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streets-in-paradise · 4 months

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Matured Desire - Achilles x (Fem) Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by Anon

" hiya! I have an Achilles request, what if they’ve both been sort of enemies for the longest time ever since they were kids, and at one point he gets fed up, and kisses her roughly ending up in the roughest kinkiest sex people could think of (tying up, choking, spanking, dirty talk, dom x sub, sort of a hate fuck.) please! "

Hi! I'm a bit nervous because this is my first time writing a full piece of smut, but I did my best and i hope you will enjoy it. The plot for the childhood rivalry is inspired in greek mythology, but adapted to how the story of the film plays out regarding characterzations.

Warnings: Rough hate fuck against a wall - hair pulling -chocking - spanking - lots of dirty talk.

Summary: Your eternal rivalry with Achilles gets you the attention of the mycenaean king In the context of his country wide search for a queen. Bringing up your troubled past together, the myrmidon believes you are seeking an union with Agamemnon to get the power to destroy his life.

As he confronts you about it, your tensions get to a critical point when the warrior concludes he will have to do something out of it. Your hatred remains too close to passion and he can only ruin you for any other man before you could ruin his lifetime's ambitions.

Tags: @thorsslxve

There was nothing Achilles despised more than the cheerfullness of Agamemnon. Not only because it usually meant bad news, but also due to how insufferable he tended to become on a good mood. His arrogance was high up to the sky contesting with his. Since the king felt in constant need to compete with his best warrior, it was important for him to brag on his every achievement.

On that particular moment, it was about the bride he would get for himself. After his brother married the most beautifull woman in the world he started to reconsider the lack of a queen in his palace and commanded every king of Greece to pick one of their unwed daughters so he could pick a wife among the princesses of the region. All the generals of his army were invited to witness the contest, and a handfull of kings he considered friends were there as well.

It was a power display to cause envy. A parade of the most ravishing girls of Greece after Helen circling the King in some sort of reverse parody of what happened when the spartan queen was still a maiden wanted by a multitude of suitors. The myrmidon found it hilarious, but that entertainment came with the price of standing the triumphal bliss of his rival.

In order to avoid an early scandall making fun of him, Achilles tried to distract himself watching the girls. They were all veiled for the future groom, only showing their faces when he commanded each one to introduce themselves. Beauty from all over the country was gathered there and while their faces remained covered he could still have a fun cassually checking their bodies.

He found a personal favorite quite soon. The light clothes of her fancy purple dress allowed him to perfectly picture her shape underneath, occupying his imagination in more pleasant thoughts. One by one her contestants did their thing, but he followed her with expectancy for the big reveal.

All traces of amusement abandoned the warrior's face when he recognized you. From all his many daughters, King Lycomedes had to pick you in representation of Scyros. It was unfortunately true for him that you had become a very desirable woman, so the choice was understandable, but you were one his enemies of longest date. Since he was a kid hidding in your father's court, and when you were teenagers you almost got him kicked out of there.

Everytime you crossed ways, disaster happened.

It was an unspoken theory, but he believed it all started because you were jealous of your sister. She was his first crush, and you told your father about it after you discovered them making out. Lycomedes would have kicked him out if Odysseus wouldn't have discovered his disguise in the first place, but your hatred didn't end with that.

Only a heartbroken girl would react so viscerally, the hate you hoarded for years didn't make sense otherwise. He believed you still despised him because you couldn't have him and once that childhood crush matured into desire things could only escalate. You would never forgive him for being your first love, but the passion of your hate showed your flame never got extinguished.

As soon as circunstancies allowed it, you were mesmerizing the mycenaean king with your disdain for his soldier.

" Achilles! Long time no seen. " You saluted him, with poisonous cordiality. " How are things going in your kingdom of savages? Well, only if that can be called a kingdom. Nowadays it's a military reserve of Mycenae you don't even rule as king. "

The myrmidon was visibly calm, calculating his strike before delivering it.

" How is Deidamia? I remember her with such strong affection."

" She is married. " You responded, with false propriety. " Happyly married, thanks to our protectiveness of her keeping scum away."

The wedding of his teenage crush didn't bother him at all, but he still manage to utilize it against you.

" I always knew she was going to make it before you. Look now where you ended: pleasing an old man that could be your father. "

You showed a tranquilzing smile to the king, mere witness of your altercate that was untill then very amused.

" Don't worry, your majesty. Achilles tends to act like this arround me because my presence reminds him of details that ruin the appeal of his legend. He wants no one to remember he spent his younger years hidding in my palace dressing on girl's clothes so your emisaries wouldn't find him. Have you seen the baby face of his little cousin? He has the same girly features he used to have back then."

Agamemnon was in awe with the slander. Even if it was just for that, you were becoming a strong favorite.

" Well, my dear. I hope you have some good stories for me. "

" She is the only person in the country who is more obsessed with me than you. " Achilles recalled, determined to ruin your plans. " She went as far as turning her father against me saying i was going to sleep with her sister. "

The way in which he twisted the facts to make it sound like a conspiracy against him got out the worst of you.

" I was the onlyone seeing past your charm, and time proved I was ríght now that we all know of your amatory adventures. " You fiercely defended yourself. " You were a reckless boy that had just discovered the thing hanging between his legs and was eager to try it on the first foolish girl available. Deidamia was too naive, but I knew better. By warning my father I protected her and saved our royal house from the shame of being stucked with a fatherless mess like the one you were when we received you. "

It crossed límits, but he wasn't afraid of returning the hatefull gesture.

" I think your boyfriend deserves to know where all that hate for me comes from before taking his choice. " He teased you ríght away. " You are my Phaedra … "

He had just compared you to the most sexually frustrated queen in greek history, whose vengefull spite was rooted on being ignored by the object of her desires.

" You insolent BASTARD!!! " You called him out before you could loose your temper and try to smack him. " Better start praying I won't be crowned queen. "

The warning left a bad taste in his mouth that was stronger than the altercate. Imagining you as Agamemnon's bride was a nightmare on itself because of the implications of a teaming up against him, but there was more that he couldn't simply admit.

He hated you, but couldn't stand the thought of seeing you with him. He still attempted to understand why you were so Interested on giving yourself to that pig of a king. Could your thirst for vengeance have gone that far? Where you capable of tolerating Agamemnon as your husband just so you could get some control over him? It was most likely that you had no idea of where you were stepping in, since your island once sheltered him safely because they didn't have much contact with the mycenaeans.

Figuring out what you were all about was his most inmediate need but, for that, he needed to talk to you in private. All day he awaited untill the oportunity to get lost with you presented itself during a lousy banquet. Following you closely as you intended to leave, he catched you off guard in a hallway.

" You knew this was coming, now follow me. "

Your playfull smirk spoke for you before you did.

" What If I don't? "

He grabbed you harshly, keeping your wrist still.

" We will do it the hard way. "

There was no choice, so you let him guide you through the foreign palace searching for the nearest room he could lock you in. Achilles secured the door behind him, knowing from then you were going to be completely alone.

" After comparing me to the thirsty wife of Theseus, you drag me away like this? " You mocked him ríght away. " Have you no shame? "

The tension was escalating slowly, but consistently.

" I have no time for your games, so you better tell me what I want to know. "

You chuckled lightly, enjoying yourself in this curiosity.

" Go ahead, i'm feeling generous. "

He groaned out of angered frustration, clearly fed up with you already.

" What do you want from Agamemnon? Do you expect me to believe you really are excited to the chance of being his wife? "

You response was calm and you were aware that would provoke him.

" He is the wealthiest, most powerfull man in Greece, and he hates you … Two qualities I find irresistible. "

He pushed you against a wall, barely able to control his rage to continue the interrogation.

" Do you think i'm a fool? You can't possibly wish for anything but the power to destroy me through that marriage. "

His strong hand grabbed your neck and squeezed, cutting off your air with ease. Achilles wanted to force a truth out of you, but couldn't help noticing you were peraphs too on board with that before releasing you so you could speak.

" I want an empty palace where i can sit on a throne. " You began to explain once you catched your breath. " While he will be away with you doing his wars, i can do what I want here. "

It wasn't enough for him.

" … And when he will want to touch you? Are you going to spread your legs for him like a good little wife ? "

His hand was once more arround your neck, quietly threatening with more choking depending of your answer.

" Are you trying to scare me? That's not going to work with me. " You mischievously warned him. " I'll do what it takes, my duty of queen. Agamemnon can have me, I will even fake my moans if i have to just to keep him satisfied. I'm fine with that, he has to get something out of the deal. I will take care of his throne and meet his sexual needs "

The answer awakened something primal on him.

" Not if I ruin you first … "

Sick of pretending to ignore the frustrating tension, he pulled you in for a rough kiss and you responded taking one of your hands to the back of his neck to pull his hair.

There was no way out for you from then.

Achilles ripped off the safety pins of your dress so it would fall on the floor. Once you were naked against him he began to tease you again.

" Look at how easily I destroyed your pride … Yet you dare to deny you are a needy whore. "

You didn't stay behind, iniciating another passionately hatefull kiss while your hands worked in undressing him. The godly shaped hero allowed you to roam his perfectly sculped body and you sank your nails in his hips before replying.

" You are only good at killing or fucking and you loathe me enough for either, so unless you want to spear me … "

The recklessness was paid at high cost when he turned you over so you will be facing the wall, head posicioned firmly to the side.

" I'm going to make you feel as if I was killing you. " He whispered against your ear in a husky tone. " But first, you will learn to respect me. "

You flinched with anticipation, incapable of predicting what he would do. Then, his hand started following the trace of your back all the way down and stopped in the curve of your ass.

A soft squeeze was followed by a hard spank that sounded as strongly as it felt. It send a wave of confusing, pain-stained pleasure all the way to your core, but you tried to keep still. He persisted, untill it became so intense that your knees were failing and you were about to cry.

" Who are you going to spread your legs for now? " He asked in a mock. " Are you going to be my obedient little whore? "

You lost the few shame you had left with one more slap on the mistreated surface of your asscheck.

" YES, YES! " You practically cried out. " I'll be, … I'll be your whore. I want it so badly, please! "

Achilles released a dark chuckle.

" Let's see how bad you really want it. "

He had barely reached the surface of your soaked cunt with his fingertips and you were already buckling your hips in desperation to find friction.

" Dripping wet, you nasty whore. " He commented and removed the hand to watch you fall apart. " Stop whimpering, i'm not going to keep touching you. Caresses are not what you deserve."

Suddenly, you felt the tip of his hard cock teasing your folds. Arrousal had reduced you to a pathetic mess and he got to hear you sobbing from that contact.

" No mercy, I will be rammering you. " He warned you. " … and you are going to take it. "

With that, he pushed himself inside you. Absolutely careless for your needed time adjusting to his size, he began his mercieless thrusting using you for his pleasure. The animalistic grunts he was making and the exquisite painfull pleasure of being fucked like that were soon going to become to much for you.

Achilles had completed his vengeance to control you before you could control him: you were ruined for any other man.

#troy 2004 #troy #achilles x reader #brad pitt x reader #achilles #brad pitt

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ginnsbaker · 1 year

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In Flames I Sleep Soundly (2/2)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath.

Word Count: 9k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Non-graphic depictions of violence

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience, I hope... I don't know what I hope. I'm just grateful that you guys took the time to read this piece and leave comments in my inbox. I do have more to say later, but for now I just needed to post this.

Let me know if you have some questions or clarifications. (yes, I wrote this sentence after sending a work email)

AO3 / Part One / Masterlist

Part Two

You’ve always thought that life is like a train ride.

And as a passenger, you know only two things: the direction of the course and its scheduled stops. And so, it’s like this: get born into the world, take your first steps, go to elementary school, go to high school, go to college, get a job, get married, have children, have grandchildren, and then die in your sleep. If there’s an afterlife, perhaps get resurrected into a young version of you, and move into another train. And then begin another journey.

But what the passenger doesn’t know is that a train can only move forward when it’s on its rails. And this is where the helplessness of every individual in that train becomes apparent. Your life–or at least how you want it to go–is not entirely in your hands.

For you, a single phone call managed to completely derail your train from its tracks. And then, as if still unsatisfied, it plucked you violently from it and left you on your own in the middle of nowhere.

You didn’t know where to go, only where you’ve been. Like a diamond blade that cuts through steel, it segmented your life into just two parts: Before and After.

Before was going home to your wife after a tedious day, resting your head on her lap while she threads her fingers through your hair.

After is knowing those same delicate fingers raked through someone else’s tufts of blonde in throes of passion.

Before was her telling you she loves you and feeling it to your bones.

After is her telling you she loves you and only hearing a lie.

