appears on Qingque's outfit.

There's also a phoenix that shows up in the Palace of Astrum and again in the Seven Arbiter Generals myriad. It may be something related to the history of the Xianzhou (the planet they came from in particular) because it appears on each of those panels outlining the backstory.

The Fun Ones

Yanqing's Swallow

Now starting to get into the territory of birds that are actually pretty interesting to the lore. The swallow is a bird that is literally everywhere on Yanqing. The painting is found near the Petrichor Inn. - this is significant because the Petrichor Inn has strong associations with the Vidyadhara. The also appear on the handle of his sword and in his splashart.

River Flows in Spring Lightcone:

The young boy took a short break from his sword practice. The sunlight was baking his already heated neck. He slowly got into the water, whose coldness touched his bare feet. When the bell chimes and birds tweet, even the people far away would know that springtime had arrived.

The Water Birds

Repeated appearance of birds made of water both in relation to Yanqing and found in cages in the Vidyadhara section of the Xianzhou. I believe these are some kind of spirit birds similar to the water creatures that swim through the Scalegorge Waterscape and Dan Heng's own azure dragon. These are probably similar to the Oceanids of Genshin Impact where they actually contain souls that take whatever shape they want in the water - probably the souls of dead Vidyadhara if I had to guess. Why are they being caged and sold around the Xianzhou in Vidyadhara areas? I have literally no idea at this point.

Yanqing has these ice swallows appear during his attacks. There's a recurring theme of swords containing souls in Xianxia stories which is also loosely connected to the concept of Blade's sword graveyard in the Hellscape. I think Yanqing's ice birds are somehow souls similar to the water birds caged around the Xianzhou.

The uber weird part about all of this is how at the end of Yanqing's ultimate you see this image. In the background of the image are the mountains associated strongly with the Vidyadhara and Dan Heng in particular.

I don't know what this means for Yanqing right now but he is an expy of a pre-existing character from Honkai Impact 3rd: Ma Yanqing. They probably have some plan for him that isn't immediately apparent right now but I would like to point out that his grandmaster, Jingliu, is also heavily associated with the mountain moon realm and can also summon a sword made of water/ice. This does not appear to be a technique known by anyone else and Jingliu herself needed to defeat the abomination in order to acquire her singular ice sword.

The Crane

Appearing initially only on Dan Feng's clothing, the crane has made a comeback in the new Cloud Knights Martial Doctrine, On Swords myriad trailer. They are significant because the also appear among the mountain realm and the moon. Notice the association Jingliu, Yanqing, and Dan Heng in particular.

The Black Bird

So not all the birds in this picture are distinctly black but their colour is ambiguous and they are similarly shaped so I'm lumping them together. They all appear in association with the mountain area - Blade's sword graveyard is also in the mountain area. The top right picture is from Dan Heng's first fansong.

The White Bird

Not sure what species of bird this is supposed to be but there's a white bird that appears repeatedly in association with the mountain realm. More specifically, it appears among the clouds and may freely travel from the Scalegorge to the Mountains through the hole in the clouds. Bottom left is from Blade's fansong. I think these birds may represent souls and the dead in the same way that Blade's spiderlilies and swords do.

There's also this bird above the realm-keeping commission that I'm unsure how to categorize because of it's unique shape but it's also among the mountains and moon.

Edit: Dan Shu's Bird

This one is actually important for the spirit bird concept. In the Longevous Disciple relic set she tells us of a story that inspires her:

According to the legend, a certain delvemaster saved her partner by placing their soul into a bird, granting them immortality. However, she eventually could not resist the call of the avian and also transformed into a bird, flying alongside them. Over time, the delvemaster became confused and lost her true form, becoming a half-feathered, half-human monster. When her subjects stormed the palace and pierced her with blazing spears and arrows, the two birds sang a final mournful song and turned to ashes together. She loved this story so much that she took the essence and marrow of birds and transformed them in the alchemical furnace, then had someone weave these materials into a luxurious feather coat. She could not see just how beautiful the coat was, but nonetheless enjoyed walking around the house while wearing it — it was meant to be seen by a person who no longer existed. As the garb fluttered, she always felt that a bird-like soul was flying and passing through her hands and shoulders, ever-present.

It's not clear how much of the legend is actually true but it could be inspired by the spirit birds.

I think I've said just about everything that I wanted to say. I'm curious if anyone else has any thoughts on the birds. I've listed most of them but there are one or two paintings I left out from fear of repetition.

