#but its difficult talking about things that feel raw and vulnerable

[famewolf]

the second I walked outside on my break my mom called me to tell me Mema had passed away this afternoon. it was weirdly perfect timing, I had only just gotten away from register moments before.

I don't really know how to process or feel about it yet. I feel a bit withdrawn while I try and figure out how to deal with it.

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (16/22)

Chapter summary: You go through a difficult period following your breakup with Yelena, and you and Wanda end up falling down the rabbit hole for the second time around

Chapter word count: 6.4K | Warnings: Angst, Mild smut | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Before you say anything, I have a plan. Enjoy :) P.S. My requests are open

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Seventeen Part One

--

Sixteen

“And then she kissed you?” Agatha asks. She looks the same way she does when she’s actively participating in gossip, hanging onto every detail of the latest scandal that keeps most people entertained in their insignificant lives.

Wanda solemnly nods, as if validating a piece of tragic news.

“Why aren't you thrilled?” Agatha observes quietly, picking at her tooth with her fingernail. “I mean, doesn't that confirm that she still has feelings for you?”

“You remember what happened last time, right? When she did more than just kiss me?”

Agatha grimaces, “Right, of all places, in our stockroom." Then, her tone morphs into a more probing one, “But, did the kiss feel as if she just wanted to get into your pants?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, her heartbeat quickening as she reminisces about its tenderness. It felt akin to a first kiss—vulnerable, slightly apprehensive, tinged with anxiety, and yet, at the same time familiar—like finding her way back home.

It was perfect in every sense. 

But it was tainted by its very nature. It was a betrayal. And if there were truly raw feelings behind it, then it’s worse—it would mean that you have been emotionally unfaithful to Yelena. 

Wanda may have ruined yet another relationship.

In the midst of her internal struggle, she finally manages to answer Agatha, “It felt like hope,” giving voice to her undeniable feelings for you. “But she’s with Yelena.”

“I never really had faith in that relationship to begin with,” Agatha retorts dismissively, cleaning her hands with a towel before reaching for one of the cookies on display.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Wanda chides.

“I’m only being honest,” Agatha says, unapologetic in her bluntness. “You were fucking each other like rabbits and then a few weeks later, she gets a girlfriend. That's a classic rebound scenario. I'm surprised the woman she's with allowed herself to be used like that.”

Wanda finds Agatha’s uninhibited words a little offensive, though she understands that their deepening friendship has allowed for such unfiltered honesty between them. Even though she's jealous of Yelena, Wanda understands that she is good for you. She doesn't like how Agatha talks about Yelena as if she's too naive to try a relationship with you.

Wanda feels she can relate with Yelena. Often, love makes us scared that we might never get a second chance, so we choose to take a leap of faith, despite the warning signs.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?” Agatha asks, taking a bite of her favorite cookie. Wanda makes a mental note to deduct that cookie from the stock count.

Wanda shakes her head, replying, “Nothing,”

Agatha pauses mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock. Wanda can't help but observe the crumbs of food lodged in her teeth. “You're not going to seize this opportunity?” Agatha questions, disbelief coating her voice.

“Y/N needs to sort things out,” Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. “Without my interference.”

“You’re not afraid of missing out on this chance?”

Wanda sidesteps Agatha's question with one of her own. “Why are you suddenly supportive? It wasn’t long ago when you couldn't stand her.”

“I’m supportive of you. I’m rooting for your happiness, dear. But I’ve seen you at your worst, and I think you’re putting on a brave face right now.”

Wanda's eyes dip down. Her friend isn’t entirely wrong.

“What happens if she decides to stay with Yelena?” Agatha probes further.

Wanda's response isn't immediate; she takes a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before replying softly, “Then I hope she’ll be very happy with her.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, because of course, Wanda would say that. Even if you were being served to her on a silver platter, she’d worry for your happiness over her own. 

“And where does that leave you?” Agatha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Wanda lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, her face unreadable. “Living life as it comes, I guess. Just one day at a time.”

At this, Agatha decides to drop the subject. She has a strong feeling that Wanda’s just waiting for you to come to her, and when you do, she's certain that Wanda won't maintain this pretense of indifference. As for Wanda, she doesn’t want to obsess over what you’re doing or thinking. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake of hoping for an outcome that only you can decide.

Switching topics, Agatha raises an eyebrow and asks, “And the pup? Is he doing okay?”

Wanda smiles faintly, “I brought him home yesterday.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Agatha remarks. “Do you reckon Sparky masterminded all this to get Y/N to your place at an ungodly hour? Can dogs be that crafty?”

Wanda throws her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious right now?”

A wicked giggle slips from Agatha, spreading until Wanda finds herself laughing along. She doesn't notice the arrival of a guest until the distinct sound of the call bell jars her attention.

It’s Valkyrie, casually leaning against the countertop, looking awkward and so unlike her usual self.

Agatha casts a sly glance at Peter, who's been trying to catch her eye ever since Valkyrie stepped into the cafe. When Agatha isn't around, Peter fills her in on the latest happenings, a reliable source of juicy tidbits. Peter quirks his brows and discreetly nods towards Valkyrie, his mouth miming a silent message. Reading his lips, Agatha pieces together that this is the woman who recently found herself entangled in Wanda's intricate web.

Agatha sweeps her eyes over the woman appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Wanda rubs her palms together, a habit she’s developed before taking a customer order. “Hi, Val! What is it for today? We have new beans delivered all the way from Niseko–”

“Actually,” Valkyrie softly cuts her off. “I was hoping we could talk?”

Agatha watches their exchange, an eager twinkle in her eyes. With the pace at which interesting events are unraveling, she may as well pop a bag of microwave popcorn to truly savor the unfolding drama.

Wanda nods and moves away from the counter, temporarily handing the reins to Agatha. They pick a spot in the furthest corner from the kitchen, well out of earshot, much to Agatha's disappointment.

“First off, I owe you an apology,” Valkyrie begins. “I’d blame it on the alcohol, but there’s no excuse for me pressuring you too much to take shots. That wasn’t cool at all. You already said no several times and I ignored you.”

Wanda waves her off casually. “Oh, it's alright. I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You couldn't have forced me to drink if I really didn't want to, right?”

Valkyrie's frown dips further at Wanda's easy dismissal of the issue. “No, Wanda. If I'd kept on, I might've pushed you into it even if you didn't want to. I'm just glad Y/N stepped in when she did.”

Something flashes in Wanda’s eyes at the mention of your name. Valkyrie catches it but opts to ignore it for the meantime.

“Yeah, I did feel a bit cornered that night,” Wanda concedes, a smile returning to her face. “But it's water under the bridge now. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

“You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?” Valkyrie attempts to lighten the mood, but her tension is evident in her shaky voice and the way her fingers fiddle with her watch.

Wanda chuckles. “It's a skill I've been honing lately.”

Taking a deep, measured breath, Valkyrie gathers her courage. "Alright, here it is..."

Wanda tilts her head at her curiously, wondering what it’s about.

“I like you,” Valkyrie blurts out. “I don’t normally confess to someone I’m not even dating, but you’re… incredible. That's how I feel about you and I thought you should know."

“Oh! Uh…” Wanda trails off, blushing at Valkyrie’s confession.

Valkyrie nibbles at her lip, observing as Wanda fumbles to put her thoughts into words. She silently hopes she's left Wanda speechless in a good way.

“There’s… someone,” Wanda manages to utter out eventually. “I've been in love with her for the better part of my life.” Or maybe her whole life, if she’s being brutally honest.

Valkyrie nods, her throat tightening to hold back the sting of rejection. “It's her, isn't it?” she ventures, silently alluding to you.

Wanda diverts her gaze and emits a modest laugh. She must have made her feelings too obvious for anyone to see.

“She’s my ex-wife,” is all the explanation Wanda offers.

“Wow,” Valkyrie looks taken aback by the revelation. “That sounds messy.”

“It's beyond messy,” Wanda retorts.

“Go on,” Valkyrie encourages.

Wanda looks at her, thoughtful. “Are you sure you want to delve into my past? It might take some time.”

Valkyrie smiles, already leaning in closer to signify that she’s all ears. “I made time this morning specifically to talk to you. I want to understand, at least, why I'm being rejected.”

Wanda chuckles softly at the gesture. Collecting her thoughts, she starts to narrate a condensed version of the turbulent history she's had, of how she ruined everything that’s good in her life.

When Wanda wraps up her story, Valkyrie simply says, "Wow, that's... pretty fucking messed up."

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wanda admits, biting her lower lip, anxiety swirling in her gaze. She worries that revealing her darkest past may have cost her a budding friendship. “I think I saw your interest, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions and have the wrong idea. I just wanted us to be friends. I still do, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, I want to be friends with you, Wanda. More than the fact that you’re hot, we have a lot in common too.”

Wanda's cheeks tinge a soft pink at Valkyrie's flippant comment about her being ‘hot’.

“So, friends then?” Valkyrie extends her hand.

Wanda smiles in relief. “Friends.”

***

A phone call rouses you from sleep. You groggily glance at the clock and realize you've overslept.

“It’s done,” your lawyer's voice cuts through the grogginess as soon as you pick up the call.

Disoriented, you squint against the daylight streaming in through the window. “What are you referring to?” you inquire, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Vision has settled,” she elaborates, her words crisp and distinct. “And he caught a flight to Tokyo last night.”

“He's gone?”

“From what I've heard, he intended to use the settlement money to finance his studies overseas. He won't be returning in the near future. But even if he does decide to cut his trip short, you're safe. He has no legal means to trouble you anymore,” she assures you.

“You've got snitches now?” you quip, your eyes narrowing in suspicion even as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Her laughter rings out through the phone, followed by a breezy, “You're welcome,” before she ends the call.

It's over. A chapter of your past has finally closed. Vision has physically left the city, and you've literally paid your dues. You hadn't realized you were in a kind of self-imposed cage until now, when a sense of liberation pulses through your veins.

Before you can fully indulge in the relief provided by your lawyer's news, however, a persistent knock at your door breaks your reverie. You can't help but wonder who it could be, and how they bypassed the building's security without a notification from the concierge.

As you pull the door open, you find yourself face to face with the last person you expected to see.

“Nat?”

She appears ready to tear you apart. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, 'this is it, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend'. Strangely, you're indifferent to whatever she might inflict on you. Having her here at least affords you an opportunity to have a conversation.

