#CC chapter 17

[whisperofaflame]

♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 17: Too much and not enough

WandaNat x [innocent, femme] reader

Collision Course – Masterlist Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: After a quiet sit-down breakfast, Natasha leaves for work and Wanda helps you get ready for the appointment. The fading of your concussion begins to reveal more of your personality to them... but also unleashes some logistical concerns.

Word count: 8.1k

Featuring: slow burn, emerging D/S dynamics, mommy kink, praise kink, copious pet names, non-sexual intimacy (but also with hints of sexual feelings at times).

Heads Up: Passing reference to disordered eating thoughts/behaviours. In depth depiction of a panic attack.

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. This chapter is a bit weird, I won't lie. I'm not 100% happy with it, but I think I just need to let it go, so I can move on and progress the story again. Please forgive me if it doesn't live up to your expectations 🥺♡

The evening slips by in a blissful blur, and in the morning the details are hazy, like the remembered fragments of a dream…

The feel of Natasha’s fingers in your hair. The grounding warmth of Wanda’s hand on your thigh. The whispered conversations which floated between the two of them, as your eyelids began to droop and their bodies drew closer at either side. 

Nestled between these two women, you drifted for a while in that feeling of fuzzy contentment, understanding nothing of what they said except the safety they conveyed to you. You were there, and they were happy to have you; their lives could continue with you folded between. 

And you no longer felt like a burden. For those few moments, you felt like you belonged.

———

In the soft light and stillness of the morning, you grasp for the memories, wishing you could recall with greater clarity how Natasha bade you goodnight, and how Wanda settled you into bed. It feels cruel that these details get lost in the interlude between days, and the incomplete edges prickle with doubt upon waking. 

It’s twenty minutes to seven — much sooner than you really need to get up, but you already feel far too alert to attempt sleep again. So you haul your body out of bed and begin the day with a half-body stretch and a painkiller, washed down with the water Wanda left you. 

After a toilet trip and a cursory face wash, you tuck your laptop under your left arm and head downstairs to the kitchen, placing your feet carefully, silently as you descend. As you tiptoe round the corner, Natasha is there, alert, awaiting your arrival. She smiles at you as you enter, and you smile back, though her ready attention has you wondering. You place your laptop on the counter beside her, too occupied even to second-guess your proximity, and sit on the empty barstool, crossing your right leg over your left.

“Good morning, lapushka,” she greets you quietly, and you feel heat blooming in your cheeks at the nickname, which still feels like a gift every time she offers it.

“Morning, Nat,” you whisper back, giving her a bashful smile, then looking down at your lap. Your mind is still waking up, but your thoughts have already begun whirring, thinking about her, trying to fill in the gaps.

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asks you gently, and her question pulls you out from your daydream. 

“Oh…” you say, glancing up, then ducking you head again and feeling the warmth in your cheeks extend out to your ears. “I was just thinking about how you always seem to know when I’m coming. Even before I can see you.” You look back up at her, wondering how she’ll receive this, how she’ll respond. She smiles and gives you a little shrug.

“I have good hearing, I guess,” she offers in explanation. 

You frown slightly, feeling there’s more to it — but also feeling unsure about how to inquire further. Natasha can be so guarded, so particular about what she’s willing and unwilling to talk about. You don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but you also want to understand. 

“You’re like a…” — your fingers dance up and down above the counter as you flail about for a light-hearted analogy — “like a spider or something. Like you can feel me moving on your web.”

Natasha laughs, more than you think your comment deserves — which makes you wonder if she’s laughing at you, rather than your words.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, a little defensively. She grins at you.

“Maybe you’re onto something, lapushka,” she says, raising her left eyebrow. “A spider, huh?”

You huff a little, only half-jokingly. 

“Well, I don’t know. You just seem to sense me moving, even when I’m being quiet.”

“You’re a lot quieter than Wanda, I’ll give you that,” Natasha grants you, and somehow, her observation feels like praise. It cheers you up immediately.

“Thanks!” you reply, beaming. “I bet I can be quieter too — maybe one day I’ll surprise you!”

“Oh, you think so?” Natasha replies, grinning slyly. “I’m not so sure. In fact, I’m even confident enough to bet a cinnamon roll on it. If you surprise me at any point, I’ll get you one from the bakery, deal?”

You sit up straighter and wiggle your dangling feet in your excitement, your competitive spirit activated at once. 

“Deal!” you agree eagerly. Natasha offers her left hand, and you shake it, face aching from the pull of your grin. And in the moment when you let go and Natasha lets her fings linger a little longer, brushing over your skin, you feel your excitement transform into something else. Something that flutters in your tummy, as you meet her eyes and see the way her head cocks to one side, her smile a little lopsided, eyebrow ever so slightly quirked. The way she regards you seems to sit somewhere between amusement and affection. Rather like one might look down at an unruly puppy, redeemed only by its youthful and cutesy qualities. It’s a little confusing, and perhaps you’d like to understand it someday, but for now the day is unfolding with a quiet ease, and you have no desire to disrupt it with rumination.

“Let me get you some coffee,” Natasha says, standing up. You thank her without quibbling, knowing she likes the routine and ownership of the task, and open up your laptop, intending to write an email to your supervisor. You quickly become distracted though, and by the time Natasha places a mug of coffee beside you, you’re already pursuing a side quest: reading about postgraduate socials, and all the sports club tryouts you might have considered, were it not for your injury. 

“What would you like to eat?” Natasha asks you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to obtain your attention. You glance up, then back at your screen, answering haltingly due to your divided attention.

“Um… I think I’m fine with just coffee for now.”

“Alright,” Natasha acknowledges, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before removing her hand. “Just be prepared that Wanda will probably ask you as well, when she’s down.”

You nod automatically, then look up once her words have been fully processed. 

“I’ll probably feel more hungry then,” you suppose quietly, and Natasha nods, sitting down beside you and sliding her mug closer to take a drink. Thoughts bubble inside, and threaten to spill out. It seems your filter isn’t working so well today. Perhaps you’re becoming a little too comfortable with them, because you find yourself rambling: trying to explain, trying to process it yourself.

“I know Wanda’s worried that I’ve not been eating much, but I’m fine, really. It’s just the painkillers sometimes make me feel a bit sick.” 

Natasha doesn’t reply with any word or gesture. She just watches you, her face neutral, open. An invitation to continue. An invitation which you accept, though you avoid her eyes as the words spill out, a little embarrassed by the honesty that overcomes you.

“…But also maybe a tiny bit because I’m not doing much exercise. I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m really not hungry or if my brain isn’t allowing me to feel it, I guess.”

You turn back to Natasha, checking for her reaction. Her face looks much the same as before: neutral, but perhaps a little softer. She moves to rest her left arm on the counter, her hand close to yours, but not intrusive.

“Have you felt this way before, when you’ve been injured?” Natasha asks, and this in itself reassures you. She’s approaching the problem logically, without judgement. Just exploring, wondering. Piecing things together before giving direction, like she wants to fully understand.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Like when I dislocated my knee… it was hard. But things were kinda hard anyway, at that time. I’ve been doing a lot better since then. And I know I need to eat, so my body can recover.”

“That’s right,” Natasha says gently, and she reaches forward to place her hand on top of your own. “You do.”

You nod awkwardly, chewing the inside of your cheek as you try to summon some semblance of wisdom to reassure her that you’re not entirely useless, not completely broken. 

“I think going into uni will help,” you tell her, focussing on the way her thumb moves just ever so slightly over the back of your hand. “It will give me a routine, and I can take the thinking out of it then.”

“That’s a useful insight,” Natasha comments, and you look up to see her thoughtful expression, as she considers your words. “You like structure, then?

You raise one eyebrow slightly, and hold in a huff of laughter.

“Not all the time,” you admit, smiling shyly at her. “Sometimes I hate it, because it makes me feel caged. But if I’m completely honest with myself… I think I need it. At least a little. My brain doesn’t organise itself very well, on its own.”

“Could we help with that?” Natasha asks then, and suddenly her hand on top of yours feels heavy, feels vital. You realise that when she lifts it, there will be a loss. Just like when you have to leave.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and your cheeks ache from the effort of producing a smile. “I’ll figure it out, eventually.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, just a little, for the briefest moment. But then she nods. Short and final. Her hand lifts from yours, and she turns back around to the counter, reaching for her book.