I have a lot of additional Thoughts about the birds but I'll leave that for another post.

#honkai star rail #hsr #jing yuan #yanqing #yukong #dan heng #blade #xianzhou #jingliu #hsr lore #vidyadhara #qingque #dan shu

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thebunnywhoneverlikedcarrots · 13 days

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Wild Child Mint enters the fray!

@kirbyoctournament

About

Name: Mint

Gender/Pronouns: Female She/Her

Species: Puffball

Age: Late Teens

Abilities: Animal Communication, Agrokinesis, Archery, Sharp Senses and Agility

Weaknesses: Fire, Feral Social Skills, Missing Wing, Fears Bears

Likes: Hunting, Worthy Prey, Coyotes, Wild Pork

Dislikes: Long Conversations, Fire, Bears, Mushrooms

Personality

Aggressive, impulsive, instinct driven, Mint is best described as borderline feral given the circumstances life laid out for her. Being raised by wolves (well, coyotes) in the wild shaped the young puffball into a talented huntress and survivalist, but it did her social etiquette no favors. As she speaks in broken sentences, is frustrated by long conversations, doesn't respond well to provocation and is easy to overwhelm, Mint has been written off as someone not worth the trouble of getting to know.

Though she isn't a social butterfly, hidden under that pelt of hers is a deeply curious, clever, and surprisingly thoughtful girl. Mint is not easy to befriend, but those that can manage it may find a Puffball with a strong sense of loyalty. She is protective of the wilds that she calls home, driving out those that disrespect it and guiding those who are lost to safety- All to protect the delicate ecosystem and those that live outside it.

Lore

As a very young child, a young Mint was left alone in a sprawling, untamed forest and was forced to fend for herself. She was lucky to catch the attention and good will of a pack of coyotes, who helped the young puffball survive her early years and accustomed her to a wild upbringing. Using the pelt and bones of a deceased coyote, Mint fashioned herself a garment that she hoped made her fit in more with her wild friends.

When she scared a group of trespassing boys out of her territory, one of them dropped a bow and a quiver of arrows. After much trial and error, Mint figured out how to use the weapon as a tool to hunt. Along with a set of falcon-like wings growing in, she quickly became a skilled marksman with impeccable aim.

She hit a snag however when a ferocious bear intercepted one of her hunts, and the ensuing scuffle resulted in the permanent injury of one of Mint's wings and ultimately grounded her. While she was recovering from this fight, an irresponsible group of outside hunters started a forest fire that Mint barely escaped.

With two terrifying events happening right after another, Mint decided to take it as a sign that she must become stronger if she wanted to keep the only home she's ever known safe. Training herself to fight with her trusty bow, she threw herself headfirst into dozens of fights, and found the thrill of fighting strong foes quite to her liking. She's fought many battles with outsiders looking to harm her forest and safely guided the weak ones out of harms way. However, her forest is now starting to gain a reputation for its ferocious feral protector and is attracting more challengers than keeping them away... Much to Mint's continued annoyance.

Notes, Fun Facts, and Trivia

In terms of human years, Mint would be about 17-19 years old

Mint has never seen or interacted with another Puffball since she was a young child. She's almost completely forgotten others like her exist

Her family is still alive, but their whereabouts are unknown

Mint is one of my oldest characters. I came up with her initial design and story around 2012!

#kirby oc tournament #kirby oc #Vee's OCs #vee's art #vee's vectors

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beepersteeper · 22 days

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I Will Always Find You -- Astarion x Tav -- The First Day

Astarion and F!Tav live happily together for the remaining years she has, she refuses to be turned into a vampire because her faith says that her soul isn’t finished with its work yet. Tav dies of old age and leaves Astarion to put together the pieces of his broken heart. AN: Lord of Light lore taken and changed to fit the story's means. Not canonically accurate. TLDR story line stuff. This is an AU where Astarion ascends but isn't a power hungry bastard and Tav is able to help him continue healing. Wyll is immortal and the Duke. Karlach in my mind, if given a new engine would be able to live a lot longer than the usual tiefling. Another AN: idk if anyone wants tagged in this WIP but let me know.

For the first time in years. That heavy ache in his chest returns. He sits in a high backed chair next to the door, unwilling to lay in the bed. Rest finds him at some point through the long night and he slumps in the chair until he's awoken by a gentle knock on the door

“Lord Ancunín?"