Yet, Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't even spare you a glance. Instead, she brushes past you and starts gathering random items into a large duffel bag she brought along.

“Nat, can you please just talk to me?”

“What for, Y/N? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yelena broke up with me,” you say.

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Nat, please,” you plead. “You can’t just cut me out forever. I’m your best–”

“Are you?!” The outburst that tears from her is enough to make you recoil. “Are you my friend, Y/N? I woke up to my sister on my doorstep, in shambles. All thanks to my ‘friend’.”

You wrap your arms around yourself as tremors course through your body. Tears start to flow down your cheeks at the mere mention of Yelena.

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk,” Natasha rages on. “I stood by you through thick and thin. I held your hand through all the shit you went through last year. I brought you into my home. I took care of you. I loved you–” Natasha's voice catches on 'loved', and your heart shatters at her use of the past tense.

“–and you just betrayed me, like I meant nothing. You betrayed my sister like she meant nothing. We both cared about you, Y/N.” Her voice dwindles near the end, her next words coming out just above a whisper. “So, no, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m s–”

“You know what? I can’t fucking do this. I’m just gonna send someone to collect Yelena's things. If I don’t, just throw out her stuff like you did with your relationship. Goodbye, Y/N.”

The door slams shut behind her. You find yourself on the floor, curled into a ball, as you grieve the friendship you’ve known all your life.

***

Dark screens and unreturned messages follow.

Yelena has blocked you on every possible platform, cutting off any form of communication. Natasha hasn't, but she leaves all your messages unread, allowing your calls to go unanswered, seemingly enjoying your desperation. Clint ignores your texts, and Kate only responded once, promising to try and speak to Yelena for you. That was a week ago, and there's been no word since. You didn't think you'd be back in the dark place you were in a year ago, and the worst part is, you brought it on yourself this time.

The only news you get about Yelena is from your own mother. A few days after Yelena left your shared apartment, your mother called to ask what had happened. Apparently, Yelena had told her the news herself and asked her to take care of you and make sure you were alright. Throughout the call, you cried silently, feeling the remnants of Yelena's care for you even after you broke her heart.

And your mother, perennially at odds with handling emotions, simply offered her condolences. Although by doing so, she offered more support than she did when you were weathering your divorce from Wanda the year before. With your latest tragedy out of the way, she proceeded to ask if you could make time to visit Montauk over the holidays.

***

Drinking is… a problem. Again. 

But you approach it with more caution this time. You don’t drink as much at home so you can avoid not showing up at work the next day. Rather, you sneak in a flask in the office, sipping from it from time to time to keep you the right amount of…adrift. You’re too good with numbers that even with a little haze in your head, the alcohol doesn’t interfere with your work. 

It interferes with other thoughts.

***

When Kate finally calls you, you’re in the middle of a disastrous presentation at work. Her words had been brief, only giving you the time (three in the afternoon) and location (The New York Public Library) where she wanted to meet. 

It takes some time for you to locate Kate within the vast elegance of the Rose Main Reading Room. She's tucked away in the northeast corner, engrossed in her work, even on a Sunday. A towering pile of books rises to her eye level on her desk.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you.” Kate says without looking up as you settle on the vacant seat next to her.

“Wrong about me?” you ask, keeping your voice in a hushed tone.

“I had this fleeting thought that you might actually be a good person.” she says.

Swallowing hard, you struggle to find a response, well aware that Kate is just laying out the facts. What kind of person would cheat on their best friend's sister? What kind of person would throw away years of trust and a lifelong friendship?

“She told you?” you finally manage to ask.

“Yelena didn’t say much,” Kate says with a hint of sorrow. “But I've never seen her look so…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words, and eventually concludes, “She doesn't look like the Yelena I know.”

You’re afraid to ask what she means by that. You haven’t looked in the mirror yourself, in fear of seeing the results of your own wreckage.

“She quit today, you know?” Kate reveals, setting down her pen to give you her full attention. You don't see resentment in her eyes, only caution. This is the most compassion you've been shown since your relationship with Yelena fell apart. 

The news of Yelena's resignation hits you like a punch to the gut. She had a promising career ahead of her, and she'd found a supportive environment in her workplace. It's hard to believe she'd just abandon that so abruptly. You feel a wave of nausea at the thought.

“I sort of saw it coming,” Kate adds. “Not her resignation–God, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge. I… I saw you running back to Wanda.”

Your eyes narrow curiously as you regard Kate. “How?” 

Kate sighs, pushing a pile of papers to the side to give you her full attention. “It's not a secret, you know. You might think you're being discreet, but you’re more transparent than you'd like to believe. You’re a completely different person when she’s around. I saw it during the 6-miler event we all joined by chance.”

There’s no point in denying any of that. The weeks that follow after that, you were crying to your mother regarding your conflicted feelings about Wanda. But if you had been aware of the signs as early as then, would things be different somehow?

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Kate,” you say, the words sounding weak and inadequate to your own ears.

“I know,” Kate says quietly, and there's a touch of sympathy in her eyes that makes you feel even worse. “But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. And people are getting hurt because of it.”

You can sense that Kate is one of those people–by hurting Yelena, the girl she clearly loves. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You wish there was another way to convey how sorry you are–a keyword to make it all go away.

“Yeah, me too. Mostly because I have to tell you that we can no longer be friends.” Kate says, looking genuinely upset about her decision, her gaze dropping to her hands as she twirls the pen between her fingers.

“I know,” you nod, appreciating her honesty. “Thank you.”

“Look, I have no idea how deep your thing with Wanda goes. All I know is you can’t keep running away. You can’t keep hiding behind the comfort of other people.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment, even though you're uncertain how to put her words into practice.

"Can you pass on a message to Yelena for me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously.

Kate lets out a sigh, her fingers halting their movement on the pen. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“Could you tell her that I'm sorry...that I truly loved her?”

A moment of silence follows your request as Kate studies you, her lips pursed. It might seem hypocritical of you to make such a claim, but she refrains from passing judgment. But seeing your bloodshot eyes and your pale chapped lips and the lack of life in you, she thinks there’s probably some truth to it.

***

It takes you an additional week before you summon the courage to visit Wanda's apartment. 

Truth be told, you've been hiding away in shame, confining yourself to either your bedroom or your office, instructing your assistant to keep the door closed and not to disturb you, secluding yourself from the outside world. Aside from interactions at your work, you haven’t talked to anyone. 

A moment of misjudgment led you to lose everything that you were left with when you lost Wanda. But gradually, even as you were beating yourself up over and over again with the dissolution of your relationship with both Romanovs, Wanda became the only one you can think about. You can't escape her pull, no matter how hard you try. 

Eventually, you devolve into nothing more than a compulsion; a compelling need to see Wanda. Which is what brings you here, with your fist poised to knock on the door. But just before your knuckles make contact with the wooden panel, the door swings open, and Wanda's voice unthinkingly spills into the hallway where you stand.

“–let me ask if the neighbor has some sugar–” Wanda halts dead in her tracks as she comes face to face with you.

The timid smile on your face drops as soon as you realize she's not alone. Behind her, comfortably perched on the couch is Valkyrie.

“Seems like you're already entertained. I'll head out,” Valkyrie proposes, getting up on her feet. “I'll pick up my shirt when you come around for the run next week, sound good?”

Wanda nods in a daze to that, her eyes never leaving you.

"No, I should leave," you counter weakly.

“No, Y/N, please stay,” Wanda implores. “See you later, Val. Thanks for the shoes.”

You stiffen and step aside as Valkyrie moves to gather her belongings. When she finally approaches the door, standing next to you, she tilts her head to murmur a parting sentiment intended for your ears only.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I had a spill on my shirt. Don't let her down this time,” she whispers. 

Her words stun you into silence long after she's left.

“Y/N? Please, come in,” Wanda invites you, her voice trembling slightly. Nodding silently, you step inside.

You regard each other quietly, simply observing one another for what feels like an eternity. This isn’t how you imagined things would go when you thought about coming here this morning. You wanted to see Wanda because you needed to be with her. But now, all you can think about is Wanda and Valkyrie being all over each other.

“It’s been awhile,” Wanda offers, not really sure how to begin as you stay awkwardly near the door–as if you’re strategically placing yourself there in case you decide you want to run. She studies you, attempting to read your expression, to figure out what this could be about. She’s been thinking about the thumb drive that contained the video of her and Vision. Did you finally see it? Did you decide to pay him off?

Or is this about Yelena? Wanda’s been thinking if you came clean to your girlfriend about the kiss, wondering if you've managed to patch things up, and if Yelena has forgiven you.

If you’ve chosen to be with Yelena after all.

“Yeah, Valkyrie was here pretty early, wasn't she?” you state more than ask, a hint of bitterness edging your words. You glance at your watch, adding, “At 6:30 in the morning, no less.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your tone, as though she's on the receiving end of an unfounded accusation.

“She was on her morning run, dropped by to hand over a pair of shoes from her club's sponsor. Nothing more,” she explains.

You snort, "Sounds awfully convenient."

Rather than entertain your skepticism further, Wanda redirects the conversation elsewhere. What you presume about her and Valkyrie is the last of her worries right now.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Wanda asks, her voice a little unsure. When your eyes meet hers, Wanda sees the signs of sleepless nights and a certain emptiness that paints a clear picture.

You and Yelena are done.

And it's breaking you. Her heart aches, even knowing that you're now, technically, available. She never wanted this for you. And she can't help but feel that she messed up your happiness once again.

“I just... I needed to see you,” you admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Looks like you didn't waste any time though.”

“Valkyrie and I are just friends,” Wanda insists, the edge of her patience beginning to fray.

“You seriously think I'll believe that?” you shoot back.

Wanda heaves a sigh, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. Doesn't change the truth.”

“She was wearing your shirt.” you highlight, not quite ready to drop the issue.

“She spilled coffee on herself. I gave her a clean one. That's it.”

“And I'm supposed to accept that at face value?” you challenge, an eyebrow arched skeptically in her direction.

“Yes, you are!” Wanda says firmly. “Because it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you.”

I wouldn't lie to you. Her words reverberate within your skull, playing on repeat like a broken record.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? You're not sure whether you can still believe her.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda's plea rings out, sounding lost and desperate. She isn't even certain what she's asking for. What she does know is that you're teetering on the edge of a breakdown, still reeling from the pain of your breakup. 