Split in the middle, you presume you can simply choose to live in one or the other.

***

“Love’s a fucking bitch.”

Inside your car, you’ve been quiet the whole time, just staring at the photos in Natasha’s phone. You stare at Wanda walking out of the theater, hand-in-hand with a tall, lanky man you don’t recognize.

“His name is Victor Shade. Goes by ‘Vision’. The only son of a high-profile neurosurgeon on the East Coast.” Natasha tells you, eyeing you closely.

You brush your thumb against the image of the laughing woman in the picture. She wore your wife’s face and smile, but all you see is a stranger.

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks.

Briefly, you consider this could all just be a prank. Maybe Wanda is watching you fall apart right now, giggling in hiding because she got you this time. At least it’s the sort of cruelty you’d fight over for a day or maybe a week, and then laugh about in ten years.

“Y/N?” Natasha tries again.

You finally look up at her and immediately hate the look of pity on your best friend’s face.

“I don’t even know where I’m sleeping tonight.” you say, handing back her phone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should talk to Wanda.”

The laugh that bubbles up your throat is nothing short of deranged. For almost a minute, you laugh into your steering wheel until tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. Natasha watches you with a worried expression, her hand hovering over your back hesitantly. She thinks about the beautiful person she met in kindergarten, the girl who gave her own blue crayon so Natasha could color the sky properly while she was left to color hers with a red one. It hurts her to witness the light snuff out of the person who was her own light in her darkest moments. And when your laughter subsides into muffled sobs, she cries with you.

When you’re done, you systematically wipe the tears and snot off your face with the sleeve of your shirt. Natasha patiently waits for your next move.

“Did you get his address?” you ask with a surprisingly steady voice.

“Yes, apparently it’s in one of the luxurious apartments near the university.” Natasha says as she texts you the exact address.

“Good,” you say, then turn your attention to the empty roads ahead of you.

You lied when you had implied to Natasha that you didn’t know what you’re going to do.

***

A Victorian style of housing is unheard of in this part of New Jersey, but here you are, standing outside of one. His rental is on the second floor at the end of the street where a sports car is parked carelessly in its spacious garage–an august flex coming from a college kid. Wanda crosses your mind once again as you take in this grandiose lifestyle before you. Was it money that attracted her to him? You never pegged her for a gold-digger, but then again you also didn’t peg her for a cheating whore. You screw your eyes tightly shut at the unpleasant adjectives you now associate with your wife as you lose some of yourself in the process. There’s something frightening and unfamiliar threatening to consume your entire being, and you have no clue what to do with it.

With a deep breath, you walk to his doorstep and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, you jerk in surprise as the door swings wide open towards you, the lock stile of the wooden panel narrowly missing your forehead.

“Sorry, I keep meaning to get that fixed and it’s easier to push,” A man in his early twenties with yellow blonde hair comes into sight.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

You have to tilt your head back slightly in order to meet his cerulean eyes.

“You’re Vision?” you ask.

“Actually, it’s Victor Shade. But yes, everyone calls me Vision.”

“How old are you?”

Vision shuffles his feet, uncertain if he should answer your question. It’s rhetorical of course, a question you didn’t mean to actually come out of your mouth. You could guess–but truthfully, you’d rather not now.

“Who are you?”

“Y/N Maximoff.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, your name not ringing a bell.

“Wanda’s wife.” you supplement domineeringly, as if declaring it would stake your claim on her once and for all. He drops his gaze at the mention of your wife’s name, like a child that has been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s at least half a foot taller than you are. He isn’t quite a man. Not to you.

“May I–May I come in?” you ask as politely as you could.

After a second of doubt he smirks, and then says, “Sure.” You can sense the shift in his stance. He knows you’re onto him, and this is a showdown. Like any Alpha male scrambling to be on top of the food chain, he finds you to be an exciting piece of challenge. It makes you wonder if he was looking forward to this moment as much as you were dreading it.

You didn’t notice before that he’s barely covering his naked torso with a peacoat, and you try not to think about what brought on his current state. If by chance, you had just narrowly missed one of your wife’s regular visits.

Once you’re inside his apartment, you immediately scan your surroundings. There are papers and books scattered all over the floor. You can make out a thin trail of smoke coming from an unfinished cigarette in his living room, where the couch is covered by a tarpaulin smeared with ink and acrylic paint.

On an easel beside it is a painting covered by a dirty towel you assume he’s been working on before being disrupted by your presence. “Can I look?” you point at it.

“No. Sorry,” he says, before taking the painting from the easel and bringing it to his room. “It’s not done yet. An artist’s rule.”

You nod, and then noticing the only thing that he has organized, you say, “Nice vinyl collection.”

“Thanks.”

You stare at each other for long seconds. It feels ridiculous to expect an apology from him, but it’s something you think you deserved at the minimum.

“So, tell me. How did you meet my wife?” you ask when it becomes apparent that he doesn’t have any intention to be an active participant in this meeting.

“Art History 101. I’m one of her–”

“Students.” You complete his sentence with a grimace. Somehow that just makes things more fucked up than they already are. Jesus fucking Christ, Wanda, you curse in thought. Yet in a twisted way, it also kind of makes sense now. What they have is the stuff of sexual fantasies–a goddamned kink show is what it is. You’d never guess she’s capable of this.

“Yeah, and she was really knowledgeable in the subject. Not to mention, a natural teacher. Everybody in the class was awestruck by her.” Vision continues to talk about Wanda as though he’s talking about her to a person who didn’t know her down to the ground. You don’t need to be told how spectacular your wife is. You knew better than anyone. How dare he?

“How’s it going?” You cut him off before he could accidentally trigger something fatal inside of you.

He looks at you, bewildered at the random question. He waits for the punchline that never comes, and then chuckles, “It’s been swell.”

“This is where you meet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“And she likes it?” You mean this place that looks like it’s been ransacked ten times over.

“Well, I guess. She never complained.” he says, and then cowers at the dirty look you throw his way at his callous comment.

“Do you stay in all the time or do you go out too?” you ask.

“It depends. We actually like to drive to new places in and out of town. Especially in the first week since she’s never ridden a convertible.”

“She likes that? She likes…aimless drives with no particular destinations?”

“Oh, yeah. More exciting than being stuck in a routine, I guess.”

It’s an obvious jab at a lifestyle he thinks you saddled Wanda with.

Heat rises to your cheeks and you walk closer to him. “Did you know that we’ve been married for five years? And before then together for six?”

That you have a dog. Plans to have kids in the future. Plans to retire in a beachfront property. The rest of your lives together. Does all that mean nothing?

“I know,” Vision replies, his tone devoid of any sign that he might be sorry for fucking a married woman. “She also told me you asked to move here because of your banking aspirations.”

“My aspirations? You…talk about me?” You manage to blurt out incredulously. Vision shrugs at that, and actually regards you with mild concern when you start blinking rapidly behind your glasses. You can hear your heart hammering in your chest as all the blood in your body suddenly rushes to your head.

He doesn’t answer “Would you like a drink?”

“Yeah, why not.” you say and lean against the closest wall to you for support.

“I have water, orange juice…”

“Got anything stronger?”

“I think I have some vodka left.” Vision mutters and then disappears into the kitchen. You take his absence as an opportunity to sneak into his bedroom. It’s smaller than you’ve imagined. A huge mirror is hanging across the foot of the bed and you instantly know what it’s for.

Is this where it all happens? Where they happen? Did they watch themselves fuck? Did Wanda watch herself fuck someone who isn’t you and felt guilty about it?

Did she think about you at all?

You sit on the mattress and stroke its silky sheets with shaking fingers. The bed is unmade, and you know there’s evidence on them if you try to look for it.

A framed painting peeking out from his dresser takes your attention. You walk over to it and pull it out of its hiding.

Your eyes go round in recognition. It’s the painting Wanda asked you to retrieve in Soho. You turn the painting over and discover a small piece of paper plastered on it.

‘To Vision, the only secret people keep is immortality.’ - W

You crumple the note tightly in your fist. Suddenly, all of it becomes more real than you can envisage: on a Tuesday morning, you’re perched on the exact spot your wife’s been betraying you over and over. You can almost smell Wanda from where you’re sitting–can feel her damp, soft skin, can hear her little sighs as she catches her breath.

You’re not prepared for the overwhelming rage that consumes you next, as you abruptly get up and walk the small distance to the kitchen.

You come to thirty seconds later, to broken pieces of porcelain and an unconscious man lying on a puddle of blood on the floor.

Your first instinct is to call Natasha. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Nat,” you say in a rush. “I need your help. I-I didn’t mean to–”

“Hey, hey. Slow down. What happened?”

“I’m at Vision’s. I did a horrible thing a-and I’m so sorry, Nat, I–”

“Focus, Y/N,” Natasha’s voice is eerily collected. “Is he still alive?”

You scramble to place your index and middle finger on his neck, and let out a sigh of relief once you find what you’re looking for.

“I got a pulse. Should I call 911?”

“Don’t, I’ll handle this. Just grab a towel and wrap it around something cold like frozen vegetables or ice, then apply it gently to the area of the injury.” Natasha says.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to absorb the instruction. Getting a grasp of the situation has started to feel like an impossible task.

“Did you hear what I say?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Natasha says. “You’ll be fine, okay? I’m on my way.”

And then she’s gone. And you’re left to deal with the vestiges of your crime. You have no idea how much longer Vision will have a pulse. You try to do what Natasha told you to, but you find yourself unable to move a limb, stuck in the loop of wanting him dead and wanting to do what is right.

That is, until you hear the familiar tone of a message notification. It came from the rear pocket of Vision’s bloodstained cargo pants. You fall to the floor and dig out his phone. To unlock it, you take his cold hand and press his thumb against its screen.

There’s a new voice message from a certain ‘W’ in his contacts.

Wanda.

You hit play.

“I hate to do this here,” Wanda’s voice is tremulous and you can easily tell that she’s been crying. “But this is the only way I can trust myself to go through with this decision. This needs to end. I can’t live like this. I’m tired of lying and hurting Y/N. She’s my family. Whether you believe it or not, she’s everything to me. I’m sorry. And I hope,” Wanda’s voice breaks on a choked sob. “I don’t know what I hope. I’m sorry.”

You listen to it again before making the decision to delete the message. You slip the device back into Vision’s pants.

Afterwards, you try to save his life.

***

Five Days After

You wake up with a start. The clock on the nightstand reads 4:34 A.M.

The dreams are more vivid now, and they have progressed to you jabbing a kitchen knife into Wanda’s chest as Vision takes her from behind.

In reality, Wanda is lying half-naked beside you, snoring softly. She looks like the Wanda from Before, but your mind knows better. You want to trace her outline with your eyes and your lips, as you’ve done countless times whenever you’d wake up first. You want to kiss her temple and whisper how you love her even if she can’t hear you. You want, and want, and want. But you know what she’s done and with what little dignity you have left, you don’t fall into the trap of your remaining feelings for her.

In reality, her ex-lover is in some hospital in New York with his family waiting for him to wake up.

The first two days were the hardest after finding out about your wife’s infidelity. Wanda could read you like an open book, but for some miracle she didn’t see past the calm demeanor you put forth. You still comment nice things about her cooking, hug her goodbye, kiss her good night.

And then the nightmare starts all over again the minute Wanda leaves the house. Because when she’s near you, you don’t have to wonder where she is or who she’s with. You don’t wonder if she notices the empty seat in her classroom that used to belong to Vision. You don’t wonder if there are another pair of eyes like his, looking at her intrepidly with desire. The longer you carry on with your life as if nothing’s happened, the more you realize how much of your existence the past several months were built on lies.

Maybe the wife next to you is no longer yours, but how do you reconcile that with the truth that you’re still hers?

“Y/N?” you hear Wanda speak as you get up from bed. “Where are you going?”

Wand hugs the comforter to her more securely. You want to scoff at her question.

“Going out for a run.” you say after a beat.

“Want me to come with?”

“No, thanks. Just go back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Wanda glances briefly at the time and then says, “It’s still too dark outside.”

You shrug. “So?”

“Could be dangerous, don’t you think?”

“It’s Westview,” you repeat the same thing she said to you the first night she came home late without calling. The night in which she probably fucked him for the first time. “What’s the worst that could happen to me?”

“Be careful.” she acquiesces softly. “Do you want anything for breakfast?”

“No.” you say, grabbing your running gear from the dresser.

Sparky tries to follow after you but you lock him in the bedroom with Wanda, and head out to change in the guest bedroom.