He mumbles a half-hearted response

“Do you require anything my Lord?"

"Breakfast will do nicely. Thank you.” he says through the closed door.

He hears an affirmative answer and stands to stretch his poor spine. He opens the old oak wardrobe and sighs as he carefully passes his hand over the dresses that Tav hadn't worn in years, even before she passed. I am too old for such pagentries. He heard her voice in his mind save those dresses for when I come back to you, she'll wear them better than I can anyway. Tell her I want her to wear them if she is too polite to wear my old clothes. I bet she likes the green one. He would have rolled his eyes at her then, just like he did now. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and cracked the door open to retrieve the gold goblet from the tray.

“It’s still warm my lord." The man nods a bow to Astarion.

Astarion nods in response and closes the door before raising the goblet to his lips. He sucks the blood from his teeth grimacing slightly. He hasn't tasted animal blood in years, having met many villains in his wanderings, but it is nice drinking from a goblet again so he will take it as a win, making a note to himself to get new alliances for willing donors. That's the way Tav preferred him to feed if it wasn't from her.

He returns to the wardrobe and pulls out a dark outfit, one of his less regal ones. He walks into the washroom attached to their room, stopping to smell the bottles of perfume and oils. The ache in his chest tightens when he opens a pale oil with a heart on the label around a T. Peaches and champagne. He sighs as he breathes in her scent. Like a nice summer day she would laugh as he closed his eyes and breathed the scent from her skin just in case you ever miss the sun before he had chosen to ascend.

He shakes his head as he closes the vial and dresses himself and hurriedly leaves the room walking through these still familiar halls. He stops in to let Wyll know he's leaving for the day but will be back by evening should he be needed. Wyll happily waves Astarion away to enjoy his day “Nothing major happening today, signing budgets. Enjoy your day Astarion."

Astarion taps twice on the doorframe before leaving to walk through the Alley ways to make his way to the cemetery. Wanting to feel close to Tav again. He set himself on the earth, leaning his back on his own headstone crossing his arms over his chest and his ankles across each other as he reclined into the stone, rocking his head back facing the sky with his eyes closed feeling the warm sun in his always fair skin. He tries to seek a feeling of connection with his love. He hears a light voice whispering to themselves, he assumes. He listens attentively, surprised to hear talking.

“What am I?" the voice mutters a question he had heard Tav recite, looking into the reflection of a strange shaped item. A beacon she called it. It's the last question I need to answer before I spend eternity with you love. “What are you?!” The voice said more harshly “and what more do I need? What do you want from me!?”

Astarion heard soft footsteps approaching his direction. Hoping for a coincidence he didn't move his body at all. When the steps continued closer and stopped too close for his comfort he opened his eyes and turned his head seeing the woman from last night tracing her fingers over the engraving on Tav’s headstone. Now more able to see her features, about as tall as him, slender, deep black hair with pointed elven ears peaking through.

“Maybe you would have been able to tell me." She sighs “Tavilline"

Astarion chuckles mostly to himself before saying quietly “she preferred to just be called Tav.” not moving his body.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.” the woman says, taking her hand from the stone quickly and taking a step back.

He waves his hand gesturing that there was no harm done “Not at all. Just haven't been able to visit in a while. You've been keeping her company though it seems?" He looks at her face meeting her green eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat. Tav's eyes. No. He thinks to himself, blinking away the idea.

The woman laughs uncomfortably “I guess so. When I first moved here this was the only place outside of my own home I saw the Lord of Light imagery and have just kind of been drawn to her. And it's just strange that the day she started over was the same as mine” she shrugs the last sentence.

“She was very attached to her faith." He sighs “even had one of those beacons she would study every night." he points to he object in her hand

“She had a beacon too?!" The woman all but jumps from herself. “That's impossible, what are the odds of so many being in the same city."

He smiles a half hearted smile. “If I come across it I can bring it here. You'll do more with it than I will." He shrugs, expecting to feel guilty at offering Tav's belongings away, but instead he feels excited to share something of hers with someone she's oddly connected to.

“Sir if you really mean that I will be forever in your debt. I work at the bookstore" she gestures to the holy books book store that shares a sidewalk with the cemetery.

“Astarion." He shakes his head “I'll see what I can do darling." He feels bile form in his throat as he calls her Tav's pet name.

She bends at her knees crouching as if trying to contain excitement and looks him in his eyes. “Thank you so much sir- Astarion. I am needed in the shop but thank you so much.” She turns to walk away stopped by Astarion speaking

“I didn't catch your name." He states implying a question

"Ta’Vira." She smiles “but my friends call me Vira."

