#emily dickinson reference >>>

[veneror]

(   YOU HEARD ONCE THAT HOPE WAS A THING THAT HAD IVORY FEATHERS   /   YOU DON’T THINK THEY MEANT HIM WHEN THEY WROTE THAT POETRY.   )

but what would   𝐕𝐎𝐗   ever know about  hope?  hope was a thing you could sell with enough charisma, with enough spark to make it seem like a tangible object  :  [  𝐕𝐎𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒  /    𝐀  𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒  𝐈𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘  𝐎𝐅  𝐀  𝐁𝐎𝐘  𝐈𝐍  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 !  /   ( a boy you can no longer reach because  YOU FUCKED UP THE WAY YOU ALWAYS DO-  )   /    𝐁𝐔𝐘  𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘  !  ]    hope might have been a man with feathers but it was also a man with the sharpest teeth.  

it was not a buyer standing next to him at the bar, who’s voice sounded sharp enough to make him nearly jump out of his skin, yet soft enough to remind him of a time  WHERE  HIS  SKIN  FELT  LIKE  A  HOME  to himself.  vox finishes off the glass of bourbon in one swallow and immediately orders another. they’re  expensive  glasses  ;  designed to be sipped, to be swirled in their amber hues and to look LOVELY WHILE DOING SO.   [  this isn’t your mother’s bourbon, dear viewers  !   𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐈𝐍  𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄  !   ]    it was only after downing the first drink that vox was able to force himself to glance over at the king beside him  ⸺  the  WIDE  AND  FALSE  SMILE  of a performer ( a salesman! ) on his lips.

❝   YOUR  MAJESTY  !    ❞      he says the words in a  BOISTEROUS  LAUGH.   (  they’ll never hear the truth behind the roar!  )      ❝   it’s wonderful to  finally meet you in person.    ❞

he ignores the  AGAIN  that lingers on the back of lucifer’s sentence like a storm cloud that would not let up. the king had barely spoken four words, and yet each one drilled cold knives into vox’s skin.  (  he’s GRINNING THE WAY HE USED TO,  his voice is the same purr you met at nineteen and fell for at twenty-one  /   𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐍 !   )

❝   truly a magnificent gala you’ve managed to host.  had i known, maybe i would’ve stopped by before  ⸺   i’m a  BUSY  MAN,  after all  !   ❞     it’s a dig  ;  a SUBTLE ONE, the type he’s so effortlessly good at.   (  as if digging at the king would do anything at all.  )   he finishes his second glass of bourbon, and when the bartender slides him a third, vox pushes it towards the king.

❝   MY  TREAT.    ❞     the ceo says, nodding at the glass of amber liquid.    ❝   i’ve heard  MANY  THINGS  ABOUT  YOU  -  is it fair to assume your tastes are  . . .   EXPENSIVE?   give it a try  ;  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 !   ❞

Time doesn't stop for an entity that exists outside it. Even before his prophesied fall, his hand would reach to touch the cosmos that would never grace his touch back. No longer would God's faithful eye recognize him again ⸺ ( FOR HE HAD COMMITTED A GRAVE SIN. DAMNATION BEFITS YOU AND YOUR CRIMES. ) The wings and halo were kept along with new scarring that blessed his body; a reminder to never be forgotten as he was served a new crown and title that suited him to God's tastes and divine reckoning : The King of Hell; the Sin of Pride.

[ YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE YOUR PAST / G O D KNOWS YOU'VE TRIED. ]

Bestow thy eyes on the havoc he reeked upon the world with his ASPIRATION OF FREE WILL. Who'd think upon being summoned into the world he granted free reign, the first his gaze would befell would be that of a young man. Scared, confused; understandable. He was the idealization of beauty and perfection, even as a Devil. Lucifer would never forget the look of fear and at first, he fed off the vulnerability, toyed around with his food in forms of teasing and jest - thinking the first would be their only interaction. It was commonplace; he'd seen many poor souls summon his assistance for many things.

He was an ethereal cosmic disaster whose Unfeeling mentor had taught him no teachings of the internal but the exterior. Love was a finicky emotion; one that deterred and lead his world to ruin by the Goddess of Eden, and a new one that blossomed through the attachment of a scared young man who he watched grow since the mere age of 19. Sacrifice after sacrifice; year after year; a new sensation grew in his stomach the more he saw the man: James. Was it love?