You don’t look like you’re in the right mindset to talk about what you’re going through. About how you both left things. And as much as Wanda wants to figure this out with you, she can’t do anything if you’re not willing to trust her.

“Wouldn’t lie to me?” you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm and a painful sort of humor. “Alright, let's put that to the test, shall we?”

Wanda's throat tightens. She's unsure where you're heading with this.

“Yelena and I broke up. She left me that same morning,” you start off casually, as if discussing the weather. “Because she deserved better. Because I am, as it turns out, selfish and deceitful, right?”

“No–”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Wanda's mouth snaps shut at your words, a sense of finality creeping into her. “...yes,” she admits quietly.

Slowly, you advance towards Wanda, your steps intentional and calculated. She remains rooted in her spot, refusing to back down.

“Do you feel happy that Yelena and I have broken up?” you ask.

Wanda looks hurt by your question. "Y/N, no, of course not–”

Your stoic expression tells her you're not buying it.

“Do you regret our kiss?” you probe, stepping closer, until Wanda finds herself backed against the wall. You lean in, foreheads almost touching, your dark eyes daring her to lie to you.

Wanda takes her time to answer, but when she finally does, her expression is resolute, as though she's trying to prove a point to you. “No, I don’t regret it,” she murmurs, her words a mere breath against your lips. Wanda looks so taken by the hungry look in your eyes that she fails to see what comes next.

The kiss this time is a stark contrast from the last. There’s an edge of danger to it, almost like the kiss that started Wanda’s downfall that culminated in a near-death experience, the kiss that was punishing and every bit of the hatred you harbored for her. 

But there's also a desperation to it–as if you're sinking and this kiss is your lifeline; a frayed, ragged lifeline that could only be the one to pull you back to the surface. 

As Wanda's head hits the wall with a soft thud, a pang of concern breaks through the haze of your fervor. Swiftly, you slide your hand between her head and the hard concrete, cushioning her as the urgency of your kiss escalates. Wanda almost sobs at the subtle tenderness behind your action, the considerate gesture leaving her somewhat taken aback, considering the harsh exchange you'd had just moments before.

No, this is nothing like your previous encounter.

You're not biting down to break skin. Your fingers aren't pressing into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your tongue isn't demanding or invasive, it's simply there, matching her rhythm and intensity. Wanda is unable to do anything but moan under you and rub her thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s building there.

Yet, you still don’t let her touch you. You don’t let her fingers venture up your stomach from under your shirt. Instead, you catch her hands, lacing your fingers through hers, and pull her arms above her head. All the while, your lips deftly trace a path down her throat. It’s soft and wet and so utterly delicate–everything Wanda thinks she hasn’t earned.

Nothing prepares her for the moment your hand makes contact with her core, even through the fabric of her shorts. She realizes just how much you’ve been holding back when you cup her forcefully, groaning from the heat and dampness that hits your palm.

If this means what Wanda thinks it means, she doesn’t want it to happen against the wall of her living room.

“Y/N?” she whispers raggedly in your ear, feeling the heel of your hand starting to grind against her clit. 

“Yeah…?” you moan against her heated cheek as your fingers slips beneath her panties and find wet, wiry curls.

“Fuck–” Wanda whimpers at the contact. “B-Bedroom, please.”

Following her lead, you hoist Wanda up and her legs instinctively coil around your waist. She directs you towards her bedroom with verbal cues, realizing you're far too engrossed in lavishing attention on the skin just above her breasts to care about bumping into furniture. Your hand drifts up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and skillfully unfastening it.

And then no words are spoken at all after that.

***

Wanda stirs awake near noon, realizing that she's skipped her therapy appointment. Instinctively, her hands reach out to the area beside her, expecting to feel your warmth. However, she is greeted only by the cool sheets of the bed, the space vacant.

You're gone.

While she had been lost in dreams where she had a second chance at the life she yearned to have with you, you had quietly dressed and slipped out of her apartment, leaving no trace or note behind. You had vanished as silently and swiftly as a dream at daybreak.

Wanda arches her back, mimicking the languid stretch of a cat, the resulting pops of her spine easing the tension more than the action itself. The sex was… phenomenal. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.

When a bit of the afterglow wears off, she is haunted by a question: What happens now?

More importantly, are you coming back? Or is this a one-time thing for you?

With a weighty sigh, Wanda allows herself to collapse back onto the mattress. Doubt creeps in as she begins to question whether her decision to let this unfold was the right one. After all, you’ve both been down this path before, sex was not a magic remedy that mended everything. 

What she couldn’t deny, however, is how gentle you were with her. You were making love to her, and nothing could sway Wanda from this belief. It sparks a tiny ray of hope within her that perhaps this time, you're ready to give her another chance.

Maybe, just maybe, you're open to trying again.

Yet, the vacant space next to her feels almost accusatory. Wanda has never been fond of waiting. But it’s the only thing she can do for now.

After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

***

The call from her therapist comes at around nine in the evening. Wanda considers it a little unprofessional, given the late hour, but she supposes that Calliope sees at least a dozen patients a day. Truthfully, she’s been anticipating this call all day, especially after she deliberately skipped her session to–

A soft snore escapes from your half-open mouth, drawing Wanda’s attention momentarily.

–spend time with you. Wanda can’t explain it, but she’s afraid to bring this up to Calliope. And she knows that if she sees Calliope or talks to her, it would open the floodgates and everything will come rushing out before she can stop them.

She's missed two calls now, but the phone in her hand vibrates again and Calliope’s name stares back at her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda finally picks up.

“Hello, Wanda?”

“Hi,” Wanda replies, aiming to sound cheerful.

Calliope wastes no time getting to the purpose of this call. “You missed this morning’s session. Did something happen?”

Wanda's gaze drifts to you, sleeping soundly, your hair a mess as it spreads out in every direction. The sheets have slid down, exposing your bare back in a manner that makes her want to abandon the call and join you.

“Oh, uh... I just got tied up at the cafe. Sorry for not informing your secretary,” she hastily lies.

“So, everything's okay then?”

“Yes,” Wanda confirms, her eyes never leaving you as she replies honestly this time. Calliope seems satisfied with that and proceeds to book a slot for Wanda two days hence before ending the call.

You open an eye at her lazily, your voice muffled by the pillow as you ask, “Who was it?”

“No one,” Wanda says without batting an eye. “Just a supplier for the coffee shop.”

Your response is a drowsy murmur, your face sinking deeper into the pillow as you pursue the lingering traces of Wanda's scent. A smile tugs at Wanda's lips at the innocence of the gesture, despite the fact that you’re very naked under the covers. She hadn’t anticipated she’d see you again so soon, moreso that she’d sleep with you again right away when she does. But you had showed up unannounced, yet again, and casually asked Wanda if she'd eaten dinner already. Wanda had barely gotten the word ‘yes’ out, before you’re urgently reaching out and snatching her into a hungry kiss.

And then it was all lips and touches and her coming into your mouth three times until she had to literally cover herself with her hand just to get you to stop. 

Wanda's cheeks warm as she surrenders to the memory of your fervent reunion from only a few hours prior, but your sleep-laden murmurings, muffled as they are by the pillow your face is buried in, yank her back to the present. She chuckles lightly and perches herself at the edge of the bed, drawing a line along your back with her fingertips, raising goosebumps along the path.

"Can you repeat that?" she prompts, massaging your neck.

You lift your head slightly, your eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I said–do you need me to go?”

Wanda shakes her head, even though you can't see her. “Let’s just sleep,” she whispers.

Wanda gets up to remove her shirt over her head. Then, she slides back under the sheets and curls up against you. She presses her bare body to your back, fitting herself perfectly against your shape. Your warmth seeps into her, filling the cold spots that your absence had left behind.

Wanda notes that this is the first time you’re willing to stay since before you found out she cheated on you. She closes her eyes and allows herself to drift away. If you’re staying, then there's an opportunity to talk about this tomorrow.

***

Leaving a slumbering Wanda behind is not easy. You have to gingerly disentangle yourself from her grip to avoid waking her up. Initially, sleeping with Wanda was not part of your plan, but seeing her with Valkyrie had stirred a sense of jealousy within you that led to a powerful desire to claim Wanda as yours.

And so it kept happening, again and again–like a drug you just couldn't shake off.

You haven't really thought about what it all means. To be honest, you've been actively avoiding it. A week of overthinking has left you stuck at a dead-end, feeling numb and desperate to feel something, anything at all.

And in all this, Wanda is the only one who seems to fill the void, the only one who doesn't make you feel so alone.

***

“Dr. Williams?” Pietro says hesitantly as he picks up the call.

“Hi, Pietro. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,” comes Calliope's voice, clear and loud.

“No, I was just–did we have a scheduled meeting that slipped my mind?” he inquires, wondering about the suddenness of this call. 

“We didn't,” Calliope assures him. “I'm actually calling about Wanda. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently?”

Pietro doesn’t like the sound of this. “No, I haven’t. Is she okay?”

“She missed her appointment this morning without notice. It’s the second time in a row. And I just got off the phone with her… she was deflective.”

“I'll check in with her,” Pietro promptly assures, before adding more softly, “Should I be worried?”

“She has agreed to meet me on Tuesday,” Calliope replies, deftly skirting around his question. “So, it may not be a pressing matter. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No problem at all, Dr. Williams. Feel free to call anytime.”

As the call ends, Pietro is left alone with his thoughts. His mind is whirring with worry for Wanda, and he sits there for a moment, lost in thought. With a sigh, he places his phone back on the coffee table, a frown etching itself onto his face.

Feeling restless, he picks up his phone again, fingers swiping the screen with a certain degree of nervousness. His gallery opens up, a collection of countless memories frozen in pixels. He scrolls through it, stopping at a particular picture that still haunts him.

It's a hard image to look at, a memory of a particularly painful day. But he keeps it, just in case he needs it, a ghost hiding in his phone.

He knows, if push comes to shove, he has this to fall back on.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby | @swiftie1-0-1

[moonsandmobilityaids]

To Walk In Part 2

Pairings: Remus Lupin x disabled!reader (Part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader universe) Summary: You and Remus talk about the night before. Warnings: Mentions of catheters, self-worth issues Series Masterlist | Part 1

Your eyes flutter open to a new day, the weight of last night's revelation pressing down on you like a lead blanket. It's difficult to think of anything else but the dread that sits heavy in your stomach, churning with every thought of what Remus might be thinking now.