“And what should I call you?" He was shocked by hearing his honeyed voice flowing freely from his lips.

"I haven't decided yet.” She jokes pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I'll see you around Astarion."

He nods his head down to her, motioning his hand as if tipping an invisible hat “til next time." Before leaning back onto his own headstone. "I'm sorry my love." He sighs quietly to himself wanting for something, but knowing that there aren't such things as signs. After spending a little more time with her plot and his thoughts he stands and takes the long way back to the palace to look for Tav's beacon. Humoring himself as he walks he thinks about what if.

What if she was right and she would be back for another life?

What if she was right and they would be able to find one another?

What if this Ta’vira was his Tav?

He stops himself at the last thought. There's no way. He thought. There will never be another like my love. He walks quietly through the halls to their room and sits in the tall backed chair again. He sits with his knees crossed and he tries to remember where her beacon would have been put away. He squints toward their bed and slowly stands walking to stand at her side of the bed. He runs his hand over the soft blanket leaving trails from his touch on it. Astarion kneels down and pulls a wooden crate across the floor with a screech and pries open the dusty top.

In the box he finds several of Tav's favorite things. Her journal, some jewelry, a painting she commissioned of the old crew from the 6 month reunion with withers. Karlach was holding the adamantine longsword to harken back to a funny and unspoken day of adventure, her beacon, her emerald ring she wore every day from the day he gave it to her on their wedding day. Odds and ends, little trinkets she picked up throughout her life and the last thing he pulled from the box was a blood stained handkerchief with his and her initials embroidered onto the corner. He sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by the things that she treasured, feeling a smile creep across his lips.

He turned the handkerchief over in his hands, chuckling remembering how hard she tried to remove the stains from the cloth that she used each time he fed from her. Why did it have to be white she would whine scrubbing it in the sink. He would remind her she could have a new one or a different one at any moment but you made this one for me. He had embroidered his own handkerchief with their initials as a gift after she was willing to stay with him, even after he confessed his initial motives for courting her. A new one wouldn't be the same she’d whine again. He brought the cloth to his face hoping to still find her scent locked away in this crate. It was there. It was faint and stale, but it was there. A scent that he would be able to pick up anywhere. He sighed and replaced all of her belongings back into the crate folding the cloth delicately and placing it on top of her journal. Sealing the lid as tightly as possible.

He held the cumbersome beacon in his hands. Turning it over and over in his palms looking at all of its angles and almost without really thinking he whispered to it “what are you?" Reciting the question like he had seen Tav do millions of times. Like he had heard Ta’vira do today. His mind was flooded with white light, the warm feeling of light seems to emanate from the tips of his ears to the souls of his feet. Uncomfortable with the sudden feeling he dropped it in his lap. “What are you?!" He said more harshly. “What in the sweet hells was that?!" Asking the beacon out loud scowling at it. He lifts it again, holding it without speaking, feeling an energy pulse between his hands.

“Who are you?" He changes the verse. Nothing happened. “Who am I?" Again nothing. “What am I?" Nothing still. “What are you?" The warmth of the light returns less off-putting than before. He sat in that space for a long time, trying to feel or see the answer many before him had asked. Not seeing or feeling anything more than a comfortable warm light he dropped the beacon back in his lap. He tucks it into a bag and carries it over his shoulder. He spends the remainder of the day looking through his library for any books on the Lord of Light. He finds several and he loses himself in his studies, only interrupted by Wyll knocking on the door.

“Everything okay Astarion?"

He shrugs and pushes the book away from himself "Will you humor me for a moment?”

Wyll nods and sits next to Astarion

"Hold this bloody thing and ask “what are you?" And tell me if you notice anything.” Astarion urges digging the beacon from his bag.

With a confused turn of his face Wyll obliges asking the question. Wylls eyes meet Astarions before he says “I don't notice anything…”

Astarion nods and purses his lips and thanks Wyll for his time.

“Should I have your dinner brought here for you?” Wyll asks passing the beacon back to him carefully “What are you looking for?”

Astarion nods about dinner "Tav. I'm looking for Tav. I might be crazy but I think she's closer to me here than she was on any of my travels.”

