#sometimes you find people that just fit so perfectly with your dream of writing a hockey/ice skater au

[donutcats]

just wrote 5k words of the most self indulgent shit ever. why can't I have this motivation for the two wips that have been sitting in my drafts and gathering dust?

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[randomshyperson]

As It Was (Part 2) - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Once the truth is out, will you be able to forget and forgive the past, or the weight of choices be heavier than the feelings you and Wanda never learned to outgrow? | The Second Part is more based on "Satellite" than "As It Was" tbh. | Part One

Warnings: angst(ish) with happy ending, milf!Wanda, age gap, ex-lovers meeting again, witchcraft lore, some making out but nothing explicit in this part | Words: 6.552k

A/N-> At the request of many, I managed to write a sequel to that one "As It Was". It was much longer than I expected, but I managed to write things that I hadn't done before, so the result pleased me. Forgive me for the lack of smut, it ended up not fitting within the context and rhythm of the story, but there is the possibility of specials. I hope you all enjoy your reading.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

It occurs to her that you are distant.

Physically speaking, it's quite evident - Wanda hasn't seen you for five days. Not even on her secret getaways from family dinners, school reunions, or anything typical of an American suburban mom's routine so perfectly set up for herself, brings you back. You don't visit her on any of the days that follow, not for lunches or late afternoons, nor do you send either quick or long messages made up of intense declarations that always shake her with all the emotions she might have.

Wanda has no idea where you are, and the lack of control over the situation almost suffocates her. 

But there is something new that occupies her enough not to take action on it. Or rather, someone new.

It's true that time passes differently in Westview. The leaves are starting to turn orange when Pietro Maximoff arrives on her balcony. Wanda is trying to find her footing with so many ghosts from the past coming back at once and she has to admit that her twin brother's presence impacts her enough for her not to escape her house and family in an attempt to find out if you were still in the same motel where she left you in the early hours of one morning almost a week ago.

Wanda tries to focus on the good things in life; she has the family she always dreamed about, complete at last. A husband, children, and even her long-missed brother. She has friends and a house. She should feel happy and fulfilled, or so she tries to convince herself while she tries to ignore the not-so-easy feeling in her chest when she lies next to Vision at night.

He doesn't mind that she's distant herself. Sometimes, Wanda thinks he doesn't even notice. Maybe it's her will, playing with everything around her and ensuring she's not disturbed. In fact, Vision has stopped noticing many things since the last heated argument they had, on the same night that Pietro reappeared. He's just as distant as she is as if he has a whole life going on outside those walls. Wanda could say the same.

She falls asleep with difficulty, and it’s one of those nightmare nights once more. 

When she opens her eyes, she knows she’s still dreaming.

Nevertheless, she allows herself to fall into that fantasy with peace of mind.

The atmosphere is familiar, and the smells and sensations too. Wanda remembers well how things were before Hydra, and before the outbreak of civil war in her country. In the few years of tranquillity at the end of her adolescence, where the revolution group was almost a pastime for irritated young people, for a moment, she could imagine herself as nothing more than a schoolgirl.

Of course, the war would get worse, and almost the entire group of her former colleagues would leave the universities to occupy the streets, but in the safety of the dream, none of this would happen.

Wanda could leave the soft bed and follow the smell of food. She knew she would find you in the kitchen, moving your hips softly to a gentle melody because this was a memory Wanda had never learned to erase.

Her voice came out raspier than she expected once she tried to call your name. But luckily, you were distracted enough by the food to notice the tears welling up in her eyes. After a whole week without hearing from you, she truly believes she lost you once more.

But in this dream, things were saved. Your hands just continued to separate the mixture. “Morning, krasotka (gorgeous). Sit down, there's coffee on the table."

Wanda swallowed, controlling her temper. She watched your back for a moment, trying to memorize every feature of that appearance in case this was the last time and she wouldn’t have another chance before that fantasy ended.

When she didn't sit down you looked at her, offering her an easy smile from a face marked with flour and youthfulness.

"What's wrong, Wanda?"

She moves instead of answering, determined steps until she reaches you at the counter. Your confused eyes close as Wanda, who has just grabbed your belt, pulls you close and kisses you firmly.

It takes you by surprise, but you respond without hesitation. The position isn't ideal, but you kiss her eagerly, as breathless as she is once she breaks the act. Wanda's tight grip around you makes you chuckle softly.

"Hey, Pietro will wake up soon." You warned in the same casual tone, rubbing your nose against hers. "He'll kill me if he finds out about us like this..." Your mouth pecks down her jaw to her neck. 

Wanda giggles tearfully. She had forgotten about that. The teenage fear of telling her protective twin about you. Thinking back at how obvious you two were, she was sure that Pietro knew. To be fair, anyone could notice the way you looked at each other.

You tried to pull away, but Wanda didn't allow it. A sigh escaped your lips, which formed a mischievous smile.

"Behave yourself, Wanda." You warned softly, but she raised her hand to your cheek, the touch surprising you a little. Your curious expression didn't intimidate her.

"Where are you?" She questioned and curiosity gave way to confusion.

"Here, dorogoya, what do you mean-" But green irises turned red, and the confusion vanished once your eyes reflected her magic as well. Your shoulders tensed, and you sighed as if you were tired. 

You tried to pull away and this time, Wanda allowed you to. Your hands reached for a cloth, and the flour from her favorite pastry that you had prepared for her in that memory was leisurely wiped from your skin.

When you sighed again, more calmly you were leaning on the counter, with your arms crossed and your gaze distant.

"That's different." That was the first thing you said, with a small smile at the corner of your lips. Wanda swallowed, pushing her emotions down. She looked in the same direction as you next. "The sofa was dark blue, not brown."

"Some things..." She cleared her throat, trying to hide the urge to cry. "We remember it differently. Some things, they're just... different."

You hum thoughtfully, shrugging. "Yeah, like ourselves."

Wanda fiddles with her fingers. "Y/N..."

"I wasn't afraid to tell Pietro." You cut her off with no emotion in your voice, but seriousness in your gaze. "You were. I was always ready to shout out to the world that I loved you, but you were terrified of his reaction. Why did you change that?"

"I didn't." Wanda fights back immediately, defensive. You look away with a dry laugh, and she sighs. "I didn't do it on purpose. I... It's only been a long time, Y/N. It's hard to remember exactly what it was like."

"I heard that grief changes things." You retort more softly, and Wanda is sure she's going to start crying. She hugs her own body, and you sigh. "When..."

"No." She cuts you off, her voice breaking. "Why can't you just give me this day? This memory? Just... stay here. Let me live it again." She practically begs, but you don’t flinch, stepping away for the kitchen counter to move closer.

Your hands hold her arms, and your gaze makes something in her spark.

"Don't you think you deserve more than a fantasy, Wanda?"

She chuckles tearfully because this has to be a joke. 

"And what choice do I have?" she retorts, tears running down her cheeks. Wanda doesn't have the opportunity to wipe them away, you do so almost immediately. Your instinct is as quick as hers to lean into your touch. "God, there isn't... a day that I haven't missed this. Us."

You smile tenderly at her confession, and Wanda closes her eyes for a moment. She’s just enjoying the feeling while you wait. It takes another sigh for her to ask: "Where are you?"

Being asked again doesn't surprise you. You caress her cheek, and your other hand entwines around her waist.

"It doesn't matter."

She sighs impatiently. "Of course, it matters!" She insists. "I want-I need to see you." She corrects herself and you frown slightly. Wanda lets her hands grasp the collar of your blouse, and her red eyes are almost desperate in yours. "Tell me. Please. Where-"

You kiss her, hard enough for the protest to turn into a needy moan. The hand around her entwines her completely to lift her onto the counter, and Wanda melts. She kisses you as she manages, almost overwhelmed by the longing she has felt over the last few days for the sensation of your lips again.

When you part, she's tingly all over, but your hands don't go beyond her clothes. Your affected breath hits her cheek before you look at her again.

"I remembered."

Wanda almost breaks down in a sob but she manages to keep her emotions around her border. With a sniffle, she guides pleading eyes to yours. Her legs tighten around your waist as if she fears your escape.

"Please stay with me." It comes in a whisper.

You chuckle and Wanda can feel her cheeks burning, her heart breaking. She fears your answer more than she's ever feared anything else in her life.

"You don't understand, Wanda." That's what you say, pulling away and grabbing her hands. Before she can despair, imagining that you were pushing her away, your hands entwined with hers, your eyes tender and intense. "Tell me what you remember."

She looks at you with confusion before denying it with her head. "I don't like... thinking about that day."

"I know, but I need to talk about it." You say, kissing her hands for a moment. "I'm not a memory, Wanda. I'm here. I really am here."

But she shakes her head, her shoulders tensing and her breathing going out of rhythm. "My mind is playing tricks on me... First you, and now Pietro. None of it makes sense. The only thing I know is that I don't want to lose you again. Please don't leave me again."

She doesn't even realize she's started crying. You hug her, trying to calm her down with pats on her back as she wets her shirt. 

Wanda clings to you as if you're going to disappear, but you stay there until the tears dry.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." You whisper. "Never again, Wanda. I can't change what happened to Pietro, but I'm staying. Screw the consequences, I'll never leave you alone again."

She looks at you with confusion, wiping her wet face with the hem of her blouse. " What consequences- what you talking about?"

But you smile, kissing her cheek quickly. "It's time to wake up, my love. Meet me when you're ready to leave. I'm waiting outside for you."

Wanda tries to grab you by the blouse, but she wakes up in a jolt. Vision complains low in bed so that she stops making so much noise and Wanda hides her tears in her pillow.

She dares to try to search for your presence around the house, every floor, every room but all there is is Vision and her twins.

Her mind is playing tricks on her. A stupid dream just to try to break the perfect life she has now.

She goes back to sleep and makes sure that she won’t dream of anything else.

-&-

It's not the ideal place or your favorite setting, nor does it have the best food, but the dinner is the closest outside the Hex that you could find, so it's enough.

The back table becomes the mystery traveler's spot (that's how you hear the waitress and some truck drivers refer to you) for the next few days.

It takes almost two for Agatha to show up.

"You're late, witch." That's how you greet her, outside in the parking lot. The cigarette is hanging unlit from your lips, and Agatha snatches it from your mouth before you have a chance to light it. Your relaxed posture breaks, and she hits you over the head with a slap.

"Insolent child! Irresponsible! Arrogant-" You let her hit three more, they don't hurt, and it's good for her anger. The next time she's about to swear at you for something else, you hit her first. 

"Get a grip, you grumpy old woman." You snap. " Don't cause a scene, huh?"

Agatha raises a finger in warning, her eyes blazing with fury before she walks away with an annoyed grunt. 

"You're unbelievable." She retorts, taking up your personal space again. She pulls a box of cigarettes out of your leather jacket pocket and takes one for herself. You roll your eyes but watch her light one, and blow the smoke away. Agatha keeps muttering to herself “Challeging a direct order; what will the council say? In the worst scenario, they will know I helped you and I’m done. This little shit…”

You adjust your posture to lean on one of the parking lot irons, your hands in your jacket pockets. You pull the witch out of her complaints with a question:

"What's the matter with you anyway?"

Agatha chuckles dryly, the cigarette between her fingers. "Your girlfriend."

Your posture doesn't change, but the glint in your eyes is almost sinister. "Watch your next words carefully, Miss Harkness."

It's her turn to laugh dryly and take another drag before turning her face toward you. "What is with little show you put on anyway? Standing guard outside, waiting for Rapunzel to leave her tower?" Her teasing only makes you chuckle. Agatha sighs impatiently. "You laugh now, but the whole place is surrounded. If that crazy witch ends up getting shot, I won't sell you any spells to fix it."

You roll your eyes, snatching the cigarette from her fingers. "Stop talking shit, Agatha." You retort. "There are no agents inside, I kept my part of the deal. Now, if the whole thing's still on, it's you who's not doing yours."

Agatha clenches her jaw, looking at you angrily. You just flick the cigarette, and she rolls her eyes.

"I've had unforeseen difficulties."

"Right." You laugh. "You're getting soft, that's for sure."

The cigarette flies out of your hand with her hard slap. You snort in annoyance, but Agatha is busy pulling something out of her purple suit, back now that she's out of the Hex. It's an old piece of paper that she presses hard against your hand.

"Do as written, it will be irrevocable. He'll be forced to show up." She guides between her teeth. "I doubt Mephisto will explain, but just getting his presence should do some good. And don't talk about me. I still need a big job to get back on his good side."

There's something like gratitude in your gaze, and Agatha waves you away, turning her attention to the barrier not invisible to magical eyes a few meters from dinner while you tuck the paper safely away in your pocket.

"I'm going to end all this crap today, Y/N." She declares, and you look up immediately. "Are you sure you won't-"

"No." You cut in, forcing a smile. "I'd just be getting in the way. Either side, I suppose. Wanda thinks I died, and well, I have no idea how to break the whole story to her. 'Hey baby, you thought I died but I kind of sold my soul to keep you and your brother alive. When that didn't work out for him, I ran away for fear of fucking up your life too, but whatever your magic rank, it's high enough to summon one of Mephisto's riders against his will. Any chance you would want to date me again?'”

Agatha laughs softly at the statement, shaking her head. "Don't forget the part where you're helping a witch take down her little fantasy town."

You grunt slightly. "In gratitude for my memories, only. You're a tricky merchant, Miss Harkness."

The woman chuckles, shrugging. Before she can walk away, you clear your throat and Agatha looks at you curiously. "Anything else?"