You follow her lead, focussing back on your laptop screen. But your fingers flex over the keys, missing her hold, trying to adjust to the loss. Inside, a part of you screams to take it back. To accept her offer of help, to allow them to take control. But this is different from letting Wanda help you with dressing, or letting Natasha supervise you in the gym. This would be unnecessary: help beyond what could be justified through your injury. It would be an extra ask, an extra burden. And you can’t — you won’t — allow them to take that on. However much the idea tempts you.

You take a deep, silent breath, and pull yourself back to the task at hand. Pulling up your email tab, you begin writing an email to your supervisor, Professor Manné. You’ve only spoken very briefly during an online interview a few months ago, but you’ve seen a video of a lecture she gave last year about some of her research. Her intellect and academic output are formidable, but she delivered that lecture with a quiet warmth, which you hope bodes well for your mentoring relationship. 

You’re so focussed on your task that you don’t notice Wanda entering. It’s only when she says “Good morning, darling,” and kisses you on the top of your head from behind, that you are alerted to her presence. Thankfully, you don’t jump. That would be embarrassing, after you made so much of Natasha’s observation skills earlier. Normally you are pretty observant — but sometimes you just get so focussed that everything else disappears. When you turn to greet Wanda, you notice that Natasha has a small smirk on her lips. You catch her eye, blushing, and her smile deepens. It’s not fair, really. Because now, when you smile at Wanda, she can see your blush too. It’s far too early to be having so many feelings. And it’s only made worse when Natasha spins on her seat, stands up and wishes her wife good morning with arms wrapped over her shoulders and a long kiss to the lips. 

You should look away.

But you don’t. 

You watch their lips interlocking, Natasha’s head tilting, Wanda’s hands moving to her wife’s hips… you watch it all, transfixed, frozen but for the way your thighs press together on the stool. You feel hot and bothered — and also a little sad, a little annoyed. It’s ridiculous to think like this, but a part of you feels like they’re teasing you. But no, of course not. They’re just being themselves, loving each other in the way they always do, and you’re merely an intruder. A perverted guest who neglects to avert her eyes when they share affection like this. 

And the sadness? You shove that down, far too scared to process the jealousy, the longing.

Your turn to stare at your laptop — not the screen, but the keyboard. Keeping your gaze dipped, and frowning a little as you will your mind to calm down and your body to cool down.

“Have you eaten already?” Wanda asks, and you choose to assume it’s directed at Natasha, not you. You’re not ready to respond just yet, so you pretend to be occupied with your emails again.

“Not yet,” Natasha replies evenly. “We were waiting for you.”

Wanda manages to summon some agreement from you with regards to breakfast, and she hums happily behind you as she gathers bagels and spreads. You send off the email to Professor Manné, then pull up the research studies you were reading the other day, finally able to make more sense of them now that your brain is feeling a little clearer. You suspect that you’d have even more clarity off the painkillers, but you’re not ready to face the unfiltered pain just yet. And you doubt Wanda would let you, even if you were. 

“Do you want to join us at the table, myšička?” Wanda asks, moving to your left side and placing her right hand on your shoulder. You realise that Natasha has already vacated the space beside you, and you turn to see her placing spreads and a plate of bagels on the dining table. 

“Would it be okay if I brought my laptop over?” you ask tentatively, looking at Wanda with what you hope is a politely imploring expression. “I kind of want to finish reading this paper, while I’m in the zone.” 

She tilts her head as she listens to your plea, smiling in a knowing sort of way. 

“Alright, myšička. Let me carry it though — we don’t need any more breakages, do we?”

You blush at her slightly teasing tone, but you stand up, letting her hand slip off your shoulder and move to lift your laptop as you make your way over to the table, sitting down in your usual seat on the far side. Once situated, Wanda places your laptop carefully down in front of you and asks what you’d like to eat, offering to make up a plate for you. So you shyly request two plain bagel halves, with cream cheese on one, and peanut butter on the other. Wanda moves diligently to make them, and soon slides the plated bagels to the left side of your laptop, along with a glass of orange juice and a banana.

“Thank you,” you acknowledge, making sure to meet her eye and smile as you say it, to truly convey your gratitude. Even though the addition of the banana feels a little overwhelming. Does she expect you to eat this all? Is this part of the deal?

“You don’t need to eat the banana, or drink the juice, sweetheart,” Wanda tells you, and you feel the tension in your chest release on your exhale. “Only if you want them.”

The slight stiffness of your lips evaporates into a truly relaxed, contented smile, and you look back at your laptop, giving a little nod. 

Wanda and Natasha begin to chat quietly together, and you make sure to take a bite of the cream-cheese laden bagel, as a show of your good intentions. As you chew and try to reel your attention back to the research paper, you realise the slick way she presented the food to you: by adding the optional extras, she implicitly cemented her expectation that everything else would be eaten. 

You’re not entirely sure how you feel about this. It’s not unreasonable, not by a long shot — but the mere expectation tugs at that rope buried deep inside you. There’s nothing pulling back, not right now. But there could be, at some point. And that scares you. 

You stare at the words on the page, forcing yourself to find the focus again, to move quickly away from that dark line of thinking. You’re fine. That’s what you told Natasha this morning. And it’s true. You’re going to work hard to keep it that way. 

Your commitment falls slightly flat on the account of your startling ability to focus this morning. Somehow you find that narrow beam of attention again, and you stop hearing the soft voices of Wanda and Natasha talking at the table; you stop seeing the plate beside you; you stop remembering the expectation to eat. 

“I’m going to head up and get ready for work, now,” Natasha tells you, standing at the corner of the table, and looking down at you as you blink up at her. “I’ll say bye before I go, though.” She reaches out and shifts your plate ever so slightly towards you. When she speaks next, her voice is a little lowered. Gentle. Private. Wanda is over in the kitchen, placing something in the fridge. Just out of earshot. “I know you’re ‘in the zone’, lapushka. But just try taking a few bites, when you remember, okay?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you nod.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just forgot.”

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, smiling reassuringly. “And that’s okay. I just thought I’d remind you.”

You nibble your lip, then move your hand to take the closest bagel half, which is mostly intact apart from one small bite. You take another bite, and start to chew, staring down at your keyboard, feeling watched. 

“Thank you,” Natasha grants, and then she moves to leave. 

You chew and you chew, but derive no enjoyment from the slightly soggy bread and thick creamy topping. You should have eaten it sooner, before the cheese seeped in and the bread cooled. Next time you’ll do the spreads yourself. The ratio is off: there’s too much spread for too little bagel. It’s just a sensory thing. Nothing else. Definitely. 

You don’t want to eat the rest, but you fear it’s going to become some big power struggle, between Wanda’s worry and your stubbornness. Regardless of how you feel about it, it’s not fair to make her worry. So you force it all down, over many bites and increasingly draining chews, using the orange juice to wash the mouthfuls down when the peanut butter half starts to stick in your throat. It’s hard to eat and read at the same time, so the research paper takes a back-seat for a while, until you’ve tackled the plate and received Wanda’s approving smile. Then you’re free to read again. Except the heavy, full feeling in your stomach is not conducive to focus. 

“That’s me heading out now,” Natasha calls, emerging from the staircase and taking a few steps towards the table, her hands in the pockets of her sharply tailored maroon trousers, the sleeves of her blazer rolled up to reveal her forearms, where your eyes linger for a few moments too long. “I’ll be back around 6, probably. Good luck at your appointment, lapushka.”

The nickname pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to meet her eyes from across the room, trying to scroll back through what she said in your mind. Her wry grin is a little distracting, but you get the gist after a moment, and manage a reply.

“Thank you. Have a good day, Nat.”

“You too. See you later.”

Wanda stands up and walks over to Natasha, reaching out with both arms and placing her hands on her wife’s slightly bent elbows. She says something quietly to her, and Natasha replies at a similarly indistinguishable volume. Then they kiss, and Wanda lets her go. As Natasha turns she sends you another smile, before departing.