Lucifer would never get his answer ⸺ yearnful lips would almost mix together before he was gone, never to summon his companionship again. After all, time doesn't stop for an entity that exists outside it.

Who knows how long it's been, truthfully? But the King could never forget those eyes. That's why admist the flair and chatter of one of the galas he'd host on occasion, his ruby stare saw him. ( THOSE EYES FROM LONG AGO. )

The more gazes lingered from across the room, his brow rose at him. And as another sinner passes between their looks, Lucifer disappears the second the body moves in Vox's sights. The King moved like the shadows; his form sitting in the chair next to him, unbeknownst to his old friend. A casual stance as he leaned against the bar, a finger rose to tap at his shoulder. [ HIS AURA IS THE SAME FROM LONG AGO, THERE'S NO MISTAKEN. ] A purr escapes his throat.

⸺ ❝ Fancy seeing you again. ❞

[dw-flagler]

on the twelfth day of worm-mas, spacebattles gave to me:

12 gaping plot-holes,

11 brockton stomp-fics,

10 Trump Self-Inserts,

9 "Vicky, Aura!"s,

8 [DESTINATION]s,

7 In-Name-Only-s,

6 Bully smut-fics,

5 Mary Sues!

4 danny harems,

3 toxic lockers,

2 TV Tropes,

and a quote from rick and morty!

(and I politely, but firmly, declined)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I wanna start writing poetry but i have no idea where to start or how to properly express my feelings

Don't chase after poetry. It lies dormant inside you. Like a shadow. It reveals itself at the right time. In the right light. At least, this was how it was for me. When I needed poetry—there it was.

But what do I know of poetry? Here are what some great poets have to say:

“A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.” —W. H. Auden

Are you passionately in love with language?

“Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” —William Wordsworth

You say you have the feelings, but you have no idea how to properly express them yet. Try to get to that place of tranquility and recollect those emotions. Then perhaps poetry will flow out of you.

“Don't write love poems when you're in love. Write them when you're not in love.” —Richard Hugo

It's not impossible to write when you're in love. But it is difficult. And personally, I find that's when too many adverbs show up.

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” —Robert Frost

You already have those feelings. It seems you already have the beginnings of a poem.

“If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” —Emily Dickinson

I remember writing my first "poem," and asking myself, "Is this even a poem? Does it have enough rhymes, pretty imagery, are the metaphors intricate enough?" So after having written your poem, read it. If you feel physically as if the top of your head were taken off, you will know it is poetry.

“All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.” —Oscar Wilde

And if you feel like you have written a "bad" poem, that just means your feelings were genuine. And when that happens—when you have become your own worst critic—I would say, you are now a poet.

To answer your question more technically, here are some posts I have on poetry: Poetic Genres A List of Poetic Terms

A few writing prompts that might inspire you: Lemons Untitled A Poetic Map No Words Word Lists

And here are some articles: How to Write Poetry Writing Your Own Poem Poetry: What is being said and how is it expressed?

If this (in any way) helps you write your poem, I would love to read it. If you don't mind :)

[sokkalore]

thinking about this thread …

[tsmwrites]

Holy wildflowers

Bury your soft in the spaces between fingers Where summer wildflowers blossom And honey drips thick and sweet

For that is where the hunger will take us

Through the gorge of our bounties, The linger of your touch on my spine, To the revel in the Slow— A cosmic expanse of nerves

That is where I’ll ask you to stay This time

To swallow up my darkest days, Bury deep your seeds in my veins, To suck on the sweet of my teeth— Your edacious mouth on mine

Darling, I dwell In the impossibility of days When the peonies of your breath Did not fill my lungs When my fingers did not twitch Towards the till of your garden bed

I would crawl to the altar of your thighs Through the dirt on the batter of my kneecaps— I’d sing psalms to every freckle of your skin To thank the stars for the constellation that is you

Baby, Obliterate the blasphemy of my penance With the outstretched arms of your absolution

In your worship Is the perspicuity through which I find the prayer on my tongue Is your name

[creatediana]

"Wow, bitch. Who tf are you?" - a free verse poem written 12/22/2023

[hard-core-super-star]

remember how i said that one of my new year’s resolutions would be to stop hiding behind an anon message and tell you that i wanna be friends with you?

well, we haven’t reached that point yet but i might start dropping hints about who i am 🫢 for now, I’ll just leave you with this bee emoji —🐝

okay, on the one hand, i do love a mystery but on the other hand…i’m SO impatient 😭 HOWEVER, i don’t want to rush you, lovely anon, so take your time! i promise i don’t bite [unless you want me to]

also, i LOVE the bee emoji, what a good choice [bumblebee of june, anyone?]