"Our arrangement, don't forget." You retort. "You won't do anything against her, or the boys."

Just to torment you, she raises an eyebrow. "No request for her husband's safety?"

You snort, rolling your eyes. "He's already dead." You grumble, and Agatha laughs darkly.

"Until recently, you were too."

"I wasn't really!" You retort indignantly, but Agatha is already turning and waving goodbye.

Alone in the parking lot, you feel the weight of the summoning spell in your pocket. Your boss would have to listen to you at some point.

-&-

Being betrayed by what seemed to be her only real friend for some time felt like a punishment.

Well, maybe it was karma. For what she was doing to Vis, and by God, to all those people trapped and subjugated to her wills, fears, and desires. But Wanda wasn't to blame, or at least, she wasn't ready to take on any of it. There was only emptiness at first, and then there was contentment. Crude and meager, but there. Her peace was as superficial as the magical fantasy surrounding her, and it didn't take long for the fear to creep back in; until finally, she was confronted with the reality of what she and her brother had never been able to accept in their youth: there is no magic formula to fix things. Just as Hydra didn't save Sokovia and cost her her twin, her magic didn't fix her grief but made it even worse.

Wanda would have to say goodbye to her children, and for this kind of pain, she had never been prepared.

Agatha seemed to take some amusement from her agony; a lot of ironic jokes as she searched through her memories. But even centuries of experience didn't rid the witch of her innate arrogance, and just as the Black Widow had once taught her, Wanda saw the opportunity to exploit her opponent's weakness.

The victory was not that satisfying, even if Wanda felt more powerful than ever. 

And Agatha, in a last desperate act, said the name of the one person who would make Wanda hesitate.

With her fingers still in the air, the redhead narrowed her eyes at the witch lying on the ground, powerless and frightened.

"I know you're bluffing."

"I swear I’m not!" Agatha assured hurriedly. "I'll take you to her. I can-"

"She was one of your tricks, then? It's as cheap and cruel as using my brother, Agatha." Cut the redhead off coldly, but the witch held up her hand, asking for time.

"Wanda, by the wizard oath." She insisted, letting out a laugh exhausted by the effort of the fight. "She was one of your tricks, not mine. You summoned her to this place."

Wanda nodded, sniffling a little. "Stop lying! I know she's dead."

Agatha shook her head. "She's not! Let me go, I promise I'll take you to her."

Wanda hesitated, in her gaze, in her posture, in her heart. Agatha continued to insist, and she looked back at her family waiting for her and all those agents around.

She turned to Agatha, who fell silent when her hand was raised again.

"I'll say goodbye first. And I swear if I find that you’re trying to trick me again-"

"I know." Agatha cut in, forcing a smile. "I promise." 

That seemed true enough to Wanda, and Agatha's determined look convinced her. She sighed and nodded, then turned away to hug her children, who were already running towards her. A mask of happiness, despite the heartbreak, stamped her face.

When it was all over, Wanda was physically and emotionally exhausted. She said goodbye to Agent Monica too, realizing bitterly that perhaps that woman was the only real friend she had made since Natasha and that she would have to lose her now too. 

And as she crossed the city limits, she assumed that Agatha had taken the opportunity to escape, and came to the conclusion that she didn't care about that at all. Something inside her broke the minute she had to put her children to bed for the last time. No silly rivalry could really bother her. 

"Look alive, Maximoff." The joke was unwelcome, but Agatha didn't mind. Nor did she get out of the parked vehicle.

"Have you ever heard of magic portals? Or, I don't know, flying?" Wanda asked as soon as she noticed the witch waiting for her from inside the car parked outside the city. Wanda didn't understand how the witch had kept the SWORD agents away from that edge, but her mind was elsewhere to ask. 

The older woman chuckled at the question, adjusting herself to lean her arms on the window and look at Wanda. "Did I mention I like the new look? Did I leave the oven on or is that heat coming from you, hot stuff?"

Wanda chuckled with more indignation than anything. When she was close enough, she sighed. "Just do what you agreed to do."

Agatha smiled mischievously. "Well, you're the one with your back to the show." She retorted, pointing at something behind her.

When she turned, she saw two figures, too far away to be identified. The sunlight didn't help either. The people had been talking for some time and it didn't seem to be a peaceful discussion.

"Who...?"

"Who do you think?" Agatha interrupted somewhat ironically. Wanda's heart leaped, and her stomach did a complete flip. It couldn't be you, could it? 

"B-but she... she was-"

"Yeah, the confusing world we live in." Mocked the witch in the car seat. "She wanted to explain everything to you but she has been a pain in the ass so I'll do it. Your friend made a deal with the devil, in the literal sense of the expression. Whatever Hydra did to her, it almost killed her. Mephisto, being the good opportunist he is, offered her a deal and perhaps because she had two people to protect and a hole in her chest, she accepted without reading the terms." Agatha smiled at her own narration, while Wanda continued in shock, being able to imagine the whole story. "And of course, like any deal with the devil, nothing goes according to plan. Mephisto must have known that the boy would die in battle, so he lied to get your friend's soul. She chickened out, by the way, after she heard about her brother. She thought the same would happen to you if she got close, of course at the time neither of you must have known your true power and authority..."

"Authority?" She interrupted hoarsely, getting a laugh from the other witch.

"By Hecate, young witches these days don't know anything," muttered the woman. "As I said before, Wanda, you are the Scarlet Witch. You're the greatest magical authority on earth. And the fact that you don't know this is exactly why I'm needed." Agatha explains. "You need a magical tutor, Miss Maximoff. Someone to train you, and explain important things, like your magical power to break a contract of souls and summon one of Mephisto's ghost riders as you please."

After everything that had happened, absorbing and accepting the madness of this whole story seemed like just one more little push for Wanda to collapse. 

Lucky for her, she wasn't alone this time.

You finally started walking towards her, until the figures became clearer, and without needing to ask, Wanda was sure that the man with a skull pipe walking next to you was Mephisto.

Everything about his posture was intimidating, and the air seemed much heavier and darker once he was close enough. But Wanda didn't mind the audience, she threw herself into your arms and was greeted in an equally enthusiastic embrace.

Mephisto waved to Agatha from the car, letting the two of you have a moment of reunion as he commented quietly to the older witch:

"I send you to collect an undeserving one and you not only fail, but you make me lose my best rider."

Agatha swallows dryly, annoyed by the scolding. But if there's anything she feels besides fear, it's pride. And that's something she and the man share, and Agatha knows it very well.

"No creature, not even the Lord of Hell, has power against the Scarlet Witch. The humiliation of losing is strong, but you get used to it." She teases, and Mephisto loses his temper, punching the car hard and trying to grab Agatha by the neck.

A scarlet tug pushes him away.

"You filthy hag, how dare you-"

"Watch your temper, Big M." You interrupt with a serious expression, despite the provocative nickname. You gently put Wanda down, who until now had been lifeted in your arms, but you continue with a hand around her waist. 

The man huffs angrily, but visibly struggles to contain his anger, while Agatha hides a little smile and Wanda tries to gain confidence in her new title and the respect that comes with it.

When Mephisto addresses her, he is much more submissive than anyone would expect after the scene.

"My Queen, please, there has been an agreement. With both of the present, this treacherous witch owes me favors and the rider owes me her life. It's not fair that I go unpaid. If I'm not compensated, I'll obviously have to withdraw the loans..." He speaks but Wanda raises a hand in the air, interrupting him.

"I think I understand what you mean. You saved my friend, and if she doesn't serve you, she dies?"

"Yes, my lady."

You tried to protest, but Wanda put a hand on your shoulder and looked at you quickly: in her eyes was the simple request that you let her handle this. 

Agatha didn't interrupt either, nor did she react when Wanda approached Mephisto.

"I've been told that the title of Scarlet Witch makes me the highest magical authority." She begins, and somewhat begrudgingly, the man nods in agreement. Wanda sighs. "I don't understand this power entirely, but I will. What I do understand now is that if I am the authority, you must obey me."

"My lady-"

"I am not done talking." Mephisto bites his tongue, but doesn't risk challenging the red irises again. "Let's make a few things clear, sir. These two don't belong to you, I do not care about the debt. I don't know how to settle it yet, but I will. So for now, you should know that they're off-limits. Agatha will be my tutor, and any extra activity must come with a guarantee that she'll return to lessons in one piece, and as for Y/N, well..." Wanda takes a step forward, a dry laugh escaping her. "She's mine, do you understand? You're not going to harm her in any way. Not ever. You've kept her away from me long enough, toying with her perception of the truth. Of that, I think we both understand well."

Mephisto clenched his jaw, seeming to fight the urge to end you right then and there. You exchanged a proud glance with Agatha at the witch's posture in front of you.

"This will be my only warning, Mephisto. I'm taking her with me, and it's better that she keeps breathing after we leave."

Irritated but restrained, he retorts: "A rider must serve, my lady, and I don't say that to contradict you. Even if she doesn't obey me, she won't be able to ignore the call. Her soul only stays in this body because of its usefulness."

"We'll deal with it without your intervention in the matter, don't worry." Wanda assures him. "And as for your payment, I still don't fully understand how this realm works, but I'll learn with the help of Agatha and the Darkhold. I believe the Lord of Hell can wait."

To Wanda's surprise, he grew friendlier, with a smile full of evil intentions. Without her realizing why the mention of the book made him so excited, Mephisto bowed again briefly. "I see a promising future for our professional relationship, Scarlet Witch."

He adjusts his hat as a sign of farewell, and it's as if the sun changes direction only for rays to obscure her vision for a moment. Just long enough for Mephisto to disappear.

"He's always rude, don't take it to heart." 

The older witch commented, but neither you nor Wanda were paying much attention to her. Wanda came back to you, wrapping you in a tight hug as a confirmation that things were really happening. And as you held her, you exchanged a quick glance with the witch in the car, a grateful one, and all Agatha did was offer the first sincere smile of the day before breaking the moment with a loud honk.

"I'm sorry, but your girlfriend is a fugitive, and flirting in the middle of the street isn't really appropriate for this moment." Mocked the witch, remembering the dozens of federal agents in the area all too willing to ask Wanda for a statement. It wasn't really a problem - but it was a nuisance.

Your girlfriend ignored Agatha's warning to kiss you on the mouth. It almost takes you by surprise, the intensity, but you manage to match it until the older witch honks again and you and Wanda break into a shared giggle.

"Don't worry, we'll have time." You meekly assure her, kissing her cheek before pulling away to open the car door. Wanda doesn't seem too keen to let you go - not that you'd want anything different - so you follow her into the back seat. Even under Agatha's warnings about behaving or she'd throw the car off the first bridge.

Once on the road, the witch met your gaze through the rearview mirror.

"My place or yours?" 

You sigh. "Mine's fine."

-&-

The first fight happens as soon as Wanda finds out that for years, you've lived nearby.

So many days when she could have taken a different route from Avengers Tower downtown to the Compound and bumped into you. 

Of course, you assured her that you kept a safe distance and that New York was full and big enough for that, but the justifications only made it worse.

And Wanda started crying and locked herself in the first room she found on the way.

You tried to look at Agatha on the sofa - very much comfortable in other people's homes, by the way - but the witch shrugged as she used her magic to bring food from your kitchen to where she was. 

With a sigh, you leaned your forehead against the door.

"Wanda, I'm so sorry I left you alone. I swear to God, I lost count of how many times I wanted to break into that tower and just say that I was with you. But I couldn't. I went to the memorial, to visit Pietro. I saw the news about the fight. I saw him die, and I kept seeing it, every time I closed my eyes. And my nightmares replaced him with you. I was sure that if I got close, you'd get hurt, and I'd rather live away from you than lose you." You confessed with emotion, knowing that she was listening even if she didn't answer now. With another sigh, you continued. "I kept my distance, but I never left. I went to all your public events, I even sent you gifts as an anonymous fan. I almost risked everything so many times. And when your friends got into fights and you disappeared to the Raft, I lost my mind. That's when... he made me forget you. It was the only way I could keep doing the jobs and not go after you. But I still lived here, and there was this lack in my chest and I had no idea what it was. Then one day I heard your voice, like a whisper in my heart, and I followed it. I ended up in Westview, and the lack was gone. It was Agatha who gave me back my memories, and we ended up here. With me trying to make you understand that there hasn't been a day since we were separated that I haven't missed you, that I haven't loved you. Please, Wanda. Forgive me."

It takes a long moment, almost long enough for you to think about letting her have more time to think about it, for Wanda to open the door.

She hugs you by the neck, very tightly, and you waste no time in reciprocating.

"Agatha has to leave." That's what she says as she releases you, making you assume a confused expression. You're ready to recall that the witch, despite her mistakes, helped you when Wanda pulled at the edges of your shirt while hiding her face in your collarbone. The way she speaks again makes you understand. "We've lost a lot of time, my love. She needs to go, so we can make up for it."

You nod foolishly, glancing quickly at Agatha who is already getting up without abandoning a bottle of your most expensive drinks that she opened without permission. Not that you're paying attention to anything other than the woman clinging to you.

"You two are disgusting, I'm out." Complains the older witch, practically running out the door as Wanda kisses your neck again and you sigh.

The door had barely closed and Wanda had already pulled your face back to hers, meeting your mouth in an intense, passionate kiss that almost made you lose your bearings.

Your hands wandered across her cheeks in a foolish attempt to gain some control of the kiss, then towards her hair and down her arms to her waist, squeezing and earning a satisfied sigh in return. Wanda's hands were busy undoing your clothes, bursting buttons, and finally throwing your belt aside.