Wanda begins tidying up the table, and you shut your laptop to help her.

“You can carry on if you like, sweetheart,” she tells you, but you shake your head.

“I can help.”

Wanda just smiles and nods at that, allowing to to help move the dishes across. Your stomach feels a little sore, but it’s probably just from eating too fast, in your haste to dispose of the bagels. It’s not bad, just uncomfortable. You’ll forget it, soon enough.

When there’s nothing left for you to help with, Wanda pauses loading the dishwasher to suggest you go upstairs and get ready, and she’ll join you in around fifteen minutes to help you dress. You agree obligingly, and make your way upstairs to the bathroom on the top floor, where you use the toilet and brush your teeth with only a little bit of wasted time between, when you stare into the mirror and lose yourself in a daydream. You still look rather worse for wear, even disregarding the sling. The graze on your chin and underside of your cheek has seemed to grow with the bruising that has bloomed around the edge of the raw skin. And you look rather pale, you think. Perhaps it’s the lack of movement, lack of fresh air and exercise. God, you miss running, cycling — freedom — so much.

Once finished, you change into fresh underwear and a pair of loose-fitting black jeans. You pull on fresh socks too, and contemplate your thinning supplies. You really need to do some laundry; things are on the brink of becoming desperate. 

Wanda knocks on the door, and you call out permission for her to come in. She enters, smiling warmly and moving towards you, not too close, but there. Familiar, comforting.

“Do you have something to change into?” she asks, prompting you to pull out a bralette and one of your last clean t-shirts from the drawer.

“Would it be okay for me to do a load of laundry later?” you ask, as you turn back to her. “I’m sort of running out of clothes.”

“Of course, darling — I should have suggested it earlier, I’m sorry. We could even put a load on now, so it’s ready to hang up when we get back from the hospital?” 

“Yes please,” you agree.

“Alright,” Wanda smiles, “let’s get you dressed, then we’ll do that.”

She moves closer to you then, and her eyes stray to appraise the clothes you’ve picked out to wear.

“Is that Italian?” she asks, looking back at your t-shirt to give context to her question, as she begins to detach your sling.

“Yeah,” you say, glad to have something to talk about, as a distraction from the discomfort of holding your arm steady. “I won it in a hill race, when I was on holiday in Italy. I mean, I didn’t win — I just came fourth woman, but they gave out prizes for first to fourth, for some reason.”

“That’s impressive,” Wanda praises, and you’re caught between pride and the automatic urge to bat away the compliment.  “How did you end up doing that race?”

“It wasn’t a big important race,” you emphasise, not wanting her to think you’re more accomplished than you actually are. “I just saw a poster in the tourist information office near where my friends and I were camping, saying there was a hill race down the valley that week. A couple of my friends seemed keen too, but on the morning of the race they didn’t wake up, so then I was out of a lift, and I had to run ten kilometres down the valley to the village it started from. It was pretty stressful, but it warmed me up I suppose.”

“And you still came fourth?” Wanda asks, smiling as she carefully detaches you from your pyjama top.

“Mmm. Maybe I could have come third, or second if I didn’t have to run there, but I definitely wouldn’t have come first. The woman at the front was really quick.”

“And you won the t-shirt, after?”

“Yeah, and like a bag of local foods and stuff. It was really nice.” As Wanda helps you into your bra, you remember another detail of the story, your confidence growing with every show of interest Wanda grants you. “Oh, and when I finished there was this guy with a megaphone who interviewed me — through another guy, who was translating — and he was like announcing to everyone that there was an ‘international athlete’ in their midst, and he asked me about where I was from, and how I found the race and stuff… And I said it was a great course, though a bit too hot, given where I’m from, which they seemed to find funny.”

“That sounds like an amazing day,” Wanda surmises, helping you into the prized t-shirt. 

“It was,” you agree, sighing nostalgically. Then you grin. “Except for the fact that — just before the prize-giving — my phone fell out my pocket when I was washing my hands, and it fell in the toilet.”

“Oh no, myšička — that’s awful!” Wanda empathises, her eyes widening at your words.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great. I had to walk back up the valley after because I was too tired to run anymore and I had the bag of food to carry, and my phone was completely dead so I couldn’t phone my friends to ask for a lift back. And when I got back to the campsite I attempted to save the phone by putting it in a pan of orzo — because I didn’t have rice — but it didn’t work, of course. So I lost all my photos, and all my messages, and I had to fly back home the next week without a phone. It sucked.” When you stop, you realise quite how fast you’ve been talking, how much you’ve said. You don’t think you’ve said this much at all yet, with Wanda. Is this a sign that your concussion has finally eased? Or that you’re finally feeling safe enough to be yourself around her? Or, a miserable thought pipes up, a sign that you’re forgetting to restrain yourself, forgetting to wear the mask and control your inconvenient habits.

A slight tremble runs through your body as the familiar thoughts thump in your brain. Like a sinister second heartbeat, they pulse in beat, repeating. 

Too much. You’re too much. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly, “I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”

“You didn’t,” Wanda tells you, holding your arm steady in her left hand, and cupping your cheek with her right. “I love hearing your stories, myšička. It’s like a gift every time you share a bit of yourself with us.” 

You blush at that, overcome with the sweetness, and rather touched despite your inclination to disbelieve it. Because it’s so kind. Like Wanda always is. She smiles at you, then starts to put on your sling, threading your arm through, and attaching it gently behind your neck. She needs to be close to do this, her chest so close to your own. When she’s finished, she slowly lowers her arms back to her side, studying you with a tilted head, her lips curled up so sweetly.

Your gratitude fills every breath you take, and you feel compelled to share it with her, to show her how you feel. Not just for her help, but for her acceptance too. Though you long to dive forward, you hold yourself back, to ask. To seek permission.

“Wanda?” you whisper. Her name still feels necessary somehow, despite your two bodies being the only ones occupying this space.

“Yes, darling?” Wanda prompts, and you find yourself trembling slightly as you breathe out your request.

“Please may I hug you?”

Wanda pulls you in, even before she responds in words. Her left arm wrapping round your body, her right hand guiding your head to rest on her shoulder.

“Of course, sweet girl. Always.”

Your left arm curls around her back, and your fingers flex for a moment before finding the fabric of her t-shirt, which they cling to, without conscious thought. Upon her shoulder, your eyelids flicker closed. And in the darkness, you feel only her warmth, and the whisper of her lips brushing a kiss on your head.

You’d happily stay like this forever, you think, but after a while, Wanda’s soft voice calls to you.

“Sweetheart?”

“Mm?” you hum quietly into her shoulder, hoping she won’t extricate you, but knowing that she probably will. There are things to do, places to go, people to see. But you’d happily forfeit it all just to stay here with her. And perhaps Natasha too. That would be nice.

“We need to get going soon. And we should put on your laundry, before we go.”

You don’t say anything. Like your silence will put a stop to proceedings, and prevent her from letting go.

“Come on,” she encourages you with a little chuckle, giving your back a light, prompting pat. “There can be more hugs later. I promise.”

It’s just about enough to placate you, and you let Wanda unravel you from her arms. Once free, you blink slightly in the sudden light, which you didn’t have to endure while safely nestled in her shoulder. 

“Where are your clothes for washing, myšička?” she asks you, and you move slowly to your bag on the floor beside the drawers, which is filled with your worn clothing. 

“Just in here,” you tell her, and you lift the bag up — but it never makes it to your shoulder because Wanda lifts it from your hand and slings it over her arm. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” Wanda checks, and you nod. “Alright. Could you find your phone and your Kindle please, darling? I think it would be good to have things to do while we’re there.”

“How long do you think it will take?” you ask, not liking the prospect of spending a long stint in the hospital. 

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. They might want to take more scans, which could mean a fair amount of waiting.”

You sigh deeply at that. Waiting is the worst. The one good thing about the accident was that the concussion scrambled your brain enough to delete all the boring periods between. Now you’ll be having the full hospital experience. Waiting. Being prodded in body and mind. More waiting. Probably being patronised too. And all under a different system: a system you don’t understand at all. 