You remain still in bed, the soft pillow beneath your head offering little comfort for the turmoil within. Remus is there, propped up against the headboard with a book in his hands. The morning light filters through the window, casting an ethereal glow upon him and accentuating the worry lines etched around his eyes. His presence should soothe you, yet it only serves to remind you of your vulnerability.

The memory of the catheter from last night is still fresh, too fresh, and you can't help but shift under the sheets, causing Remus to look up.

"Love, you're awake," he says softly, closing his book and setting it aside. His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of your situation, and for a moment, you want nothing more than to lose yourself in its warmth. But your anxiety refuses to be quelled, and you attempt a small smile, though it wavers at the edges.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, a noncommittal sound that does little to mask your unease. You draw the blanket up higher, a thin shield from the weight of his scrutiny. It's not that you don't trust him—it's just that right now, you can't trust yourself.

He doesn't miss the small gesture, the way you retreat further into the cocoon of fabric. His brow furrows slightly, concern etching lines onto his usually smooth forehead. He has always been perceptive, able to read between the lines of your carefully composed facade. It's one of the reasons you've always felt safe with him, why his presence has been a constant source of reassurance. But today, even his steadying influence can't quell the storm raging inside you.

"Would you like to speak about what happened last night?" His voice is so soft, a low murmur that barely disturbs the silence of the room. He's cautious, careful not to push too hard, but the question hangs heavy in the air between you, reminding you of the reality you're trying to keep at bay.

Your heart stutters in your chest, skipping a beat, and for a moment, you can't breathe. You don't want to talk about it—not because you don't trust him, but because speaking it aloud feels like an admission. An admission that things are different now, that *you* are different. And you're terrified of what will happen if you give voice to the fear that's been gnawing at your insides.

"I..." Your voice is barely audible, a whisper lost among the rustling sheets. "I don’t want you to see me...differently." The confession hangs heavy in the air, a secret shared in the quiet of the dawning day.

His frown deepens, his gaze never leaving yours as he leans closer. There’s a tension in the way he moves, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment. "What do you mean?"

You sigh, the sound aching with the weight of unspoken fears and frustration. "It's just... everything." Your hands move in vague gestures, encompassing the catheter, the wheelchair, everything. "I don't want you to think I'm not—" The words are there on the tip of your tongue, but they're too raw, too real to release into the world.

"That I'm not... attractive anymore," you finally whisper.

Saying it aloud feels like admitting defeat, and you instantly regret it. You turn your head away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, suddenly aware of how absurd your concerns must seem when stacked against the reality of your condition. How can you think about attraction when your body is a battlefield, when even the simplest tasks leave you breathless and weak?

Remus blinks, his brow furrowing as he tries to decipher the tangle of emotions behind your words. He doesn't laugh or dismiss your fears as trivial; instead, his hand reaches out, fingertips brushing gently against your cheek. It's a silent plea for you to look at him, to let him see you.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, and it's such a familiar term, one James often uses. But when Remus says it, it's different—softer, more personal, imbued with an intimacy born of shared secrets and quiet understanding. "You're not—You're still you. You're the woman I'm mad about, and nothing can change that."

His words weave a thread of comfort through the fabric of your thoughts, but it frays against the rough edges of self-doubt. "But last night... you saw me... struggling to use a catheter and then helped. That's not something I ever wanted you to see."

His hand leaves your cheek, warm fingers curling around your own, grounding you in their steadiness. "What I saw last night," he begins, voice firm yet gentle, like the caress of a summer breeze, "was strength. More strength than you realise you possess. And not a single moment of it—not one—made me think any less of you."

His words strike at the heart of your insecurities, each syllable a challenge to the doubts you've nursed in silence. You search his face for any sign of pity, but there is none—only the steady glow of sincerity.

"This isn't about pretending to be perfect," he continues, voice firm with conviction. "You're perfect for me, for us. Last night... it didn't change the way I feel about you. If anything, it made me love you more because I wish you'd let me in sooner. You don't have to bear this burden alone."

Your throat tightens, making speech impossible. His gaze holds yours, unwavering and sure. He means it—all of it. There's no hesitation, no shadow of doubt lurking behind his words.

"But... what if it becomes too much?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, fear creeping into the spaces between your words. "What if one day, you decide it's too much to handle?"

Remus's hold on your hand tightens, his thumb tracing reassuring circles over your knuckles. A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, not out of amusement, but a quiet sort of confidence. "I'm not going anywhere, love. I'm in this with you, for better or worse. We've already faced so much together. I'm not afraid of this—and neither should you be."

His words crack the shell you've formed, seeping into spaces within your heart that you'd forgotten existed. You feel a slow and steady release of tension from your shoulders, the burden of the previous night lifting ever so slightly at his touch. He speaks no more, simply holding you with a gentleness that only Remus Lupin seems to possess.

"I... I don't want you to think I'm weak," you confess, your voice no louder than the rustle of sheets beneath you.

"You're the farthest thing from weak," he assures you, the certainty in his tone wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "You've faced things others can't even imagine, and you're still here, still fighting. That's not weakness. It's strength."

Something shifts within you, something small but significant. His words echo in the hollows of your mind, filling them with a truth you've long denied yourself. Perhaps he's right—perhaps you are stronger than you've allowed yourself to believe.

"And remember," Remus adds, his voice low and soothing as a lullaby, "if you ever need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be there. James and Sirius too."

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, all you can do is nod. Then, slowly, you find your voice again. "They don't know... about the catheter. Not yet."

Remus's eyes soften in understanding. "That's your decision to make, love. When you're ready to tell them, they'll understand. They care for you as deeply as I do."

His voice is a balm to your ragged nerves, making the promise ring true in spite of everything. The fear isn't completely gone, but it's quieter now, overshadowed by Remus's unwavering presence.

You look up at him and finally allow the ghost of a smile to touch your lips—a small victory, but a significant one. "Thank you," you whisper, the gratitude heavy in your voice.

Remus's own smile is gentle, the lines around his eyes crinkling in response. He leans in, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "Anytime, love. Always."

[dulltoned]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Branch storms into Poppy's pod and immediately slams their drinks down onto the nearest table. During the walk over from the market the anxiety and dread had ample time to morph into a familiar anger. Poppy hurries in after him, her face twisted with concern that only succeeds in fueling his growing rage. "How could I have been so stupid?" He seethes, turning away from Poppy and raking his hands through his hair. He felt like an idiot being so upset over something he'd already figured was inevitable. What right did he have to feel betrayed? They'd made their plans clear and what? Did he really expect that a stupid little song and dance would be enough to change that? He scoffs and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes in a poor attempt to stave off the tears beginning to pool.

"Hey, hey," Poppy soothes, scampering over and wrapping her hands gently around his wrists. "You're not stupid, Branch," She insists firmly as she carefully pries his hands from his face. She ducks down to catch his eye, refusing to let him look away, and it draws a pitiful little laugh from him. She smiles but it falls just as quickly, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, it's fine. I'm just overreacting." Branch dismisses easily, tugging his arms away and turning away from her again. The anger is already sizzling out in his chest, a firework that's already fading away leaving nothing but a smoky imprint in its wake. He wishes he could hold onto it. He knows this anger like a childhood friend and it doesn't hollow him out and leave him hurting the same way the anxiety and grief do.

Poppy circles around him back into his line of sight with a crease between her eyebrows that speaks to her worry and mounting frustration. "You can talk to me, remember?" She holds out her hand this time, palm up. It's an invitation she's urging him to take and he can't find it in himself to deny her. He slots his hand easily into hers and it's like they're made to hold each other. She's right here in front of him trying to get him to open up and yet somehow he can't shake the feeling that he's all on his own. Her face softens and the crease between her brows evens out, it's one less weight on his shoulders. "Come on, Branch. I'm here for you."

Branch sighs, clutching her hand tightly as a small bit of the fight physically bleeds out of him. "I know," he murmurs, "I do. It's just still new." He wants to try. The few times he's been able to let himself be vulnerable with Poppy have made him more at ease than he ever thought possible but when the opportunity arises he always feels more like a cornered animal. There's something raw and terrifying about talking to people about himself and even though Poppy's proven herself time and time again it's still one of the most difficult things to do.

"That's okay," Poppy assures easily, her mood lifting as it becomes clear to her that Branch isn't pushing her away again. A supportive smile spreads across her face as she tugs him toward the pink couch in the center of the room. "It's okay to struggle, as long as you know that you can talk to me about things if you need to." She sits down on the couch and nods for him to settle down beside her. Branch doesn't even give it a second thought before he lowers himself down onto the fluffy cushions, sitting so close that their knees touch. It makes his skin itch at first but it calms into a soothing warmth that he very nearly presses into. Poppy visibly hesitates and he squeezes her hand in silent reassurance. "It feels like you really need to talk about this." She says with a sad smile.

Branch hums, his free hand fidgeting with the hem of his vest. He does, admittedly, need to talk about it but the idea makes his stomach churn. Some things are easier to talk about than others but the permanent chill of loneliness burrowed into his bones isn't really a topic he likes to bring up. Thinking about it only makes it more pronounced and he's so used to having no one to talk to that it's easiest to just let it go unacknowledged. It seems like his brothers storming back into his life only to flee just as quickly has reopened old scars. It doesn't feel as simple as pushing it down and letting it fester when Poppy is right there looking at him imploringly with her kind eyes.

"I guess," Branch starts and pauses, closing his eyes with a frustrated sigh. He needs to brace himself. It feels like he's stripping himself of his defenses and it makes him want to snap and run off before he can reveal his wounds. He carefully extracts himself from Poppy, pulling his hand back and scooting a few inches away in one easy motion. She makes a soft noise of protest but doesn't say a word and he's grateful for that. His skin is buzzing with something too akin to fear and her touch had started to burn. Branch sucks in a long, steady breath and exhales slowly, "I guess I was just really hoping they'd stay." He finally admits with a self-deprecating chuckle, opening his eyes to stare at Poppy's little yellow coffee table. Everything in her pod is so bright and cheerful just like her and it makes him feel so pitifully out of place. He doesn't look up at her, a part of him that's small and young and lost is so terrified of what story her expression will tell, "I know that's kind of stupid. I mean, they literally told me to my face that once Floyd was alright they'd all go back to their lives. And they should! Right? They have their own lives that they've built and it'd be completely ridiculous to think that they'd throw that away." Especially not for me. 