[vital-information]

for a moment there i swear i saw me…

[always-coffee]

The Truth, But Slant

What if what if what if— here, the shadows have come out, the ghosts of lesser monsters, but monsters nonetheless—

but one by one, I put them back into the darkness, one by one, I sing them lullabies until they sleep, one by one, I say their names until they stop howling.

I know how to do this, how to soothe, how to bind, how to stay still and let the terrors rush by, until they become something else, something smaller, more easily managed.

Here is a secret, just one: my hands can untangle the dark, softly, with a gentleness borne from old nightmares, tamed ghosts, my hands—like the rest of me— are stronger than they look, and I am reaching for you, that’s the damned truth— what if what if what if.

[silentknives]

RIP emily beckett*, you would've loved good luck, babe! by chappell roan

[bluemoonscape]

Lost Records is such an insanely beautiful game to me. I just haven’t felt as much from a game as I’ve felt from this in so long. Of course the supernatural elements are important but it’s the simplicity that gets me.

You play as a lonely girl with body image and general self-esteem issues. She meets 3 girls, all queer and all romanceable. No male love interests. It’s the best summer of her life and it’s going to end. Swann, Kat, Nora, and Autumn all wish for it not to end and it still does. Swann is running out of time in Velvet Cove and Kat is running out of time. They genuinely love each other within their little bubble—there’s no talking behind one another’s backs, no backhanded comments. They all support each other.

They talk about missing their childhoods when everything was easier. They talk about things like periods and hygiene products casually, something I literally haven’t even seen from a game up until now. Autumn talks about all the pressure she feels to be the perfect minority in a conservative majority white town—she’s always trying to keep the girls out of trouble because or else she’s suddenly responsible in the eyes of others and she takes that to heart. Nora is this neglected child who’s constantly trying to fill that void and it’s so heartbreaking to watch. Kat is maybe the most insane of all because there’s something so visceral about how angry she feels, trapped in a tiny, conservative nothing town in a family she fights against day after day for nothing because she’s here to die. And there are all these little seemingly insignificant details that are hallmarks of wlw culture, especially in the 90’s!! The Riot Grrl scene (specifically Bikini Kill) the Emily Dickinson reference, even a statement as simple as “If I was a boy, I’d kiss you.” The teenagers talk like real teenagers. And in the adult timeline, the pandemic actually fucking exists! It’s a part of the background! They talk about how it impacted their lives, especially Swann as an isolated, socially anxious and most likely neurodivergent person!

There’s such a sense of togetherness and loneliness all at once, hope and hopelessness. It’s realistic despite the supernatural aspect. It’s life. It’s beautiful and it’s unfair. It’s joyful and it’s furious. It’s finding someone who understands you with the knowledge that it will be ripped from you. But the injustice doesn’t take away the fact that it happened.

[4mrplumi]

crow choir masterlist ── platonic batfam x neglected reader

# plotline. you thought she’d live forever, but at the tender age of eight, your big sister dies to a freak accident in your dingy little apartment.

after years of being swept from one inapt foster home to another, a vague judiciary system identifies your father as the bruce wayne.

affection and familiarity never come from him or your… brood, and falling out with your friends has sent you into a small spiral.

a very small, isolated, and managable spiral.

# disclaimers. death, murder, emotional neglect, alchoholism, allusions to physical abuse, self-harm, allusions to an eating disorder, mental disorders, avpd mc, underage drinking, substance abuse, unhealthy dependency, references to gore +more soon

&& a/n. genre-specific disclaimers are added after plot continuation to avoid spoiling the story to early readers. playlist soon.