Not wanting to cause a scene with your reluctance, you force yourself to find the items Wanda suggested. Both are easy to locate, placed on the bedside table in a neat stack. You slide your phone into a pocket in your jeans, and carry the Kindle in your hand as you walk back to her. 

“We should probably bring you a sweater too,” Wanda says with a frown, like she’s merely voicing her thoughts aloud. You watch as she moves to your drawers and finds your grey pullover with the quarter-zip. “Will this do?” she checks, and she smiles at you when you nod, tucking it under her arm before holding her hand out to you.

Wanda leads you down to the basement, where their washing machine resides in the little pantry off the living room. She places your clothes in the drum before you can protest, and you find yourself clutching your waist, embarrassed at the sight of her hands manoeuvring the bundles of fabric, which occasionally flashes the familiar colours of your underwear. But she looks so at ease, so unbothered by this task… 

Still crouching down, Wanda opens the door of the cupboard beside the washing machine, and gestures to a variety of laundry liquids on the shelf.

“What would you prefer?” She asks, and you answer without thinking.

“The one you use,” you tell her, the words tumbling out your mouth like the fall of a Jenga block tower: unstoppable; inevitable. “I like the way your clothes smell.”

The humiliation rumbles through your body like thunder, and you’re frozen on the spot, like the lightning strike of your words has burned your feet to the floor. Your brain wants to run away, to retreat to the bathroom and curl up on the floor until you have rebottled the self-loathing and screwed the lid on tight. But you can’t move at all. 

Wanda stands up, holding a bottle in her hand. 

“You really are the sweetest little thing, myšička,” she coos, and she gives your forehead a quick affectionate peck with her lips. 

You remain frozen as she pours some detergent into the drawer, baffled by her ability to reframe your weird words into something adorable. Of course, you meant it in a nice way — you do love the way she smells: that warm mix of sweetness and some kind of spice. But it’s weird to have noticed, and even weirder to comment on it. Yet somehow, she doesn’t seem unnerved by your impulsive admission. She just seems endeared. And although the horror of your reply still niggles at you, her kiss seems to soothe the shame. 

Maybe it was sweet. Maybe it was okay.

With the wash cycle started, Wanda turns back to you, slinging your empty bag back onto her shoulder and tucking your jumper under her left arm. She moves in front of you, reaches out with her arm and turns you with a soft pressure on the back of your hip, so you’re facing the same way as her. Then she curls her arm around your back and steers you out, her hand settled on your waist in a way that feels startlingly intimate at first, then merely grounding. 

Wanda guides you upstairs and takes your Kindle as she instructs you to put on your shoes. She tucks it and your jumper carefully in her handbag, which she retrieves from a little console table in the entryway. Then she ties your laces, slides on her own shoes, and leads you out the door.

The process of getting into the car is softly familiar. She still buckles you in and checks you’re safely enclosed before carefully closing your door. Again there’s mere moments to compose yourself, as she walks around the front of the car then enters on the left side. When she turns on the engine, she smiles at the clock on the display.

“We’re in good time,” she tells you. “Even if the traffic is bad, we’ll get there a little before your appointment.”

Only then does it strike you quite how much agency you have surrendered. How much responsibility you have shafted upon her. You’ve spared no thought at all to this appointment really, just trusted that she’d sort it, that she’d take charge. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, wanting to acknowledge your realisation, but not really sure how. “I — I’m sorry I’ve been so useless. I appreciate you, Wanda. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling,” she says warmly. “But you’re not useless; you’re just recovering. It’s okay to be a little less able, right now. And I’ll help as much as you need, for as long as you need, alright?”

You don’t trust your ability to thank her in words, without letting a sob spill out. So you just smile in a watery sort of way, and nod. She smiles back at you, reaches out and gives your hand a gentle squeeze, then moves her hand to the steering wheel and begins to pull out. 

The world looks slightly misty out your window for a while, until the tears in your eyes either evaporate or are reabsorbed for later. The traffic is quite heavy still, even though it’s after 9, and the journey has many slow sections and stops. Your brain does a funny skip every so often, a little panicked jerk when you see a cyclist near an intersection. Even though it isn’t you, on the bike. You can’t help but imagine the other viewpoint, the version of the accident which Wanda saw through the windscreen. You wonder then what it was like for her, driving to the emergency room to find you, and discovering you bruised and confused on a hospital bed. How it felt for her, having to talk to the doctors on your behalf, because you could barely hold a conversation with anyone.

And what now? You haven’t spoken to anyone else since the accident, nobody except for Wanda and Natasha. Even with them it’s been hard to summon sentences at times. How will you cope with the brisk, clinical manner of unfamiliar people in the hospital?

Your eyes drop as you get lost in your daydream, slowly slipping into a spiral of concern. Your left hand lifts to your mouth; at first just your knuckles press against your lips, and then a fingernail is pressed between your teeth and you begin to bite down, gnawing away as you ruminate. 

“Myšička?” Wanda calls your attention with the soft nickname and a gentle nudge of her right knuckles against your shoulder. You turn to look at her, hand only moving after you’ve fully switched your focus from your worries to her words. “Could you pass me a mint, please? There’s a tin just in the glove compartment.”

You follow her gaze to the little door in the dashboard, and you open it up with your left hand, finding a little tin and moving it to your lap. After prising off the lid — with care taken not to spill them — you hold up the open tin to Wanda. She smiles and takes one out, popping it in her mouth.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re welcome to take one too, if you like.”

You return the tin to your lap and consider for a moment, before lifting one white circular mint out and placing it between your lips. As you close the tin and return it to its home, you suck on the mint and feel the cool flavour awaken your senses a little. Somehow it helps elevate your thoughts from emotional concerns to practical ones.

“Wanda?” you ask suddenly, pushing the mint to your right cheek with your tongue. She glances over and gives you a smile of encouragement to continue. “Will I have to pay for the checkup?” You turn to face forward, looking out the front and frowning with the weight of your ignorance. “I just… I don’t have any idea how all of this works, here.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Wanda says carefully, her words coming out slow and measured. “It should be covered by your insurance. But worst case scenario, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

You turn back to her, your left hand balling into a fist in your lap.

“What if I can’t afford it? Will they tell me first, or will they only give me the bill after it’s done?” Your left hand releases, then bears down again on your thigh, nails pressing in. “Oh God… I can’t afford it… I should have got a job — I was meant to get a job… And I… I can’t…”

“Hey,” Wanda calls to you, and you feel her hand scoop up your own, leaving five points of prickling pain in the wake of your nails. “Baby, just breathe for me. Everything is going to be okay. Just breathe.”

“I can’t,” you choke out, and you don’t even know what it is you’re referring to; there are so many things you can’t do, you can’t manage. Wanda squeezes your hand, her focus switching between the road and the disaster you’re creating, the disaster that you are. 

“I’m going to pull in, myšička,” she tells you in a calm, quiet voice. “Just take some deep breaths for me; you're okay, sweetheart.”

She lets go of your hand, and you pull it back to cross over your stomach and cling to your right side. You feel hot and tight all over, and your lungs feel like burst balloons, barely inflating before the air seems to dissipate and sink inside you, pressing down painfully. You screw your eyes tight shut but the tears drip down your cheeks anyway. Your brain seems to be thinking both too much and not at all; nothing registers but fear, ineptitude, and panic. 

The car slows to a halt and you hear the click of a seatbelt unfastening. Then another click, and the feeling of the belt being carefully unravelled around you, Wanda’s arm reaching over to safely guide its retraction, protecting your arm.

“I’m here,” Wanda says softly. “I’m going to take your hand, okay?”

Your whole body racks with the force of your gasping breaths and jerking sobs. But you somehow manage a nod, in the midst of it all. And then you feel an arm reaching around you, brushing against the fabric of your t-shirt. And a hand, which is cooler than your own, encloses yours and carries it away from your waist, travelling leftwards until it is placed on top of something warm, and held in place gently. You can feel fabric, and beneath it flesh and bone. 

“Just breathe with me, baby, okay?” Wanda guides you, and you feel her body rise beneath your hand. Your eyes flicker open, looking over to see how she’s holding your hand to the base of her ribs, just beneath the swell of her chest. At the same time, you take a shuddering breath in. Holding it shakily until you feel your hand sink in on her exhale, and you can release yours in tandem. You close your eyes again, and just focus on feeling. 