Branch can easily imagine the pitying expression that must be on Poppy's face. It wouldn't be the first time she's worn it when looking at him. She used to look at him like that when he was gray and she couldn't comprehend that he didn't enjoy parties. He always despised when she looked at him like that and he doesn't know what it'd do to him if he saw it now. He hunches over, resting his paws in his lap and tugging anxiously at his fingers. "I don't know what I expected, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop all week. I guess I just-- I wasn't ready for them to make plans to keep talking after everything. I figured that none of us would ever talk again not that… not that they just wouldn't talk to me." Branch doesn't know why he expected them to care. They never have before. Maybe Poppy's optimism has rubbed off on him and now it's coming back to haunt him.

Branch resists the urge to curl up on the couch. He doesn't need to paint an even more pathetic picture for Poppy but the desire to make himself small and hide away is unfurling in his chest begging him to flee. A pink paw creeps into his line of sight, very intentionally making itself noticeable while raising to softly cup his chin and tilt his face up. Poppy's face isn't painted with pity or disgust but instead with compassion and sorrow. It steals Branch's breath away.

"Now you listen to me," Poppy shifts to face him, reaching out her other hand to rest warmly on top of his fidgeting fingers. "You are a brilliant, kind, and incredibly talented troll. I don't know what's going on with your brothers," She admits apologetically, offering a bittersweet smile while she moves her hand up to his cheek and brushes her thumb lovingly along his cheekbone. "But no matter what they'd be the ones missing out if they didn't come back to visit you. They'd lose one of the most loyal, dedicated, and intelligent trolls I have ever met and if they can't see that then, well, then you're better off without them, okay?"

Branch can't help but look at her like she's just made the stars just for him. He presses his face into her paw and sighs, allowing the anxiety to fade as he exhales. "Thank you," He murmurs, untangling his hands from under hers so he can circle his fingers around her wrist. His fingers tighten as he tries to blink away the next flood of tears. His breath hitches and he fights fruitlessly against the wave of emotions demanding to be acknowledged. "I wish I was worth sticking around for." He confesses softly, it's broken and vulnerable and makes his heart pound frantically against his ribs.

"You are," Poppy insists urgently, bringing up her other paw to cup his face in her hands. She tilts his head up until he makes eye contact and he's startled by the fierceness that's bloomed on her face. "You are. I will always be here for you, Branchifer, do you understand me? I'll follow you anywhere." She leans forward and presses a loving kiss to the tip of his nose, pressing their foreheads together firmly. He's very aware of every place her skin touches his. There's a thrum of fire beneath every point of contact but for once his skin doesn't itch in protest. Her warmth chases away the icy fear and loneliness curled around his veins and instead fills him to the brim with a love and contentment he doesn't think he's ever felt before.

Branch half-laughs, half-sobs and nuzzles Poppy's cheek, "You already have," he reminds her around the growing lump in his throat.

Poppy giggles and presses another kiss to his eye, silently thanking him for this moment of vulnerability. It's a small, easily overlooked gesture but to Branch it speaks volumes. It says It's okay and I'm here and I love you and it only stokes the fire she's planted in him. "I learned from the best." She grins, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears smeared beneath his eyes.

Branch shuffles closer and leans hesitantly into Poppy's side, letting out an amused hum when her arms immediately shift to wrap him up in her embrace. He leans his head against her shoulder, still feeling exposed and raw but loved regardless, and murmurs "I love you."

Poppy tenses minutely beneath him but immediately melts, arms squeezing him a bit tighter and she curls as tightly around him as she can, "I love you too." She promises into his hair. They don't say it too often but the sentiment always rings true. His turmoil has done a great job of draining all of his energy and he grumbles bitterly about the familiar exhaustion while Poppy giggles fondly. He feels happy despite everything, cradled against Poppy's chest like he's something precious, and despite the remnants of dread and sorrow sitting heavy in his gut he knows that she'll be there to help him back up again. She always is.

[thedragonagelesbian]

14 and 9 for the spots to kiss prompts?

kiss prompts!!!

doing 14 now.... may come back for 9 (kiss on the ear) later!

14. a kiss on the chin

"Do you miss them?"

"Always." It was always a marvel, how much softer Josephine's hands were than hers, scented with lingering hibiscus lotion and a stray smear of ink tucked into the nail bed of her pinky. Their evening herbal teas were cooling on the table in Dahlian's bedroom as they drew close to each other and the fire. Whatever they had been talking about before, the only thing Dahlian could focus on now was Josephine's fingers against her cheek... and Solas', almost a year and a half ago now, wiping everything away. A ghost she couldn't get rid of no matter how hard she huffed at the memory. "In all my years, I have never felt so foolish as I did that day."

As raw and bare as her face, every last defense that she had used to stave off vulnerability within the Inquisition stripped away.

Staring at her reflection in the water and wondering what all the wrinkles and grey hairs were worth if she was still so heartbreakingly naive.

"I am sorry," Josephine offered softly. "If you return to your clan, would you be able to perform the vallaslin ritual again?"

"I don't know." Honest and objective first, and then sighing, honest and scared: "I don't know if I want to know, though that is foolish too."

"Matters of home and belonging are never easy." Josephine touched some of those wrinkles, smoothing out Dahlian's forehead as her own brow furrowed to match it ever so slightly. "When I began to train as a bard, I tried ever so hard to disguise my Antivan accent. It feels silly in retrospect, but I was convinced that the more Orlesian I seemed, the better I would fare among the nobility as one of their spies. Perhaps it is not precisely the same thing, but--"

"No, I understand," Dahlian assured her. "Did your family ever know?"

Josephine gave a small laugh, soft and melodic. "No. When I returned to Antiva after everything, the moment that I stepped off the ship and smelled the peppers drying in the sun, I knew that I never wanted to turn away from that part of myself, even when my work took me away again."

Dahlian's mind flashed to strips of spiced jerky, bites of smoke and peppers and fat stolen during the long hours spent over her forge as Clan Lavellan's craftmaster. It suddenly hurt to swallow. "If only the Inquisition did not make it so difficult to turn back."

Josephine's forehead wrinkled again, as it so often did when Dahlian expressed her discontent with what the Inquisition had demanded of her, first as its Herald and then as its leader. No matter how many times Dahlian had assured her that she did not blame Josephine for that, that she had always been one of its brightest, most soothing lights. After a lifetime of caring for her family's fortune and future, Dahlian supposed, taking responsibility came far too easily to the eldest Montilyet.

"You're in the wrong place," she said suddenly. Josephine's fingers had drifted down to her jaw, graceful in the tracing of the bone but incorrect. "The vallaslin, it was higher up."

"Show me."

Dahlian took Josephine's hand in her own and lifted it again to her forehead, guiding her along the v shapes that had once marked her between the eyebrows. "First, the forge." She brought Josephine's fingers down her temple and along her cheek. "Then, the ironbark." Across her lips, held there for a moment, savoring the warmth of their skin together. "And then the roots, as a reminder that we never use more than what we need of the land for June's crafts." Finally, grazing the chin, the throat, skimming the top of her collarbone.

Josephine followed the movements with eyes ever sharp, as if staring hard enough could pour the ink back into her skin.

Solas had said that he saw Dahlian as she truly was. Had he ever understood what the blood of blood writing meant? The intermingling of her body--her essence--with the People.

And then Josephine's mouth replaced her fingers. Gentle in her kisses, retracing the path that Dahlian had drawn, that her Keeper had drawn decades before, where it had hurt the most. Even more than the dots underneath the eyes, the sheer softness of the throat, the fluttering pulse, the vulnerable jugular, every instinct screaming that pain there meant death, and how proud Dahlian had been to bear it as generations had before her.

There was no pain now, except in her memories, but this could be a memory too. Shared, embodied, saliva instead of blood and Josephine's lips on her chin.

It would be a good memory.

[frostybearpaws]

Tell us about your robots!!!!!!! 👀

@lullabyes22-blog @the-blue-quetzalcoatl I feel like a cat dragging in some dead thing and leaving it at your feet, but look! look! Weird robot stuff. This is what I had in mind when I started writing the Mechanical Hearts AU and it has gotten completely out of control and turned into it's own thing.

:D *slaps top of head* This bad boy can fit so much lore inside of it… *cue unskippable cutscene*

Before we can talk about the robots we have a short overview about where they come from…

Vycelium 

It is unclear if Vycelium was bioengineered or natrually evolved into existence. However with the convoluted history of selective breeding done by other species, experiments performed on various strands, and Vycelium’s natural tendency to absorb and incorporate DNA from other organisms, finding “true” Vycelium to trace back origins is next to impossible.

A single mature Vycelium is relatively small in comparison to the collective hive (known as a vycelite collective) it is a part of. While the collective can stretch for several hundred miles in all directions, a single Vycelium is only about one hundred feet in diameter.

Vycelium acts a lot like coral. What is often perceived as a single creature is a collective of individual organisms living and working together. What one Vycelium has it shares with its collective, this helps keep up the health of all vycelium involved. If one part of the collective is struggling to collect food, then another section still funnels nutrients to keep it from starving. This is not an entirely selfless act. As once the vycelium are joined it is very difficult to cut them off from a shared system. If one section dies it will negatively affect the entire collective.

Individual vycelium is also thought to have a certain level of intelligence, while not sapient, vycelium are thought to be sentient and capable of thought, though they are not able to express this intelligence in any meaningful way. Collectives work under a shared consciousness, funneling information back and forth similar to neurons of a brain.

Vycelium has several ways of reproducing. They can either asexually or sexually reproduce and create a secondary organism called Vycotens. 

Vycotens 

Okay so these are the little robot guys that I will scream about from the rooftops until my vocal cords are raw and bleeding.

Vycotens are a secondary biomechanism which are derived from the Vycelium. They can range from a little smaller than five feet in height to a little over eight feet in height, the tallest on record being about eight feet and six inches tall. They are heavily armored and difficult to dispatch for a couple of reasons. 

Vycotans lack a brain and without a central processing system they are not prone to vulnerabilities of it getting damaged. Instead, like the vycelium that produced them and their ancestors; they have a network of synapses of neurons which are all over the body connecting through wires strung through their bodies.