There’s a slight itch at the back of your throat and you’ve stopped sweating just a while ago. Nevertheless, your tired legs refuse to stop their strides as you reach your tenth mile, and end up in a deserted farmhouse where Natasha is waiting for you.

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Natasha announces, handing you a bottle of ice water. “And while I got rid of the paintings, we’re not out of the woods yet.”

You take a swig from it like someone who’s been left in the desert for days, before leaving just enough of the water to pour over your head.

“What do you mean?” you ask after you recover from your run.

“His family is suspicious. They refuse to believe it’s an accident. You should expect cops to visit your house soon. Don’t panic. I scrubbed that kid’s apartment, they won’t find any traces of you.”

“How many years are we looking at?”

“It’s too early to worry about that. We don’t even know if he’ll ever wake up.”

“If he doesn’t, then I’m a murder, Nat.” you say candidly, like you’ve already accepted the monster that you now see yourself to be. “If he does wake up, then it’s attempted murder. Again, how many years are we looking at?”

“Even if he dies, you’re not going to prison. I promise you.”

“I don’t need you to promise me anything. Just answer the question, Nat.”

“Up to twenty years in the state of New Jersey.”

It figures. Despite it being more than half the amount of years you’ve been alive, you deem it a short punishment for the years you’d be taking from the boy. In twenty years or less, you’d be stepping out of prison to live out the rest of your life, and Vision would still be six feet under and being mourned by his parents.

You look down at your dirty shoes, and say, “I see.”

Natasha puts her hands on your shoulders and ducks her head, trying to meet your eyes.

“You’re not going to prison. I won’t allow it.”

You step back and out of her hold.

“Now, about that other thing. I already contacted this lawyer who owes me big time. You’ll just have to pay 30% of her regular rate for the entire divorce process.”

You look at your best friend, considering it. You could give Natasha the go signal now to hire this lawyer, but in the end all you say is, “Thanks, Nat. For everything.” as you turn your back on her.

Natasha’s brows snap together. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing that for so many years ‘home’ was a person you felt the safest, a person who you could be with as you are. Wanda didn’t just cheat on you, she left you homeless. Home, in every sense, no longer exists.

“On foot?”

“Yup.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Just get in the car, I’ll drive you.”

But you’re already bouncing on your feet and moving in the other direction.

***

The next day, you sleep on your alarm again. It’s the second consecutive week you’re calling in sick late in the morning, and your immediate supervisor at work is understandably worried. He offers you take the rest of the week off, partly fearful for anyone at your branch catching whatever illness he assumes you have. Ironically, broken marriages are arguably endemic in this country. So perhaps, you really should stay away from people for a while.

The blinds were shut, so that as little light as possible dances through the gaps between them. You are encouraged to stay in bed by the lack of sunlight, but as your mind starts to wake up, something about the gloominess of the room urges you out of bed. It’s a Monday, so that means Wanda should be gone already. If you’re missing work, then you could make use of the time to think about your next course of action.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the sound of Wanda’s voice reaches your ears, making you stop in your tracks.

“This will be our little secret, okay? Y/N can’t find out.”

You nearly miss a ladder in your step at the implication of her words, only to see she’s speaking to your dog.

Wanda is sitting in the living room with Sparky who is thoroughly enjoying the morsel of cheese she’s feeding him with. If this was any other day before, you’d already be walking towards her to give her a morning kiss, and she’d complain that you didn’t brush your teeth long enough. You’d impishly lock her in your arms while you blow puffs of breath on her face, and she’d squirm and fight you off until the both of you are nothing but a blur of two idiots happy and in love.

“Wanda,” you blink at her in confusion. “Aren’t you late for your morning class?”

You watch Wanda’s eyes light up before she could spot you at the foot of the staircase.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Actually, I quit my job.” Wanda declares, wide-eyed, her green pools swimming in starry fervor that you almost squint.

“Since when?”

“Since today.” Wanda shrugs, and you can see that she was hoping for a different reaction and not the mild indifference that she’s currently getting from you.

“Why? Did something happen?” You ask as you pick up Sparky and bring him to the kitchen for a proper meal. You hate to see Wanda give up something she seemed so passionate about. But then you recall her recent affair with a student, and there’s really no telling where that passion was truly directed at.

“Honestly, I’ve been meaning to for some time.” she muses while playing with her wedding ring. You leave a generous amount of boiled chicken in his food tray, before moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch, conscious to put much distance between you and Wanda.

“For a while it looked like I finally found a worthwhile career that isn’t so ambitious,” Wanda says. You glower at her allusion that her prior dreams were too extravagant to come true. “But in the process, I also lost myself to it. I sort of left you behind, while you always brought me to every milestone of your achievement. And for that, I wanted to apologize.”

It’s the closest thing to a willing confession you’ll ever get from Wanda. Her quitting her position at the university is her way of burying this and moving on. Maybe it would’ve been better if you simply waited for your marriage to fix itself instead of snooping around for her secrets. You wish you weren’t so addicted to the truth. If grace exists in this world, then it comes in the form of ignorance to all of the things that bring so much suffering.

You’re thinking of something to say, but you’re afraid that the dam inside you will burst if you open your mouth.

“I’m sorry it took a while for me to really comprehend how I feel about you.”

“We’ve been married for years, Wanda,” you remind her in disbelief. “That’s something you should’ve comprehended fully before you decided to say yes to a life with me.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” she hurries to explain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, Y/N, don’t get mad. Of course I know how I feel about you. I simply didn’t care to explore the magnitude of it, because I was complacent. And selfish.

“And when it comes down to it, you’re all that matters.” Wanda says and scoots closer to you. Then she takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Your eyes close in their own accord, sighing at the contact. This might be the only thing that stops you from falling further apart. Even through the worst thing she's ever done to you, you crave to be this close to her.

Wanda tries to read into your thoughts, and then says, “I know, I know. Acta non verba.”

“What?” you ask distractedly.

“It’s what you always used to say back in college: deeds, not words. I’m going to show you. I’m going to make you feel how you make me feel.” she smiles at you tearily.

This isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re to wait it out until the matter with Vision is resolved, and then serve her the divorce papers. She’s not supposed to declare her love for you and for those words to still have a substantial effect on you.

“Wanda, I–”

“Here,” Wanda retrieves a box from underneath the pillows and pushes them into your hands. “An advanced anniversary gift.”

You try to stop your hands from shaking as you stare at the box in your lap.

"Wanda, there's something we need to talk about."

"Later, baby. Please, just open it." Wanda says and you try not to cringe at the pet name.

You're about to pull the lid off when the doorbell rings and Sparky comes rushing to the door, yapping away.

"I'll get it." You mumble and yank your hand from Wanda's grasp. The haze in your head instantly clears up the moment you’re no longer touching her.

You open the door to two gentlemen in a dark suit. You remember Natasha’s warning yesterday, not really expecting them to show up this soon.

"Wanda Maximoff?"

"No, I'm her wife, Y/N. Can I help you?"

The taller one with blonde hair makes the introduction with, "I'm Detective Rogers and this is Detective Barnes.”

You wipe your hands on your pajamas before shaking their hand and inviting them to come in.

“We're here to ask your wife a few questions about Victor Shade." Rogers says.

You hesitantly glance back to Wanda who suddenly looks so stricken.

"They're here for you." you tell her.

"Mrs. Maximoff, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rogers walks over to her and introduces himself and Barnes to her.

He gets on straightaway with the questions. “Where were you last Tuesday afternoon?"

"I was at work, attending a departmental meeting. Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

The two men look at each other. Then the shorter one, Barnes, says, "Your former student, Mr. Shade was involved in a serious accident."

Wanda gawks at their news. "I–I was told he dropped out of school for reasons that were not disclosed to me and the class. I had no idea. My god, that's... That's terrible."

“Yes, we’re aware. His family wanted the whole thing in the wraps in case it turned out to be more than just an accident.” Rogers explains with

“Why would they–” Wanda tries to ask but Barnes interrupts her abruptly.

"Were you close?" he asks.

He watches your wife as you do–closely, and observing every crease in her features that would give her away. But after months of lying, it's evident how she’s become so good at it.

“Uh, no,” Wanda shakes her head and smiles through her absolute lie. A strange feeling creeps at you at having to see your wife display such confidence in front of authorities. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can share apart from how he performed in my class.”

Rogers and Barnes exchange even-handed looks again. Barnes glances at you briefly, before nodding at his partner to continue.

“Here’s the thing, Ma’m,” Rogers takes out a small notebook from his pocket and flips through it. “We found your name and contact in Mr. Shade’s call history. There are dozens of back and forth calls between you and him. This is actually the reason why we wanted to get in touch with you, because you’re the only one aside from a classmate of his that he’s spoken to for the entire semester. We want to know if he ever confided in you or if you knew someone he might have had a disagreement or altercation with.”

You can feel Barnes studying you again, but you refuse to meet his gaze, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible with just a tinge of curiosity.

Wanda remains unfazed and says, “We do communicate over the phone. But again, it’s strictly about his studies.”

“What about his studies?”

“He was having a hard time with his final project. It can be any form of art–a sculpture, a painting or maybe even a video, and they need to emulate their deepest and darkest desires to it. H-He needed my input every now and then.”

“Sounds quite a challenge,” Rogers mutters as he writes on his pad. “And have you seen his painting?”

“No. I highly discourage them from showing me their works in progress. Why?”

It’s Barnes who answers her this time. “There was no painting found in his apartment.”

“Oh, he must have kept it someplace else then.” Wanda says, more to herself.

They don’t comment on that.

“When did you see him last?” Rogers again.

“Monday of last week. He came in late to class. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“May we ask why ‘it doesn’t matter’, Ma’m?”

“I no longer work at Westview Institute.”

“Really,” Rogers lifts an eyebrow, taken aback. “Since when?”

“This morning,” Wanda answers. “Personal reasons. You can talk to the dean for the details if you want.”

Rogers simply nods and scribbles on his pad some more.

“Have you ever been in his neighborhood? Ever been to his apartme–” He badgers on but you interrupt him.

“I think that’s enough,” you say with authority. “I don’t see what other questions could be relevant to your investigation, but my wife’s told you everything she knows.”

Barnes tries to protest but Rogers signals to him.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time.” Rogers says as you usher him and Barnes to the door.

“Wait!” Wanda yells, chest heaving. They both look over their shoulders, waiting. “Is he… is he okay?”

You catch the knowing smirk on Barnes, but it goes away as soon as Rogers warns him with a look.

You weren’t expecting she’d ask about him despite their obvious suspicions on what kind of relationship they had. It hurts you in a way that you can’t even begin to describe.

“Last we’ve heard he’s stable. But I’m afraid he’s still in a coma. For all we know he might never wake up. But let’s hope for the best, shall we?” Rogers says, and then with a polite nod, leaves with Barnes in tow.

“I, uh, I forgot that I need to formally file a resignation letter.” Wanda says after you close the door behind them. She frantically grabs her purse, all the while avoiding your gaze. She’s not appropriately dressed to go outside, but you don’t point it out to her as you continue to act the part of the oblivious spouse.

***

Wanda returns home three hours later. A nostalgic smile finds its way to the corners of her mouth, when she spots the note you left for her on the fridge.

Went to the park with Sparky, it says.

The post-it notes were a long-standing tradition. Sometimes you’d put one on her rearview mirror, something along the lines of “have a great day ahead, I love you” written, and Wanda would stick one on your lunchbox that said “don’t skip on the vegetables”.

And while she blames herself for your recent aloofness, she was hoping to remediate it on your anniversary. She already booked plane tickets to Hawaii and made reservations at a 5-star hotel. Your boss and probably the entire staff of your branch already knows about it, when she filed a week of vacation leave on your behalf. And then she put all the documentation and details of the trip in the box she gave you this morning.

She planned for everything, except the part where two cops showed up at her house to talk about Vision. Admittedly, he was another thing that was never a part of her plans. Wanda used to deride people who make mistakes, and when asked to explain, could only say ‘it just happened’. She’s heard it too many times in the past, mostly from her ex-boyfriends.

It just happened. There’s no better way to put it should you ever find out what she did. She wasn’t lonely or unsatisfied or neglected. The only struggle she could think of about her marriage is thinking about what to have for dinner, because you neither complain nor you ever know what you’re in the mood for.

In actual sense, her life was perfect. Because of you. Because you work for her happiness. The guilt eats at her everyday. But she knows what she’ll lose if she comes clean. And she can’t afford that. She’d rather confront her demons than risk losing you. She tells herself she can’t put you through this kind of pain.

Wanda pulls herself out of her thoughts. She needs to focus on you. She truly hopes Vision would make it, so he can go on to live his life and she’ll live hers with you.