“If you need any help you will let me know.” Wyll says implying his concern

Astarion nods in return to his book. The night turns to dawn from the library. He sits, stands, paces and leans in all different places within the stacks. At some point he wakes up laying on a sofa with a book in one hand and the beacon in the other with soft morning light shining through a stained glass window. He closes the book and stands to stretch. His curiosity wins out over his exhaustion as he looks to the beacon again. "What are you?” The warm light returns this time and image of hands being held flashes quickly before the blinding light returns

“That's even less helpful.” He scolds the shining metal. “And now I'm talking to you.” He chuckles at his own mania. He packs it and several books into his pack. He quickly changes into clean and simple clothes with a jacket and rushes out the door to head to the cemetery. He arrives and quickly unloads his bag and talks out loud to Tav like she was there.

“What does this all mean?" He gestures to the open books “why does this thing make my brain light up like the sun? Is that the question you need to answer?" He sighs holding the beacon again. “What are you?” The feeling and light are even stronger than before. He hisses and drops the object in the grass. “Bloody hell!” He rubs his eyes trying to ease the pain from the light he saw. Interrupted when he heard his name from behind him.

“Astarion?”

He jumped, startled only to relax when he saw it was Ta’vira. “Oh hello,” he waves “I just wanted to bring this to Tav before handing it over to you.” He shrugs and tries to play it cool. “Probably sounds silly but…” He trails off when ta’vira knelt next to him.

“Not silly. Not at all" she reassures “it's respectful if anything. Do you think she'd be okay with that?” she adds looking from him to Tav’s headstone.

He nods “I do. But can you first tell me what you see or feel when you talk to this blasted thing?”

She looks at the metal in his hands “When I hold any of mine they're each different. One is low hums that reverberate through my bones. One is the darkest dark I've ever witnessed. Total nothingness. One shows me red, wet bloody red. But it's not as scary as it sounds” she laughs “what does that one do?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Different things for different people I think.” He shakes his head, handing it to her carefully and speaking in a bit of a ramble. “Tav would say it was a bright flickering candle light, my friend said he didn't feel anything change. But when I ask it it's a blinding light that's so bright and warm it almost hurts. And I've seen hands holding each other.”

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #astarion long fig #soft ascended astarion #astarion romance #astarion x mc

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ohnoitstbskyen · 1 year

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Hello, I've been watching your content for a while. While I quit League a long time ago I still hold partial interest to Runeterra's lore, (such as it is) . In particular I really enjoy Bilgewater in general as well as Illaoi and Ezreal as individual characters and I've enjoyed your takes on said things. (Also fuck Demacia) And I wanted to ask you, after so much dissillussionment from Riot's content, in particular from the latest "cinematic" , how they have always prioritized e-sports and skins over actually giving the lore a proper direction and conclusion or how Legends of Runeterra is getting downsized and unlikely to last much longer, why do you still do League content? You are clearly very critical of a lot of the decisions the higher ups do that affect the output of artists and writers in charge of Runeterra's universe and character designs. And there has not been much sign of improvement since a lot of your points. It's like screaming into a brick wall at this point, so why not move on?

Why not spend your time on something that doesn't lead its fans along with empty promises, breaking them, promising to do better next time and then repeating the cycle all over again for years like an abusive relationship. Beyond doing it because it's what you're most well known for, why stick with content that you know will keep disappointing you?

I'm glad you are diversifying your content but I personally feel your passion for art, animation and writing analysis would be better spent away from League and into more games beyond that (in particularly really liked your take on "Despite everything, it's still you" from Undertale). The indie scene in particular is chock full of incredible and unique takes in terms of character design and narratives I'm sure you will enjoy. League is clearly not worth the time for people who are into the lore, art and setting of videogames anymore. I hope I wasn't too personal or intrusive with my question. Cheers.

So that's a very long question. I'll start with the short and cynical answer:

I am doing League of Legends content because that is what my audience wants, and that is what makes me most of my money.

My channel is a League of Legends channel primarily, the algorithm likes it and pushes it that way, and League of Legends is an absolutely enormous intellectual property with an absolutely enormous player base, which means there's a big audience for my content about the game. A large audience means more engagement, means more ad revenue, more sponsorship opportunities, more subscribers, and so on and so on.

That's the cynical part of the answer. I don't want to sidestep it with some guff about "being passionate about the subject," because the truth of my job is that it is a job. I'm not sailing freely on the oceans of creative impulse pursuing my bliss, I'm trying to pay my rent and my pets veterinarian bills and pay down loans and have enough left over to help my friends when they need it.