Your blouse ended up somewhere in the room after you kicked your shoes away and while using the interruption and distance necessary to undress, Wanda spoke again.

"All this time you've been keeping watch... tell me, how far have you gone?" she asked between kisses, leading the way to the sofa as she pulled you up by the straps of the barely hanging pants on your hips. 

You fought your own arousal to reply: "Hm, never very close. Except, once..." You try to count between kisses, almost losing your train of thought when Wanda pushes you sit up and looks so stunning with her flushed face and out-of-rhythm breathing standing in front of you. "On your birthday. I went to your window, and I just... watched you sleep."

Wanda let out a curious giggle. "Do you fly now?"

"Not really, it's something called astral projection, I'm sure Agatha will teach you." You mumble quickly, and it's your turn to tug at the straps of her jeans. "Can we talk later? U-unless of course, you don't want to do this anymore, because then I'll need a minute to stop shaking and then I can tell you everything-" She interrupts you with a determined kiss, taking the opportunity to sit on your lap too.

With another sigh, she assures you, "We'll talk later." Those are the last firm words of the evening, really. After that, all that leaves Wanda are begging moans and whimpers of pleasure calling out your name.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

-&-

It's a simple routine, within the normal range of living with two witches and having your soul in imprisonment with the Lord of Hell at least.

Agatha becomes a tutor - it suits her, even if she is grumpy and mean and doesn't have much patience for teaching magic. She ends up doing a good job, and in a few months, Wanda already has the same knowledge that a witch who has spent half her life in a coven would have.

As well as classes with the grumpiest teacher on the planet, Wanda has the Darkhold. You don't see her use it that much, because she always chooses the times of your rider duties to study. That, and well, that book gives you a very bad feeling. But Wanda always makes sure that everything is under control and kisses you until you forget about it.

Of course, over time, people tend to waver in their lies and perhaps because it's a Rider's business to feel dark magic, you end up discovering exactly how bad the Darkhold is for your girlfriend. 

Or maybe the black fingers gave you a hint.

"It's not too much to ask that you be careful!" You were arguing - no, discussing - Wanda's intense study routine with a book that apparently condemned all readers. "Actually, it's quite reasonable for me to worry-"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you!" She interrupts you. Even though she is now twice the age you first met her, Wanda Maximoff is still as beautiful as the first day you saw her. And just as stubborn as the angry teenager she once was. "Do you want to talk about being reasonable? Do you think you made a good decision when you decided to sell your soul, or when you believed you could stay away for ten years and act as if it didn't affect our relationship?"

You hesitate. "I-I... you said you forgave me."

But Wanda snaps back: "Forgiving isn't forgetting! And why do you think I'm doing all this? I have to learn to control my magic, and I have to learn to be the Scarlet Witch. But most importantly, I have to learn to undo a deal with the devil because at some point you thought it was a good idea to be the Dark Lord's little slave!"

"I did it for you!"

"I know you did!"

"Then why are you angry?"

"Because I love you, you idiot!" she retorts breathlessly. "I love you and I hate how stupidly loyal and impulsive you were to do something like that. And I hate the pain we were forced to endure, and I hate that we wasted so much time."

"Wanda, I-"

"I know." She interrupts with a sigh. "I love you too."

You smile. "Stop reading my mind."

She returns the same smile. "There's not much to read." She teases, wasting no time in bringing her hands to your shoulders when you take her by the waist. You chuckle with a false offense.

"Wow, I'd forgotten how evil you can be." You retort in the same playful tone, nipping at her jaw and lowering your mouth to her collarbone.

Wanda sighs, hugging you for a moment. In the bedroom mirror by the wall, she can see her true reflection and all the Darkhold's influence on her hidden appearance. She blinks away from the demonic appearance to focus on the person holding her so dearly.

"You have no idea, my love." She whispers, forcing a smile when you look at her again. "I just want to keep us safe. Nothing and no one will ever break us apart again. I'll make sure of that."

You don't want to worry, or at least, you don't want Wanda to notice your hesitation about the frightening determination in her eyes. So all you do is kiss her forehead and hold her close.

[writing-frenzy]

Beautiful Disaster AU- 2:

:P so the gremlins for this AU won't let go it seems; fitting as I eat noodles I get the author man himself, along with his favorite hater.

:3

Edit: I almost forgor to put a link for part one

Here is another poem/quote thing :3

I'm beautifully broken,

perfectly imperfect,

beautiful in my flaws.

All together I am a Beautiful Disaster.

By Unknown

Again, this fits both SQH and SJ so much :3 This will be set kinda after the Moshang extras, just without the ship happening so far (because rebuilding trust and care, and loyalty takes time, Mobei being patient enough because SQH is worth it, with SQH learning he is indeed worth it, more than worthy.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite what most think of the An Ding Peak Lord, the glorified immortal secretary/janitor of the Cang Qiong Mountains never misses any time. He has more months, years plotted way in advance then anyone would dream, dates and times printed into his mind with an ever ticking constantly echoing his steps. He plans weeks ahead of anything he can afford to, considering people and patterns he has noticed, procuring orders before they were ever thought to be sent, knowing his martial siblings won't noticed the needed thing until it is too late.

But even he is not all knowing, author god he may be, so when things run out faster than he expected (Ah, embezzlement or incompetence, take your pick of what it could be! Maybe even both, it could be one of those days.) He takes days at a time to get these 'urgent' orders filled, replaced, fixed, or cared for to the best of his ability.

And he can assure you, that you will find no better than him when it comes to time and logistics; he has it down to the minutes it takes him to eat a bowl of noodles, to the seconds it takes to wipe the blood from his hands from yet another sad little assassination.

His days, like any An Ding Disciple, are numbered and ruled by the water, sand, and hands of a clock.

(Needless to say, Airplane sometimes thanks himself for his lazy writing, for example; that regular clocks do exist here, even if they are usually only for the holier-than-thou nobles/too rich to ever think types. It had been one of the first ever things he bought with his hefty Peak Lord allowance, and one of the few expenses he never regrets.)

No, Shang Qinghua never misses any time; he just chooses to skip inconveniences so that he could be spending his valuable time on things that actually do need his attention.

Of course, not like he'll ever let anyone know the difference.

"Liu-Shidi, there shouldn't be any meeting today? I'm pretty sure the next Peak Lord Meeting is when Peak Lord Shen comes to his Peak Next week?" Shang Qinghua whines, feeling the drag on his pale blue An Ding robes as the Ban Zhan War God drags him to the meeting that was in fact today, but knowing his transmigrator bro, will usually put off to next week because Yue Qingyuan is a fucking pushover.

(The man literally let Shang Qinghua back; sure yeah, probably until he at least trains a successor, but the pale blue robed Peak Lord would bet money it was partly because his head disciple terrifies all the other Peak Lords. Not that he can blame them, seeing as Bai Weizhe has finally forgiven him for leaving him behind; the young man's talent and temper is a legendary thing to witness, almost seems a shame he's wasting away at An Ding.)

"There's been a development; Mount Tonglu has settled." was the grim reply Liu Qingge gave, voice tense as his body was, never letting up his grip on his clothes, getting firmer in fact, as if ready for a runner.

"... oh... oh.. OH FUCK!" Shang Qinghua lets himself curse in English, digging through his sleeves for a paper-ah, the good talisman paper, good, good, and his lucky specialized pen he had made just so he could write everywhere, "We're gonna have to hold a conference with the other sects, aren't we? We'll-fuck, have to prepare relief efforts for the common folk, patrols will have to be bolstered and increased-Damnit! We'll have to get offerings ready for the Heavenly Officials just in case..." mumbling to himself, he sends his hastily written note to his Head Disciple as a paper plane, still muttering to himself as Liu Qingge continues to drag him forward to the meeting room, only dropping him once they get inside, knocking him from his stressed filled muttering.

Just to see all Peak Lords are in attendance, with a bonus Luo Binghe even right next to Cucumber bro all grim faced.

AH! Why is there so much work?! Mountain, why now of all times and places do you have to settle? Couldn't have done until Shang Qinghua died or somehow fucking ascended? But Shang Qinghua says nothing, just letting out a pathetic whimper to the disgust of a few of his fellow Peak Lords, though a few do give a sympathetic glance.

Heck, Fan Qingxue of the Alchemy Peak Shoushan and Yao Qingli of the farmers peak Dong Ye look like they want to join him in it; Ah yeah, those two ladies were the ones deathly afraid of ghosts. Since they've always been pretty cool and the ones who gave him the least shit to worry about besides Mu Qingfang, Shang Qinghua thinks he can spare some of his good calming teas and drinks...

Or they can just go straight for Zui Xian's harder spirits (ha).

"As I'm sure everyone knows why we are here, let us get down to business." After Zhangmen-shixiong cuts through his usual bullshit with that simple opening(surprise, surprise), the immortal carries on, "After all these centuries, Mount Tonglu settling bodes ill omens, with it's last settling the precursor to a plague and famine that almost wiped the mortal plane from existence." with those grim words spoken, the atmosphere gets chilling.

"If I recall Zhangmen-Shixiong, it took thousands of desperate prayers and many more offerings before the Heavens answered the call of the people, putting down the cause of it all; a Ghostly Calamity." Yi Qingyao, Peak Lord of the beast taming peak Yanlin, says as her pale, scarred hands reaching up to sooth the twittering little bird on her shoulder. "Will we have to once more rely on their power?" Will they answer us goes unsaid in her words.

While the Heavenly Officials have been quiet for a long time, it is obvious that they are still there, what with prayers still being answered and merits still being met; just more undercover, detective style really. At least, that's how Airplane had wrote it out in PIDW; had to get a few goddesses in the harem some way after all, and having the Heavens be like secret agents in his mind had been funny at the time.

(Though it does put into a new perspective the harem overthrow and everything; hmmm, feels like he should do another house cleaning around now, just in case...)

"As nothing has happened so far, it wouldn't due to try and summon those from higher plane when we don't even know what we will be up against; with no intel about the threat, we don't know if we will need a Martial or Spiritual God." Liu Qingge states, the war strategist coming out in full swing. "It would just be a waste of resources and manpower to offer without any knowledge, especially since we do not know how long the Calamity has had time to settle into their power."

"What do you mean time to settle?!" Fan Qingxue asks, alarm coloring her face even paler than before, hands clenched into her handkerchief; like this, she really does look like a dainty little princess, all big eyes and perfect brown hair, no one would think she would be a treasure hunter the like of Indiana Jones.

"From what is known, Mount Tonglu can be open for years, centuries at a time before the gates of the City of Gu Close, the true regulators of the mountain; it never settles, only until years after a Calamity is reborn does it finally rest, all its energy spent on the new, cruel rebirth." Sun Qingfu, Peak Lord of Ku Xing, answers her with a frown, his regular smile lines stressed from it as he does. "If I may ask, does anyone know just when the Gu City gates last opened?"

By the quiet that happens, the grim face of those who do know, it is not going to be an answer they like.

"... From what was found, it was almost eight years ago." was spoken ever so softly, Shang Qinghua feeling his own eyes widen as his mind does the math;

Almost eight years ago? When Cucumber-bro...

Here, the Ban Zhan War God seems to twitch, jaw clenching for a minute before it smooths away, all emotion erased as he turns to the resident Demon Lord.

Ah, while Shang Qinghua has an idea of just why Luo Binghe is here, sitting at the table with no one bothering to comment on it; considering the Demon Emperor's vast influence, and still in control over a certain, foretelling/divination talented sect, he inwardly pleads with his Shidi, hoping it will get through.

Please do not get into a fight here with the protagonist son! (May his Protag also not start anything please!)

"Has Huan Hua Palace managed to gleam any information about the upcoming Ghostly Calamity at all." Liu Qingge asks Luo Binghe, Acting Grand Disciple of Hua Hua Palace still, even being a Demon Lord as he is. (Though, his son is more of a figurehead then anything, what with Huan Hua needing all the help they can get, at least until they restore their reputation just enough to 'promote' another.)

"... From what the Divinators have said, not much has been managed to be gathered, something seemingly blocking their sights and tools." Luo Binghe says, before looking to the sect leader, a question seemingly in his eye, to which he gets a short nod.

"It seems that both Huan Hua Palace and our own Divination Division have been trying to qualify the Calamity coming to little ends; very few details have been gathered, but I'm sure you have received details of the same city?"

That gets a stark frown on his Protagonist's face, dark eyes flashing a gloomy red before he says those damming words. "Jinlan City."

Eight Years.

Jinlan City.

... Oh Fuck his life with a rusty spoon; this is not the fucking time for a god dammed plague/famine thing!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You two bit, sell-out hack of an author! How in the fuck could you leave out such important world building! Just for fucking sex plots!" is ranted when they're alone in the bamboo house on Qing Jing Peak, Luo Binghe being in high demand to work with the other sects as the current head of the golden cultivators. Damn, but is Shang Qinghua glad that's not his problem anymore, even if he feels a bit sorry for the Hua disciples he revived just to take over his paperwork duties.

(What, it's not like he could have used that plot device for himself, considering that the Sweet Dream Seven Petal Rose could only be used on righteous, young souls, both of which he is not. Gongyi Xiao and his little bunch are doing great last he checked, even if they now have a newfound hunger for spiritually dense rocks and plants; still a surprise to have that many good nuggets in such a gilded, slimy place like Huan Hua.)