Wanda pads through the bathroom to run herself a bath. While waiting for the tub to fill, she pensively walks around the bedroom, noting how the room still smells of you. That’s when she finds her gift on your work desk, next to your laptop. It’s still wrapped in a bow. Wanda frowns, wondering why you didn’t bother to open it.

All of a sudden, your laptop makes a sound. Acting on impulse, Wanda unlocks your computer with your password–her birthday–and then opens your email account.

There’s a new email from Natasha. The subject reads ‘in case you need them’.

An odd, overwhelming feeling consumes her, and without thinking, clicks on the email.

Wanda waits for the message to load with its attachments and then–

She freezes and her stomach drops.

***

About four pairs of couples attend your small dinner party that you have planned several weeks ago. Your boss, Scott Lang came with his wife and daughter all the way from New York just so he can, in his own words, ‘taste your wife’s famous Paprikash’. Wanda reminded you that you were hosting, and you had spent the rest of the day shopping for ingredients and red wine. She asked if you should cancel, but you figured an evening with seemingly elementary lives would do some good for the both of you.

And you’re right. It’s not a nuisance as you thought it’d be when you were roped into it. In view of the recent episodes that no doubt defined the lowest point of your life, it feels nice to experience a little normalcy in your home. Your introverted nature makes you a disastrous host to these events, but Wanda is the opposite–she’s a natural at hospitality. She’d go around and entertain people, exchange gossip, and make them take shots. She’d dance in the middle of the room, with that devil-may-care attitude of hers, attracting people to her like moths to flame. But at the end of the night, she’d go home to you and sleep in your arms, because she’s yours. As you and Wanda grew older, you became a more exclusive sort of couple. But on rare occasions like this one, Wanda would put on the old party hat while you’d watch her be the best part of it.

The only problem right now is that Wanda went away. Physically, she’s in the receiving room with everyone, nodding and smiling at whatever warrants a nod and a smile, but you can tell that her mind is off somewhere faraway.

“So, Y/N, what’s the first thing you wanna do in Maui aside from stuffing yourself with Poke bowls?” Scott asks.

“I’m sorry?” You tilt your head at him.

“You know, the…” he starts doing what looks like a hula dance, but you shake her head, still not getting any of it.

“Wait, what? Wanda hasn’t–” Scott looks at Wanda, in panic. “Oh, god, I didn’t mean to spoil it.”

Wanda’s been keeping to herself the entire night. And she’s been drinking a lot, the contents of her glass never quite reaching the bottom before it gets another refill.

“It’s fine, Scott.” Wanda says.

You look at Wanda expectantly, but she just studies her drink. Increasingly annoyed, Wanda downs the rest of her wine and then says, “I was planning to take us to Hawaii on our anniversary.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s pretty awesome.” you say.

Wanda huffs out a mirthless laugh, before standing up and telling everyone she’s going to take a nap.

“Good idea, dear. You’re looking puffy around the eyes.” Emma, another co-worker of yours that Wanda never really warmed up to, quips at her.

Wanda clenches her jaw tightly, but chooses not to engage.

You excuse yourself from the group and follow her out of the room. Wanda feels your presence behind her and spins to look at you for the first time tonight.

“I’m okay. Just go back to your friends.”

“They’re not my friends and you don’t look well.” you say.

“I just need a few minutes to myself,” Wanda offers you a smile, but it’s wobbly. “Please.”

You can’t deny her anything and you can’t stop caring about her. She heads to the stairs before you can utter another word.

***

After Wanda sees the last of the pairs to the door, she finds you in the bedroom with all the lights off. She can only make out your silhouette–shoulders hunched and perfectly still, while you look out the window to watch the couple trade playful kisses before getting in their car and driving off into the distance.

From your peripheral view, you watch Wanda approach you slowly, cautiously, like a hunter stalking its prey. It’s easy to guess that she already knows. She has her arms wrapped around herself as a defensive stance, probably afraid of what you might do to her. You nearly let out a laugh at the absurdity of it, because you don’t think you could ever hurt her the way she’s hurt you.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from where you’re standing.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she carries on with the questions despite your refusal to even acknowledge her existence.

“Y/N?” Her voice is frantic and presumptuously privileged.

You don’t owe her anything. Especially answers. Anger burns in your chest like a candle–fragile but with the potential to burn an entire field. You imagined the many ways she’d beg you when you discover each other’s skeletons in the closet. You imagined she’d be on her knees, clinging at your ankles, insisting she loves you and that it will never, ever happen again. You imagined you’d kiss her for one last time, right before you’d tell her that you’re done.

You hate yourself for allowing her to beat you to a confrontation. For coasting through this mess until Wanda takes the mantle of the interrogator herself. She gets to nag you with questions as if after weighing each other’s transgression, yours turned out to be worse than her cheating.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No. You tell me what you did.” you whisper menacingly, finally letting go of the restraints you placed yourself in for her sake.

You abruptly turn on your heel in her direction, and then stalk towards her in quick, menacing strides. Wanda cowers, but doesn’t yield. She stands her ground like the courageous heroine of her own movie.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me…” Your chin begins to tremble and your vision begins to blur. “...over and over and over.”

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now.”

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, the weight of her sin materializing in the form of your bared teeth and the vein pulsing in your neck and temple.

“You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you!” You hear yourself yell, as real as the wetness you feel running down your cheeks.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

“Oh my god,” Wanda sobs out in anguish, cupping a hand around her mouth. “Y/N…”

There was a time, from long before you were married to her, when loving her broke your heart more than it made it whole. You didn’t think it’d happen again, but even if it did, you thought you’d find a way. You’d always find a way for Wanda.

You were happy together, weren’t you? Before this happened, she never gave any indication that she wasn’t. She made plans with you. Five-year, ten-year plans that meant she wanted to continue being with you. In return, you gave it everything you have and more. You turned the dreams into blueprints, and from blueprints into milestones.

The arbitrary nature of her infidelity is what shocked you the most. It meant you couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. It wasn’t up to you. Love is a gamble and you’ve lost.

You’re both on the floor now. You, leaning against the side of the bed, and Wanda, hugging her knees to her chest as sobs continue to rack her body.

When both of you can breathe again, it’s Wanda who breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry.”

As much as you need to hear it, an apology now is just a drop in the ocean. Wanda can’t unfuck Vision. You can’t un-crack his skull.

A thought suddenly occurs in your muddled brain.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask.

“No.”

“He must be really special then.”

She shakes her head furiously, denying it.

Against your better judgment, you ask the one thing that’s been plaguing you since you learned of her lover’s name. “Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda mumbles without a second thought. “I thought I did, but no.”

She didn’t love him. But it still kills you to know that it definitely crossed her mind that she might’ve felt something for someone else.

“Did you…” You stare intently at the ceiling, willing gravity to pull back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “...ever love me?”

“I love you,” Wanda says, her voice low and trembling, though she dares to look you in the eye. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You know,” You wince at the way your voice falters. You’re so tired and dehydrated, and your head is starting to hurt. Your lips quirk up in a bitter half-smile. “You have such a lovely way of showing it.”

Wanda lets her legs slide straight in front of her as she openly weeps into her hands. Under different circumstances you’d be out the door right this second, getting all her favorite snacks and a bouquet of flowers. You have loved her for so long.

“You should’ve just killed me. I don’t see any difference. At least there’s no pain in being dead.” you say after some time.

“Baby, don’t say that.” Wanda hiccups, struggling to control the spasms in her chest.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.”

Wanda looks away, like she’s been slapped.

“You can stay,” you say, and Wanda looks up at you with hope. “In this house. For as long as you want. But I’m leaving.”

“No. Don’t leave.”

But you’re already pulling your wedding ring off your finger even as she rushes to kiss you roughly. Wanda pours everything in this one kiss. She has played all the cards she’s dealt with, and this is her final, desperate move.

As for you, you take it for what it is: a goodbye. It’s messy and salty, and everything anyone could ever hope for in a last kiss. When it’s over, Wanda ducks her head under your chin. She finds purchase in the area just above your heart, trying to commit to memory the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You don’t have it in you to push her away, but you take the hand of hers that’s still cupping your face, and put the cold metal that once symbolized your commitment to her, in her fevered palm. And then very gently, you force her fingers to close around it. Albeit the numbness in your legs, you manage to push yourself up into a standing position and out of Wanda’s grasp.

“This isn’t over. It can’t be over.” you hear Wanda speak, but you’re not sure if it’s to you or to herself.

Out in the hallway, you examine the finger where your wedding ring had been. It’s going to take some time before its mark on your skin completely fades away.

***

A Week Later

“He’s awake.”

Natasha sits across from you in the diner. She’s back in town to pick you up and drive you back to her condo in Manhattan, where you will be staying for a while until you find your own place.

You swallow and take a breath, poking at your scrambled eggs.

She’s wary of you–this zombie-esque version of you. And it’s not only apparent in your behavior, the gauntness of your cheek is more noticeable, and your clavicle more protruded. You look like you’ve aged ten years overnight in as little as two weeks.

“He doesn’t remember anything.” she adds and this gets your attention.

“How convenient.” you say.

“Look, Y/N. You don’t need to act tough around me. Because I can see right through every mask you have on. You want me to prove it? Let me prove it.”

“Nat, just–”

“You’re more relieved to know that he’s woken up, than him not remembering anything. You’re compassionate to a fault. There can’t be a purer soul than yours.”

Your best friend’s impassioned speech puts a small but genuine smile on your face. Natasha does a little victory dance with imaginary pompoms, and the laughter comes easily to you.

“I know I have no right to say this, nor do I really understand what you’re feeling right now. But, Y/N, someone will come along and take every broken piece of you back together. They will love you so hard, you’re gonna have to actually beg them to ease off.”

You humor her. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

In all honesty, it’s hard to think about the far-off future without the stinging reminder that Wanda is not in it. But as you sit idly in diner for a very late brunch–and might as well call it lunch–you realize that you’re not left entirely empty-handed. You have Natasha. You have the rest of your friends back in New York, although you haven’t talked to them much lately. You have your career that is getting a fresh start at a new company. Wanda has gotten custody of Sparky. As much as you love him, you have a feeling that she needs him more than you do.

The point is, you’ve already seen the bottom of the sea, and it’s time to break the surface.

“As much as I hate your wife…soon-to-be ex-wife… or whatever,” Natasha shoots daggers at someone behind you. “She’s here to talk to you.”

“Did she put you up to this?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“She called me to collect a favor, and this is the best bargain we managed. She’s not going to contact me anymore after this.” Natasha says, and then she gets up from her seat and takes her plate of bacon and eggs to enjoy at another table.

You hear tentative footsteps approach the booth and brace yourself to face Wanda.

Much to your chagrin, she looks as immaculate as ever in her parka over a simple white v-neck and high-waisted jeans, her glossy red hair cascading in perfect waves past her chest.

“Hey,” she says and slides into the booth with you.

You take a huge bite of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

“Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules.”

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” Wanda pauses to catch your eye, and you see no traces of sharpness in them. Her green eyes are bright with determination. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

You look at her from beneath your dark lashes. “Okay.”

Wanda swallows nervously and interlocks her fingers on top of the table. You can’t explain it, but your eyes automatically search for the wedding band in her left hand.

It’s still there.

“I, uh, got something for you.” she says.

“No, thanks.” you say.

“But it’s yours.” she argues softly, digging for something in her jacket. You watch her pull out a ring box and place it in front of you.

“What’s this?”

“Your wedding ring.” She says matter-of-factly.

“I don’t want–”

“I don’t care. I’m giving it back to you, and I’m keeping mine. You can do whatever you like with it. But I can’t keep it for you.”

You consider it momentarily, what she’s asking of you. In hindsight, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want to hold onto the residual love you have for her that the ring represents.

“Fine.” You reach for the small box and Wanda heaves a sigh.

“So, you have your ring back, and I’ll sign the divorce papers when they’re ready.” Wanda recites mechanically, her voice thinning towards the end of her sentence, as if she’s not at all prepared for what she needs to say to you next.

“Then, I’ll come for you.”

You almost spit out your coffee. Some of it actually dribbles past your lips and you quickly grab a napkin to wipe your mouth. She tenderly smiles at your little accident, finding your clumsiness endearing.

You gape at her, unable to think of a response.

“I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.” Wanda’s smile turns into a sad amusement at herself.

“I don’t hate you, Wanda,” It’s the truth. Even though anger is the only emotion you can process most days, you’ve only ever hated the way she makes you feel.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

You can tell she has more to say and you wait.

“I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.” Wanda says, giving you a long, level look.

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you. I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” The nickname rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.”