“That’s it,” Wanda whispers. “You’re doing so good, miláčik. Just keep going.”

And you do. Your breaths slowing down, in time, and finally meeting Wanda’s in perfect harmony. You wait for more perfectly matched breaths, checking it’s not just a fluke, before you tentatively open your eyes again. At first, you just look at your lap. Readjusting to the light, and building up the courage to face her. 

Two panic attacks in a week; one with each of them. At least last time you managed it alone, holed up in a bathroom until you’d recovered enough to show Natasha your face again. This time, however, Wanda has been subjected to it all. You look up at her, horrified by how you’ve conducted yourself, unable even to find comfort in her gentle gaze.

“Wanda… I… I’m so…”

“No, sweet girl,” she interrupts you, lifting your hand from her ribs and bringing it up to her lips, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I don’t want to hear any apologies. You have nothing to say sorry for.”

Your hand trembles, frightened by the affection you don’t feel you deserve. Wanda moves your hand to her lap, where she strokes it gently, like she’s ensuring the kiss can be absorbed into your skin.

“I know you’re scared, sweetheart,” she tells you. “And I know it’s overwhelming. But I’m going to be here with you all the way, and I can give you whatever help you need.”

You blink at her a while, trying to collect your thoughts. You can feel that now-familiar fuzziness creeping in, like she’s wrapping you in a blanket, muffling your senses. But you can’t let it cloud your mind; you need to be alert and attentive in the hospital. You need to be able to answer questions and advocate for yourself.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you whisper, and your fingers begin to bend, moving to hold her hand in return. Inside your shoes, your toes curl up tightly, the tension running up your legs and holding your body steady, holding the tears back.

“Do what, darling?”

“Anything. Talking to the doctors… Organising the insurance stuff… I still don’t feel fully like myself. I mean, I keep thinking I’m getting better, but then my mind just switches off and I can’t think properly; I can’t manage anything.”

“Then I can help you,” Wanda asserts, squeezing your hand gently. “Myšička, I can handle it all, if you need. I can talk to the doctors, and sort out the paperwork. You just say the word, or give me a signal, and I can take over.”

“But they’ll think I’m so weird and useless. All they’ll see is this adult who can’t take care of herself. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic.” Wanda’s voice is more serious now. Still soft, but with an edge of authority. “My darling, you just need some help right now. That’s not wrong, or weird.”

“But that’s what they’ll think,” you demur, and you’re whining now, but you can’t stop. “That I need a chaperone; that I can’t manage.” Your voice cracks, and the next bit is said quietly, shamefully. “They’ll think that I’m immature and completely inept, like a child.”

“What if someone came in with a family member?” Wanda prompts, reaching out with her other hand and brushing away a tear that drips down your cheek. “Would you think that was weird, if an older man came in with his wife, for example?”

“No,” you admit, pouting a little at the way her question has disarmed you. Your brain whirs with the effort of defending your panic against her logic.

“Well darling…” Wanda says quietly, moving her hand to cup your cheek. “What if we just pretend, while we’re in the hospital?”

You stare at her, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Wanda bites her lip, and the action stills you. She seems hesitant, unsure. You’ve only seen her like this once before, very briefly. Yesterday morning, when she asked if you’d prefer Natasha. Her fingers twitch slightly, her grip of your hand briefly loosening, before tightening again as she finds her resolve and begins to speak.

“Do you remember what happened last time we were there?” she says slowly. You frown and shake your head.

“I... I’m not sure?”

“The doctor assumed I was your mom,” she reminds you, pausing a moment to let you take this in. When the memory registers, you give her a little nod, and she continues after giving you a cautious smile. ”So what if we just let them assume? And we pretend, just a little?”

Your heart flutters, and you hear the tiny stutter of air as your breath catches.

“You’d still be an adult,” Wanda tells you quickly. “And everyone would see you like that. But they would maybe just think I’m a worried mother, insisting on being there. It could take the spotlight off of you, a little.” She waits a moment, then adds a question. Quiet, tentative. “Does that sound like something you want?”

You can hear your heart pounding, the blood thudding in your ears. Every part of your body feels hot and alight with adrenaline. Logically she’s just offering you an out, offering you a solution to your anxieties. But the question feels charged. It’s like your body has noticed something your brain can’t quite comprehend.

Wanda breaks eye contact first, and you notice the slight flush of her cheeks. Is she finding this slightly strange too? And if so, does that mean you should be more worried, or less?

Her eyes return, and she simply studies you for a while. Looking at her reminds you of everything she’s done so far, every bit of help and affection she’s given you. Some things necessary, and some not, but all things she’s done from the goodness of her heart. And you’ve never been made to feel uncomfortable, or unwanted. She’s listened to you, both when speaking and silent. She’s ameliorated your worries and soothed your woes. She’s treated your body with softness and respect. And she’s welcomed you into her home, and allowed you to feel some sense of belonging in the strangest of situations.

You trust her. You trust her to choose, to direct. You trust her to think for you, because she’s done it time and again, and always kept you safe.

Maybe that’s all you need to say. 

You nibble your lip, trying to find the words to express it. Her thumb strokes your cheek, and her head tilts in that gently expecting way. You begin with a nod. Tiny, twice-repeating.

“Please, Wanda,” you whisper. “I — I want you to help.” You swallow, and you give breath to the words; you speak the soft admission which feels like you’re offering something up of yourself. Like holding out a key, granting entry. Granting everything.

“I trust you."

A/N: Thank you for reading. I really hope this was okay ♡

Taglist: (comment below if you'd like to be added to this) @nessheartnat ; @valerie-lexi ; @bishovapls ; @redheadsinmybed ; @electric-guillotines ; @naominanuq ; @alpalpym ; @dreaming-potato ; @snowazul ; @deathbylesbianwitches ; @queen-of-chaotic-surprises ; @loverluzer ; @methealt ; @theslutoflasignora ; @godhatesgoodgirls ; @absolutelyregal

[varpusvaras]

Seventeen really doesn't know what to think about Fox's new spouses.

They are...alright. That's the best word he can come up with, for now. They seem nice. Caring. Smart. Fox had mentioned them before, and always described them with good terms (which perhaps should've glued Seventeen in to the fact they were a thing. Fox had never been someone who would go out of his way to mention anyone just because), and the more Seventeen heard about them, the more he did appreciate them.

It just all felt fake, in a way. Not them, no. Seventeen had met enough nat-borns by now to recognise when they were being dishonest and smarmy. Not these two. Absolutely not. They were probably two of the most honest and open people Seventeen had ever met, which was also most likely one of the reasons Fox liked them. Fox had always liked it when things were said as they were. But just watching them, happy as they were, in their own little world where everything was fine and nothing else mattered, Seventeen couldn't shake the feeling of waiting for something, anything, to go wrong.

They weren't made for happy endings. Sooner or later something would happen, and ruin it all. They weren't made for soft things like this. They weren't made for things like love, not like this. Love for them meant training them, teaching them, pushing them forward and over their limits, so they wouldn't die.

That's what Seventeen had done.

It wasn't fair, some part of him screams. It wasn't fair that his love had been made to be bruises and broken bones and tears and anger, only for someone else to then come after all of it and claim that love was actually anything and everything else than that.

It wasn't fair.

[lesmana-enterprise-ltd]

The Winsbury Manor, Historical Residence in Ravenwood (NO CC)

Winsbury Manor is a grand Tudor-style estate built in 1490, nestled in the heart of Whispering Glen, Ravenwood. Steeped in history, this manor boasts intricate architectural details, lush landscaped gardens, and an aura of timeless elegance. With its meticulously preserved features and rich legacy, Winsbury Manor offers a rare glimpse into the opulent lifestyle of a bygone era, blending heritage with enduring charm.