"Hmmm, more focused on what could get me my rent money at the time, you know, like an adult." Shang Qinghua sasses back, looking over all the reports constantly being sent to him, signing something there, double checking there, burning that paper here. "And considering how Calamities need actual, real deal gods to handle their fucking business, I made the executive decision to just not include them into the story."

"Binghe wouldn't lose!"

"..."

"... No, he wouldn't! He the- He's your protagonist..." here Shang Qinghua looks over to his bro, being hit once more just how young the other actually is, green eyes wide as they take him in.

"Calamities were not named lightly bro; they earn that title through pain, agony, and a resentment that refuses to ever fucking die." Here, Airplane comes into full swing, rambles of a favored topic only an author can understand dumping out, "It was one of my favorite things to plot out in my original draft, I did so much research and writing for what I was going to have as a neutral recurring character for an arc or two here or there, someone who could make the Luo Binghe bow in respect. Calamities were a part of the whole for the reason pure blooded Heavenly Demons were wiped out." he explains, only for Shen Qingqiu to interrupt.

"Because very few Demons or Spiritual Creatures can affect ghosts, so that the protagonist could show off fancy cultivation tricks with his companions or wives." his green clad bro finishes, a death grip on his fan.

"Yeah, had to justify at times why my protag would bother leveling his human side, considering how op his demonic blood was. I figured ghost would be an even playground, while not effecting demons much, couldn't actually be effected that much in turn." Shang Qinghua shrugs, wincing at the pops and cracks as he does, before going right back to his paperwork; he really should have went back to his peak, he really would get more done, but with his favorite hater's memory, it would be worth the cutting into his time if it could jog his own memory of his story.

From what he wrote in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Mount Tonglu was only in one arc of his story, his son having to find the ghost of one of his favored wives to revive her, who ended up being sucked up into the mountain. Luo Binghe had to struggle hard, getting the aid of a sexy Ghostly Cultivator and a Demonic one to help him along the path to find the ghost of his wife. It was a race against time and enemies, ghosts who would rip anyone to shreds, and to ensure his ghostly wife wouldn't gather too much energy from the place so that she couldn't leave.

Thanks to his Sexy helpers, plot amor, and general bullshit plot devices, Luo Binghe saves his dear wife's ghost, revives her, and has some sexy papapa times with all three ladies from the adventure. (Though the two don't actually end up wifed to Luo Binghe from what he remembers.) But despite all the bullshit, Airplane remembers at the time he only wrote the group going as far as the second level, just in the mountain proper, and sure as hell nowhere near the really important parts; the ancient city of Wukong, and the Kiln that attracted all the ghosts in the first place. Otherwise, he would have had to write a fight scene that Luo Binghe could not win.

And couldn't pay his bills; so thus, Mount Tonglu and all its possibilities got shafted, just another plot thread left dangling among the many others he had in the wind, taunting his readers as it were.

One that gives context, but no longer any help with their situation.

After that bit of thoughtful silence, Cucumber bro begins to say something, only for a knock at the door to interrupt them.

"Shizun, apologies for interruption, but the Head Disciple from An Ding Peak is here." that sweet voice can only be from one of his sweetest characters, one Ning Yingying.

"Ah, you can just come on in Bai Weizhe, I don't think-ah!" Shang Qinghua calls, before sputtering as his bro proceeds to spit take all over him, "Gross, seriously gross bro."

All that gets is the stunned, incredulous gaze from his friend, before his rather stunning Head Disciple comes in, looking like he should be the Peak Lord honestly. Really, he makes the light blue and grey of the HD Uniform look like the highest fashion, with those highly noble features and crystal grey eyes. The young man is just missing a crown in that silky black hair, and bam, he'd look the part.

Well, then he'll get that look in those usually gentle eyes and then he'll look more like he should be the Ban Zhan or Qing Jing Peak Lord; just like now, a storm brewing clouds as he takes in the two Peak Lords before him, darkening as they look to his dripping Shizun.

"This disciple hopes he was not interrupting anything? There is unfortunately much work for Shizun to do, and so little time to do it." His disciple says, face perfectly bland even as he ignores any of the custom greetings one should do before their elders, especially those way above in seniority. Raising an eyebrow at his disciple, as while Shang Qinghua could let him get away with murder, decorum and manners are not something his disciples skip on, a tool he has trained them to practically weaponize.

But Bai Weizhe merely smiles like sugar won't melt in his mouth, completely transforming that handsome face into a truly devastating attack, his raging eyes the only give away. Hearing Cucumber bro choke beside him, Shang Qinghua makes to stand up, sighing once more.

"Ah well, just another storm to weather through, maybe if I'm lucky I can just hide away on my Peak or the Northern- I'm not lucky am I?" Shang starts hopefully, only to see the darkening of his disciple's eyes.

"...When the Divinatiors were divining into the future, they managed to find out one more thing." Here Weizhe's eyes flicker, looking down for a minute before back to him, the only sign he gives off he is worried, "When looking to see who would go to investigate, Long-Shigu only kept getting omens of death, no matter who was drawn from the lots..." Here, his disciple takes a deep breath, Shang Qinghua himself now worried for his student, putting a hand on their shoulder to ground them, calm them however he could (along with himself).

"It's only when Shizun's name was drawn to go that the omens lightened at all."

... Fuck, if Long Qingyu, the Zui Xian Peak Lord, the best Divination Master this side of the Jianghu that wasn't part of Huan Hua said so, then it was so...

Damn it to planes and noddles, but he's already missing his bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you."

By Alexandra Bracken

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shen Yuan can fully admit, if only to himself, that he might just be, slightly, just ever so slightly, terrified.

Of course, he'll admit this too no one; despite how OOC the System has let him become, how it stays in 'standby mode', some habits have just become too ingrained at this point to change, forged as they were into his shield. It has been both a boon and a bane as it were in his day to day, keeping him together through most storms in his life, even if it's left him sopping wet afterwards.

But in the end, at least he still has someone to warm him up, a calm within that storm to rest his weary body for a time... Even if they truly aren't an actual escape from said storm.

"Shizun, is there anything you need? Anything I can do?" His Binghe fusses, those clear dark eyes of his not able to hide the tightening worry scrunching them, face still beautiful even as full of negativity as it is.

"Just be as ready as possible; we do not know what to expect, with assumptions being a foe that could blind us when we least expect them." Shen Qingqiu speaks, truly trying not to think about it, about just what kind of situation they are about to be walking into, the ruins of Jinlan City just a bit before them damningly, the Base Camp the Cultivation Sects pulled together to create rest less then a mile away in the distance.

'Oh, but how hard it is to not make any...' the transmigrator can't help but think, grimacing behind his fan as he can just notice the stares from others around them, some judgmental, other pitying, but all still obviously looking at them.

After all, eight years ago was the day he first 'died' in this world. Combined with the issues with the Sowers, then the resulting destruction of said city... it didn't paint the best of pictures.

As expected of a protagonist; even after the 'happy ever after', there was still no rest from possible story lines. (Shen Yuan honestly at times was just... tired of them. Didn't he and Binghe, especially his Binghe, deserve a rest?...

He'd rather be caught in a wife plot even at this point.)

"... A-Yuan?" was whispered rather lowly, right into his ear and behind his fan, so no one with advanced cultivation could hear or see what he was saying, "Is this some sort of... event?" His disciple asked, making his Shizun pause in his fanning for a moment, before returning, not even so much of a twitch on his face.

"...That has not made any signs of movement beyond what it has told me and your Shang-Shishu." Shen Yuan answers carefully, ignoring the brief twitch of disgust on his husband's face at the mention of the other man, "It has been quiet since a year ago." At least, from what Shang Qinghua has told him about his months long misadventure.

"... I see." there, just slightly, is a bit of relief in Luo Binghe's face, Shen Qingqiu unable to stop his own weary smile at the sight.

Despite everything, despite how he will never, ever tell his fellow transmigrator, he is grateful the man convinced him to tell Binghe as much as he could about their transmigration.

Even if it felt like a kick in the teeth at the time.

("... Bro." Shang Qinghua has a look in his eyes that makes Shen Yuan freeze, fully reminded, in that moment, in that time, that for all his fellow transmigrator plays around and whines, the man has earned his Peak Lord title, and all that it entails. "You know the tropes, the clinches, the story; what part of keeping all those secrets to yourself seems like a good idea?"

Here he couldn't help but bristle, "And in what story do you see a character actually talk about being from another world, hmm? What can I even say?!" He stops himself from going to hit the other with his fan, the urge stifled as he sees those brown eyes darken as they narrow.

"I've found that as long as I kept it vague, I can get the general idea of what happened across. I've experimented with My King and my Head Disciple, and the only time I was stopped was when I was about to mention the System directly. Otherwise I was good to go..." here the older man pauses, before he sighs even as Shen Yuan gaps, honestly stunned the other man actually tried something like that.

"Look, Shen Yuan, do you want your relationship with Binghe to work out?"

"!! Of course!"

"Then tell him; tell him before it is too late and you really become a foil for Yue Qi and his Shen Jiu." here, hearing his name and the mention of those two, Shen Yuan cannot help but pale, seeming to stop and stare at the bitter author god before him.

"Wha-"

"... Cucumber-bro, for all you remember about my stallion protagonist webnovel, you seem to always forget it's a tradegy at its core..." here the other man just looks so tired, staring into his teacup instead of directing those all too knowing earth colored eyes to him.

"And the promis of love was always meant to be Binghe's greatest weakness.")

"Ah, greeting from this Disciple to Shen-Shishu, Lord Luo." was greeted, Shen Qingqiu nearly jumping if he hadn't already noticed his husband was looking over, even if he did look stiffly over to the voice.

One Bai Weizhe stood there before them, not a hair out of place, his face neutral, calm and as if he probably wasn't plotting how to slit your throat in your sleep. Like he isn't secretly some powerhouse that could probably go toe-toe with Yue Qingyuan and even toy with the man if he felt like it.

"Ah, good day Bai-Shizhi, has everything been completed and set up?" Shen Qingqiu asks, fanning himself lightly, doing his best to pretend that this is just a regular disciple, that their is nothing wrong with them, that he is just a wrong word from breaking out into a cold sweat.

"Yes, this disciple was sent to gather all the participating Peak Lords coming from Cang Qiong Mountains; all preparations have been made, Long-Shigu and Huan Hua Palace saying soon will be the best time to enter the city. I'm sure that these Lords can find the way their themselves?" Shen Qingqiu nearly frowns at this subtle though pointed disrespect, having to gently tap his fan on his husband's shoulder before he can say anything.

"These Lords are capable of it, though it would do Shizhi well to remember their manners; I'm sure your Shifu has taught you better than that?" The Peak Lord comments, knowing if he doesn't say something, then Binghe will-

And while that face is still as calm as before, those eyes giving nothing away, there is something about that pause that says Shen Qingqiu has said the wrong thing.

"This disciple will keep it in mind, Shen-Shishu. Please pardon me, I must go and find the other Peak Lords joining the scouting force." With that, and a shallow boy just respectful enough, the young man hurries along, the pale blue and grey of his robes fluttering in the wind as he goes.

Outwardly, the Qing Jing Peak Lord seems as calm as can be, soothing his fussy husband as they walk over to the main tend of the Camp, not even flustered a bit by the altercation.

Inside on the other hand, Peerless Cucumber is just 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Airplane of all villains you picked up, why him!? Why him as your HD?!'

Now, while Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had made plenty of low IQ and forgettable villains in the story, it just meant that when he actually pulled out the good ones, he made them unforgettable. From the beloved 'Big Brother' Pan Shan, a villain only in protection of his family, to the literal 'Calamitous Beauty' Tan Xifeng, a woman so proud and strong she rather turn to ashes forever then be trapped in the Harem, Bai Weizhe was just as up there, the calm 'True Mastermind' in the name of revenge in PIDW.

In the set up, The Bai Family is a very high ranking Cultivation Family, just as high if not more so than the Liu family, said to be descended from heavenly beings, granted power and weapons of that level because of it. But over the years, with less and less powerful Cultivators coming from the family, the Bai Family head got desperate, making his son marry multiple women to try and birth a hopefully powerful heir. And seeing how much of a playboy the man was, with plenty of bastards beforehand, it wasn't too hard for the man to put out it seem. Of his many spawn, two ended up as wives to Bingge and of course a few becoming villains for the arc.

But Bai Weizhe, when first introduced, it shows one of his half-sisters, a future wife, trying to defend him from another of their siblings who were attempting to torture him. All throughout the arc's mystery, one learns more of the future wives alongside this weak bastard son of a maid and the Family Head's son, learning they were little more than a slave to the Family Head and his Son's whims.

Bai Weizhe had seemed like a helpful, if slightly talented npc, being more of an awkward emotional support then any seeming threat, even if things seemed ever so slightly off about him, most of which could probably be excused by just how abused he had been. In fact, many thought the man would become a little brother character, Binghe taking in the poor bastard son as a future assistant or something because of how intelligent he was (with rotten girls going even farther and saying he would become part of the harem.)

But when the plot twist was revealed, with it turning out the murders and almost complete alienation of the Bai Family was all his doing, daringly using the protagonist to do his dirty work for him... it had been as shocking as it was satisfying to the readers, some actually rereading the entire arc with eyes wide open to take in all those little clues and cues to the real monster hiding behind the mask.

But of course, Luo Binghe being Luo Binghe in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Th Bai Bastard meets his end and Bingge gets the Bai Family twins and some family treasure as a bonus... (Though, from debates and such, it actually has been argued that his death may have either been faked or the man had a back up prepared.