There is an organ called the nucleus, a ball of pure flesh which rests at the very center of their bodies. If this is damaged it can lead to death of the vycotan. However it is behind a heavily fortified chassis and is very difficult to reach.

Life Cycle: Stage 1 → Polyps & Vyts

They begin as polyps or growths from stems which greatly resemble berry clusters. While all of the polyps are connected to one stem, they all share different genetic make up which makes them unique.

When they get large enough these polyps will fall off and sit for a few days. This first stage of their life cycle is referred to as vyts. At this stage they are open to being picked off and eaten by other animals (ones who can break through the hard exterior). 

They will remain as a tightly compact ball of metal and flesh until a week lapses then they will unfurl or “hatch”. 

Life Cycle: Stage 2 → Vyling

In the first few days of a Vycotan’s life the outer armor is soft and flexible leaving them vulnerable to harm. However after this period has lapsed they are much more difficult for a sculking opportunist to kill and eat. However this does not mean they are out of the danger zone. Larger predators would still be able to harm them.

Life Cycle: Stage 3 → Vylet

Think post toddlerhood pre-teenager years for Vycotans. At this stage they are considered lethal to their environment and anything that is not directly a Vycotan. Vylets being practically feral when the right stimuli hits is also a reason that other species tend to view Vycotans as a threat to their safety. It’s not the adults you want to worry about, it’s the children. 

This is where Vycotan youth begin to hone some of their natural instincts, stalking, hunting, pursuit, and pack hunting in the form of play with their peers and with adults. Often this behavior is encouraged by adults which can sometimes lead to unpleasant interactions with other forms of life as previously mentioned. 

Life Cycle: Stage 4 → Vynth

At this point in their lives vynths have calmed down, they start to gain control over their instincts and are starting to take their first wobbling steps towards adulthood. It is as messy and hormonal as any teenagerhood.

There’s not much to say here, at this point they are starting to sexually mature and begin to grow more flourishing bits of armor. Up until this point their armor is mundane and mostly sits on their body without any extra patterns, spikes or crests. However during the vynth stage they begin to grow these structures on their bodies. 

Life Cycle: Stage 5 → Vycotan 

This is when the vycotan—vycot (singular), vycota (plural)—have reached adulthood and is the longest stage of their life cycle. While the previous stages in total last about twenty years, Vycotans can live for hundreds of years, sometimes verging into the thousands, they are after all part machine and routine maintenance can keep them running virtually indefinitely. 

However left to their own devices vycotans will still live to hundreds of years of age.

Life Cycle: Stage 6: → Vycelium 

When a vycotan dies, their body breaks down into vycelium completing the life cycle and starting it over again. When they are close to death they will seek a place among established vycelium and allow themselves to pass. When they break down they are re-incorporated into hive mind and their knowledge and experiences are shared with the collective consciousness. 

An alternative to this is that they can start a new hive of their own. They can find a patch of unmarked land and allow themselves to pass there. This is a little more risky and can lead to total death if implantation fails and resources are scarce. However some are willing to risk complete annihilation to start a legacy of their own.

In this the individual will become predatory, luring prey into its clutches and consuming them to harvest DNA for the next generation the newly formed Vycelium will produce. 

[la--brujaja]

In honor of "Too Sweet" by Hozier being released today and my insane brainrot, here are all the passages in my fic that makes me feel like this song is about them. Sweetness to the point of sickness/rot is something I go back to a lot.

It was getting increasingly more difficult to stay normal around her, to not tease and engage her in this way. The kiss had opened a floodgate that he couldn’t close back up and that alone was bad enough. Sitting there on the floor with food she made after grocery shopping together, a commonplace task that would usually have him whining, made him feel sticky with sweetness. -

“Olivia, or whatever? I guess you did a great job, because she ran out of here crying. In her little dress? Oh, bless her heart, Shane. Guess not everyone is willing to deal with your nonsense. Not even a big one like her,” she said, smiling at him. A smile like the cyanide in the sweetest peach’s pit.

-

What did Shane want to say? Did he want to tell her that grocery shopping with her was a revelation? That he was scared of ruining her beyond repair, worse than he had tonight? That no beer, no shot had tasted as sweet as her company?

-

A love so wholesome, it had cracked her teeth with its sweetness.

-

Olivia was just this small fantasy then, something he could think about occasionally and then leave behind for the day. The idea of that fantasy sitting next to him in this slip of a dress, marching her around the town square by his side, the idea that he felt this way, this agonizing and cloyingly sweet feeling that overtook him when she was around - it was something he still couldn’t quite comprehend.

-

People who claimed you could have too many sweets had never kissed Shane before.

-

Olivia’s stomach erupted with butterflies, so intensely she could have mistaken it for nausea. She wanted to drown herself in the honey of his voice. The little twang that escaped him when he was vulnerable - a new song she never heard every time. Being with him was like making your mouth raw with sour candy and the center was so fucking sweet.

-

This girl was sweeter than pie, and every word was a blade hidden underneath the scorching, bubbling fruit.

-

Before he could answer, she had gone through the door. For now there would be no more fruit, no more pomegranates, no more candy with overwhelming sweetness.

-

Shane chuckled. “When I finally spotted her...it’s embarrassing to admit, but I remember. Liv was wearing pink that day. Short girl, short dress. Big ol’ head of hair, curls everywhere. Sweet little thing, like...like biting into a strawberry or something.” He laughed again, embarrassment coming through now. “Yoba, listen to me. Anyway, it made me so mad. I don’t like sweet, haven't in a long time. She couldn’t have been in town long. Marnie had told me someone was moving into the Moreno property in April, but I didn’t care. Why should I? But that ? That was the new farmer girl? Boy, she couldn’t possibly take care of a farm.”

-

Okay, I may have more, but I will leave it at Olivia's monologue about loving Shane:

“Have you ever just...eaten too much candy?” Olivia asked, reaching up to the gold hoop in her nose and adjusting it. Anxiety was already filling her chest; talking about him felt like digging up a body. The words were spilling out of her not necessarily answering the question, but begging to be said anyway. “Like, way too much, like your parents would kick your ass if they found out. You know, you’re just sitting there, wrist dip into a bag of fucking chocolates. Maybe a bag of some bullshit hard candy, anything. You’ve never had this kind, it’s good, so good. Mouthwatering.” She paused now, a sad smile on her face.

“At first, no one’s stopping you right? You are a whole ass adult anyway. Then, eventually, the flavor is overwhelming. It’s too much, your goddamn tongue is a different color, you’re sticky. So, now,” Olivia sighed, “you’re standing behind yourself, screaming. Like, you’re an idiot. Stop eating the candy! But you’re not hearing that shit. You’re a whole ass adult . You’ve been around the block, you know when enough is enough. You and that bag are going all the way home, and you know what? At this point, you’re thinking, it’s got to be worth it. Candy’s good, it’s good.”

“Then, boom, you’re sick. It’s cloying, it’s too much. You try eating more, but it’s thick in your throat, you know? It used to make your mouth water and now you’re choking. Next thing you know, your teeth are just throbbing. They hurt, you need help. Fucking...fucking drills, and needles.” Olivia looked to the side now, avoiding her friend’s gaze. “I fucking hate needles.”

“You always knew this was going to happen. The minute you decided you were a whole ass adult. You’re in a chair now, staring up at some bright white light, getting the shit knocked out of your teeth.” She turned back to Carmen. “How the hell did I get here?”

“That...that’s what loving Shane was like. Is like.” Her voice caught in her throat a moment before she continued, “I saw him coming from a mile away. And fuck, I stood there and waited. And then I ate, and ate, and ate. It hurt so many times…so many warnings. But how could I stop something so good?” The hand holding the mug dropped a little, heavy.

“Shane’s good, Shane’s bad.” She shrugged. “He’s just Shane. It was up to me to know when it was time to quit. I waited too long. And now my teeth hurt.” She clicked her tongue. “I love him, Carmen. I thought that would be enough, and it wasn’t. It fucking wasn’t even a shred of what we needed to survive. How can that be?” She was crying, her words coming out in a rush. “Now, I’m fucked. If you hadn’t found me-”

-

&special shout out to Shane drinking his whiskey neat and his coffee black <3

“Thank you?” he said, eyebrows raised. Shane opened the thermos and an aromatic steam rose up to his nose - coffee. Black. And still steaming. “Oh, fuck, thank you.”

“Something tells me you take it straight, just like your whiskey?”

art by @cozylittlebridget <3

[lostfracturess]

nici (if i may) you're so nice while answering to all my blubbering mess 😭😭😭 you're so sweet really, always looking forward to your answers not just for me!!! this time i want to ask what are your personal favourite scenes to write and what are the most challenging? oh maybe they are the same?? and also what's the most fascinating and challenging in writing for you? sorry if you answered that already!

my personal top scenes are:

1. their first kiss oh my god it gave me HUGE pride and prejudice vibes (that rain scene), it was so intense and heart wrenching 😫

2. the whole chess scene, i already said this. the concept itself is very good, and this battle of masterminds when they try to expose each other 🤌🤌

3. y/n finding him before that surgery all high.... because of its overall vulnerability AND the last scene in the previous chapter when he's doing drugs from her back 😫 because it was SO sexy (and bad as well, but~~~)

looking forward to your answers!!!

yes sure! call me nici :) you're so sweet yourself! <3 i genuinely enjoy responding to your asks, love the chaotic energy!!

so first to the most challenging thing: what i find difficult is making sure the reader is getting everything? like as the writer you are aware of what each character motives are and their feelings and thoughts, but i never can be 100 percent sure it is as clear for the reader as it is for me.

at the same time i'm not a big fan of writing long inner monologue, i rather have much happening in conversation or action. so that is a thin line for me, to make sure everything i want to transpire is conveyed but still don't make it boring. if that makes sense.

also like variety in writing, like scenes, speech and all. guess that's more easy for native english people. i struggle sometimes to make the conversations sound natural.

lastly, consistency in character? so hard to really make sure that the character just doesn't change randomly and is coherent throughout the story while still making progress and growing.

what i really like writing is fighting scenes ahhhh. idk what about it, but i love when two headstrong persons just discuss and fight the hell out of each other omg. love when they yell and accuse and all that ugly things!! <3

also like everything angsty and hurtful. i don't actually enjoy writing fluff that much, or rather i find it often really cheesy and flat? i think angst is more my thing to write.

my favorites scenes are so similar to yours!!

rain-kiss-confession: yes. YES. loved to write this raw confession and him finally giving in. ahhhh, my heart aches just thinking about it. & rain just makes everything better.

chess game: love every scene where they are both like not backing down and clash head on against each other, because they both are stubborn af. also love chess as a way for them to talk truthfully. but also like the whole morning, with him checking on her and confessing how he feels for her and all that fighting ahaha. love wiritng fighting scenes.

bathroom smut: lol, idk but i loved the first bathroom smut they had ahaha. still think it was the best, because the pent-up tension finally broke free!

satoru being high before surgery: yes yes yes, yn finding him before that surgery and him being so hazy but when he finally can focus on her the first thing coming out of his mouth is "you look so beautiful". i'm weak.

him getting brains for her: you remember when satoru got human brains for them to practice?? and him showing her and saying "i'd anything for you"???? i'm weak.

training basketball: i know this was kinda short, but when they practiced basketball for the university sports festival in the beginning and it was still so like innocent and him approaching her to show her how to do it and asking "may i?" before touching her. I'M WEAK.

also every scene he does drugs off of her ahah. WEAK.

also when they play billiard with sukuna and they are so couple like. WEAK

this got kinda long lol. sending you all the love right back! have a lovely day/night ♡

[blackjackkent]

Continuing the hunt for sidequests to pick up in Rivington!