00. fame is a fickle food. / emily dickinson

01. dust of snow. / robert frost

02. ravens hiding in a shoe. / robert bly

03. cloud pheonix. / aaron j. frederick

04. the human abstract. / william blake

05. omen of emptiness. / spike milligan

asks/drabbles:

1. alfred and (name)

2. luka alien stage reader

3. reader and commitment

( taglist ) ask to be added/removed... ♡

@.cxcilla @.strwberryglass @.c4xcocoa @.yaoizee @.secretsandwriting @.sirenetheblogger @.charlenexoxo1 @.mirabilis-polaris @.jsprien213 @.tfimherewhy @.yuyuzi-ling @.crazycaoticsimp @.m0na-lis4 @.trashlanternfish360 @.thehammerx4 @.ninihrtss @.kaitense1 @.sea-glasses @.shirp-collector-of-fixations @.camilo-uwu @.dirtydiavolo @.buddee

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Poetry Analysis: "Hope is the thing with feathers"

"Hope" is the Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson

Out of the nearly 1,800 poems she penned during her lifetime, the 1862 poem, Hope is the Thing With Feathers, is the one which has given Emily Dickinson lifelong fame and recognition as a writer.

The full poem is rather short and goes as follows:

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -  That perches in the soul -  And sings the tune without the words -  And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  And sore must be the storm -  That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -  I’ve heard it in the chillest land -  And on the strangest Sea -  Yet - never - in Extremity,  It asked a crumb - of me.

Full of figurative language, this poem is an extended metaphor, transforming the feeling of hope into a bird that lives forever in the human soul.

This metaphor is set in the opening line of the poem - and has gone on to become a common phrase long associated with people’s personal aspirations, no matter how ‘extreme’ they may seem to outsiders. 

Interestingly, the first word of the poem is given special emphasis with speech marks, as though the poet wants to define the elusive word ‘hope,’ which she then does as followed by her descriptive metaphor. 

As the stanza progresses, so too does the strength of the imagery; not only is hope feathery, but it has the ability to sing too, especially during times of difficulty.

But the song is extra-special than any other song in the world for there are no words, and no diction for anyone to understand rationally - just like our sometimes un-seemingly rational hopes and aspirations. 

[maximoffsgirl]

Peace in Chaos

summary: You can’t say no to the twins; Wanda, can’t say no to you. It’s a dynamic that often works in their favor—especially when they desperately want something. The twins know that, if all else fails, they can rely on you to soften Wanda’s resolve, even if they trick you along the way.

warnings: Established relationship, Wanda and Reader are married. Domestic Life. The twins are close to 7/8 years old. Wanda is referred as mama/mom, Y/N is referred as mommy. Otherwise, I think there's none, this is pure fluff

author's note: English isn't my first language :) and to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️

word count: 3.311

not proofread!

When Wanda first joined the Avengers, she spent much of her time locked away inside the room they designated as hers, finding solace in the company of old books she had never had the chance to read before. Among those books, she stumbled upon a collection of poetry and came across a single phrase, quoted by Emily Dickinson; a phrase which was still written at the beginning of the diary Clint had gifted her for Christmas when the Avengers Tower became her home: "The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care."

At first, Wanda found the phrase peculiar. How could her heart, which had never known a single day of peace, possibly want anything? Yet, as time passed, she began to understand. It was precisely because her heart had endured so much chaos that it longed for something different.

Stability was a foreign concept to Wanda. Her life had always been beyond her control, and when her powers came into the picture, they only added to the turmoil. But the constant inconsistency made Wanda’s heart want one thing more than anything in the whole world. A family.

She yearned for a family like the one she once had. A family she could come home to at the end of the day, where she could sink into the couch with the weight of the week pressing down on her shoulders - an uncomfortable ache, yet in a place where she felt comfortable. An environment where a television program no one was really watching played softly in the background while someone shared the details of their day. Wanda’s heart craved for care and tenderness, something solid yet gentle—a sanctuary that felt soft, safe, and unshakably real.

After the life she had lived—always running, fighting, and losing—it felt almost unbelievable that Wanda now had everything she had ever wanted cradled in her arms. Hard to believe, I know. But with your head resting against her chest, your body nestled between her legs as you scrolled through your phone, Wanda was certain that she needed nothing more. She closed her eyes  briefly, letting herself savor the peace, the warmth, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

The sounds from your phone mingled with the lively chatter drifting down from upstairs, where the twins were deeply immersed in a passionate debate about something. It was chaos. But it was her chaos. A chaos that she chose and was looking forward to every single day live in. 