I approach this job much the same way I approached being a freelance illustrator - having passion for the subject is a nice bonus, but you don't always need it to do good and valuable work.

And with the cynicism out of the way... I also just genuinely love the fucking League of Legends universe. With all its many, many stupid flaws and its garbage corpo owner and its years of systematic neglect and the constant disappointment, god help me, I still love this stupid shit. And when management gets out of the way and lets the good writers at Riot be good at their goddamn jobs, amazing things can happen.

The Ashe: Warmother comic is still such a beautiful short narrative work, with such visual verve and empathy for the characters it's depicting.

It zeroes in so acutely on the idea that Ashe and Sejuani are shaped by their difficult relationships with their mothers, and that THAT is ultimately the difference that drives them apart when they should by rights have had the chance to be sisters. When they become warmothers of their own tribes, it is the memory of their mothers that drive them, and just as the Freljord is divided by generations of strife engineered by Lissandra, the matriarch of the whole region, that generational trauma resonates into Ashe and Sejuani and sets them against each other.

Or Ekko's short story, where he has been accepted to the fancy Piltover academy that's supposed to be his golden ticket out of poverty, his chance to escape Zaun, everything his parents have worked their whole lives to give him, and...

Like, FUCK, you can't just invent these silly cartoon muppets to throw at each each other in your dumb MOBA beat 'em up and then give them INTERIORITY like this??? Apply their silly cartoon powers in way that explores their emotional difficulties and works thematically with their internal philosophies?

god dammit I love this stupid game's universe, I cannot be saved, leave me and go before it infects you too!

#tb answers #league of legends #ekko lol #ashe lol #ashe league of legends #sejuani

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boundinparchment · 6 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - L

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only. Song for the second half is "Can You Hear the Music?" composed by Ludwig Goransson, from the Oppenheimer soundtrack.

You would have preferred a meeting in the depths of Zandik’s labs rather than the opulent warmth surrounding you. At least then, you knew exactly what you were getting.

Northland, and more accurately Lord Pantalone’s official offices, required careful consideration, specific staff members, timing the visit to attract the least amount of attention. It also required ignoring the desire to see more of the city at the foot of the Palace; such sentiments were dormant until you caught the familiar smell of cinnamon and dough and sugar in the air.

The carpet, handwoven no doubt, was plush and well-maintained. The leather sofa conditioned and cared for. No fire roared in the hearth; instead, you were surrounded by the familiar bang of radiator pipes as they staved off the chill. Dark wood paneling made the space feel almost homey, a place one would spend time with friends and loved ones.

Exactly the kind of person were not. Not to the only other occupant in the room.

At least there was a sofa, you told yourself. Plenty of previous encounters gave you the opposite experience; your patron hardly ever kept guest chairs in his office. For you, and others, were not there to converse. Or if you were, never for long.

You had yet to take a sip of the tea you held, one hand on the bottom of the cup and the other cradling the porcelain body to savor the warmth. It was fragrant, no doubt as delicious as it was expensive. For a moment you recalled a tea house in Liyue where you spent the evening cackling with colleagues and making the most of your free time.

A small selection of snacks were laid out as well and when your eye caught the pink snow cake, you couldn’t help but take a forkful. Tangy raspberry and sweet milk mingled with coconut and the cake was chilled to help it keeps its shape. It didn’t taste abnormal (or so you thought); the Harbinger stood to gain little by poisoning you when you were here to discuss professional matters.

Nonetheless, the congeniality rubbed at your skin like sandpaper, especially after the last time you saw Lord Pantalone. Did he expect you to believe such gestures were more than simple courtesy? Surely not. You wondered briefly if, in the event you were instead chosen for convenience rather than fate, if the scales Pantalone used to find equal value would be tilted in your favor.

You pushed away that train of thought. Nonsense. You only needed his signed approval on your budget and scope of work for the performance, not his validation on your connections to his colleague.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, maestra,” Pantalone said as he capped his pen and rose from his seat. “The Captain required additional resources that could not wait.”

“The Tsaritsa’s Will is priority; I am no stranger to it. Your hospitality is appreciated, Lord Harbinger.”

He pressed a device on his desk and in the next room, you heard a bell. The office doors opened instantly, the paperwork was handed off, and the conversation continued as though the interruption never happened.

“The Tsaritsa’s request is quite unique for this particular occasion,” he continued. “In most cases, we hire the national orchestra and the Tsaritsa dictates the works to be played. The creative freedom involved is a different venture and you are yet unaccustomed to Snezhnaya’s standards for such gatherings.”