Knowing PIDW and all it's bullshit plot devices... he can see it, especially after meeting him.)

But coming to the tent, Shen Qingqiu pushes all thoughts aside, face grim as he looks over his fellow gathered Peak Lords.

Yue Qingyuan. Shang Qinghua. Mu Qingfang. Liu Qingge. Qi Qingqi. Himself and his husband.

"Both the best and worst team to send." Long Qingyu's bitter words spoken broke through the tents atmosphere, making everyone tense as she did. The Zui Xian Peak Lord took a gulp from her bottle, truly stressed if she was drinking in front of them, "I cannot say much, or do anything else but offer this one last advice; make sure you actually listen." she stresses, golden hair slipping from her messily made bun as she pushes it back even as she takes another swing of her drink, mismatched brown and green eyes closed as she does.

"Listen to what?" Liu Qingge asks, eyeing the woman as she finishes her drink with a mournful look.

"Just as I said; listen. Do not assume, do not judge, do think before you damn well speak-" Here she stops herself, teeth gritted as she breaths through them, before opening her eyes once more, "I can say no more, not unless I want the omens to darken even further. Just get ready to go." with that, the woman is gone as fast as she came in, closing the tent behind her with a loud snap.

Staring at everyone, meeting eyes with a few before looking to his Binghe, Shen Qingqiu starts to prepare himself, checking just in case for anything that could have been missed.

Come what may, he and the others will be as ready as they can be, going against the Calamity as they are.

It'll have to be enough.

(Oh, but they will never be ready, unknowing of the poisonous green eyes watching, waiting for them all this time.

They've waited long enough.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note:

And here we have our favorite disaster bi's, Airplane and Cucumber-bro! Man, both are great characters, my bias being Airplane, but Shen Yuan is also such an interesting character to delve into, being one of the favs I both want to hug and just smack over the head :>

The second quote I found I feel can really seem to resonate with Shen Yuan, when our boy stops repressing and actually lets himself feel.

Also, while I like BingQiu... boi, does that relationship have issues, ones I really hope they did indeed talk through when they could (They have a fuck ton of time to do so, so here I had Airplane help and kick them into gear; nothing like be reminded of tropes and the fact that your hubby is a fucking Tragedy Protag. :> )

Anyways~

Airplane: *Revives a bunch of disciples because he does not want to deal with the paperwork* ... why are you looking at me like that, stop that, go back to your sect.

So many OCs this chapter, I'll just do a spot light for one because then this chapter will just be author's note. (not too mention how he kept worming his way everywhere, just smiling at me as he did.)

Bai Weizhe: Means Outgoing, great sage because I like it; little fun fact, how I have my OC Bai Weizhe: he was actually a high IQ Villain in PIDW, (think if Lan Zhan and Jin Guangyao had a baby, he'd be that baby :3 ) the bastard son of a great cultivation family where Luo Binghe was doing the 'acting like a pig to get the tiger' sort of deal. He was actually a genuine, hidden boss level threat for at least one-two arcs before he had to get fridged for papapa plot (tho.. more like a faked death, Airplane always had a soft spot for his villains after all :3). In fact, it was mentioned in Villainous monologue that he had went to join CQM sect, but due to sabotage by his family, never got the chance in PIDW.

In SVSSS, Airplane was still in the process of working on his 'applying by application' process to An Ding (because I love this headcannon, it gives me fucking life, I am still mad for losing the bookmark to the story that inspired it.) so he still picked disciples by the digging test for a while. He sees this one poor little guy digging despite looking like he's gonna pass out any minute, powering through it with sheer determination and spite, the other Peaks Lords and Disciples already dismissing them, thinking he has low cultivation/poor prospect.

Shang Qinghua though doesn't care about all that; he very much wants that determination (and spite, gotta respect it) He can use all he can get! *After the kid cleans up and gets the drugs out of his system, Shang Qinghua blinks, double takes* WTF when did I have a talent on my peak??

Bai Weizhe: *Smiles like butter won't melt in his mouth* I've always been here Shizun.

(Does Airplane remember him? lol nope, but Shen Yuan sure does :D)

Also, none of the An Ding disciples really 'care' about Shang Qinghua's betrayal (Anyone on An Ding? Oh, they've dreamed of much worse; so much worse~) :) They Just :) Are a bit Upset :) about being Left Behind. :) But its all good; their Shizun came back :)

(And if the sect knows whats good for it, he'll stay where he fucking belongs.)

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, misunderstandings, a marriage of convenience, and mentions of loneliness.

[[A/N: girllllll, not another Magnolia in May chapter!!! Whoops. And actually tagging bestie @imaginemyfavoritefics properly this time, bc I did use the idea of Daryl as the courier. Unrelated but this gif of him clenching his jaw... girl. Thanks for reading !! ]]

You'd taken to writing letters -the gentle swish of your quill was calming the storm of your mind. Originally, you had garnered a sort of cold from the walk in the rain and had to heal -now, you'd stayed holed up of your own accord.

'Nonsense, darling,' Headmistress had said, fluffing up your pillows, '-you must heal from a broken heart like any other wound.'

It was fewer letters and more of a sort of journal -only for your eyes to see but sometimes addressed to someone other than yourself. It started simply with one occasionally to Maggie to make her smile, or Beth to tell her things you'd learned so she wouldn't have to, or to remind Father to eat a meal when he'd been so focused on a patient that he'd neglect himself. But then, Mr. Grimes started appearing at the header.

You couldn't remember the first time it had happened, days rather blurred after that day -especially since you were treated shortly after. And rest was all you'd really gotten then, it made the passage of time blurry.

But it became something you were rather dependent on.

'Mr. Grimes,' you wrote in the first of its kind, quill rather fluid at this stage.

'I met your wife, Lori. She's a wonderful woman, kind and perfectly poised. I would, in a different life, maybe be friends with her -seems the type to be good company. Was it always her?

You've got something special, a family with beautiful children. It's every man's dream, is it not? You were my dream. I find it a bit hard to believe she would leave that dream behind. For what is more powerful than one's love for their child? I suppose there were other circumstances that I shall never be aware of. I would've liked to have known why. I understand it's a rather personal thing, but I should be urged to hear something of the full story. I might deserve it.

But I suppose you deserve a full family more. Carl and Judith do. I wouldn't fit in. I would love the best for them, despite not having known Carl, he seems a bright boy. Deserves much of the best in life, I'd garner all children do.

I often wonder if I am to have children. I suppose I could ask you for advice one day, if so. But there's something in me that speaks differently. Like that path with you is gone. Maybe I should run off to the city and write away, become focused on my education. Pay for my father's living, and house my sister's 'til they're wed.

I don't think I could, with good conscience, leave Alexandria. I'm far too fond of the people the town, its where I grew up. And I suppose, to keep my father's clinic running under the family name I may marry. I'm not too sure that I'd marry for love, per say. Can you begin the fall in love more than once? Is it possible? And furthermore, although it is something I wish for, I'm not sure that I would like to bring children into a loveless marriage.

This is getting far too detailed of my own troubles, and for that I apologize.

I truly wish your family well. Even if there's no room for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N Greene'

It was a positive experience, mostly. The smearing on that letter particularly wasn't of cathartic tears. Not quite a release of the emotions dying so tightly within your soul, it was rather grief. Loss of a life that you'd never have. Despite it being the one you desperately wanted.

You sighed, stashing away the paper with the other ones -the second desk drawer to the right, under the math textbook that had been gathering dust even before you were born.

Sure, it messed your hands, but you found it was a small price to be paid for secrecy.

"Y/N, dearest," your Headmistress hummed -voice pounding up the stairs, "-get dressed and meet me at the door in 10, will you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," you echoed, off to your feet and only touching up ever-so-slightly by the mirror. And in your rush, maybe you had forgotten to shut the drawer -you couldn't know now. It stayed open, and the telling corner of dustless papers under a dusty book was certainly one to ponder over.

At least for someone, it was.

You wouldn't know what had occurred until a few weeks later, as you sorted out your joint closet with Maggie. Gathering bows and ribbons, and straightening dresses, was a wonderful way to pass time -since your newest book was seeming to be tucked away in the carriage. You truly could not find it anywhere-

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Now, normally, this was of no notice -either for Maggie (who had gone on frequent outings with Mr. Rhee since the ball) or Father (ranging anywhere from an old friend to an urgent patient). But this was one to put a pause in your mind.

Maggie was, in fact, out -you remembered the shimmer of the carriage as it pulled away, and Father was rushed off for an emergency. And even further, Headmistress and Beth had gone out to a sort of gathering -some sort of tea party, you'd assumed. (They'd invited you, but you'd truly not wished to hear the gossip. Especially not now.)

You stilled, you were alone here then.

Well, you considered -making your way down the steps, -could be a sort of delivery. Ms. Elisa did frequently speak with friends out of town -often through letters. And Father always had an extra copy of cases delivered to his home -so he could think properly on an issue.

Satisfied with that, you approached the door with newfound confidence -fear that had stubbornly stuck there was unfounded. You twisted a bit of fabric in your dress, just to do something with your hands before swinging open the door.

And, it was a familiar face. Not one you had a name to, but one you knew -the courier.

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, his voice gruff and tired, much less peppy than you'd seen him before, "-I assume?"

"Yes," you answered cautiously, "-I'm the eldest Ms. Greene, why? If you're looking for Maggie-"

"No," he answered, simply, long hair moving with the motion of his head, "-Mr. Grimes requested this be given to you, the eldest."

"I can't acce-" you started but fell shut as a letter was extended to you -two letters. One a familiar sort of coffee-tinged brown -paper old and weary, you could hardly believe the quill hadn't punctured right through really. And the other, neatly folded, a pristine sort of ivory, and dark ink that somehow didn't seem to smudge at all. On the side that was exposed to you was written: Ms. Y/N Greene, in handwriting you recognized.

The one that had scribbled across the invitation so long ago-

"Who are you?" you questioned -eagerly bringing the letters close to your chest, "-And how did you get my letter? Have you been in my home-"

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -composed and calm, unmoved by your pressing questions, "-they were presented to me to mail weeks ago."

You froze, something heavy dropping in your stomach, "They? How... How many letters were you given to post?"

"A stack, no more than 10," he responded, "-the youngest Ms. Greene, opened the door for me once to deliver an invitation. The same one I 'ave been for weeks- It ain't relevant, really. She knew where I came from, and requested I bring 'em to Mr. Grimes immediately."

You paused, "An invitation?"

"More like a summonin'," he clarified, rather poised but still somewhat a bit casual, "-it's always the same request for you, the eldest, to attend to the Grimes estate."

"What?"

He paused, "It's supposed to be brought to ya, upon retrieval but... I'd guess it hasn't."

"You've-" you exhaled -a deep uncertain exhale, "-Just how long have you been delivering these?"

"Lost count."

"And-" you stuttered, a bit overwhelmed, "-and the letters, my letters they-"

"I put 'em in his hand, myself," he spoke -an ordered sort of discipline heavy in his tone with a dose of familiar twang.

"Right," you swallowed -pushing down the nerves biting up your throat at such rampant pace, he was never to see those, "-and who are you exactly?"

"Grimes estate courier," he grumbled out, a some of bitterness gathered there.

"No, no," you quirked a brow at him, "-your name? I figured as much otherwise."

He answered, rather improperly -as if he was trained in some ways and ignorant in others just slightly, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Mr. Dixon," you echoed, a sort of curiosity in your tone, "-you said he received the full stack, did he not?"

He merely nodded.

"Well, why do I only have one, then?"

The man pondered it for a second, loosely eyeing the way you held the letters like he knew what they contained (maybe he did), "I suppose he ain't done replyin' to the others."

The rest of the interaction was fairly polite, mere questions about his work -to which he complained quite vividly about the extent of it, but never shred a wrong light on Mr. Grimes. You'd gathered they were well-acquainted, even perhaps friends from youth, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint it. He didn't say anything directly, and was rather quiet around details. Well, details pertaining to Mr. Grimes, you supposed.

You'd initially wanted to search for the invitations he spoke of, but something bigger was biting you.

Your hands were quick to rush to the drawer, pulling it open -to suddenly believe it was not real. To prove that all of this was a farce, that the letters were still safely kept. But, when you opened it, you could tell.

Even still, you pushed forward holding up the book, peering underneath. It was empty, extraordinarily empty.

"No, no, no-" you urged, heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach -heavy, "-it can't be..."

Private pieces of you, of your sadness, your longing- Sent to the married man of the header.

And just back as you pushed back in your chair, the brush of tears only a breath away -your eyes caught on the letter.

It was not yours.

Yours sat just beside it, you recognized it to be the first one -all sort of crumpled and agonizingly smudged. All conflicted feelings and harsh realities buzzing under your skin. You'd written it partially under the delirium of your illness, so it was rather brash but you'd never thought you'd need to worry about it. The only thing different was how it was presented.

You remember hastily shoving it away, between book covers, under table legs, hidden in the dirt of the garden, as you tried to find a good place to stash them. You'd always been so quick to put them away, to get out the feelings and move on-

Looking at it now, though, the worn paper was smoothed out (to the best it could be) and perfectly folded. Each corner matched to another and creases were indented lightly so as to not damage the written word. It was treated as precious. Something... Something he'd rather cared for.

Something told you then to get rid of it, to throw it onto the fire when no one was looking, to stash it away, to never read it no matter the cost because you were doing the right thing and should not be swayed-

But another part of you was dreadfully curious. And dreadfully grieving the loss of a man who still lived.