Winsbury Manor stands as a testament to centuries of power and conflict. Established on land claimed by the Kingdom of Henford after their decisive victory in the Battle of Whispering Glen in 1485, the manor was completed in 1490 under the command of Lord Governor Winsbury I. Serving as Henford's seat of authority over the Kingdom of Ravenwood, it remained a symbol of dominance until the tragic Siege of Winsbury in 1532, where Dutchess Annelise Winsbury, the last resident, perished at a young age of 17, marking the fall of Henford's control. Left abandoned for decades, the estate was revived in 1609 by the Ravensworth family, who meticulously restored and modernized it through the centuries. In 2020, the Lesmana Enterprise acquired the manor, ushering in a new chapter for this storied estate, blending historical preservation with modern innovation.

Your Very own Retreat

Awaits at Winsbury Manor, nestled in the heart of Ravenwood's enchanting Whispering Glen. This historic estate offers timeless elegance, expansive grounds, and modern touches, creating the perfect harmony of luxury and heritage.

Isolated from the Main Road

A Tennis Court That Functions

A Chapel and Mausoleum

A Lush Manicured Backyard

Stables for Your Horses

A Lively Pond

Living Room (Former throne hall)

Dining and Kitchen

Lounges, Activity Rooms and Reading Rooms

Two Spacious Bedrooms

Packs Required

Download (Place Tray File)

SFS: Download Here

Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog! your feedbacks and comments means a lot to us.

Sul Sul!, The Lesmana Enterprise Co., Ltd.

[animatedjen]

The Best Movie Versions of Jedi: Fallen Order

As someone who has made too many videos about these games, figured I'd share my favorite "movie" editions of Fallen Order. It's the best way to meet the Mantis crew and experience Cal's journey if you don't have a gaming PC/console or want to relive the adventure in a condensed format. Also a great resource for making edits!

STAR WARS Jedi: Fallen Order - Movie Edition by MovieEditionGames

[2K, no HUD, YT CC captions available] My favorite viewing option for FO. It includes relevant gameplay mixed in with cutscenes, along with custom camera shots that showcase the environments during traversal. Clean music transitions and intentional character movement elevate it even further.

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order (The Movie) by Andy Gilleand

[4K HDR, letterboxed, no HUD, YT CC captions available] A very close second for FO viewing. The high-res, detailed textures really showcase how beautiful this game is. Along with relevant gameplay blended with cutscenes, this version also includes chapter markers to find different sections more easily.

Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order - Game Movie by Video Game Player

[4K 60FPS, letterboxed, no HUD, no captions] Another 4K option with chapter markers (this time with on screen titles!) but doesn't use HDR.

STAR WARS: JEDI FALLEN ORDER All Cutscenes (Cal Mod) by Gamer's Little Playground

[4K 60FPS, includes HUD and in-game captions] Cal takes a nap and wakes up with a beard! If you want to revisit the story with a new look, here's a good option.

Hope this helps! As of now I have not found a comparable version for Jedi Survivor. There are cutscene-only options and full 13-17 hour gameplay options, but nothing in between. If you have seen one let me know! Otherwise I may try to make it myself, eventually.

[header photo from u/D3athtroop3r on Reddit]

[alienara-simblr]

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Chapter 7 : The Extended Sims Families Subhood Download 🏘️

long post, please read carefully

🌆 This sub-neighborhood includes all the Sims 1 families introduced in the Chapter 6 post. They may have family and/or friendship ties with each other, depending on their original biographies, which is why I refused to make separate family files. This requires a whole version without any connection between families, even genetic, because it can corrupt the neighborhood you put them in, and I didn't want to take that risk.

🗨️ Each family has a personalized household description since the TS1 Games didn't have the possibility to have one.

♍ With my own Sims 1 games and the SimsWiki, I could remake every sim with their origin personality (to the point) and their origin biography. I gave a new custom bio to all the sims who didn't have one, to initiate game-play.

I tried the neighborhood with @crispsandkerosene Rod Humble as the Mystery man. It's awesome !

💭 To complete the characters, I also implanted every playable sim with CC-free memories. This gives them a real story to complement their biographies. These stories can be very successful or, on the contrary, very sad… or even worse, depending on the case. If for some reason, this doesn't suit you, you can always rewrite the biographies and delete the memories. What has been created is offered to you as a basis for your own gaming desires. Only the Unburried family don't have memories or bio.

🐊 I'm perfectly aware that my sims aren't the most accurate ones. It was what felt right with the CC available, trying to use as less as possible. I refused to use my ordinary custom eyes and skin tones, to make the sims easier to export. It explains why the skin tones are not as accurate as I would like. But if you want real Sims 1t2 conversion accuracy, check @bayoubashsims blog and the TS1 section on it. There are wonderful sims and nice outfits to grab (It's where I take the Miss Lucille hat that I use in my game). The idea here was to create a neighborhood/subhood ready to play, with detailed TS1 characters.

🔊 Here again, every description, every name, every bio has been translated both in 🇫🇷 French and in 🇬🇧 English. If you wanna translate all of it in your own language, you can download my text files. They are odt (text) files with spreadsheets including both translations, one file for neighborhoods and lots, the other is for sims biographies and descriptions. You can build a Google file (I never came to learn how to make one) or send me back a translation on those spreadsheets. I can include the translations for the neighborhoods and the sims subhood if asked.

⚠️ ADDITIONAL MODS NEEDED !

🏆 For this subhood to work perfectly, YOU NEED the 50 CUSTOM LifeTime Wants by @lamare-sims. Indeed, I gave all the sims custom LTW according to their bio, their personality and sims stories across the franchise. 🧼 I gave the NPC custom career based on the NPC Carrer Packs 1 and 2 by TashaFaun for : Firefighter, Mail Carrier, Pizza Delivery, Repair, Animal Control 🧽 I also used the Cleaning Service Carrer by Szynszolina for : Maid, Gardener, Butler

🫂 The sub-neighborhood includes ONLY the previously featured sims (plus a dead thief, for personal stories). It has been cleaned with SimPE and Hood Checker to remove any unwanted file residue. There are 17 families household and 5 "extra" (NPCs + MagicTown Vendors + Hobbyists + Downtownies + Goth cemetery sims). I tested it, it seems to work just fine but but let me know if you have a problem.

🌉 IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD : 🧛‍♀️ Vampire Vicki is not a vampire yet (she has the memory of it, but she isn't actually : I didn't want vampire skin/overlay to mess with the character file... again). 🧚‍♀️ Mara Faerie Queen has the memory of being a plantsim (the game don't propose "fairy", I took the closest) but isn't actually either. 🧙 Vampire Vicki is a Bad Witch, Mara Faerie is a very Good Witch and Apothecary Todd is a neutral Witch. They all have max magic skills. 🧰 Every remade NPC aren't made NPC yet. Why ? Because NPC in subhood have their names randomized, and then, because I prefer give you ultimate choice about what to do with them.

☑️ CHECK LIST

💾 Did you make a backup of your Sims2 folder ? ⚒️ Did you check the family posts ? installed everything you need? 🎗️ Did you install the 50 CUSTOM LTW by @lamare-sims ? 💼 Did you install the custom NPC carreers ? 🙏 Did you send a prayer to the Gamer’s Gardian Angel ? 🦑 Did you exorcised the Pink Soup out of your PC ? ✅ Then you’re ready to GO !

🏘️ To Install the SUBHOOD, you have to put the neighborhood folder in your TS2 “Open for Business” installation folder : (Your TS2 Installation repertory)…/EP3/TSData/Res/Neighborhood Templates/ 💾 DOWNLOAD Sims 1 Family EXTENDED Subhood SFS - Mediafire

🥂 Here again, thank you for all your messages and support. It was an immense amount of time and work of creating, researching, and publishing, but I hope it was worth it. I love the Sims 2 for twenty years now, but I messed so much the Sims 1 "creepy crazy magic " vibe. I think a new game shouldn't come with a feeling of lost.

🏆 I also thank aaaaall the amazing CC creator who made all of it possible. If they are reading, I hope they would like to try the neighborhoods and enjoy it 🎉

[ccrites]

CC's Masterlist

This masterlist is a work in progress!! I'm doing my best to make sure it's pretty, but I am in fact, a grandma with a laptop!

updated : Aug 17, 2024

banner by @/cafekitsune

John Price x reader

Signal Lost - finished - 101k words/29 chapters - link to AO3 here

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story or, a story I started writing when AO3 was down for I believe 2-3 days or so last summer, and for some reason I decided I need to pour some words into a google docs. the result was a 100k word x reader adventure/thinly-veiled plot required for porn I wanted to write, with too many self-insert moments, but of which I am proud to have finished. I will accept no criticism.