I think Hector is really enjoying being able to walk around in the sun and talk to people. They spent a long time in the shadow-cursed lands and, while they started to get used to it, it was always an oppressive feeling. Baldur's Gate clearly has a LOT of problems, and he is not pleased either to feel so crowded around with people or to see the casual cruelty with which many of them are being treated - but there's sun and cheerful voices too and that's a nice change.

Another quake as we start moving further north.

On a lighter note, there's a sign here for a circus!

a) This is an incredibly ominous name for a circus. b) The last time I saw a circus in these games was Baldur's Gate 2 where it had been taken over by a mad gnome that trapped everyone inside and turned them into monsters. (Although we also met Aerie there so it evens out.) c) The narrator sounded INCREDIBLY skeptical reading this out, lmao.

Not sure where the circus itself is but we will definitely check that out soon. Carrying on...

There's a very large windmill in the center of the area that seems significant. It's locked but no one is much looking at it, so not hard for Hector to pick the lock and take a look around. Inside is a hatch leading to the basement.

In the basement we find

??? UM?

Narrator: Before you lies the unconscious body of a mind flayer, glistening and raw.

"A newborn...?" whispers the Emperor in his head. "Unattended? How fortunate..."

Hector misses when the Emperor at least made an effort to sound like a soothing, friendly voice instead of the hollow growl that now rings through him every time their "guardian" has something to say.

"It doesn't *feel* very fortunate," he thinks back sardonically along the connection that binds them all.

"Oh, but it is," the Emperor purrs. "This one has only just transformed. It is weak, vulnerable - its potential ripe for harvesting. Go on. Kill it. Absorb its power. Just like you did before."

Hector shakes his head. All his trust for the Emperor disappeared when he realized the "guardian" wants him to become a mind flayer as well, just a free one. He has no interest in further developing his "potential".

The Emperor is right about one thing, though - this creature is currently vulnerable, and it certainly can't be allowed to walk loose in the refugee camp. Even one mind flayer is a deadly threat, and he's more than a little worried about how this one comes to be here in the first place.

Attack the creature before it wakes up.

The mind flayer stirs as Hector moves forward to strike it--

"What? NO! I've had so little time!"

Not a difficult fight; we got a surprise round and completely destroyed it before it could get a shot off.

"Interesting," the Emperor says as it dies. "The creature was born recently. Its mind is still fresh. You can absorb its potential if you consume it."

Hector, as mentioned, has no interest in doing that - but what he does want to know is who turned this mind flayer in the first place. It was clearly a civilian here, judging by its pants, and we heard them screaming from outside (though I didn't realize until coming down here that this was where the sound came from).

I had Shadowheart load up Speak With Dead and give it a try (the first time I have remembered to do this in the whole game :P ). But it did nothing. "The corpse does not respond."

Bummer.

However! There is still an available answer to our question - and it's one I should have put the pieces together on, honestly. Looting the dead flayer gets us not only the brain (which we could consume like a tadpole for Extra Illithid Powers) but also this note, titled "Absolute Orders: Newborn":

Well, that answers that question. There are True Souls within the city already - among the Fist. And this one received its order for ceremorphosis.

...Shit.

[septembersghost]

The review you recently posted about Harry's house is something I felt regarding 1989. I know lot of people here consider haylor as one sided love and other sided fling but I never felt that way. In almost all harry songs he seemed confident that she loves him. I can feel your heart inside mine, will you ever love me AGAIN(implying she loved him first time), even Him is like 'I know you love me you are pretending you dont. I don't think she would take him back so many times for 3 years straight don't think he would feel this way if she didn't do things that made him feel this sure.(this is a clear contrast to camille where he is aware he write too many songs about her). The fact that Taylor compared haylor to roschel(a relationship where both loved the other) and was petty enough to like a tweet calling him immature (after yacht kiss with kendall Jenner ) tells me that she definitely had something more than 'fun hookup' . Plus harry was only ex Calvin hated to the point where he blocked everyone with harry picture in profile (god he was a d*ckhead).

I feel like Taylor let us into her and harry's relationship in a polished way. Like she says the story in 'taylor swift ' way without putting taylor in it. Because there isn't a track that makes you feel like oh fuck! And in songs that are sad she disguises it with heavy production and makes a point of "hey he made the first move". Thus it comes across as unemotional or unimportant or 'she didnt love him' way.Like you said She made a perfect pop album but not a perfect Taylor album.

i've mentioned this, but i do think a factor in the misperception is that the fact that it was extended years of on again and off again isn't as widely known, so there's this idea that it was much shorter lived. what's strange to me is when i see comments saying there's no real love on 1989 itself, because it is very present and very much the pulse of the record to me, but it's a different *kind* of love than red was, or than joe is now. there tends to be this...dismissal? of the fact that we love different people in very different ways, romantically and otherwise, and no two relationships will be the same. the glossy polish of the album and some of it being kept at arm's length or wrapped in anxiety doesn't negate the emotion that is there, you know? we just have to search a bit more for its vulnerability. but the concept that it was one-sided or not real or impactful to her is baffling to me, and not something i knew fans even thought until recently! there's nothing that suggests to me that it didn't matter to her, it was so much of them feeling that connection but struggling to be on the same page at the same time. and i guess it's difficult to talk about because if we acknowledge it was meaningful, we get characterized as "shippers," which... 😵 they're real people, first and foremost, and we're not clamoring for them like a fictional couple, we're just looking at what did happen and what's been expressed in the music, and it's interesting primarily *because* we do have his side as response.

(i wasn't on twitter and i intensely disliked CH at the time, so i didn't see that firsthand, but my friend has told me about him blocking people over their icons and it's so ridiculously petty.)

but yes that's very much how 1989 feels, it's sparkly and a little disguised and genius in its production, but it's almost like the absence of some of the raw edge she's known for makes it feel slightly less emotionally present, and so much of that stemmed from her desire to pivot away from what came before. her classic hallmarks aren't as clear because that was the intent, creating that more tightly curated pop record. it's a great listen! it's just a little less revealing.

[andrew-james-biggs]

10/15

Balancing the details and implications of Earth being a shared dream between participants against the details of Earth being an introduction to heaven and eternality.

“What does your heart say is true though, Andrew?”

My heart says it is an introduction to heaven, with all the trials and experiences being cumulative and combining to form new perspectives.

“But what about the fact that we have certain things figured out and the fact that you don’t know what we have figured out and you don’t know how to find out?”

You point out all these facts and expect me to create conspiracy theories out of them?

“No, we need them to, though! No, we think conspiracies won! Because we’re all hopelessly and hopefully entwined in deep conspiracies of our own!”

You tell me of terrible conspiracies that point to a zero-sum game of happiness and pleasure being correlated directly with material possessions.

“And our health, you idiot! We poison the Earth as a byproduct of our materialistic quest and then torture life to filter the poison out of our food!”

I see the illusion of hell. You’re painting a vivid picture of a six, and that we’ve all somehow ridden down the stem of the 6 and are trapped in the loop.

I remember seeing the loops of reality, the fundamental encircling of habits. I remember how archaic and simplistic they appear compared with the essence of mind.

Yet you forget the reality of heaven- that the interconnected loops of habitation are themselves connected to the soul and the soul itself grows.

“Does it grow, though? Or is it an illusion of growth?”

Show me the man who will disprove the maturing of the soul across a lifetime. Show me a man who can argue contrary.

“Well I sure can’t argue, but I can influence you to think on the contrary.”

A loop of habitation of influencing the thoughts of others. A parental figure, yes.

“Why would I do that, though, Andrew? What’s the point of that?”

You just told me the point.

“No, they just told us the point. They give us talking points and cues. C’mon man, get with the program!”

The influence of a parental figure who harnesses the power of the parental habitations and other deeply familiar habitations exposes the vulnerability of those influenced.

“Exactly. I’m protecting you by showing you how you can be manipulated.”

I-

“I know what you’re going to say. It was a whole talking point that we’re just going to skim over since it’s awkward. But that’s why you’re in now. And it’s a good point that you 

saw those circles.”

Reflecting on life as a series of its habits and how those habits are intertwined in their various lengths and intensities is humbling.

“Yeah, it makes you realize how stupid it all is.”

That was years ago.

“What else did you see?”

There were a lot of dreams.

“I get it. You saw the raw power of your body and soul. You witnessed its parts. Also, we were there showing you a lot of our power.”

I want to ask- did you show me my habits.

“We did. It’s not easy to show your habits like that.”

I see how useful of a tool that is. How much of it has been a simulation?

“All of it.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever believe that.

“The good ones don’t need to see it to feel and understand the truth of things.”

I understand what you mean. Still, all of that work is far above me. How will I construct a patterning? Getting into the raw emotions toward certain things of those I love.

“Andrew, it’s really difficult. I know exactly what you’re aiming for right now. And I already admitted that I don’t have the skill for it. I mean, I do. I just don’t care enough.”

You do care, though.

“No, man. I know more about what we’re talking about than you can even imagine.”

I understand that.