“Hm? What are you doing?” Wanda asked, her arms tightening around you as you started to move. Her voice was soft but carried a hint of reluctance. She tilted her head a little to the side, wanting to know what you were planning. 

You turned to face her, a small smile on your lips. “We forgot to put the plates in the dishwasher,” you replied casually, as if that alone was enough reason to leave Wanda's embrace. To your wife, it definitely wasn't.

Wanda let out a low, drawn-out groan, clearly unenthusiastic about you leaving the comfort of her body pressed against yours. She held you a little tighter, silently protesting your attempt to get up.

“Don’t you need to finish your mission report?” you teased gently, raising an eyebrow at her reaction. Your words made her sigh in mild defeat. She had mentioned earlier that she needed to wrap up her mission report after dinner. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed—especially when it meant sacrificing time with you—but it was something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she hated it.

“I do,” she complained, her tone carrying a mix of annoyance and reluctance. Her thumb gently brushed against your cheek. It was obvious she didn’t want to move, but the mission report wasn’t going to complete itself.

Before either of you could say more, a sudden, loud noise from upstairs interrupted the moment. Both your heads turned toward the ceiling in unison. Wanda frowned, her brows knitting together as she stared at the source of the commotion.

“What are they doing up there?” she muttered, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of irritation.

“Probably destroying your things,” you joke, smirking at her. Wanda didn’t share your amusement; instead, she shot you a stern look, her concern evident. That only made you chuckle softly.

“Relax, baby” you murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, your way of soothing her. With a lazy stretch, you slipped out of her warm embrace, earning a soft groan of protest as you stood. “I’ll get the dishes,” you said with a playful shrug, heading toward the kitchen while Wanda remained on the couch. 

She reached out for you, calling your name with a playful pout on her lips, as if trying to coax you back into her arms. But all she got in response was a teasing kiss blown in the air, followed by a few more chuckles from you. "You're impossible," Wanda muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched, hinting at a smile she couldn’t quite suppress

A few minutes later, Wanda mirrored your actions with a resigned sigh. With a stretch and a yawn, she slowly pushed herself off the couch, kissing your shoulder once she moved past the kitchen to her home office. She opened the door with another huff, the thought of that mission report weighed heavily on her, already draining her energy before she even began.

As peaceful as the silence was, it didn’t last longer than fifteen minutes—a brief reprieve, but in a house with twins, it felt like a blessing. The twins knew better than to disturb Wanda when her office door was closed, understanding the importance of letting her work in peace. However, today was different. They had something important to ask her, and they were certain that mama wouldn’t mind being interrupted if it was truly important.

Wanda, ever attuned to the sounds around her, heard the soft footsteps and hushed whispers before the three gentle knocks echoed on her office door. She glanced down at the mission report in front of her, then dropped her pen onto the pile of papers near the notebook, her attention fully shifting to the interruption. 

“Yes?” she called out, her voice loud enough to reach her sons, signaling they had permission to enter.

The door creaked open slightly, and two sets of curious eyes peeked through the gap. First, Tommy, with his usual impatience, then Billy, who always seemed a bit more cautious. Their wide eyes and raised eyebrows said it all—they had something to ask. Wanda couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, her stern demeanor softening instantly. She gestured for them to come in, her smile softening as she watched them shuffle inside, their little hands fidgeting with each other in anticipation.

“Is everything alright?” Wanda asked, her voice filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could provide.

The twins, true to their age, began poking and nudging each other, whispering in hushed tones while they stood in front of their mother - who was looking at them with amusement as they continued to argue who would be the one to initiate the conversation. 

“Mom, we have something super important to ask. But… promise you’re going to listen first” Billy tried to negotiate, his little feet shuffled nervously as he spoke. Tommy, by his side, nodded his head in support, his wide-eyed expression practically daring Wanda to disagree.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched her boys’ antics. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured a soft, “Okay…” her tone amused yet curious, ready to hear what the twins were planning. 

“So.. we saw something on the internet..”