You’re my dream, Wanda had written in her vows. You remember it, clear as day.

Wanda gets up to leave. “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as Wanda exits to her car, Natasha returns to the booth with a strawberry milkshake in hand.

“Is it over?” she asks offhandedly, referring to your conversation with Wanda.

You hesitate, then look at her with an unreadable expression on your face. You give her the only answer that feels right to you:

“For now.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss #my writing #category: angst #natasha romanoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen

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st4rgzer · 5 months

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FIREWORKS (matt sturniolo)

summary: fireworks aren’t your best friend but Matt’s knowledge of this helps you greatly when they unexpectedly happen.

genre: fluff, a bit of angst

cw!: fireworks if that wasn’t evident, kissing, crowds, use of “y/n” female pronouns.

a/n: kind of long but I hope you like it! (a bit inspired by my conversation with @eyelessdemon last night)

“love, the party is at 8, it’s currently 7:30, are you ready yet?” Matt’s eyes searched my face for any sort of answer as I rapidly put makeup products on my face. I was already rushing so it wasn’t necessarily the best time to remind me of the few minutes I had to get ready.

“Matt, I love you, so for your sake I won’t answer till im ready and don’t have increasing anxiety!” I cautioned, advising him so I wouldn’t end up shouting at him or saying some pressured snarky response, in order for both of our sanity’s to remain intact.

The party, as Matt reminded me, was at 8, and we were already quite late. Turns out we overslept and there was some kind of surprise so it was important to be punctual.

Some minutes, which felt like seconds, passed. Me and Matt were finally able to get in the car, fasten our seatbelts, and head to the party.

I checked myself in the car mirror, reapplying some lipgloss and pushing my lashes up. I huffed, still frazzled by the prior event that felt like being in hell’s kitchen.

“you look beautiful, really, it’s a talent to be able to get ready in so little time” Matt laid his hand on mine, grabbing it reassuringly, trying to ease the anxiety he was aware I got, in any way he knew how to.

“thank you” I smiled at him and planted a kiss on his palm, earning a slight flush in his cheeks from him.

We approached the party with intertwined hands. I took in the view of what seemed to be, more than 100 people, quite anxiously. Everyone seemed to be influencers or content creators. I tugged on Matts arm gently and nodded towards the backyard, where it seemed to be less crowded.

“y/n! you both made it finally” Nicks familiar voice put me slightly at ease, relieved to have at least some tranquility in knowing other people.

“yeah it took sometime but we’re here!” The nerves were evident in my voice, thankfully, the music was loud enough for it to be quickly overlooked.

As the party went on, it got easier, Matt’s figure always looming over me gave me a sense of security, latching onto him when I felt uneasy.

“are you ok?” He whispered, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, and rubbing patterns on the small of my back.

“yes, surprisingly, this is fun” I smiled up at him. Trying not to think much about the blasting music, distracting lights, and 50 conversations going on at the same time around me.

Our conversation was interrupted by a group of friends telling us we had to go outside. There was a pretty big crowd outside, but if something fun was happening, why would we want to miss out.

Matt’s arm was wrapped around my waist, guiding me through the crowd.

The commotion began to calm down, lights of blue, yellow, purple, and pink illuminated the sky, but the bangs also started.

As soon as the first firework was launched, Matt looked down at me with worrying eyes. He knew I hated them, he had recollection of me having negative reactions towards them. So he almost instantly took action.

His hand found mine and grabbed it tightly. One of my hands covering my ear. He led us through the crowd once again, to the inside of the house. I had my eyes squinted, and my brows furrowed as the fireworks continued to go off, on top of the screeches of everyone watching.

Once we got inside of a room in the house, Matt let go, only to engulf me in a hug immediately after.

“im so sorry, if I knew there were going to be fireworks, I never would’ve brought you out” He stumbled over his words, trying to justify the things he had no control over.

“it’s okay, im okay, I promise” I said, slightly shaken up, but in a much more calmer state after Matt’s reaction, too distracted by my thoughts of wanting to marry him instantly, to process how stressful the prior situation was.

He paused, removing himself from the hug, taken back by my casual reaction, unsure of my words.

“are you sure? like, for real?” He said, cautiously.

I laughed at his untrusting expression, and nodded with a smile. Cupping his jaw and leaning into him, placing a soft kiss on his lips, and grabbing his hand.

“yes, very sure. Only because of you, so, thank you” He smiled at me in adoration and returned the kiss.

We both stayed there a while, watching the fireworks from the window, minus the noise. My head on Matt’s shoulder as he ran his fingers through my hair, and held me just a little tighter every now and then when a louder firework sounded.

Quietly waiting. I yawned as the time went by, resting my eyes “for a few moments” Who cares about fireworks when you have Matt Sturniolo?

a/n: kind of rushed and low key hate it but i’ll try to come up with something tomorrow😭

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @gabbylovesreading @lovelysturniolo @ssturniolo @eyelessdemon @stvrni0lo @strniolo @sturniolol

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo image #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo

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williamvapespeare · 9 months

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torturing myself with Astarion/durge heartbreak 2k23 (some comfort immediately after that scene)

“Anyway it’s a brand new day, I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.”

He means it as a joke, he really does, the sort of thinly veiled thing he pulls out when a conversation gets too close to the endless darkness of a tomb or the trusting eyes of yet another victim, pain dragged down each of his limbs, screams caught in his throat, or, well - he figures he’s owed a bad joke or two for all of that.

And Tav humors him with a small huff of something that might have been laughter, only it catches on a sharp sounding inhale and all of a sudden he’s clapping a hand over his mouth and curling into himself and Astarion has done quite enough sitting back and watching that night already.

When he pushes himself closer, Tav turns away, his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders heaving. Astarion reaches out, slowly, with all same the caution he uses as he feels his way through the mechanisms of a trap, fits his fingers under a spring, eases it open. He’s good at this, Astarion knows, and now he gets his hand around Tav’s wrist, pries it gently away from his mouth. Tav’s skin is still raw, dried blood flaked around the wound. Astarion does his best to be gentle as he pulls Tav’s hand towards him, holding his fingers loosely in both of his own hands.

It reminds him of a night weeks ago, when Tav accepted Astarion’s terrified words with the most grace he’s ever known, warm arms around his waist, a soft smile on Tav’s face, gentle fingers curled around his own. I care about you.

“I’m sorry,” Tav says now, voice choked and raw. Like he’s been screaming all night. “You shouldn’t. I tried to, I fucking tried…”

“I’m here,” Astarion cuts him off. Tav’s hand tries to clench in his own, twisting into a fist where Astarion can see the bloody imprints of nails already etched into his palm. He tightens his grip. “Someone already beat you to the whole killing me thing, love, and look how that turned out. I’m still here, whole and beautiful.”

Tav’s shoulders hitch again, but he blinks his eyes open, and while Astarion doesn’t like what he sees there - dark circles like bruises above his cheekbones, fear still radiating from him like a pheromone - he sees Tav there in his eyes, nothing more, nothing less.

“That’s it,” he soothes, calming and utterly nonsensical. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Tav says again, but his voice is steadier this time.

Astarion reaches out, touches Tav’s cheek in what he hopes is a delicate caress, like he too is something gentle to be taken care of, even when his body and his brain are fighting it with everything they have.

The fire is long since dead, and Astarion lets his gaze wander up from the blackened logs to the dull grey sky, it looks this way just before sunrise, he’s learned. Sometimes, the subtle hints of pink blink into view on the edge of the horizon without warning, and he’s struck with awe at the sight of it, the light, the freedom, every useless cliche it’s come to represent.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, but by the time he hears the first rustling of their companions around them - it’s Gale who always appears first, he knows, the man wakes ridiculously early for a human - the sun is high enough in the sky that it’s beginning to peek through the early morning clouds.

“I should probably, uh,” Tav motions vaguely to his hand where it still rests loosely in Astarion’s, “deal with this before anyone else freaks out.”

As much as Astarion agrees, he can’t quite bring himself to let Tav go yet.

“Of course,” he says, instead of any of the disgustingly possessive thoughts on the tip of his tongue. “Get yourself cleaned up, darling.”

He helps Tav to his feet, watches as Tav rubs his face on his sleeve, skims his own fingers over his bloody wrists, taking stock of the damage. Astarion recognizes the motions.

“Will you,” Tav starts to say something that tapers off into a tired sort of silence, but Astarion is already nodding.

“I’ll be right here,” he says. “Whenever you need me.”

#astarion #astarion x dark urge #astarion x tav #bg3 durge #durge spoilers #astarion x durge #astarion fic #h/c

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airplanned · 1 year

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TotK Mini Fic

Do not read unless you’ve gotten all the memories and done the Tarry Town stuff. For real. Scroll on.

I’m this far into the game, so please don’t tell me more in the comments.

I’ve seen some people write angst, and--y’all--no. This is the BEST.

Maybe it’s Rhondson’s own melancholy, but Link looks down. He is not as excited as a man about to buy a dream home should be. Distractedly, he stares off into the sky behind her as if searching for something, as if thinking really hard.

“So what do you think?” she chirps, trying to put enough excitement for both of them into her sales pitch. (It’s so rude of him to make her do that. Doesn’t he realize that she’s having a hard day, sending her baby off?)

“I already have a…It’s complicated.”

“Look, I’ll give you’re a discount for all your help. This could be your dream home! Completely customizable! And everyone could do with more space!”

He freezes. He blinks rapidly a few times, and she can see the gears turn, see him come back to himself. His face seems to light up as he finally looks her in the eye.

“How much space?”

Link’s house looks like a pagoda. Tall and open. He’s put some ramps on top to give a bad illusion of a slanted roof.

And…well…to each their own. That is the beauty of the Hudson Dream Home: if you can dream it, they can build it.

The first floor is a big square of normal house things. His bedroom tucked behind the stairs, a display of swords that…well, no one knows how he got swords that look untouched by decay, but there they are. A prominent kitchen where he’ll show off that latest fruitcake he’s made for his girl. “We play this game where I try to throw bites into her mouth.”

There are piles of giant glowing scales and what look like shining monster claws. They look like they were neatly sorted at one point, but now there are just too many. What are they? And why does it feel like they sing? For potions, he says. And sometimes he fuses them to weapons.

If anyone notices the tiny study he has tucked away, he gets bashful, rubbing the back of his head and saying that his girl likes quiet when she’s working. If she ever…well, if she…he wanted to have a space ready for her.

“One time she asked if I would still love her if she turned into a wyrm.” Then he laughs.

There are paintings. One of him and the princess and some other people all smooshed together for a group shoot. One of Link and four glowing ghostly figures, all of them smiling.

Then there’s the one of the dragon. It takes up the whole wall and is nearly life sized. Link holds his slate out at arm’s length to catch his beaming face and one, giant, dragon eye framed with gold lashes.

If anyone comments on the dragon, he gets excited and says something like, “Isn’t she pretty?” or “Her face is very soft,” or “Do you see her antlers? Aren’t they neat?”

Honestly, asking about anything Link gets up to just leads to more questions. It’s not worth it.

The second floor is open to the air like a gazebo. Around that, on the roof of the first floor, he’s put flower beds, which he tends with care, frowning over journals and botany books. After a few weeks, the flower bloom, lighting up at night with a blue-white light you can see from Tarry Town. Sometimes they’ll catch him carrying a bouquet. “Bringing them to my girl. I think I can braid them into her hair.”

As he plants his hands on his hips and surveys his construction with pride and hope, he explains, “She takes up a lot of space. I imagine she’ll kind of…spread.” He waves his hands a bit to express that she would presumably leave stuff everywhere.

He seems delighted by the prospect.

“If I can get her to visit, I think she’ll like this. Yeah,” he sighs. “She’ll like this.”

#Zelda #totk #totk sploilers #my fic

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space-owl · 1 year

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Okay time to finally talk about the boiling isles/The Titan/Kings Dad!

And why I love him and hes been a character of the show the whole time.

We first really "meet" the titan when Eda shows us the beauty of the boiling isles at the start of the show

Just a dead carcass, right? Thats how it seems at first but over the show we learn that the titan is magic! That the magic around Luz comes from the Titan! Now here is where the Titans character first really shines. He gives Luz the spell! And literally gives her a clue to make the connection!

Now we think that this just happened randomly because she really listened to the nature. But since we now know that the Titan was actually there, seeing and listening to everything, this was a choice he made! Notice how Luz saw the light glyph in the sky after she spoke directly to the Titan.

Luz: "youre supposed to teach me magic...."

And afterwards it starts to snow, revealing the glyph to Luz!