You scratched out the notion that he was attempting to make peace as you kept your lips from twitching into a frown. Beneath your veil and mask, your brows arched and you took your first sip of tea as you silently waited for the Harbinger to speak again.

Silence did more to voice displeasure than words ever did, in your experience.

As expected, Pantalone gracefully acquiesced and dipped his head as he trailed a hand along the edge of his desk to put less distance between you. He closed his eyes for a moment before you caught a glimpse of the molten gold as he turned his gaze towards you instead.

“Fontaine’s finery is only outmatched by Snezhnaya’s commitment to quality; I meant no disrespect to neither your homeland nor your craft. As this gala is intended to demonstrate to the people as well as the ruling class that the Tsaritsa’s plans are unfolding, that faith and truth in Her Will results in the nation prospering, it is key that whatever composition you create reflects that standard, or even sets itself beyond it.”

“Which is precisely why my timeline proposal, as you requested, takes into account that I will need to become familiar with both the culture, social norms, and musical history of the nation,” you tersely replied. “The six-week timeline is more than enough to compose a piece worthy of the Tsaritsa and help guide the orchestra through learning it.”

Said proposal was a bit hastily written but it was clear, concise, and laid out your exact scope of work. Turnaround would be tight, admittedly, but it was achievable.

Pantalone tilted his head as his lips quirked into a smile that, perhaps in a different context, passed for endearing. He brushed away imaginary dust from the sleeve of his overcoat and closed the distance to sit across from you on the other sofa. The Harbinger poured himself a cup of tea with careful, ritualistic precision over the tray on the low table between you. It wasn’t until he took a sip and exhaled softly that he spoke again and his posture relaxed slightly.

“I am aware we do not always see eye to eye, maestra, but in this case, it is purely about numbers and the promises of an investment that must deliver. There is no option but to surpass all expectations. I would hate to see you fail all because of poor planning on anyone’s part, myself included. Surely there is more to your plan than mere bullet points?”

“Much of it is technical and easily summed up as part of an entire step. It is a waste of paper otherwise.”

What was this, a job interview? He sounded exactly like every private entity you ever auditioned with, the kind with too much money and too little knowledge of how things worked.

The Tsaritsa was the one who tasked you with the waltz. And here Pantalone was, gatekeeping you from that very thing all because he oversaw planning the entire event. All you needed was the contact information for the orchestra and an affidavit that you were the intended composer and a bunch of other details for the sake of legal protection. Your grip on the cup tightened a hair.

“Spoken just like Zandik himself. Although he doesn’t miss an opportunity to talk about his grand intentions.”

You raised the cup to mouth in attempt to hide your pursed lips. Of course he would also know Zandik’s name, you reminded yourself. They worked together and seemed to be one of the only pairs of Harbingers capable of crossing the gap of ranks. He kept everything organized with the Segments, after all. It shouldn’t have surprised you so.

The Harbinger laughed softly and your blood ran cold as his eyes crinkled but never closed.

“Are you familiar with the process of equivalent exchange, maestra?”

“An alchemical process that, through the use of mora, has become an economic principle in which goods are exchanged for their value in mora,” you said at last, the notes of Qingxin Flowers tickling your tongue. “What about it?”

Pantalone gestured with an open hand, as if his point was obvious. “As a wielder of the Geo Archon’s power, you must know that the process extends well beyond commerce. And that everything has a price. Name yours.”

For a moment, you saw a different set of eyes and were not in the banker’s office at all, but back home. Where musicians and entertainers were kept like trinkets, bought and sold between those of the same station, leveraged as collateral. Without a second though, you put your cup down, twisting it slightly so the unfinished porcelain scratched the lacquered table.

“My price for what, exactly?”

Too late, you realized how defensive you sounded. His eyes flickered to the tea cup and back to you before his smile grew wider.

“For you to drop this soulmate act and go back to wherever he found you. I’ve heard Fontaine’s representative orchestra lost a cellist some weeks back; the position sounds perfect for you.”

You froze, your breath caught in your chest like a mouse in the jaws of a snake. Did he know who you were, where you came from? Worse yet, did he know…

Or was he bluffing?

The man across from you had the world’s best poker face you’d ever seen. And you were well-versed in the art of separating words from actions and gestures.