That wasn’t entirely true. Long before the twins were even born, you and Wanda had agreed, in a heartful parenting talk, that unrestricted internet access wouldn’t be part of your children’s childhood. That being established, the closest the twins got to the “internet” was their tablets - with a few games they begged to have since all their friends were active on and the little maximoffs were being left out- streaming shows, and, on some occasions like weekends, YouTube videos.

Still, Wanda stayed quiet, her expression neutral as she listened to Tommy’s words. Even if he couldn’t possibly get whatever their idea was from the ‘internet; more likely, he was just saying it as an excuse to shift the responsibility off himself and his brother. 

“And we wanted to try.. We wanted to have a night pool party”

Wanda arched an eyebrow, glancing between her sons with growing curiosity. She had a sneaking suspicion about where this was headed but decided to feign ignorance, opting to play along.

"A night pool party..." Wanda repeated slowly, dragging out the words with a hint of amusement as she looked at her sons. Her lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. "And where would this happen, exactly?"

"Here! Tonight! We've already planned everything," Tommy blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement.

Billy immediately hissed at his brother, shooting him a sharp glare. That definitely wasn’t part of the carefully rehearsed convincing speech they had agreed on beforehand. 

Wanda frowned, her amusement fading. If it were any other season, the idea might not have bothered her as much. But her sons wanting to swim in the freezing water of the pool outside? That was a firm no. The idea would only serve so they’d catch a cold and be miserable for the rest of the week. Besides, late hours weren’t meant for pool parties—especially not in this weather and not with the age they had. 

There they stood in front of her: matching cozy pajamas, hair lazily brushed back, and fresh-faced from their recent bath. They looked absolutely adorable, and Wanda couldn’t bear the thought of letting their idea ruin that. Spring was just around the corner, and while her children were undeniably the cutest in the world, she had no interest in dealing with two sick little ones—especially when even the smallest sneeze turned them into impossibly needy bundles of chaos.

“No. It's not even hot.” she simply replied, looking back to the now black screen of her notebook. 

“But mom,” the twins protested in unison, their voices carrying the familiar tone of pleading.

Wanda, however, was unmoved. Her decision was final, and she wasn’t about to budge. Crossing her arms, she gave them a firm but gentle look that clearly said, not happening.

“No is no, boys. I’m not going to repeat myself. When it's hotter we can think about it”

The twins left her office with matching little huffs, their quiet complaints trailing behind them. They knew better than to argue further or try to reason with their mother—her decision was final, as always.

But the twins, as stubborn as any Maximoff to ever walk the Earth, weren’t ready to give up just yet. Instead, they exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They’d just have to come up with another strategy.

It was no secret that, between you and Wanda, you were the parent more likely to entertain the wild ideas your sons came up with. Camping in the backyard? Of course. Nearly a liter of milkshake, even if it was freezing outside? Without a doubt. If it sounded fun, you were usually on board.

You didn’t blame Wanda for seeing things differently. After everything she had endured in her life, control and structure brought her a sense of peace she had rarely known before. Ensuring that the household stayed balanced and comfortable wasn’t just her way of parenting—it was her way of feeling secure.

But that didn’t make her the “boring parent.” If you asked the twins, they’d insist that mama was just as fun as mommy. Sure, she was a little scarier when she got angry, but that only made her the perfect balance to your more carefree approach.

Although they knew better than anyone how to take advantage of your different personalities.

At times like this, when Billy and Tommy had their hearts set on something, they knew they could always count on you to try convincing Wanda to let them have their way.

Sometimes it didn’t work—after all, undermining Wanda’s authority wasn’t part of your parenting playbook, nor was it in hers. But there were moments when a little push for compromise didn’t hurt, especially for something harmless enough to reconsider.

That’s why you felt two little fingers poking each of your shoulders while you scrolled through your phone on the couch. Turning around, you were met with the two most adorable faces you’d ever seen.

“Hi, boys. Already tired of breaking the house upstairs?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

They responded with cheeky smiles, and without a word, Billy climbed up to sit beside you on the couch, Tommy quickly settling in next to his brother. Their mischievous grins told you they had something up their sleeves.

“Mommy…” Billy trailed off, his voice sweet and direct. “Can we have a swim party tonight?”