It was your mail, a letter addressed to you. Wouldn't it be rather rude to not read it? If you hadn't wished the first one to be mailed, you retorted, then no.

And yet, you found yourself picking up the note with the gentlest of graces. Carefully unfolding the thick paper, slowly, timidly, like the words would jump off the page. Like they could hurt you.

You supposed they could.

Once fully opened, you didn't directly focus on the words -instead, detailing the printed bits around the top edges. It looked as though this was an official sort of paper -the same kind an invitation may be extended to. As well as a family seal printed into the bottom right corner, it seemed a little formal for the occasion but you found it didn't bother you. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, you blinked your eyes -wishing to calm your heart, even just for a moment, and started reading.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, letters crisply written in a thin but precise sort of writing. Your finger naturally went to trace over them, dotting the i's and swirling the g's.

'I must first say that it's to my understanding that these letters are rather personal to you. You weren't the one who intended to mail them, I've come to know. I know that this then, by proxy, is a large invasion of your privacy.

And I can only hope you forgive me for such a thing. Because this is my sort of last resort to reach you. I'm sure you're familiar with the invitations that have flooded your door, and although, I understand the no response for what you know, I've become quite desperate.

To be completely clear, I was nearly on my horse to your home the morning these letters arrived. To explain everything as you deserve it to be explained.

I instead am here, writing letters. I cannot tell if that's any sort of better than my original plan was but it is the decision I chose.

In terms of Lori, the situation is rather complicated. Surely, at the young age we married, she was the plan. I'd honestly not given thought to the fact that she'd ever come back. I knew her reasons, and I fully doubted I'd ever see her again. And out of respect for you, I wish for the full story to be in person.

Despite all that, I truly wished she would. I know I did. If not only to see our children, to grace me with some sort of company.

I lived a rather lonely life before you Ms. Greene. Which may seem a bit arbitrary coming from a man with a staff, but it doesn't make it any less the truth. When she left, it was quite the scandal. I never spoke a word on it, too devastated to even imagine what to say. It meant much more reclusion, even from friends I knew from youth. And then, as I'm sure you're familiar, I decided to move back to Alexandria. Atlanta only harbored negative things, and I wished for someplace more pleasant. And it was, but still despite it all, the loneliness persisted.

So this family, this full family, you speak of, it's not what Lori and I would be. It wasn't what we were when we were married. I love my children, beyond belief, but I was still lonely. And I can't imagine a full family has a lonely father.

Frankly, Ms. Greene, I was lonely until that day in the marketplace.

And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.

Yours,

Richard Grimes'

[bi-bard]

The Art of Aging - Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Imagine (Law & Order: S.V.U)

Title: The Art of Aging

Pairing: Dominick "Sonny" Carisi X Reader

Word Count: 643 words

Warning(s): none

Summary: Time passes, people change. However, that doesn't always mean that people grow apart. Sometimes it means the exact opposite.

Author's Note: This is meant to be an apology for that last Sonny imagine I posted. It's just a cute and short imagine. As a treat.

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I remember meeting Sonny for the first time.

I remember him with brown hair, a wrinkled shirt, and that mustache sitting on his face. He was new to S.V.U. He didn't quite have the same air of empathy and control that came with time in the unit.

But he was sweet. Sweet and funny. Eager to learn and get better. He wanted to put in the work. He wanted to make a difference.

I remember his smile when I complimented him after shaving off his mustache.

He asked out for drinks after a case back then.

I said yes.

It was an innocent thing. We sat at the bar, had a few drinks, and talked. It was a few hours. It was nice. I was finally getting a chance to see what he was like. What he wanted now that he was part of S.V.U.

Nothing else happened that night.

Nothing else would happen for another few weeks.

I kissed him first. Though there were still times when he would insist that it was the other way around.

Outside my apartment door. Long case. Sonny wanted to make sure that I got home okay because I was almost falling asleep standing up. I grabbed his arm before he could walk away and pulled him into a kiss.

It was short, gentle. Almost awkward. We hadn't learned each other's small patterns yet. Kissing always seemed so... basic. I never thought about the small habits that you could pick up until that moment.

I pulled away soon after, muttering a quick good night before going to hide away in my apartment.

Our kisses changed after that.

Over time, we began to understand each other. Learn each other's patterns. Slower. Calmer. It was all so much easier with time.

Time let us learn everything about each other. Favorite foods and childhood memories. Fears and dreams. Weird habits and stupid jokes.

We learned everything about each other.

And we changed. We grew. Everyone does. It was a natural part of life.

But we grew around each other. Rough edges smoothed themselves out until our pieces fit together perfectly. I never entertained the idea of being so happy with someone, but with Sonny, it all felt so natural.

It was like rereading your favorite book all over again. Finding new details in the story. Aging pages turning yellow was instead hair turning grey and wrinkles forming on faces. But no matter the change in shape and look, the story was still great. It was still your favorite.

Sonny and I understood each other. All the good and the bad and the ugly. We moved around each other like it was choreographed.

Bad cases ended with us falling asleep on the couch. We would both be uncomfortable in the morning, but it seemed to always happen. Nasty habit.

We always spoke about having some kind of budget when getting presents for each other but neither one of us ever stuck to it.

New movies had to be discussed, trailers watched, and if someone at work recommended it, it should be approached with caution and a more critical eye. And if I rambled about who was in the cast, Sonny knew better than to say something that made me feel bad about it.

After he started working with the D.A.'s office, I would always get him flowers when he won a case. Even when he would say that I shouldn't have.

We were right together.

It was nice to know that no matter what could go wrong, we could rely on each other.

Years were spent together. Growing and changing. Becoming who we were supposed to be. It was all so much easier when we were together.

Growing together, being together... it made growing old more than simply growing old.

It made it all seem like the art of aging.

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Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[die-rosastrasse]

Sometimes, when we create we have to let go of the reception of what we have created.

I write fanfiction. 10-20 years ago, people would always review/comment. It was instant gratification. Lately, if I can ger one comment for a chapter of 10'00-2 000 words, I am grateful. People's behaviour with "free" or eas of access art has deteriorated. It's too much effort to show appreciation even if we feel it.

I focus on my joy of writing. Hoping that someone will be moved by my words but focusing on my own pleasure of wroting exactly what I want to read. If someone likes it : great. If not, well I'm enjoying my own writing.

I hope you find equal joy and satisfaction in the act of creation.

You create a lot of beauty and dreams... may you never stop.

Hi! First of all, thank you for reaching out. People never do, which is part of why I feel so resented by the world. Thank you for your kind words and a very well articulated message, which I absolutely agree with. I'm glad I'm not the only one who is noticing how beauty, photographs and creations have become quick, mass produced, single-use and lost in a sea of thousand new posts coming every second. I see that this is where the world is heading more and more, with AI "art", reposting stolen pictures or rewriting yourself to fit some aesthetic, and that makes me so scared for the future. And also, makes me even more motivated to spend more time on creating than on consuming, and being very peculiar about what I consume and how much. I understand your words about focusing on the joy and satisfaction of creating itself, it's the most important thing for me too, even it sounded like it's not. It's my favorite feeling right now: the need to create, paint, write, collage, take every single piece of myself and make something out of it with my hands. It's so beautiful and gratifying in itself and I'm at a point in my life when it's really all I want to do with my time. And I'm proud of my works anyway, I know I'm getting better for myself, I love the feeling of inspiration and I try to keep myself in this state as long as I can. The joy of making something is why I do what I do, nothing else is necessary and my private world is complete without approval of anyone else. But every once in a while, I remember that maybe if we put ourselves out there, someone will listen and sharing the beauty that we found or that we tried to make is the most normal, valid human emotion. And this, showing my precious pieces I made with adoration, and meeting not with hate, not love, but indifference, makes me want to throw up, go inside a hole and never go out. Why is that so hard? Why was I perfectly content with my work when it was just mine, but sharing it with others suddenly makes me hate it, no matter if it was well received or not? I will forever be creative because that's who I am in the depths of my soul and honestly I don't want to share my life with anybody now. But this feeling will always come again, the need to leave something after me, have some kind of legacy. Or simply inspire somebody and receive the same energy that I put in the world, or meet a single person who would give it some time, consciousness, curiosity. I don't know how to balance between hiding my world just for myself and the need to scream about it to everyone who would listen. I don't think there is a balance, just the terrible feeling of missing something on both sides. The inability to have it all is the reason for my crisis.

[kichijouji]

Dreamed somehow I was visiting my mom in my own hometown from far away (IRL my mom lives in oregon at the time of writing this, but my brain treated this as normal). Mom was going to drive and go get something from her apartment near bergfeld park (something to do with a previous dream scenario that I do not remember at the moment) and I wanted something to eat. I told her I remembered there was a Cici's pizza nearby (not accurate to real life), and she told me "please be careful, do you know where home is" and I scoffed because, well, this is Tyler, of course I know where home is. After talking a little more, I told her "I love you", she said it back, then she drove off. I boarded a train (despite tyler not having a rail system) to get to the Cici's pizza (only a few blocks away, for some reason, despite it being across town).

The train seemed halfway like a Big Lots store and a collection of reenacted cursed images. I tried to find a charging cable to buy (on clearance)(dream memory: all my previous charging cables had somehow....burned/got wet when I plugged them in), and angered a couple that was having a dramatic fight (they were both arguing and occasionally dancing to music that sounded like Blinding Light by The Weeknd) right in front of the shelf the charging cables were on. They stared at me and made threats under their breath while I made my way down the other train cars, partaking more weird shit the passengers were doing (one guy drinking a Dr. Pepper can full of beans, a group of people filling a balloon with watercolor paint and water, a woman stealing flowers from various vases across the train, among various things).

Then I woke up because one of my cats (Katchoo) was throwing up on my desk.

What confuses me is the fact that, because I believe in alternate worlds, and that we visit them while we sleep in dream form, why is THIS reality the most coherent and "normal"? There doesn't seem to be any particular reason why when I "wake up", that this current reality is the one where I have the most logical and timeline- based memories, where I can record my experiences in the other worlds, where I feel more "awake".

The reason I subscribe to the belief that dreams are alternate realities isn't just because of the "brain in a jar" idea (to me, whatever you are experiencing is your current reality, even for dreams or schizophrenics, and you have to navigate each one the best way you can), it's the fact that I CAN read clocks and signs and books in dream worlds, and I have memories and knowledge within those worlds.

The problem is, I wouldn't be able to TRANSCRIBE what I see on a clock face, or computer screen, or street sign, or a book, onto paper in THIS reality (this has led me to believe The Voynich Manuscript might be the product of someone's journey to another reality, albeit being somehow awake and physically present in the other reality while they did so). I can READ in dreams perfectly fine, even in places that are unfamiliar or "made up", despite being unable to write down what I read when I wake up or draw a picture of what exactly I saw on either a digital or analog clock. The memories I have within dreams fit perfectly within the timeline of the dream I am having and are coherent to the situation at hand, but often I'm unable to remember them when I wake up.

The only holes in my theory are experiences of other people's dreams, studies done on sleep and dreams, and sometimes my own experiences. For example, if I fall asleep watching a movie, that will influence my dream, which leads me to wonder if I'm not always visiting other worlds in my sleep. But it could be that because my body from this reality isn't physically there in other worlds, that the noise of this reality is just bleeding through to theirs. Other people experience being unable to read words or numbers in dreams at all. I don't know if I'm just spacial or if they are mistaking the fact that they can't transcribe written words from dreams for being unable to read at all. Sometimes I am a completely different person in other worlds in places I do not recognize upon waking up and remembering the dream. Sometimes I'm just me, in the "normal" world with things slightly changed.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

⭐

I can never think of titles, so most of my fics are titled with song lyrics. I was from the songfic generation so maybe it just stuck. If I know what I want to write, sometimes I find a song to match the overall vibe and listen to it on repeat for hours while writing. It helps me zone in and get into the feeling. Sometimes the exact lyric I find the most *THEM* doesn't work as a title and it's a travesty tbh.

I'm also on team All Lower Case for no reason except that I think it looks better.