Afterwards in more episodes, and especially in season two we learn that the habitants of the boiling islands worship the titan. The question of course is if they always did this in the first place or if Philip was the one who convinced them that the titan is some sort of god. I think they always kind of worshipped the titan since it was important for Philip to earn the islanders trust and so he used an already established deity that was wroshipped by the witches.

Witch on screen: "he says he can talk to the Titan!"

Witches on the island constantly refer to the Titan like we do refer to god when we express worry or doubt or if we just wonder what is going on. ("Oh my Titan" "For Titans sake" "In the Titans name" etc)

And those graffiti. Sure they were most likely added to be jokes. But those jokes only work because it is established before that the witches of the islands see the Titan as a god!

Also see how Eda and Lilith react when they find out King is a titan!

Lilith: "I cant believe that all this time you had a titan under your roof! - GASP - Ive eaten ice cream with a god!"

The Titan didnt choose to be worshipped. But he chose to tell Luz the glyphs and how and where to find them. And he chose to not tell Philip about them!

Philip: "Took years to find them. Almost as if the world wanted to hide them from me."

Another instance that showed or hinted at that the Titan was still there, alive and watching out for King was when the wind gently brushed the swing he was sitting on in "Clouds on the horizons"

And - of course - something that got kinda overlooked by all of us, the GIGANT still beating heart in the throne room!

But we also learn that Titans themselves were crazy powerful. So powerful that they were the only ones who were strong enough against the collectors powers! Their blood is literally the cause of Luz being able to cast magic in the first place! Because of them and well because of the boiling isles Titan things from the human world wash up there constantly. Because they create those rifts.

So what did we learn? We learnt that the Titan is a big being that was crazy powerful and was worshipped by the witches on the boling isles. We also learnt that he has sort of a character of his own and may or may not be still around.

And THEN..... we actually meet the guy!

Basically in his pyjamas, what he is wearing is also basically merch from the show. The "bad girl coven" shirt and the glyph sweatpants. Thats something any nerd from the show would want to wear. He has a dad bod and the first thing he does is making a joke to Luz about himself. Yes he is wise and does give Luz a lot of advice and her crazy powers, showing that he is very powerful even when he is trapped in the inbetween. But he never considers himself better than Luz or anyone else on the isles. He is very down to earth!

Also the reveal that they dont take gender that serious but is totally fine with the title "dad" cuz thats what King has been calling him the whole time. All while he chuckles!

The Titan: "What? Have you been drinking Edas home brewed apple blood?"

When Luz presents them the idea that she "might just be as bad as Belos" he immediately asks her if shes serious about that in a joking manner.

And, of course, the cherry on top for all of this, is the one direct message they could send to their child. The only thing The Titan could EVER tell directly to King! And what is it?

King: "... I loaf you...? I loaf you!"

King: "... Oh hahaha! BREAD pun!"

Its a DAD joke! And King loves it!

I think none of us really knew who the Titan was and if hed ever show up ever on screen. (Honestly I myself thought its more likely that we would see Evylin and Caleb.) But whatever our idea from the Titan mightve been, Im sure no one of us thought it would be like this. The Titan turned out to be just some guy. Just a being that happend to slip into all of this mess. I think we can all learn from that that some things arent as big as they seem (literally.)

This reveal was awesome and I love that the show took this route with him.

#this took me almost two hours to write whaaaatttttttt #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #king clawthorne #the titan #the boiling isles #kings dad

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emistations · 8 months

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SONIC FRONTIERS: ON THE FRONTIER'S OTHER SIDE (AU)

PLOT SUMMARY:

In an alternate scenario, Sonic, Tails & Amy arrive at Starfall Islands. When things go array suddenly as they get there, the scenario alters from the main one. Instead of Sonic finding himself the only one free from cyberspace’s prison, Amy ends up in that position instead. And with her capabilities being lesser than Sonic’s, she finds herself facing gruesome trials… Will our heroine be able to save everyone the same way her beloved Sonic usually does? The calculations for this scenario prove surprising…

------ PROLOGUE CHAPTER 0: The not-so humble beginnings. ------

Piercing through the bright blue sky, the engines & jet blasters of the Tornado echoed as the plane traversed above the deep blue seas. Approaching the islands before them, the pilot- The twin-tailed fox who we all know as Tails- smiled brightly.

“Looks like we’re coming up on Starfall Islands!” Tails spoke, enthusiasm lacing in his voice.

“Ah, I can’t wait to sightsee! It looks so beautiful from up here!” A pink hedgehog from the backseat interjected as she peeked her head to the side to get a better view of the islands. That girl was Amy.

“Save the tourism AFTER we’re done emerald huntin’, yeah?” A blue hedgehog mused as he stood tall proud on the wing of the plane, “After all, we still gotta find out why the Chaos Emeralds were drown here, and make sure we beat Eggy to ‘em!”

Tails & Amy agreed in unison, keeping their sights on the land before them…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A sound so harmless yet gut wrenching- in their scenario- snapped them out of the serenity of the nature before them. Tails glanced down at the monitor before them, his cyan eyes shrinking.

“Uh-oh!” He gasped, alerting the two hedgehogs with him.

As Sonic was about to open his mouth and ask, the three of them felt a sudden pulse pulling their towards them islands, like a magnet.

“Ah! It’s an atmospheric charge!” Tails cried out, as he held on to the yoke with his gloved hands, “I’ll try to land us somewhere safe, just hang on!”

Sonic followed in his lead, grabbing tightly onto the Tornado’s wing, as Amy gripped onto Tails’ pilot seat. The two hedgehogs closed their eyes, waiting for Tails to pull some sort of miracle, as the tornado’s flight path began to go in all directions, forcing them into a series of barrel rolls.

In the distance, a portal suddenly opened up before the trio, with its edges spiraling in red, and lights traveling back & forth on the other side. The noises coming from the portal were incoherent & unbearable to the ear.

“What’s that?!” Amy cried out.

“Dunno, but it can’t be good!” Sonic responded before turning his head to his twin-tailed companion, “Think you can steer us away from this thing?”

“I’m trying, but it has some sort of magnetic force field that’s pulling us in!”, Tails explained as he pulled and steered on the yoke, forcing the Tornado to face the portal with its side.

He struggled to turn it around, and for a moment, it was nothing but a push-and-pull battle between this unknown force & the plane. The force only got stronger, but Tails kept on going, pushing the Tornado’s engine to their absolute limits, as Sonic & Amy held on for dear life.

Just then, Amy’s eyes snapped open. In the midst of the mashing sounds of the engines & portal roaring, she picked up on a sound so small, yet to her so crucial and devastating. The sound of fabric tearing… Her seatbelt.

Before she could react or alert the others of her situation, her seat belt snapped. She suddenly felt an immense force pulling her out of the tornado, too heavy for her to move her limbs. It happened so fast, she couldn’t react or scream.

But while her mind froze blankly with fear, her situation did not escape the reaction time of a speedster.

“AMY!” Sonic cried out, leaping out the wing he was holding onto and allowing the pulling force to drag him to her. He grabbed onto the back wing of the tornado, extending his hand to her own, his fingers desperately trying to grasp her own.

His voice was enough to snap her out of her state of paralysis. And as soon as she realized the situation she was in… It was too late.

She extended her hand to his own, but by that point, she was too far away to reach.

She knew he & Tails were calling out to her name. She could only see their horrified expressions as she found herself falling through the portal. She couldn’t hear them, the loud sounds emitting from the realm she entered were so strong, so disturbing, that anything else felt like white noise. She was enveloped in her surroundings’ bright light, unable to see anything else as she fell.

She closed her eyes, and hoped the landing wouldn’t hurt as much.

. . .

Whispers. The next thing she heard was an amalgamation of whispers. Amy pushed her body upwards, feeling the softness of grass beneath her body. She looked up to see a familiar landscape.

“Little Planet…?” She mumbled as she sat upwards, recalling memories of the location she got captured in-by metal sonic- as she was staring at the sight before her. Floating familiar terrains covered the sky, as lights swarmed around in the sky. She took in her surroundings, finding herself on a floating grassy road, with walls surrounding her. The only way was back, but the road was cut short.

She took a quick glance at the edge & found nothing for her to leap too. Nothing but an endless pit. She turned her gaze to the walls. Something about them seemed… familiar. She could've sword she’s seen the sight of walls surrounding her, only instead of walls, it was screens.

“Where… Am I?” She forced the words out, holding her head. The whispers and weird sounds grew louder, drowning her ears.

She approached the walls, leaning onto them for a moment. What happened? She tried to recall, but her head hurt. Everytime she closed her eyes and tried to remember, she felt the floor rumble below her feet & the noises getting louder.

“Gotta stay focused.” Amy breathed out, opening her eyes. She turned to the walls before her, “There has to be some way out of here…”

All of a sudden, her ear twitched to the sound of irritating buzzing. She turned behind her, seeing an amalgamation of red digitized forms, shaped into an entity with a familiar appearance. Long, claw-like hands, box-like head…

“...Zero?” She gasped out, wide-eyed.

As the being began to approach her, she snapped her fingers- Her hammer materializing in her hands out of thin air. She whipped her body forward, throwing her weapon at the thing in front of her with all her might.

“BACK OFF!” She warned, only to swallow back her words as her hammer phased right through.

“What…?” She grimaced, taking a couple of steps back until her back was onto the walls once more, quickly adapting to the comforting yet horrifying dread they brought along.

The being before her only approached faster, extending its hand in an attempt to grab her. She pressed her body back as much as she could as her breath hitched, a yelp of terror stuck inside her throat.

Just then, as her gloved hand slid onto the wall in a moment of desperation, she felt a crack on the rocky surface behind her body.

“A crack…” She murmured, “This wall’s not sturdy. Maybe…”

Materializing her hammer into her grasp once more, Amy whipped her body towards the wall. With all her force and body weight put into one good horizontal swing, she shattered the wall she aimed at with ease.

She couldn’t help but proudly smile.

Suddenly, she heard the whispers & noises grow closer behind her. The digital being of a familiar foe grew closer, giving chase. No time to waste.

“Eeek!” She cried out, turning heel as she ran away from her possibly soon-to-be captor if she doesn’t make it out in one piece!

As she ran along the floating terrain, she took notice of it curving upwards, as if spiraling into a staircase. A strong sense of deja-vu overwhelmed her brain. This was definitely something she’s experienced before. She continued to get away as fast as she could, facing digitized obstacles of familiar threats. “Eggman robots?”, she pondered. It looked like it, but at the same time, it felt unfamiliar.

She dodged as the robots threw bombs at her or tried to restrain her with a beam, making it to the top of the road she was running along, chased by the entity behind her. There was yet another wall before her, surrounded by more landscape, making it act like a doorway.

“This is too familiar for comfort…”, She mumbled to herself, ramming through the wall with her melee weapon.

As she reached behind that wall, she was a digitized form above her, swirling in silver. She noticed a light dangling from a digital rope connected to that form. At prolonged glance, she realized it was almost too similar to a balloon.

Though as much as she wanted to ask questions, the being behind her closed in, almost grabbing her had she not dodged last second. By pure instinct, she slammed her hammer onto the floor and launched herself upwards, her gloved hand reaching for that light at the end of the rope.

And as soon as she grabbed it… Everything went black.

… She felt a drop of water hit the back of her head. Then another, and then more. The drops poured down on her lightly, but enough to awaken her. Was it raining…?

“Ugh, my head…” The pink hedgehog grumbled, pushing herself to her legs. Her body felt heavy, as if she had skyrocketed onto the ground by a strong magnetic force…

Skyrocketing… Magnetic force…

Suddenly, the memories flooded. Her trip with her friends, the portal, her slipping away. Her heart came to a halt, breath almost pausing.

“T-Tails?! Sonic?!” She cried out, looking from side to side, only to find herself in a narrow path, surrounded by mountains as rain heavily poured on her.

“... Looks like I’m alone…” She sighed, kicking a pebble below her feet.

“Mortal” A voice so loud it shook the ground coldly called out. Amy jolted at its sudden call. She looked all around her, trying to find its source.

“Hello?! Who’s there?!” Amy called out, frantically turning her head in all directions. Its presence was there, unsettling, shaking Amy to her very core.

“You have done the impossible,” The voice continued, prompting Amy to look in its direction, upwards, “You have escaped Cyberspace, through your own power. YOU are… the KEY.”

“I beg your pardon?” Amy tilted her head to the side, flabbergasted by its words-at best-, “Key? Key to what?”

“Find the Chaos Emeralds. Destroy the Titans,” The voice spoke once more, not responding to a single concern, “Tear down the walls between dimensions.”