His question was much more straightforward than Tommy’s had been when they’d asked Wanda.

You frowned slightly at the idea. The weather wasn’t exactly cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm enough to make a pool party seem like the best choice. You thought about it for a moment. The pool was clean, they’d have fun, and it might tire them out enough for an easy bedtime.

“Hm. Why not?” you said with a shrug, giving in to their request. The twins smiled, happy to finally receive a ‘yes’ to their idea. 

“Can you convince mama then?” Tommy asked eagerly, his excitement practically radiating off him. Billy let out another huff, clearly annoyed by his brother's impatience.

You turned your body to face them, a sigh escaping your lips as you realized you'd fallen for one of their tricks, again

“Don’t turn this on me, boys,” you said, shaking your head. But when they hit you with those puppy-dog eyes, you knew you were in trouble. You sighed again, giving in.

“Okay, I guess I could try to convince her... but if she doesn’t budge, I won’t try again, alright?”

The twins nodded eagerly, their smiles growing wider once they got you to agree with their idea. You ruffled both of their messy hairs playfully before standing up, a smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward Wanda’s office. The twins’ giggles echoed behind you, but you knew you had your work cut out for you if you were going to convince Wanda.

Just like your sons, you approached Wanda’s office quietly, giving a few light knocks before stepping inside. Wanda, who was about halfway through her report, looked up and smiled at the sight of you. Grateful for the excuse to take a break, she rolled her chair back slightly and patted her lap, inviting you to sit.

You settled sideways on her lap, and Wanda wasted no time wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling you close, sighing with the familiar weight of your body upon hers

“How’s it going?” you asked, your fingers working gently at the tense muscles in her neck. Wanda let out a soft sigh, her smile a blend of contentment and fatigue.

“Annoying, as always,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. Her hand drifted to your thigh, her fingers lightly running over the fabric in soothing motions as she added with a small smile, “But I’m halfway through it”.

“You know... the twins mentioned something about a night swim tonight,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate. “And, apparently, I’ve been tasked with convincing you,” you added playfully, though there was a touch of seriousness behind your words.

“Have you now?” Wanda replied, her voice mirroring your playful tone but laced with even more amusement. She arched an eyebrow knowingly, already piecing together where this conversation was heading.

“I know you already said no, but they’re so excited about it, Wands,” you said, trying to play the kids’ happiness card against her. Wanda rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She saw right through your game but decided to let you play it anyway.

“And just think about it,” you continued, your hands gently moving along her neck, down to her shoulders, and back up again in soothing motions. “We can turn on the pool LEDs, make it fun. They’ll tire themselves out, and bedtime will be so much easier.”

You laid out the positives, your tone soft but persuasive, waiting patiently for her response.

“Love.. I know. But it’s late and It’s not even hot” She tried to resonate with you, sighing with each argument, knowing she has already lost. 

“They’ll be alright, babe. Let them have this,” you said with a convincing smile.”

Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her expression unamused as she looked at you. “If they catch a cold, you will be the one taking care of them,” she said firmly, pointing a finger at you for emphasis.

But despite her words, you both knew the truth. If that scenario played out, Wanda would be right there, rolling her eyes but still doting on the sick twins, as she always did.

You stayed wrapped in her embrace for a while, both of you savoring the quiet presence of each other. Wanda adjusted you on her lap, shifting just enough to free both hands so she could continue working on her report. You rested your head against her shoulder, your warm breath brushing against her neck, which made her smile softly despite her focus on the task.

The content of the report didn’t matter to you now—you’d already heard all about the mission the day after she got home. So you stayed quiet, simply enjoying the comforting warmth of her body and the peaceful moment you were sharing.

After that,  you and Wanda made your way to the living room, stepping in quietly. The twins were curled up on the couch, watching something on Netflix, completely oblivious to your arrival. Wanda stepped forward, arms crossed, hands on her hips, and her head tilted in mock frustration.

“I can’t believe you both!” she exclaimed, her tone sharp and disapproving.

The twins froze, their eyes widening as they turned to face you both. Wanda’s intimidating stance and your almost-guilty expression made them shrink in their spots, unsure of what they’d done.

“What are you two doing? You should be getting ready for the swim party!” Wanda said, feigning exasperation but failing to hide the faint twitch of a smile.