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Chokehold - finished - 6.5k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

6.4 words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him. an open love letter to early @/391780 and to other fat broads out there self-conscious about their bodies

it's a compliment, I swear - in progress - 10k-ish words so far - link to ao3 here

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4...

me simply thinking about freak!Soap and getting the brain worms wiggling with two sentences: "I can make him better--" "Not if he makes you worse first." a dash of dub/non-con here, a drizzle of puppy vocabulary-verging-into-puppy-play there. no idea where I'll get with this, just vibes and a vague plot. this will progressively get darker, mind the tags when I add them.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back - finished - 11.7k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

Based on this post I made a while ago that has been haunting me ever since or recently-dumped simon riley joins a cooking class chef!reader teaches. you get more than you bargained for.

ask box open for and requests / ideas. Currently planning to write more gaz x reader, though I might be convinced to write ghostsoap. no promises.

[tactical-mode]

Final Fantasy VII - Episode 014

I swear, every episode I am learning how to manipulate the engine better as well as improving my eye for cinematography. Happier with this episode than ever! Remember to turn on CC for the dialogue!

(A note for people who prefer the spelling of Aeris over Aerith: the default subtitles list Aerith, her canonical name. However, all videos have been given English - Canada option, which changes nothing except her name. As the people who wanted Aeris were Canadian, it was only natural. This way, you can select English - Canada while watching via the Playlist starting from the first episode, and you won't have to select it again.)

[Chapter 08] Scenes 9-13

Well the obvious change here is the lack of time ghosts.

Invisible Whispers by Neocoretx is doing the heavy lifting here, however, even with the mod, the whispers leave behind a blurry residue and some conspicuous dust, which could be removed by turning particle emitters off (this had the added benefit of making the yellow materia behind the guard less eye-catching). You may see Reno with a hand on his waist in one shot - he's actually injured from a boss fight that happens in 7R that doesn't happen in this series (it would ruin the flowers!)

The shot where Cloud and Aerith run up the stairs and out of frame, only to appear as the camera lifts up to the beam, is my experiment for this episode - planning a camera path that crosses over multiple moments to quickly show progress through an area is a great way to save on run-time without compromising the feeling of traversal. Without that trick, it takes one minute to run from the bottom of the stairs up to the beam - with this technique, it takes 5 seconds. And looks pretty spiffy if I do say so myself.

The music is a continuation of Enter Turks from EC.

Scenes 14-15

The church has been modified by FantasyRaiderr to resemble its original design, and it looks great. Also, the plate above our characters is thanks to the great Skybox Switcher mod by Altezein.

To get the coverage, much like last episode, I set up over-the-shoulder shots and let ‘er rip for a few hours while I went dancing. I've created a nice shorthand for myself to organize the shots by which idle animations happen, to clearly see what I'm working with:

(Ironically, I didn't end up using any shots from this angle ^_^)

The music transitions from Enter Turks to a track from Remake which actually plays when you meet Aerith earlier (Episode 6 of this series). I only use the first four bars before transitioning to Remake’s version of Flowers Blooming in the Church which replaces the bells with a piano and has a more embellished accompaniment.

Scene 16

This 5 minute sequence has been pared down to a single ~30 second shot. I decided that fading the characters in and out gave a greater sense of adventure and traversal. The sequence where they’re shimmying along the pipe is actually me going in the wrong direction lol, it was on purpose - the goal was to give the sense of them travelling from right to left across the screen.

Scene 17

The church mod is on proud display in this shot, but something else is happening. The roof above Cloud is thanks to Skybox Switcher - but that mod has an error that is apparent from this vantage point alone - the section where the outer wall should be is missing the wall and worse, the lighting creates a kind of ghost-wall in front of an expansive desert. Can’t have that, so I hand-composited 82 frames to transition from the ceiling to the floor. Eagle-eyed viewers may notice some flickering of color in the sky, where my frame-by-frame compositing is glaringly amateurish. Hehe oops!

Aerith gives us a delightful cuss in the Remake version of this scene. I was tempted to include it, but my better angels prevailed.

Scene 18

Another transitional shot leads us down to solid ground. In 7R there’s a scene and a combat here. Snip snip.

Final Thoughts

This is a really pleasant episode to watch, I knew the travelling shots would be cute but I’m honestly quite enamored with them! I hope you like them.

Gonna take another short break as I get some real life ducks in a row and this is a lovely beat to rest on. My passion for this project will ensure that I don’t stay away for long.

[offtorivendell]

Will I hear the earthworms writhing through the soil?

Disclaimer: as usual, this is just a theory that makes no claim of being canon.

Spoilers: CC HOFAS spoilers below the break.

Something I've spoken about with a few friends - though I haven't posted it publicly yet, I don't think - was the possibility of Elain and Azriel having an Orpheus and Euridyce inspired journey as part of their adventure in their (still hypothetical 😭) book.

The following passage from ACOWAR is what made me begin to wonder if Elain might hear earthworms from within the soil at some point:

Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair. “Will I hear the earthworms writhing through the soil? Or the stretching of roots? Will the bird of fire come to sit in the trees and watch me?” - ACOWAR

Might she hear the roots and worms as they move around, poking through underground catacombs, searching for water(ways) deep within the ground?

Then I read HOFAS (or rather, I'm still reading it, but I need to post this to clear my mind and continue):

She said, if only to distract herself from the gross fauna of the stream, “Did the Fae make these tunnels?” A few steps ahead, Nesta said nothing. But Azriel, trailing behind, mused after a moment, “I don’t think so. From the consistent size of them, I’d guess that a Middengard Wyrm originally made these passages. Maybe it even used these waterways to get around.” - HOFAS

This makes me think I could be on the right track! That Elain and Azriel may actually get an Orpheus and Euridyce type journey - potentially with Elain leading and Azriel "trailing behind" - and they do go underground. If the Ouroboros is involved, needing to be collected from the Bone Carver's old cell in the Prison, I will be so happy. I want to know what Elain can do with her powers and that mirror combined!

Additional thoughts:

Instead of going underground willingly, might Elain be buried alive? (Sorry)

The Middengard wyrm was thunderously loud, so much so that it was mistaken for rushing water. Can Elain hear them pass under Velaris?

Middengard wyrm; midden = refuse pile; Midgard = the middle earth.

Do the worms originate in Midgard, as Bryce guessed? What attracted the Middengard wyrms to Prythian to begin with?

Do they use the underground waterways to travel further than elsewhere in Prythian? How much further? I know @ladynightcourt3 has had similar thoughts, and we think they might be able to pass between worlds.

How relevant is all the iron near the waterways? Does it help to ground or tether someone using the water to delve deeper into their powers?

Will the "glass coffin" reference from the Bryce, Azriel and Nesta bonus chapter come into play here, with either Elain or Azriel becoming trapped and needing to be freed? This could combine @elriell's Sleeping Beauty theory with the Orpheus and Euridyce mythology.

I'm only at chapter 17, so please don't mention any HOFAS spoilers yet!

[bonesandthebees]

Hello bee!!! Idk if you remembered me, but I've followed you back in twt 2021, (I think) when you started the fic "the world forgoten by the world forgot" and made silly memes in twt about your fic....

I have been a little out of the dsmp fandom after all that happened and strayed me away from SBI and the DSMP... But slowly I started getting myself into your fic "Tommyinnits clinic for supervillains" again since it's the first ever fic I ever read from you, listening to a podcast by passerine podcast while I'm busy in college, I remembered how much I enjoyed your writing with found family and brotherly love... Although I do not condone or accept CC!Wilbur's actions, and I miss Technoblade, I still admire your characterization with your fics and with every other characters you write...