“Titans? Dimensions?! What are you talking about?” Amy demanded with an irritated tone, “Heeeellooooooooooooooo?” She yelled out, only to be met with silence.

“Ugh… Great.” She groaned under her breath, before letting out a sigh, “Guess I’m on my own… I’ll worry about that later. I’ll have to find Sonic and Tails first!”

She inhaled deeply & took off, her heels clanking against the grassy path before her. She let the comforts of the rain soothe her worries. She trusted her friends, they’ll be okay!

“I just hope they safely landed somewhere… Maybe they’re looking for the Chaos Emeralds already? If I try looking too, I’m sure I’ll run into them!” Amy smiled to herself as she took off on her new journey.

Her mind was made, and her resolve was hardened.

“Time to go emerald hunting! Don’t want to keep my precious Sonic waiting!”

Little did she know of the journey that awaited her beyond those mountains…

----------------

Author note: This is just a rough opening, and I won't be writing more past this until I get an AO3 account! But yeah! Here's that long awaited opening to the Amy Frontiers AU! I'm a little rusty with writing but I'll get the hang of it!

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic fanfiction #amy rose #miles tails prower #sonic frontiers #sonic au #ANGST BABBEYEYYY #i hope yall liked the cyberspace rendition cause EVERYTHING in this au will be different and not a sonic copy-paste i PROMISE

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 months

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Northern Lights

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!”

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it?

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern.

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious.

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise.

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything.

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over.

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood!

She thought of grief. Of freedom.

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him.

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison.

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t.

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked.

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end.

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely.

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters.

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two.

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth.

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest.

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above.

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks.

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave.

So perish the old Gods!

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute.

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.”

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured.

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

#okayyyy so #i've been down the tolkien/lewis/norse mythology rabbit hole lately #it's a lot #but i've been picking at this piece in my head for a while now #which is more a rhapsody than anything else #but another for my narnia/classic lit sequence of pieces #the quotes are mostly pulled from Longfellow's Tegners Drapa translation #which Jack discusses in Surprised by Joy as one of the works that inspired feelings of joy and 'Northernness' in his boyhood #there's also a Weight of Glory quote in there #(paraphrased)#and one from the intro to Joy Gresham's book on the 10 Commandments that Jack wrote #(that's that last passage in italics)#i'm not really sure i was trying to make a point with this so much as just. explore that feeling of northernness #bc really northernness is two things #it's joy and exhileration brought on by beauty #and it's that beautiful hopeless courage when faced with unwinnable battles #and i love how intertwined those two things are for lewis #and let's be honest for me too #so that's what this is #hope it holds together okay #narnia #chapter one #night under narnia #dying of thirst #pontifications and creations #leah stories

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mister-eames · 5 months

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do you think the first and probably the only time arthur cried for mal or the general shitty situation with cobb was when he phoned eames? and even if they were in their bitter breakup era?

You know, oddly enough, this sort of addresses a little fic I had sitting in my drafts for this third prompt - this is one of the ways I think it happened, at least.

It's funny, how quickly a house can no longer feel like home anymore.

Eames supposes he should be used to it. After all, they made their home into a house of mourning just a week ago, and the veil hasn't lifted since.

Mal's death had blindsided them both.

The last time he'd spoken to Mal she'd seemed... off. Not her best self. Nothing overt, he'd chalked it up to being short on sleep, having too much on her hands with two young kids.

Eames truly didn't see it coming. And the loss felt all the more blunt for it.

There was a glorious morning a week ago. Arthur had burned both coffee and eggs and he was still in his post-morning sex haze, lazy and loose-limbed and beautiful. Eames was cooking their second breakfast and he'd embraced Eames from behind, long arms draped around his neck, playfully tapping his hands against Eames chest to some beat only he could hear. Arthur had leaned in close to say something; whispered, baby, guess what ---

--- then there was a phone call and Eames never got to hear the rest of it.

Arthur had answered. He'd put Cobb on speaker, smiled at Eames as he reached into the cabinets for plates, only to place them back very, very carefully. He'd looked at Eames then, horrified, as Cobb's muffled crying filling in their kitchen.

Eames burned the second round of eggs.

It was a strange thing, in a way, because his grief was double-edged. On one hand he had his own sadness for Mal, carried profound sense of loss like a weight attached to his neck always dragging him downwards. On the other was the grief burdening Arthur and not knowing how to comfort him and how doubly helpless it made Eames feel. Because Eames doesn't know where to start with Arthur. He'd never seen him like this, before. So.... so... -- and Mal was... she was...

Eames was going to ---

He can't forget the way Arthur stilled when he heard the news and how the air left the room.

--- there was a funeral.

Neither of them could attend. Between them and California was too much intercontinental paperwork and not enough time. Eames was saddened but Arthur was --

Arthur was functioning perfectly normal. Eating, sleeping, reading the news. He made bread and finished crosswords. Not a flaw in sight. This was the worst part because Eames knew there was something very wrong with him -- this was Arthur's version of grieving. Arthur was good and bad at all of those things, but he was never perfect at their execution like he was in the days leading up to ---

Arthur takes a phone call the day after the funeral. He sequesters himself away in his office and Eames smokes through half a pack of cigarettes on their balcony watching lightning dance across the sky before Arthur comes back out.

It's starting to sprinkle rain when Arthur sits beside him. He takes a cigarette from the pack and holds it between his fingers without moving to light it.

"That was Cobb."

"Oh really?" Eames asks, half-heartedly fiddling with the ashtray. "I couldn't tell. All I could hear you say was 'Dom, Dom...' over and over again. He been locked up yet?"

"He fled the country."

Eames stills.

The silence that follows is heavy. Out of the corner of his eye Arthur looks wrecked and Eames knows then.

Dread pulls his eyes closed and sinks down to his gut like an anchor. When he blinks them open its to witness lightning splintering across the sky in brilliant streaks of purple.

The rain has picked up.

"Come on," Eames stands, grabbing Arthur by the elbow. "Inside."

In their bathroom Eames towels Arthur dry. It's unnecessary as he's barely damp, but Arthur lets him and it gives his shaking hands something to do, and if he's towelling Arthur's hair, then he doesn't need to see the unhappy tremble of his lower lip, or the resolve in his eyes, and its one more thing before he fucking loses his temper.

Eames isn't sure whats worse -- seeing Arthur in pain, or knowing deep down what Arthur is going to do, which is what Arthur has always done, which is to bury his own grief and break his own heart so he doesn't have to think about the ways it was already done for him. Eames already knows. Fucking christ, he always does this, he doesn't know how to let himself fucking process a single --

The towel drops to the floor.

"Eames."

"Shh."

A wet sniffle. "I'm --- I'll need to. The kids ---"

"Go on, go sit on the bed, there's a lad."

Arthur goes, compliant. Following, Eames kneels before him and presses a kiss to Arthur's forehead.

Something wet falls to his clavicle and soaks into the fabric of his shirt.

"Eames," Arthur says again, voice cracking. "I need to ---"

"I know," Eames says, feeling sick and sorry for the both of them. He wishes he could shake Arthur and tell him to stop. He wishes he could reverse time and shake Mal too. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was going to ---

Eames collar is soaked when they disentangle.

Something cracks inside of him too. He thinks it's been a long time coming.

---

In the morning Eames leaves first, unable to bear the alternative.

#inception #arthur x eames #dreamhusbands #this is a vastly unedited lil draft but your ask made me think of it!!#here's one i prepared earlier

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sulfurz · 11 months

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*ೃ༄ DAY OFF (edge x fem!reader)

*ೃ༄ PAIRING: edge x fem!reader

*ೃ༄ REQUESTED BY: @micheleamidalajedi

Can I have "Your eyes are beautiful" with Edge pretty plss 🥹

*ೃ༄ WARNINGS: pure fluff, some suggestiveness if you squint

*ೃ༄ WORD COUNT: 688

*ೃ༄ NOTE: shorter than usual but possibly my fav bit i’ve wrote so far (that’s my baby(50 year old man))

you had gotten used to waking up alone these days. between training and everything that came inbetween, adam was rarely able to stay in bed past six in the morning.

personally, you enjoyed a lie in, your own job being able to be performed on your own time ever since you opened your own business. it made things pretty perfect, and in the rare times adam had more than 5 minutes, you’d often have him helping you out by modelling your designs or something along the sort. that was, on some days, the most you got to see of him.

usually, when you came to, with the soft light of the morning entering your apartment building, you’d roll over to find the other side of the bed already empty. you never minded too much, using the opportunity to starfish across the entire bed and most like go back to sleep. there was always a part of you that wished adam could be there to cuddle instead, but you never held his regime against him.

so, one random, seemingly mundane tuesday when you did your morning roll, the body you met under your arm was just an added bonus.

as you shifted and slung your arm across adam’s bare chest, you couldn’t help the smile that cling to your lips when you heard him hum in acknowledgment. it appeared neither of you were ready to open your eyes just yet, but the movement as he lifted his own arm to rest on top of yours was more than welcomed.

“good morning” he spoke gruffly, voice still laced with sleep. you were sure yours wouldn’t be much better, so you chose to bury your face into the crook of his neck to mumble your own morning wish.

he chuckled quietly, his other hand scratching at your head from where his arm was underneath you.

you allowed yourself a while to relax, revel in the silence and the warm body below you. the sun peeping through the crack in the curtains only got brighter as it rose in the sky, and you couldn’t help the groan of displeasure you let out as you pushed your head further into adam’s body to avoid the light.

“fight the sun for me.” you murmered, voice cracking from lack of use.

“of course, i’ll defend your honour.” adam played along, sounding a lot more awake now than you did.

“bring me back a cloud or something.”

adam pressed a soft kiss into your hair, the one thing that caused you to look up from your hiding spot. his eyes lit up when you finally caught his gaze, immediately closing the distance to peck your lips in a closed mouth kiss.

“i missed waking up to you.” you admitted immediately, loving the feeling of his warmth, coupled with the hand that gently graced patterns on your shoulder. it was always better waking up by his side.

the smile he gave you in response was almost blinding, your heart doing a weird flip of content. “let’s make the most of it?” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows under you slapped his shoulder lightly.

“you’re insatiable.”

adam laughed along with you, spare hand moving up to gently brush a piece of hair behind your ear. despite his less than pg joke before, the adoration exuding from his features was soft and warm, a clear sign he had missed it too.

he seemed to search your eyes for a moment, the corners of his lip dancing upwards in a grin. “your eyes are beautiful.”

you blinked quickly, taken aback by the sudden direct show of affection, but it was quickly brushed off by the want to get your hands on his face. and also maybe his cooking.

“come on,” you uttered, squeezing his cheeks quickly before jumping to your feet, nearly dragging a shocked adam who still had a hold of you along with you “i want breakfast.”

“i was enjoying myself actually.” he pouted, following you nonetheless.

“if you make me an omelette i’ll feed it to you.”

“if you sit on my lap it’s a deal—“

find out how to request on my page <<33

#✍🏻 requests : micheleamidalajedi #wwe imagines #edge x reader #edge imagine #edge scenario #edge imagines #edge x you #adam copeland imagine #adam copeland #wwe edge #wwe edge imagine #wwe x reader

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yoonkinii · 4 months

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We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part:1

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

—————————-

The warm light danced on the shadowed wall, twisting and flickering. They reached up to the sky, wanting to escape but couldn’t while they were in the confines of the fireplace. A sizzle and crack was all I heard in this room and it never changed. Unless I chose to move around- then a new sound would appear.

The sounds of chains being dragged around. Clinking together and with the floor with each step I took. To anyone on the outside, this room was beyond grand and could even rival a royals room. Maroons draps bolted onto the perimeter of the arched window so the mistake of the sun shining through never happened. The queen size bed pushed against the middle of the wall was a few sizes too large for just one person. A wooden wardrobe that had carvings of my favorite flower etched onto the surface of the doors. A metal chandelier that held candles to offer some sort of light into the room. Well, used to when he still bothered to care about me. Truly care about me. An upholstered chaise lounge the color of blood that was too stiff sat before the marble fireplace. It was the only light source I had these days and nights. Somehow the flames never went out and I was grateful for that. Grateful for the warmth- the company it provided me.

The room was grand but lacked something I could never give it no longer how long I stayed inside out it. Warmth. Love. Life. I tried once and it resulted in me having shackles clasped around my wrists and the chain bolted down to the walls of the fireplace marble. One chain for each side. I guess I was grateful he gave me enough chain length to allow me to wander around my room even if I had nothing to do. I used to have a bookshelf to entertain myself but once I read them all and asked him for more, I was called things that dug under my skin and rested there. I could still feel the pain if I thought about it for too long.