“All the money in the world wouldn’t be enough to get rid of me, Lord Pantalone,” you said softly, rising to your feet and heading towards the door. “I greatly apologize if I’ve offended you. I do not seek a Harbinger’s seat for myself. But you’ve stood in the same room as both Zandik and myself. This world is full of truths we do not want to accept for one reason or another but that they do not align with our worldview does not make them false.”

You paused before turned back and spoke again.

“Please be sure the necessary documentation is available to other parties. The sooner I can begin, the sooner you can move onto other matters and be left in peace, Lord Pantalone. My results will speak for themselves.”

You gave a smile and a bow before you saw yourself out of the office, heart pounding in your throat with every step.

Part of you hoped the sensations would vanish as soon as you were out of the financier’s domain and back under the trusted gazes of two Agents tasked with your well-being. But the second you stepped out of the bank’s grand entryway and were faced with the idea of riding back up to the Palace, your muscles itched.

You couldn’t go back to the Palace, not like this. Not with the festering frustration Pantalone set alight in your veins and not with the disconcerting notion that you had all but thrown your cards down on the table.

It didn’t matter if he knew, you told yourself. Someone else would connect the dots eventually, once they knew a Fontaine musician who arrived by way of Sumeru composed for the Tsaritsa and lived in the Palace. Anyone with half a brain would figure it out. You and Zandik concluded as such and you would not stay in his shadow; both because you couldn’t and because he would not stand for it.

But turning back to the Palace, telling Zandik what happened as soon as you arrived…

He was finally back in the flow of his work in-between memory sessions, even asking for your assistance in testing different soundwaves and frequencies. You understood the basics of the science beyond your career but only insofar as which ones were faster, slower, the effect they had at certain pitches. Whatever he was working on, you took solace in his bright eyes and exuberant expression when he admitted that listening to you inspired him.

No, he couldn’t afford distractions.

And you were always at the Palace. For once, it would be nice to simply be outside of the guarded grounds.

You hesitated a fraction before you turned to one of the Agents and said, “Where can I find the nearest concert hall or opera house?”

Without the contract, you couldn’t approach the conductor or the symphony manager but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sit in the audience. It took persuasion but your Agents agreed to split up, with one tucked away in the shadows nearby and the other in the balcony overhead. You would have preferred to be alone but Zandik went through the trouble of ensuring your escorts were veterans who served him and only him.

The concert hall was a rectangular space with ornamented walls and a high ceiling; ideally, the sound would bounce off the side and rear walls and then back over the audience. From your vantage point roughly two-thirds of the way back, you noted the venue was well-attended for an afternoon performance by all walks of life. Promising, you noted. If the symphony was not well-supported by the community, the seats would be empty. Which meant that music meant a great deal to those attending at this hour mid-work week and perhaps to the people at large.

You were enveloped in sound as soon as the performance began and you felt your nerves twist back into place as the notes washed over you. Strings, high and bright, started the movement, their tempo increasing and decreasing in waves as other sections joined in. Circular, cyclical, you could feel the notes spinning around you. The effect was dizzying, not unlike the experience of traveling through leylines, feeling the energy of the world.

On stage, you never would have noticed that. You would have been too absorbed in pulling the music from the depths of the strings, keeping in time with everyone else, melding your soul with the next pull of your bow. Wrong notes were felt, not necessarily heard, and acoustics differed between every venue you played at.

How long had it been since you sat in the audience? Not since Sumeru, perhaps before you left Fontaine for the next tour leg…that had been a chamber choir, rich and deep and haunting. Only a small group of you attended, the vibrato wracking your very soul long after the concert ended.

As the final notes hung in the air, a deep ache sat itself in your heart. You would never be a single part of a whole again, not in a collective like the one performing before you. Certainly not without looks and daggers ready to stab you in the back. It would be impossible to hide your connections. And other audience members already gave you second glances at the sight of your mask.

You chose this, you reminded yourself.

You chose Zandik.

And while perhaps you did not truly choose one another, as some had the luxury of experiencing, you made the conscious decision to leave your old life, that shell of existence, behind. Just as you did years ago, on a sunny beach…

You swallowed thickly, eyes burning behind the mask.

Of course. Your mind reeled with the startling clarity provided by the woodwinds in the next movement. It was not that the Tsaritsa had no love left to give her nation. What utter nonsense. She loved them so much that she had them experience this, realized what they lost, gained. So they remembered what was to…

Love.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #fic: dream a little dream of me #female reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #soulmate au

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