I haven't finished re-listening to the podcast, currently at chapter 17, and once I finish, I'll proceed to re-read your other works as well cuz I really love your writing!! It makes me feel like I'm a kid again :)) fr tho, thank you for being a cool hooman keep doing wut you love <33

aw I'm so glad you're finding enjoyment in my fics again even after everything that's happened. it still blows my mind how many people say they read my works when they were kids and now they read them for nostalgia I'm so happy my silly little stories left such an impression on you <3

[you-need-not-apply]

CHAPTER 7: MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU

11. Do not teach the younglings, or anyone for that matter, to curse in any language. 

17. Knight Skywalker, I don't care what they're paying you, I'll double it. Stop advertising for pro-droid companies in the middle of battle.

28. Illegal pod racing is just that; illegal. 92. In general, do not give Master Ti ideas.  140 rules :D Thanks @bladelei for cc-2020 (hindsight) and cc-5050 (chance)

[whisperofaflame]

Natasha: I think we need to slow down on the kinkier side of things

Wanda, two minutes later: Do you want to call me your mom 🥺

Omg this made me laugh out loud!! 😂 So, so true 💀♡

[merelyroleplayers]

Now playing in the Main House

Act Two of Five: In the deepest darkest basement, the former Mayor has a lead that could go all the way to the top.

Coming next on 17 June – Vigil: Shadowfall, Act 3

Programme notes

This production contains fantasy violence, gunfire, and references to child abduction.

In chapter 3 of Camera Obscura, Matt’s actual play of Outliers by Samantha Leigh, the RAs do battle with a dæmon-haunted server.

Dramatis personae and other definitions

Melody Bantham: The owner of Melodies, the cosy cafe and vinyl shop on Market Street. Melody is an ageless patchwork person animated by music, who fled her creator ages ago and has owned a music shop on this spot ever since.

Harper: A US exchange student trying to sever her ties to the Shadow realm she sometimes enters through revolving doors.

Gwynned, the Shieldmaiden: A former shieldmaiden of the triple goddess Morrigan, exiled to live as a duck for the crime of saving a mortal man from her mistress’ cruel whim, now freed from her curse and elevated to a third of the godhead herself.

Brier: A mischievous shapeshifting púca, the fae guardian of Sherrydown’s Rosebrier Forest.

Department of Omissions (DO, DoOm): The UK government department tasked with preventing harm to citizens from supernatural phenomena. Severely defunded under Tory austerity policies and currently prioritising major urban population centres.

Sherrydown, Brackshire: A historic English market town. One of the first towns to lose its DoOm office.

Omission effect: The rejection of certain beings and phenomena by long-term memory. Recently lifted.

Credits

COMPERE: Matt Boothman

STARRING:

Helen Stratton as Melody Bantham, the Constructed

Marta Da Silva as Harper, the Searcher

Natalie Winter as Gwynned, the Divine

Strat as Brier, the Monstrous

ROLEPLAYING GAME SYSTEM: Monster of the Week, designed by Michael Sands

MUSIC BY: Alexander Pankhurst

SOUND DESIGN BY: Matt Boothman

SFX AND INCIDENTAL MUSIC INCLUDES: Pigeons taking off by Glaneur de sons on freesound.org (CC BY 4.0); and may include others made available to use without attribution.

EDITED AND PRODUCED BY: Matt Boothman

Find us

On Instagram @MerelyRoleplayers

On Tumblr @merelyroleplayers

www.MerelyRoleplayers.com

[igotsnothing]

Beginning/Previous/Next

Car radio song: -Home * Good Neighbours- 01:17 ━━━━●───── 02:37

Thanks to all the cc creators! ❤️There are some amazing lots I used in this chapter: Brip33k (Gallery) made the phenomenally incredible highway set and @bojanastarcevic designed the interior of 888 Spire (which we will see more of). I modified it very little.

[weyrwolfen]

Happy Cody Day! Have Some Fic Recs

I wasn't able to finish writing anything for the 2-2-24 cause, so it seems like the least I could do was throw some recommendations for a few of my favorite Cody-centric fics into the ring to help celebrate. Enjoy!

Gen:

And Your People Shall Never Be Destroyed (complete) by independent_variables

Summary: A-017 turned and regarded him silently for a long moment. “You ask a lot of questions, Kote.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Is it really as simple as being one or the other?”

Kote bit his tongue.

‘17’s expression tightened, and he stepped forward to grip Kote’s shoulder.

“One day you’re going to ask a question you don’t like the answer to,” he said, eyes bright and burning. “And that’s when you’ll have to decide: is this a good thing, or a bad thing?”

My Comments: Features a whole slew of precocious CC cadets dealing with the horror show that is Kamino, but Cody is the POV character for the first, longest fic in this multi-story series. Heartbreaking with a happy, hopeful ending.

First Choice (complete) by smilebackwards

Summary: The clones get to choose their Jedi generals.

My Comments: This series has three fics in it, and while the first one is Obi-Wan-centric, the next two are from Cody's POV. The first two are a bit more serious in tone, while the last one is basically Cody's brothers relentlessly trolling him.

Shippy Fics (nothing explicit, because those fics are between me, God, and probably some overworked Ao3 website volunteers):

Our Own Choices (WIP Cody/Obi Wan) by heartofroses112

Summary: CC-2224 made the choice. Cody had to live with it. The Commander... well, he was prepared to burn the galaxy down as penance.

Or, Cody decides to leave the Empire, but that doesn't stop his past decisions from haunting him. In the midst of trying to repent for the crimes he 'willingly' committed, Cody may very well start a rebellion against the Empire while he's at it.

My Comments: Can it really be called shippy if we're 88 chapters in and the tagged pairing hasn't actually laid eyes on one another? Anyway, Codywan is pretty clearly endgame, if that either is or distinctly is not your thing. I'm mostly here for my catnip, which is the post-Clone Wars clone rebellion angle.

Our Caches and Constellations (complete Cody/Obi-Wan) by johanneb

Summary: Eleven years ago, the Jedi order got wind of the closing pincers of a Sith trap and scattered to the remote corners of the galaxy. Ten years ago, millions of clone commanders and troopers were introduced as the Republic’s new Army, made for fighting a war alongside people the galaxy seemed to be forgetting ever existed. Nine months ago, Commander Cody decided he was no longer going to risk his men's lives for the whims of clueless generals. Now, his decision to save a boy and a man in the desert, and the plan he comes up with to get away with it, will change the galaxy.

My Comments: Cody quiet quits the Empire as a prelude to loudly quitting the Empire, which is a lot easier in an AU where all space flight and communications technology is steampunk-y and fairly slow. Very creative world building.

100% open to receiving some recs too. I know both shippy recs were Codywan, but I'm not actually all that attached to that ship over any other. Happy @codyday2224 everyone!

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 17

Chapter 17: Hello Again

Words: 4800

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

Blah blah blah... Eris and Azriel eye fuck each other for a couple thousand words...blah blah blah

or

“Relax bat.” = Mission Impossible

Read on Ao3

“Walk with me?” Eris asked, too softly. Azriel felt his knees buckle at the request but he willed his spine to straighten and kept his face clear of any emotion. Though, he could not have guaranteed himself that something hadn’t flashed in his eyes.  The taste of apples on the back of Azriel’s tongue made his mouth water and he nodded before he had fully comprehended the question. Azirel didn’t fight this time. Some part of him knew that he would always bend to Eris’ will, whether he wanted to or not. Perhaps that was why he was always so angry around him. 

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ... Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof

[ampresandian]

My season 2 breakdown (I'm not sure if this is more a wish or a prediction?) based off an 8 episode season, chapter by chapter:

chapters 1-4 (everything happening leading up to arriving at camp)

chapters 5-7/8 (being at camp through deciding to leave. tbh I think they skip the chariot race bc it's going to take a lot of time to shoot and in the episode and I think they can show everything they need to without it, maybe by just having them make up and leave before the race actually occurs?)

chapters 8-10 (the whole cruise ship part through getting picked up by the Birmingham)

chapters 11-12 (I think things start picking up here, so entering the SoM through CCs spa, with most of it spent on that bit)

chapters 13-14 (sirens and finding the island--this leaves a big cliffhanger which I'm a sucker for)

chapters 15-16 (through leaving the island)

chapters 17-18 (Miami through getting back to camp, including the conversation with Chiron)

chapters 19-20 (I think they should do the chariot race here bc it'll feel big/like a good build up/cap for the season)