Cursed? playlist below cut, with further notes

Not a song title: An Anthology of Trib...ulations, but it is a tribbing joke, so. Although I don't think I ever got around to that particular act before I lost steam.

when my blue moon turns to gold again (Shadowheart/Lae'zel, warning for major character death) is from an Elvis song with the same title. It fits within the sad-joyful tone because the song is about how happy the singer will be when their lover returns to them, and how they'll never let them go again, but Shadowheart finds peace and joy in the part of Lae'zel that does return to her, even though she comes to learn Lae'zel has perished in the githyanki liberation battles. ALSO, this song is on the soundtrack of Desert Hearts, which is the greatest lesbian movie to ever exist.

green on the vine (Shadowheart/Nocturne) is from "Strawberry Wine" by Deana Carter which has the line, "my first taste of love, oh bittersweet / green on the vine." The song is about a young love that fizzled out, but the singer looks back on it fondly because it was such a formative experience. So that's very Not the Experience Shadowheart and Nocturne had, and ironic because Shadowheart can't reminisce about her first young love. I chose 'green on the vine' as a title because it invokes the image of a fruit plucked too soon and made bitter, much like the way Shadowheart and Nocturne's relationship was cut short over and over by the demands of the cult.

mirage (Shadowheart/Nocturne, Shadowheart/Alfira) is the title of a song by Sylvia and this one is pretty on the nose. In this fic, Shadowheart sees Nocturne all around her as she engages with the Emerald Grove and meets the Dream Visitor. But this song is about being misled/manipulated by a lover, so it mostly refers to the Emperor using Nocturne's image to manipulate Shadowheart.

solitaire (Alfira/Lakrissa) is the title of a Carpenters song, about a lonely man who isolates himself and keeps himself from connecting with others and finding love. I imagined Lakrissa pushes others away with her flippant attitude and pessimism, and isolates herself (notice she sits alone talking to herself in the grove) and her experience in Moonrise is what motivates her to open up and accept the friendship and, in Alfira, the love that other people offer her.

like a candy to an apple (you're so sweet on me) (Alfira/Lakrissa) is from "It's Whatever" by Aaliyah. This is my Official Alfira/Lakrissa song imo, it captures the sweet, supportive, and romantic vibe I love for them perfectly. The whole line is, "like a candy to an apple, oh we go together / you're so sweet on me." This is a fun, romantic, sexy fic, so the song fic captures it perfectly. Definitely listen to this one if you don't know it, it's a favorite and everyone should know Aaliyah!

hold you like a python (Minthara/Florrick) is from "National Anthem" by Lana Del Rey, with the line being "I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your your body / hold you like a python." I always loved the imagery of this line, of squeezing the life out of someone to feed on them and feed one's own ambitions and that's kind of what's going on with florrithara in this fic. There's no romance yet, no feelings--just two powerful women engaged in this mutual chokehold, neither willing to back down, but sure to end with someone's guts on squeezed out on the floor.

lay you down on a bed of roses (Minthara/Florrick) is from "Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi, in the line, "I'd like to lay you down on a bed of roses / but tonight I sleep on a bed of nails". I really don't have an excuse for this except I was like 'Minthara would love Bon Jovi' and I listened to this song on repeat for hours while writing that fic.

Minthara/Florrick also are part of a series, so they get a series title as well: "I could liken you to a werewolf (but I admit I provided a full moon)". This is from "Werewolf" by Fiona Apple which I think of as the florrithara theme song. It's about an unsalvageable relationship, and that's Minthara and Florrick. The line is truncated from the first two lyrics, but I'm gonna list about the first five lyrics because that's what I think of for this song and ship:

I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead but I admit, I provided a full moon. I could liken you to a shark, the way you bit off my head but then again, I was waving around a bleeding open wound. But you were such a super guy till the second you get a whiff of me. We're like a wishing well and a bolt of electricity

[httpiastri]

congrats on the milestone!! could i pretty please ask for a “let it snow” ship with an f1 boy?

so, i’m a panromantic asexual person, and my gender is… weird (😅), because really I think gender is an odd social construct and I don’t really care what people refer to me as. I’m also autistic, and some of my special interests include musical theatre, books, true crime, superheroes, and mythology of all different kinds and cultures. I don’t get the opportunity to talk about my special interests a lot, but once I do, you’ll have a hard time getting me to stop talking.

as for hobbies, I spend most of my time either reading or writing fanfiction (and sometimes original short stories), listening to music, and watching movies or tv shows. I mostly like all kinds of music, but I’m not really the biggest fan of rap. I’m also really into true crime podcasts, and I have a love for older tv shows, such as m*a*s*h and the a-team, as well as all the marvel and dc movies and tv shows. I’m also a pretty decent singer, at least depending on who you ask. i really love books, and my ultimate career goal is to be a librarian (although if you asked me my absolute dream job, the answer would be a voice actor). i’m also a half-decent singer, at least depending on who you ask.

personality-wise, i kind of cycle between being bubbly and cheerful and quieter and shyer (a textbook ambivert, me), but no matter what, i always do my best to be a good listener and to make my friends happy, because I am very loyal and I love them a lot.

can’t wait to see who you ship me with, and congrats again! 💕

thank you sweets!! 💓 i ship you with daniel ricciardo!! why do i feel like he would get really into your interests and excited with you too? he would love to hear you talk about mythology, books, theatre, and so on. i also see him as someone who too would enjoy true crime, he'd be so amazed when you tell him about your favorite cases (that sounds bad but i think u get what i mean) and he would love to listen to like true crime pods in the car or while cuddling together in bed.

your bubbly and cheerful side would fit perfectly with his, and you'll always find happiness and excitement in each other, plus you'd be great at helping the other up again when either of you feel down. as the extrovert he is, you'll have to help him out to chill out and take things a bit calmer than he's used to. reading to him, singing to him, just taking care of him and letting him know it's perfectly fine to relax and just feel at ease.<3

[rustbeltjessie]

from Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Bill Morgan & David Stanford)

Allen Ginsberg [n.p., New York, New York?]

to Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]

after May 18, 1948

Monday Night : 1:30

Dear Jack:

I got your letter Sat. evening—I had been in Paterson for a few days. I will be in this weekend (in N.Y.).

You seemed overly proud that it was “ancient material.” What I was saying   in part (lesser part) was that it was not recognizable (to me in your prose) but but but. This is not the same old maturity that I (as [Bill] Gilmore) have been talking about before. This is something I wouldn’t have the slightest idea if Gilmore would understand and don’t care much. But you are right, perhaps it’s under my nose in you. This is a kick I don’t want to continue.

School is over and I have been reading Dante, which I have found very inspiring. I finished the Divine Comedy during the term, and am reading books including The Vita Nuova (New Life) [by Dante Alighieri]. I dreamed up an enormous tentative plan tonight, which I will tell you about. My interest in reading is the profit by other men’s experience. I sometimes find (only “lately) authors talking directly to me, from the bottom of their minds. I think I am going to write a sonnet sequence. I want to read Petrarch and Shakespeare, Spencer and Sidney, etc. and learn about sonnets from beginning to end, and write a series on love, perfectly, newly conceived. I conceived the whole idea all at once seeing the first word in a title embedded in a page of the Vita Nuova: my poems have always been prophesied by their titles. That is, a poem often has a single “transcendent, personal, and serious idea” behind it, as a novel—a single image. I want to celebrate my “lovers” in all various manners, intellectually, wittily, passionately, raptly, nostalgically, pensively, beautifully, realistically, “soberly,” enthusiastically, etc., every possible perception fitted out in inwrought, clear, complex stanzas—including the one as yet undefined or un-stated mood, or better, knowledge, that I have and that at times you are aware that I have, no matter how silly I get. The title of this is: “The Fantasy of the Fair.” Just repeat it aloud, it carries the whole idea in it. One of the major ideas is the dynamic sense of “Lucien’s “Face” which you once propounded to me and which I half understood at the time. I want to formulate it poetically, if possible as the end of the poem, but without any private or subjective, or N.Y. idea of L.I. [Long Island] use the name to bridge at the moment. I am talking about humanity, and beginning to try to write in eternity.

I have been enduring a series of troublesome dreams lately about Neal [Cassady]. Your notice comes at about the crisis of them, though it is not a passional crisis and is accompanied by no tempests of intellect. I wonder what he is doing in his eternity. I feel so far away from people, without loneliness, that I am rather happy now. [ . . . ]

I’m not worried about the theory of writing, I am only just vering the practice. The Doldrums are antiquated. For that reason I am sending poetry out for the first time. I got my first rejection slip from Kenyon; a note from J.C. Ransom, editor and poet: “I like very much this slow, iterative, organized and reflective poem. At times it’s like a sestina. Thank you for sending it. But still I think it’s not “for us exactly. I guess we need a more compacted thing.”

I had sent them “Denver D. [Doldrums]” but, as luck would have it, I have some compacted things around that he will get next week.

Your season sounds beautiful. I particularly wish I had seen Lucien so drunk. Make what you want out of that.

No, it sounded like you. (Some one is singing a ditty “So please pass a little piece of pizza”) and it makes me wish I were alive, that’s why I can’t say any more.

Everybody’s fine, but it’s sweet, beautiful, but not so dumb, this world. Lucien means dumb because we don’t know what we know. I mean, won’t admit how much we know.

White said that Scribner’s rejected you, too, just like the goil. Can I see the novel [The Town and the City]? But don’t worry, it really don’t mean a thing. That’s my opinion.

Grebsnig

[greenhikingboots]

Hey, for the bts of Fic Writing : 4 10 12 15 17. Thanks and Happy New Year🥰❤️

LOULA! Thanks for playing along. I'm so flattered you care to know. Here are my lengthy answers because I do not know how to be concise.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline? I outline but I stray A LOT. Wait, let me explain that more accurately. It’s more like a continuous cycle of outline, write and stray, publish a chapter, re-outline the next few chapters, write and stray again — and on and on like that. Usually the straying happens because I can’t commit to secret pining as long as originally intended. Like, I give in and let my characters reveal some feelings too soon, then I have to figure out how to make the later plot points I have planned fit into a different emotional context. Which sometimes means changing the plot points. And then! Because the other changes that have occurred, I often feel as though I can no longer include some gut-wrenching conflict I had planned. I'm like, “They've come too far for that buffoonery now." So I have to soften the blow instead. Basically, I’m not as good at letting my characters suffer as I’m “supposed" to be according to typical writing advice. But that’s when I remind myself it’s fanfiction and I'm here to have fun! So it's all good. ❤ 10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot, the most? That’s a question for me. I think I’m pickiest about dialogue because I value it the most. I mean, these are romance stories I'm writing, right? And people fall in love by connecting emotionally which happens in large part through dialogue, right? That’s how I see it anyway. So it’s a double-edged sword. Dialogue is the part I like least because I put pressure on myself and then overthink it. But it's also the part I like best because it’s so important and feels SO GOOD when it turns out well. Plus I just LOVE making Jon say romantic things to Sansa — in both understated and over the top ways. It's my favorite thing ever. BUT! I’ll also add that I have some stretches of exposition I’m really proud of. In Chapter 1 of Inevitable I did a big background information dump right away, which (to bring up typical writing advice again) is a no no, right? But I don’t care. I think the whole chapter flows really well and it sets up Jon’s characterization perfectly. AND! Him thinking he can never be as good as Ned or offer Sansa a relationship as good as her parents is the whole crux of the story dammit! And it’s all subtly included right there in Chapter 1. Hell, it’s all right there in the first sentence! And I’m proud of that. 🤪 12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to? I had a S7/8 Fix It Fic that I took down while it was still a WIP. I re-worked and re-published the first half, ending it in a happy but intentionally ambiguous way. Mighty Love & Better Dreams — one of my less popular works, about 25k words if anyone is interested. But anyway, I’ve got another 12,000 words or so left — the second half of the incomple version I took down — that I’d still like to clean up and get back on AO3 someday. To finish it, I have to lean further into Political!Jon and Dark!Dany than I’ve done before, which I find intimidating (especially writing Dark!Dany. I agree that's how it'll go in the books, but how do I write it!? Someone help!) But like I said, I’ve got about 12,000 words already and a lot of it I really like. So it would be a shame to waste it, so to speak, by never finishing. So that’s my answer: Fix It trope featuring Political!Jon and Dark!Dany. 👀 15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics? Which fic would you want it to be?

Sorry, this answer might not be fun because it isn’t a Jonsa fic. Also I'm going to cheat and say I want it to be a TV show not a film. No that that's out of the way... I have a Dramione story I took down quite a while ago, Between the Lines, because I want to eventually rework it and republish it. It’s got the makings to be a 300k word epic told in a non-linear way (which is an idea I revisited recently when I wrote A Good Chance) and a teen ensemble cast type thing, which is popular on TV, right? Also... okay I’ll admit it, I daydream about changing that fic enough you can no longer recognize it as fanfiction. Then I could publish it as a traditional, original book (slim chance but that's why I called it a daydream).

I’m pretty over Dramione though, so maybe if I started thinking of it as a Jonsa AU it’d be easier to to craft it into something new but with some of the important plot points I still like. Maybe?

Woof. Really letting my true self show here. How embarrassing! ☠

17. What fic are you most proud of?A Boy in His Cups might still be my favorite fic I’ve ever written — my first Jonsa one-shot. IMO, the emotional beats are a tiny bit rocky towards the end, but otherwise it’s a very polished fic (maybe because I’ve gone back and edited it so many times.)

It’s Jon’s POV with pining and angst and fluff and confession of feelings and it fits so well with canon concepts. So bascailly all of my favorite things rolled into one. I am the target audience and I just love it!! Maybe someday I’ll write a sequel from Sansa’s POV and call it A Girl in Her Cups. 💋 Holy cow! That's a lot of words. Did you even read it all? Won't blame you at all if not. Thanks again for the ask, Loula. You're a gem. XO.

[michaels-office-hours]

Writing tip, for when you’re stuck hating your work.

Imagine you get isekai-ed into your story, as the author. Who are you?

Are you Dorothy lost in the land of Oz? Finding the characters along the way and helping them? Nurturing them, and guiding them. You may not have all the answers, but you take each step down the path along with them . Working towards a solution for everyone. (Except maybe that one poor tragic guy… and maybe that other tragic one… and maybe that other one… and uhhhhh ok maybe you help them as best you can)

Or do you avoid everyone, even NPCs, and hope that you will soon go back home and get out of this hellscape. And God forbid you come across one of the main cast, good or evil. They must be so badly written that it would be like talking to a child, or worse! An indecisive gelatinous blob in the shape of your last poorly concealed crush.

You are the author. You push the story forwards. So it makes sense that if you step into your word, the story would stagnate without you. Unless you are there doing little things to drive the plot forwards, maybe something as simple as suggesting they all go to the bar, or they go check on this one friend, or maybe dance class. But one character has to move things forwards.

In a normal story it’s good to balance this role out across the whole field. So your characters may also want to go places too! Don’t be too pushy with YOUR narrative. Sometimes one character really won’t want to go that way. It’s ok to split the party.