The twins blinked at her, then at each other, before springing up from the couch in pure joy. “Oh my god, seriously?!” Tommy shouted.

“YESSS!” Billy cheered, both of them jumping around excitedly as they circled their mothers, their energy contagious.

Soon, the house transformed into its familiar brand of chaos. The twins, now dressed in their swimsuits, were already splashing around in the pool, the colorful glow of the LED lights—courtesy of Tony Stark—dancing across the water. Their laughter echoed through the backyard, only occasionally interrupted by shouts of, "It's so cold!" Wanda, unimpressed, responded with a dramatic eye roll, her arms folded across her chest.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Wanda kept her distance, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she watched the scene unfold. She made no effort to join the fun, choosing instead to watch with a raised eyebrow and an air of feigned detachment. Yet, the slight tug at the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Somehow, despite her initial objections, Wanda found a sense of peace in the chaos surrounding her. The sound of Tommy and Billy's laughter brought a soft smile to her face, and she even chuckled at your playful teasing—directed at both her and the twins.

Two days later, the inevitable happened. The twins began sneezing, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a very pointed lecture from Wanda. But, as always, her frustration melted away with a sweet kiss, leaving her shaking her head in exasperated affection.

It was a different kind of chaos—one filled with sniffles, tissues, and extra cuddles—but it was hers. Wanda’s heart had finally found something. Had finally found peace in the beautiful mess of it all.

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thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it💌

masterlist

[jaysgirlx]

nerdy shit jason does hcs? :3

Nerdy Jason Todd Headcanons

— Jason Todd loves his classics, especially his poetry. He annotates his spare Slyvia Plath books just for him to do it again because he believes to fully understand a book you have to read it a million times until it really clicks.

— As a joke he likes to reference or recite poetry lines but no one really seems to get it except Tim and Duke.

— No matter what poor Jason cannot DNF a book even if it is complete and utter shit. This is because he believes all books deserve a chance.

— He tries to buy a new book every week to keep himself on his toes and just so he doesn't lose his reading habit. He even uses Booktok for the occasional book recs.

— Yes he's on Booktok but only for the recommendations. he does give a duck for Booktok drama unless somebody is talking shit about his beloved Emily Dickinson.

— Jason loves Star Wars and growing up used to look up to Han Solo. He never brings it up though because he know Dick will use it as blackmail.

— He hates when people assume he's a himbo because he works out especially Bruce because what hurts more than your own father believing you're an idiot?

— He loves chilling at the library or sometimes studying random topics for the fun of it. It makes me wonder how things would be if he went to college.

— He has glasses but only wears them when he's reading so that he doesn't strain his eyes. He's gotten a lot of compliments on them but he's still not used to them.

— If he were to ever meet a girl it would either be a library or bookstore since he's really only ever at those two places. You might catch him at the videogame or even the comic book store.

— He enjoys gaming but more with his brothers, it's just not as fun alone and they all usually go to the comic bookstore together since they're all a bit nerdy too. Our Jason is the best at hiding his.

[sinligh]

You seek approval,

my subconscious implemented in my dreams. you build up illusions of yourself

and like a bridge thread of a spider web you give them to others

silky, sticky yet somehow,

you’re smooth enough to lure them to wrap you in all that you desire,

even if it’s their own pleasure.

you’re not stuck you’re waiting, for an ending or a beginning

an unsolicited death, an indefinite life

you fear your own madness but the edge of it is what you live for.

you wait, and wait and wait for love to visit the fragile home you made for yourself in this temporary world

but it’s not what you want, is it ?

because the moment it knocks on your door you rush to the arms of another,

paranoia or melancholy? It doesn’t matter.

you writhe and hiss until you shed a skin of a past life that you held on

For acceptance alone, if nothing else…

what is it that you truly desire?

•••

• Quotes: Susan Sontag/ Edgar Allan Poe/ Emily Dickinson/ Halsey/ Sylvia Plath/ Christa Wolf.

• Original context: Sinligh

• Art reference:

1. Art by Edward Burne-Jones. 2. Art from Sedmikrasky (Daisies). 3. Dave McKean, "Sandman" graphic novel. 4. Art by Roberto Ferri. 5. Painting by William Oxer. 6. Craww's "Woven".