There used to be love in this room. I used to be loved. He used to worship the ground I walked on. He used to twist my hair into beautiful styles, claiming he loved running his fingers through it and making me feel pretty. He used to trail his soft lips against every inch of my skin, calling me perfect with each little nip of his teeth. He used to cradle me when the shadows of my past got to be too much for me; even when he had to deal with his own. He used to love me.

Now he is dead and has been replaced by someone wearing his skin. Any trace of the man I once knew is gone and it was all my fault. It was my fault for not noticing the signs. My fault for not urging him to take the rightout path. It was my fault for not trying hard enough. I thought that as long as he was happy then everything would be okay. That wasn’t the case.

Now I barely see him and when I do, it’s only to sedate his needs regardless of the pain he causes me while using me. I can’t fight back though; not as his wretched spawn. He controls me, my life, my decisions. The nightgown I wear now was chosen by him. Black satin hung my shoulders in thin straps, its low neck cut barely covering my modesty and ended just above my knees. The edges were trimmed with black lace that scratched against my skin. Perhaps there was a time when I would’ve felt pretty but now I just feel sick. Sick that I allowed things to turn out this way. Sick that even though I bent backwards to make him happy, to free him, I was now nothing to him. Sick that the simplest things I had have not been taken away from me. Sick that I don’t even have the freedom to do my own hair the way I want it; the long strands past my waist now. Sick that with every meal, I refused to wonder who I am drinking. Is it a child? A mother? A father? Sister? Brother? A loved one?

I couldn’t do anything but feel sick and wonder when the signs first started appearing. I wondered every night as I stared into the flames greedily trying to escape. I wonder as I do now, sitting on the chaise, legs pulled close to my body. The shackles were cold against my skin, a constant reminder that I was captured into a box called a room. Just like how the flames were captured.

I refused to look at the portrait of me and him hanging above the wall. It would mock me now. It would show what it used to be like. A moment captured on canvas as he held me in his arms and gazed longingly at me. There was a smile on my face, I knew it was because I could still feel the happiness I felt back then but now it felt like a faded memory.

I watched until my eyes felt too heavy to keep open, until the pain became to much, until the memories started to flash before me.

I would give anything to go back and change things, anything at all.

That was the only wish running through my mind as I finally closed my eyes and allowed sleep to offer me comfort.

My eyes snapped open, inhaling sharply as pain filled my lungs with the notion. I stared at the ceiling, taking in deep breaths to calm myself down. It was only when the pain finally left me that I realized the weight laying across my waist, the hot air brushing against my neck. I gasped sharply, turning my head to my left to see tufts of white hair. My heart dropped. How did I get in this position? The last thing I remember was falling asleep by the fireplace and he never slept beside me. Not anymore. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t remember, what mattered was that I had to get out of here and return to my room before he woke up. I slowly lifted his arm off my stomach, freezing everytime his breathing pattern changed and waiting until it resumed its normal pace. Minutes seemed like hours as I slipped out from under the covers and pressed my bare feet onto the floor.

Standing from the bed, I stopped. My nightgown was different. No longer was I more bare than covered. It was still satin but it was white, ended at my ankles and had short sleeves that covered my usual exposed shoulders. It was simple and I wasn’t allowed to wear ‘simple’ things. The bed sheets ruffled as he moved, snapping me out of my thoughts. I could worry about what I was wearing later- I had to get back to my room.

I exited the room and was greeted with the same familiar dark hallway. Red rug created a path on the dark wooden floor of the palace, softening my frantics steps. Rounding the corner, I was in such a hurry that my brain didn’t register my own body stepping in the leaking sunlight of an exposed window located high up on the wall, the rays casting down onto my path, until it was too late.

I stopped, flinching as I expected my skin to flake off and burn but nothing happened. Nothing at all. A small gasp escaped my lips as I looked at my own two hands basked in sunlight. I forgot how warm it felt on my skin, how peaceful it was.

The click of the door opening pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked over the banister of the second story, watching as the front door to the palace opened and revealed a familiar face. The face took note of my form and grinned at me so brightly.

“Ah! I see you are awake. Does Lord Astarion also seem to be awake?”

He said his title with a teasing tone, his hands coming to rest atop his hips. A brown mass curling around his legs, rubbing it’s body on his limb as a way to pet itself.

Tara and,

“Gale.” I whispered in surprised, not believing my own eyes even as he addressed me.

Gale's expression changed to one filled with worry. A small frown of his lips and slightly pinched brows. “Is everything alright, Y/n?”

I didn’t answer. All I did was turn on my heel and run down the rest of the hall where the stairs leading to the first floor were located. I didn’t stop running even as I neared Gale and Tara, the tressym now following me with her gaze.

“Y/n?”

Gale called out again, reaching for my shoulder as I past him and entered the outdoors. My eyes looked over everything and didn’t give my mind enough time to catch up. I could stand in the sun. I saw Gale. I could leave the palace. The Windows weren’t covered. I woke up in different clothes, in a different room. I woke up beside him.

Something was wrong, or rather, something was different.

The sound of people chatting with each other and moving in every direction was the first thing I noticed. How could it not be when the city streets were crowded behind belief. Rubble of fallen buildings, house missing a chuck of a wall, the city was a disaster and still stained with death.

It wasn’t the state of the city that made my stomach churn- it was the fact that I’ve seen this all before.

I swallowed thickly, wiping my sweaty palms against my gown. A flash of red appeared at the corner of my eye. My gaze flickered over to focus on it and a sob bubbled in my throat.

It was her. My closest friend I had while I was enslaved by a tadpole. The person I went to first when I was unsure if I truly deserved him.

“Karlach!” Her name left my lips like a plea. I raced towards her, bare feet slamming against the hot gravel, kicking up small rocks in their wake.

Karlach looked over shoulder, catching sight up me and a full smile overtaking her features as she turned to face me. She opened her mouth to say something but it slowly fell closed as she looked at the tears streaking down my face.

She let out a soft ‘oof’ as I tackled her into a hug- or rather collided with a wall of muscle that barley budged as I wrapped my arms around her. I pressed my face close to her chest, hearing the familiar hum of her engine. The warmth of her skin heated my own chilled one, embracing me with familiarity.

I felt her hand press against the top of my head, smoothing out my hair. Her other hand came to grasp my left shoulder gently.

“Is everything alright soldier?”

“Yes.” My voice muffled against her. “I just wanted to hug you.”

I could hear her smile in her voice, “Well, you know I am always ready for a hug but-“ Her hands moved, hooking under my shoulders as she raised me off the ground with ease. I had no choice but to look at her face, blinking at her with wide eyes,

“That doesn’t explain why you ran at me barefoot with tears on your face.” She finished, looking at me with a raised brow. I bite my bottom lip. Of course I didn’t think what it would look like of me if I just charged at her, I was overfilled with emotions.

“I- um…just really needed a hug?” My stomach pinched at the sound of confusion in my own voice. Some city hero I was for not being able to lie properly to a Tiefling.

Karlach just stared at me with narrowed eyes for a while, silently. Just when I was about to come clean about, she beamed at me.

“Well okay! But now we have to take care of your feet first, they got all banged up.”

Before I could retort, she threw me over her shoulder like a sack and began walking.

“Karlach! I am sure I can walk on my own!”

“Not right now. I still wonder how you can walk on such tiny feet as is but now I really wonder.”

I gasped, “I do not have tiny feet! You just have large feet!”

Karlach bursted out laughing and it sounded like music to my ears. I haven’t heard it in so long that I had forgotten what it sounded like.

Karlach entered through the palace doors much quicker than I exited with her longer strides. They are up the distance up the stairs and down a hall.

My heart dropped once more as I realized where she was going, “wait, Kar-“

She swung the door open, “Hello fancy pants! I brought the madam back.” She yelled out onto the room, making her voice sound fancier than it actually was as she said the word ‘madam’.

I yelped in surprise as I was flipped onto the bed, the cushion bouncing slightly with the impact. My feet hung off the edge, allowing Karlach to kneel before me and inspect them with ease. I huffed a breath, using my elbows to help me sit up.

“I told you my feet are fine…”

My voice trailed off as I looked at my feet. They were a bloody disaster to say the least. Little cuts marked my skin, blood leaking from a few of the larger ones. They were splotchy with dirt in some places.

A brown haired male looked over Karlach, peering at my feet, “You run past me like some uncultured animal and come back like this? What in the weave did you do?” Gale questioned, his hand running through his bearded chin.

“Should I get Shadowheart to help? She would be much better at this than me.” Karlach asked. Fingers pinching at my skin to prove a point. I swatted at her hand, scowling at her.

“That won’t be necessary, Karlach.”

I tensed. My whole body seemed to lock into place at the sound of his voice. I couldn’t move my trained gaze away from my feet, not even when Karlach and Gale moved to the side to give him some room. He kneeled before me and I clenched my jaw. Fear invaded my senses swiftly and I felt his hands gently prod at the skin of my feet. Watched his hands hold my feet like they were made out of porcelain.

“For once in his life, Gale seems to not have been exaggerating. What happened, Darling?”

His eyes looked into mine and it was then that I saw someone who was just a faint memory for me. It wasn’t him. It was Astarion. The same one who cherished me and loved me while all his might. It was my Astarion. My husband.

His ruby eyes were no longer void of any emotion. His face no longer contorted into undermining sneers. His lips no longer spat out words sharper than knives. It was him, truly him, the real him.

His white eyebrow raised up slightly in question as I gaped at him. He didn’t hit me for taking too long to answer. He just waited, watching me.

“Astarion…” I whispered under my breath; not believing what I was seeing.

He looked at me with confusion, his lips pursed together as he slowly nodded. I didn’t waste another second as I launched myself at him, pulling him into an embrace. Astarion lost the balance he maintained to kneel on his knees and ended up falling onto his butt.

I was sandwiched between his legs, body shaking like a chill seeped into my bones as I held him close. My face buried in the crook of his neck, his own skin becoming wet with tears that had barely dried on my own face. I felt him tense beneath me before his body relaxed against my hold, his arms coming to wrap around me. I sobbed harder as he pressed me close, tucking into his own body. I couldn’t help it, not when this Astarion had disappeared long ago. Tears fell as my heart seized. I had no idea what happened or how I came back but I would repay whoever did this with my own soul as thanks.

“My sweet, what is wrong?”

He asked softly, his voice muffled as his lips pressed against the side of my head.

I heaved out a breath, the air coming out in shakes as I pulled away slightly to look at him. To really look at him. My hands cradled his face and he didn’t question me as I did so. He never let me get too close to him and when I was allowed, it was for all the wrong reasons. I was constantly told I didn’t earn the privilege to touch him which was an absurd thing to say to your wife. Then again, I don’t think he thought of me as his wife in a very long time.

A quick glance around the room and I noticed that Gale and Karlach must have left quietly, leaving me alone with Astarion. I was grateful for that. I don’t know how I would be able to explain myself to them. They would probably become more worried if I simply told them I was having a mental breakdown which was something I never had before, even with a worm in my head.

“Astarion…” His own name felt like a miracle to say on my lips. It was a miracle that I could say his name without having to put the word ‘lord’ in front of it.

Astarion looked back at me, waiting for me to move and do what I had to. The longer I held him, the more I could see the difference between Astarion and who he would soon turn in too. His face looked younger even though he was an immortal vampire that would never age. He didn’t have this darkness that clouded his face. His eyes looked clearer, like he actually saw me for me and not just an object. He still had the sleepy look I always loved about him on his face; his eyes never without the purplish bags underneath them. The small beauty mark rested on his cheek bone right below his left eye. He always hated it, constantly told me that it ‘ruined his image’ but it was my favorite thing about him. He complained about it less over time after I kept planting a wet kiss on top of the mark after every time he complained about it. He only does it on purpose when it benefits him, usually when I’m ticked off at him and refuse to speak to him.

“I missed you, Astarion.”

He blinked at him, his brows pinching together in confusion, “What do you mean, darling? I am with you constantly.” He smirked at me, “You can never get rid of me.”

A breathy laugh sneaked out of me as I pressed my forehead against his, “Thank the Gods.”

I don’t know how I got here or why. I am positive I was sent to the past a few weeks after beating the Absolute, the crumpled building and devastated land proof of that. Even if I didn’t know how I was sent to the past, I was not going to waste time trying to figure it out. I have been given a second chance to start all over again. A second chance to save the other half of my soul before it was damned. I didn’t know how I was going to do so or how hard it would be but I had the information from the future. Information no one but I had and I planned to use it to my full advantage.

I was not going to sit around and watch him become lost. Never again.

Word Count: 3346

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