Speaking on that, once you meet your characters? Don’t think of them as less than you. They are people. Or the stand ins for them.

They have wants and needs

They have dreams and desires

They have lines they can’t cross in both the physical sense and the moral one

Would you ask your neighbor to suddenly leave their house and go climb a mountain with you with no gear and no water, all just for some ancient quest that may or may not just be rumor?

No.

That’s silly.

Would you get mad when they, because that’s silly, turn you down?

I would hope not.

So be patient with your characters. Maybe they don’t want to go along with your plot line, because it doesn’t fit in with their wants or worldview.

The good thing about your characters is that you can tweak the program! So shift the plot to more align, they don’t have to be perfectly happy, it just can’t completely oppose them. Or shift the characters wants! You just have to be consistent through the story so that makes sense.

I hope you don’t try this on your neighbor.

And also, be patient with yourself. This is an entire world with at least one person in it, more than likely? Many more. It takes a lot of brain power to think about.

Just as you wouldn’t push yourself to suddenly climb the mountain along with your characters in this world you’ve been thrown into. (I said you wouldn’t. I’m looking at you, you masochist. The human body can’t do that and I know you just sit at your computer all day, and NO being isekai-ed does NOT give you super human endurance. Stop it.)

Don’t push your brain to know every little thing about this world and these people right away. It will take time.

And reference is a good thing too! So go out and see the world! (Or at least look at pictures… travel is EXPENSIVE)

And friends are good for rambling about this cool new thing you made, AND getting reference for how some types of people react. (Just change it enough so Steve doesn’t spot himself in there. Use them as color pallets… not one for one notes. Ex. If Steve thinks bank robbery is awful but shoplifting is fine? Could be fun for a rouge character. And if Stacy thinks Steve is an idiot for that and should also stop cheating off her in math? You have a wizard who is lawful good and probably has their spells pinched by an overly active thief. Yes I think too much dnd)

Oh yeah, and even if you have that character based off your poorly disguised crush? That’s fine. Genuinely. I’ve been there. Literally no one cares. I would suggest adding more reference tho. If they are a mix of like 5 crushes? No one can tell at ALL who you picked from. They just go “oh it’s the obvious crush character. Lol yeah I have one of those” you may also throw in a few things counter to what you like, to throw people off your type. Lol.

Ok I’ve rambled enough I bet this will get no notes I’m gonna go hide now, goodbye.

[cindybanksteam]

4 Steps for Finding the Perfect Home

Moving is one of the most stressful things that you will need to do. It puts pressure on you, your spouse, and your children as you all try to find something that fits with each person’s expectations. You also have to consider the location of the new home, the size of the home, the size of the outdoor area, and the quality of the neighborhood. With all of these things that you need to consider, sometimes finding a house can seem like it’s impossible. The good news is that if you focus on these 4 main things, finding your home will be a whole lot easier.

1. Define Your “Perfect” Home

Get every in your family together and talk about what your perfect home would be. Your kids might want to have a big backyard and you want it to be close to your children’s school. If there’s a room size that you’re looking for, make sure that you write that down as well. You want your list to cover everything that you need. It’s also important to figure out what you need and what you want. For example, if your kids are big swimmers you might want to look at houses that have custom pools. However, this might not be something that you need in the house since a pool can be an easy addition to afterward. You need to realize which things can be compromised and which things cannot. Then, once you’ve defined what your perfect home is, give the list of needed things to your real estate agent and they’ll be able to locate houses that fit the criteria much easier.

2. Stay in the Budget

You might find a home that fits everything that you want, but it’s out of the budget. Now, you have a choice. You can abandon the budget and get the house, or find something that sticks within the price range. This piece of advice comes from years of experience--always choose to stick with the budget. You will only regret spending more than you were planning on spending and it will create financial stress in your future. It might take longer, but you need to find something that actually works with the money that you’ve set aside for buying a house. If you do, you will be a happier family with less financial stress on your shoulders.

3. Think About Remodeling

Remodeling is always an option. Let’s say that you find a house that is perfectly in your budget (maybe even a little cheaper) but it has one fewer room or the layout of the house isn’t what you were hoping for. Don’t just pass up the house. You might want to factor in the cost of remodeling the house and if that’s still in your budget, this might just be your dream house after all. It’s perfectly fine to remodel aspects of your home right after you buy it. Again, just make sure that remodeling isn’t going to push you outside of your budget.

4. Picture Your Family in the Home

Your family is the reason why you’re moving. Maybe your old home was getting too small for a family that’s always growing. Or, maybe you’re moving to a location that has better schools for your children. Sometimes, people move because they were offered a better job that will help them to better care for their family. Most of the time, the move is fueled by the desire to have a better location for the family. Because of that, the family should be at the heart of the home. Can you image your family happily living in the home? If no, then you should keep looking. If yes, then this might be the home for you.

Just make sure that your family is happy with the choice. Encourage your children to be apart of the move as well so that they know that their voices are valued in these big decisions.

[hijirikaww]

I posted 20,688 times in 2022

That's 1,324 more posts than 2021!

123 posts created (1%)

20,565 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@everythingfox

@atzupdates

@weenie-kun

@abiaswreck

I tagged 782 of my posts in 2022

#yayy - 112 posts

#happy emmy times - 98 posts

#ask! - 87 posts

#happy inbox noises - 86 posts

#:) - 78 posts

#uwu - 73 posts

#legendary - 70 posts

#bookmark - 32 posts

#liza-empress-of-emojis - 28 posts

#tag! - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#sometimes i hear myself say them in dutch and i go "huh what is that number? where did this come from? oh different language got it.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I realize after re-reading my response about the whole Andy Biersack/Palate Royale thing that it might have come off as aggressive so I apologize. I guess I just get defensive about them because a lot of people like to talk sh*t about anything involving them without knowing any of the background info 😆

Ah no worries I didn't interpret it like that whatsoever and I actually really appreciated the sharing of knowledge ahaha. I knew Andy and Remi were both very happy to do the project so I just shrugged the choice off, any content of Andy is a bonus, and boy do I love Remis covers of all those songs so 👍🏻👍🏻 zero complaints from me hehe

But I'm glad now I can finally place why they had made that choice! 🐛

3 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#4

9 and 22 for the wip asks.

Oooo thank you for the ask!!!

9. what are you struggling with the most in finishing your current wip(s)? 

I have the most troubles with filling in the gaps. I love adding more and more plot, but taking the time to write everything out can be a struggle. When I'm not into that particular vibe at that moment is is almost impossible, so I really need to follow my heart and work on what it desires hehe~

22. when do you know you’re really in a writing frenzy?

For me, that is usually when my ideas come faster than my fingers can type (which is mega fast) and I love it!! I love surprising myself with all the new plot and dialog etc. It is really exciting and I often find myself exclaiming out loud from happiness or astonishment. I really start gushing. These are the moments of writing I cherish the most, and what brings me the most happiness and fulfilment ♡♡♡

I hope you are doing well!~☆

4 notes - Posted June 7, 2022

#3

I'm moving to England today 😳

My bags are stuffed to the max, 99% practical minimalist stuff but I'm convinced I'll manage with this. Or else I'll have to get it there because nobody is coming my way for several months hahaha.

I'm ready for this adventure, woo!~☆

First real time of living by myself, but I got my dream job in the dream place so I'm positive about it ;)

Fingers crossed everything will go well!!

5 notes - Posted January 7, 2022

#2

Just a silly little update on what I'm up to atm! (literally up lol)

Happy life 🥰

6 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I just finished knitting my first ever full size sock!!! It is super soft and comfy I love it 😍💫

Now to make its buddy!!

The colours don't come out in the pic that well, but they fit pride month perfectly hehe~☆

11 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[eviesaurusrex]

pls don’t stress yourself out, bestie, it’s okay!!! 💖

anyways here i go, how did stark! reader and stephen meet for the first time?

You are a godsend, seriously. I’m so sorry (again). But never mind! So, chapter one was obviously the first time Stephen met Stark!Reader on a face-to-face kinda term. Before that, he never really met her, barely saw pictures of the other Stark prodigy, only read her articles, and certainly didn’t get an official introduction. But Stark!Reader kinda met him before that – way before that. We are now jumping to one of the Stark Medical Galas Tony loves to throw in order to get the best spot in the gossip and progression of the medical field he invests as much money as into weapons (nobody knows what’s that about).

—

Fidgeting in her midnight blue dress and the high-heeled murder weapons Pepper called shoes, YN stood next to the bar in the packed hall, cooled glass with something resembling alcohol in one hand while the other stuck in the bowl of peanuts to get at least something in her stomach. How she hated those galas and events where she was only supposed to smile and do boring small talk during which she sometimes seriously fell asleep. At least the booze was good – something Tony would never neglect – but the younger Stark still wanted to leave and head home. She hated those evenings, she hated the company, she hated the shoes she was forced to wear because it was socially more acceptable than comfortable sneakers, and most of all: nobody dared to talk to her to turn this accident of an event into something resembling fun.

Being the younger Stark and Tony Stark’s pride and joy wasn’t a dream come true.

Sighing, she gathered the floor-length fabric to not stumble over it – and make a fool out of herself (the tabloids would just love that) – and made her way over to Tony, who gladly happened to end one of the more boring conversations one could have. Senator Bloomsdale wasn’t known for his breathtaking intellect.

“So,” she started and looked around while sneaking her hand around his arm and resting it in the crook of his arm. “Will this get more fun, or can I go home and write on my thesis?” Tony took a sip from his glass – most definitely the most expensive whiskey the bar hid exclusively for him – and shrugged. “Thought it might be good to get you out of that room. A change of scenery. Going out, partying, finding a handsome date.” Scoffing, YN took a sip herself. “Finding a date? With my brother, who is known for being overprotective, in the same room? Did you already knock out your brain?”

The older Stark rolled his eyes and guided her through the crowd of wealthy people, scientists, lobbyists, and doctors. She certainly hadn’t been standing around doing nothing this whole evening – she had met people from the pharmaceutical industry, the robotics guys, surgeons, and professors of other Ivy League universities in the country. She had tended to her growing career, already convincing people of her ideas and approaches, and the small sewn-in pocket in her dress was filled with cards full of numbers and mail addresses.

“Stop whining and choose one of these. They’re all eligible, aspiring men, ready to shape the future. Just what you want,” her brother softly pushed her after they arrived at the dance floor where young men had gathered to find a dance partner. Frowning, YN looked up to her brother. “You sound like mom.” He shrugged. “If she would be here, she would’ve found you a man within the first ten minutes. I’m lacking her skill.”

YN didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying – he was rambling anyway – because her eyes had fallen on a man in a perfectly fitting suit, with dark hair, a perfectly shaven face, and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He was breathtakingly handsome, more so with the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He would tower over her even with those damn heels at her feet, YN was certain, and her heart started to jump in her throat as his crystal blue eyes swept over her figure. They moved back to her after he had spun his dance partner over the floor, and his smirk grew in its intensity.

She could feel the blood rushing into her neck and cheeks, so she turned her face away and looked to her brother instead. “Who is the tall man in the middle of the dance floor? Dark hair, bright eyes, perfectly fitting suit, gorgeous strawberry-blonde woman on his arm?” Because his dance partner was just as beautiful as he was. And yes, in her opinion, men could be described as beautiful, especially those who resembled a painting or statue of the old masters.

Tony looked for the described male, and as he found him, his face contorted in pure dislike. “Doctor Stephen Strange. Douchebag, idiot, narcissist. Don’t let the exterior fool you, munchkin.” Cocking both her eyebrows until they almost disappeared in her hairline (at least it felt like it), YN eyed him. “That sounds a lot like you. A wonder you’re not best buddies. Quick, someone needs to notify the Times!” He softly shoved her a few inches away while YN chuckled under her breath. “I mean it, though, YN. Don’t be foolish and get involved with him. He will break your heart, and I won’t stand in the offside of the playing field you call your life and watch idly while he breaks you on his ego trip upwards. You know what I’d do to him if he would only think about laying a finger on you.”

Yeah, she knew what he would do to someone who dared to destroy her. She had firsthand proof of what a Tony Stark was capable do with the empire he owns. They couldn’t get out of his way fast enough – they always would fall like pieces on a chess board.

Yet, YN moved her gaze back onto the dancers where Doctor Stephen Strange still held the gorgeous strawberry-blonde woman in his arms, his eyes still entirely focused on the woman standing offside the dance floor who he couldn’t let out of his sight. Christine noticed his staring and turned around to see who had captured her friend's attention. Her eyes settled upon a stunning young woman in a beautiful night blue gown who had her eyes fixed on Stephen as well, and Christine chuckled softly.

“You should ask her for a dance,” she tried to push him as she always tried. “Why should I? I am dancing with you.” Christine laughed. “Because I can see the serious interest in your eyes, and you won’t shut up for the next couple of weeks until you got her name.” He shook his head and grasped her hand tighter. “I am not a man cut out for one-night stands. Especially not for one-night stands with the daughter of some rich senator who never saw the world without those fairytale glasses.” But still, Stephen raised his look to find her again in the crowd without really having to try. She was like a lighthouse in the dark sea of expensive black suits and even more expensive tuxedos.

Christine sighed deeply. “Someday, I will have to drag you to your luck, but I will be there to do it.”

And maybe she was right, but at this moment, all Stephen could do was to have a watchful eye on the woman without the name, who he couldn’t let go of just yet.

—

And that got longer than I intended, wuuuuups.