“It’s extremely difficult.”

So, a series of movies-

“Is fine. It helps. It can work wonders. But you have to be open to the information. If it rings the alarm bells, then it’s a moot point.”

Alright, so a great amount of relaxation and a connection to the underlying simplicity of life is important.

“How will you accomplish that, though?”

Me, I’m not.

“Bra-fucking-vo, dude.”

To be honest, that’s one element, for sure. A lot of emotional intelligence and patience and then being a good Andrew.

“What does that mean? What does a good Andrew mean?”

I’m not sure, to be honest. But I don’t know that I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s more about just being real and having integrity while also not compromising.

“Yeah but you’ve already destroyed your integrity!”

I haven’t.

“You did, though. Don’t you see that? People who can’t forgive won’t be able to forgive you. They’ll never let their guard down.”

How-

“Lying did it! Lying and being weak!”

You’re right.

“I know I’m right!”

I mean-

“We got you to sabotage yourself, so we could have more of the power and more of the glory for ourselves. Now we’re cleaning your mess up and putting you in your burning cell!”

It was never about any of that.

“Well it is for me! I don’t believe in any of that space travel or heaven mumbo-jumbo. This is it! It’s a never-ending cycle of an infinite number of smaller cycles! The big cycle is 

Earth and those with the most awareness are the ones who get to control the smaller cycles! That’s it! We get away with whatever we want!”

How long have you been alive for?

“Long enough to be your graduate, Andrew. I’m full of fucking shit right now. But I am telling you this is a very real form of terror.”

It’s all fear-based. So now we move on to the part of moving beyond selfish fear.

“Exactly. Hey, Andrew, by the way- this isn’t exactly a good conversation to post on the Internet. We’re talking about mass manipulation here.”

You’re saying I’ll probably owe a lot if I post this.

“I mean- you might get tortured to death if you post it. That’s how much you might owe. I mean, can you imagine how many people will need answers to this stuff. You’re creating 

envy here, man. People want to be us.”

And we want to bring people to this level.

“Do we really? Huh- I’m not that desperate for them to be on this level. But you’re right. It’s probably not that big a deal.”

Now that you mentioned that this article will cause envy in the reader which then arouses an egoistic opposition to the statement.

“Exactly, Andrew. You’ll owe for that, too! See how your hand’s itchin’ right now? Oh, we do have ways to slow down time, Andrew. And you have ways to move quicker and 

relieve yourself of pain.”

Yeah, yeah. What was it with the dry socket?

“Oh, so you’re into that kind of pain? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, fella.”

No, I’m not.

“Good. Didn’t think so. But we all know where this conversation is going now. And it’s not that bad of a place, but it’s narcissistic at this point so let’s steer the conversation back

around.”

Alright, so dealing with that terror.

“Yeah we have to inoculate against selfish fear. Fear of death. Fear of pain. Those things are way out. Big red flags.”

“See how it’s burning now. See how your hand is burning? What does that feel like?”

I don’t know. It feels hot and itchy. 

“Yeah, it feels kinda good, doesn’t it?”

It feels fine.

“Well, that’s because you get to scratch it. Because this is a good conversation. This is productive.”

Woof?

“Are you still good to go? I figured you’d be tired by now.”

I’m fine. Like we said earlier, we can go forever.

“You’re not ready for that. Go to sleep. If you can’t sleep then come back later.”

[fadelbison]

cant believe big dragon would be something i need to sit with/sleep on. really the most confusing part for me last ep was their conversation because what were they even saying? it was like everything they said kept flying over each other's head and it was so frustrating because it felt like they had their points and were having roughly the same conversation but also...not? and i have to thank @lelephantsnail for her tags on my post because it really helped streamline my thought about this.

this kind of subtle and nuanced form of miscommunication is not only unprecedented in thai bl but rare in media overall. however, it happens all the time in real life - where you are having a conversation and you understand each other's words perfectly but not each other's meaning/perspective.

b/c the truth is as fuckboi extraordinaires they have different stakes in this issue of Mangkorn's engagement and they're both right to prioritize their own skin in this game - in fact it's the healthy thing to do.

So some of the critical points of miscommunication in this convo (according to me) under the cut

whether or not to share this secret:

this was hard because on one hand mangkorn is trying to set a boundary and he does it in a fairly decent way: there's something im dealing with and i need time to deal with this and ill tell you everything when im ready. But...this is a fairly insane boundary to set with your lover esp when this 'problem' directly affects your relationship. Yai is right to demand to know more because you cannot deal with a problem affecting a relationship one-sidedly. But Mangkorn is also operating here in good faith - he has no intention of betraying Yai, he has all intentions of being with him so why does he have to admit something that will make yai misunderstand and leave him? Mangkorn wants a chance because being duplicitous is not his intention or his goal and its not fair that Mangkorn has to sacrifice his chance at love because of something that was decided for him. But Yai needs a chance too! A chance to decide if he wants to pursue this relationship despite the risks. And this is a good thing! Perhaps putting your life on hold for the dude you've been hate pining over and had one night of hate-love fucking is not the best idea! And thinking about his own heart and impending heartbreak is the right move.

He corners Mangkorn into telling him and Mangkorn tries his best to curtail the pitfalls - you'll understand me, right? im scared you'll leave me so you'll stay by my side right? - and Yai's answer 'its better than knowing nothing' isn't a promise that he will stay with Mangkorn. He's saying that at this point the only chance Mangkorn has of keeping him is by telling the truth. But Mangkorn hears what he needs to hear to tell Yai the truth. And so when Yai's reaction is this:

When Yai's first reaction is to think about himself and not focus on how difficult this situation is for Mangkorn (which it is!) it feels like a huge betrayal!

I had warned him it wasn't going to be easy and he reassured me we will be fine (he hadnt) so why is he saying this to me now? All I'm asking is for him to keep faith so why is he assuming the worst of me?

and Yai isn't assuming the worst of Mangkorn but of the situation itself but you can understand why Mangkorn feels so attacked because he's all raw and vulnerable from sharing something he did not want to share and his partner has reacted in exactly the way he was afraid of the most despite him saying he wouldn't react in that way (yai hasn't said anything of the sort)

And then being classic fuckbois - which honestly relatable - they say the absolute worse thing they could have to each other:

its like they picked the one thing the other was most insecure about and threw it in their faces which honestly was almost comic. they have tried for this long to talk like normal human beings and at the most critical moment of showing support and reaffirming commitment - they both default to their baser instincts of running away from hard things [which fair lmao].

And l love that they are able to call each other out on it! That they don't take the stoic okay that's done then bye! route. Mangkorn expresses what's hurting him - you're my partner and you're supposed to support me - and yai expresses whats hurting him - was giving me a choice in this relationship ever important to you? And of course Mangkorn just gets down to it. Things are spiraling and there's really one way out of this where they can stay together: that despite all the hurtful things they just said to each other - is there a way out of this together Yai knows what Mangkorn needs to hear but Yai answers in a way that is consistent with what he's shown is important to him: honesty and god is it heartbreaking and the way Bank plays it here is so GOOD

So no this conversation achieves nothing and narratively the two characters will engage in the terrible decision making that they would have had they not been so real with each other - Mangkorn will try to run away and Yai tries to distract himself. But boy, if they are to come back to each other in a way that feels realistic and not in a fantastical 'true love conquers all' copout way that can really only ever happen in stories, then having this conversation was absolutely critical.

[makingspiritualityreal]

Higher Expression of 8th house Relationship Needs

When you have energies of the 8th house prominent in your chart, there is a natural craving for deep bonding and high intensity of that bond in your life. The 8th house is very powerful, but it is a difficult spot in the zodiac wheel. It's not for the faint of heart. When people have placements that are difficult for them, it often turns out to be only too easy to succumb into the lower nature of its expression.

I could simplify things and just label the 8th house as dark, dangerous, bad, prone to toxicity, all the things commonly said about it in Astrology circles. I tried to do that in the past, even trying to tell myself I'm ok with such a classification. But deep in my heart I can't agree with that, and I don't want to. I was born with a pure understanding of 8th house energies through my South Node talents for a reason, and the realization of my desires relative to experiencing the 8th house energies reflect this purity of understanding, that I would like now to offer to you.

Say what you want about an 8th houser, but deep down, they don't like toxic, controlling or unhealthy relationships. We desire the most refined, pure version of what the 8th house connection can offer. We want deep intimacy without entrapment. We want passion and intensity without heartbreak. We want transparent communication without issues of control, deception and unleashing of unconscious negativity. We want to be able to achieve even more intimacy by talking through this negativity in a civil way when it already comes up. We want that raw emotional experience, that only two people who are completely bare with each other can provide, without needing to feel like it's part of an unhealthy dynamic.

You have to be conscious of and discuss each other's shadow side in order to achieve intimacy in a relationship. That's true. It won't always be perfectly pretty as emotions can run high when triggered, and that is true as well. But it is perfectly possible to have this experience of going to the bottom of the abyss together and returning more whole each time without delivering low blows and doing and saying things below the belt out of fear of vulnerability. Sadly, most people when touched that deeply, tend to try to unleash anger or manipulation and control mechanisms. But it is possible to explore the depths of the mind, heart and soul of another without being destructive in a way that serves no purpose, and can even sabotage the whole intimacy of the connection. It is possible to work through it, even if it's hard. It is possible to have a stable connection even with all these intense energies, without trying to "get out" of the bond due to some triggers or trying to keep side options to avoid the transformation the 8th house requires of us.

Saturn being the producer for the 8th house, in early stages gives strife through our attempts to find that authenticity in a relationship. But with healthy discernment ultimately comes refinement, and with that the promise of Saturnian stability in a long lasting, quality partnership.

In the 8th house, we often pay the price simply because we are not afraid to approach potentially "dangerous" territory...simply by being honest and uncompromising and demanding something truly meaningful. I don't believe in aiming for perfection, but I believe it is possible to have something real without it being completely messed up, even if you have to examine each other's dysfunctions. And that is the only type of relationship the 8th house wants to sign up for to begin with.

[goroufucker]

did you ever love me, scaramouche ?

—

authors notes: angst, porn with angst, unhappy ending, gn reader, dancing under the stars will truly show ones true emotions..

—

the blanket below you two was warm, you had made sure everything was perfect when your boss, the 6th fatui harbinger, finally let you take him out somewhere- you washed the blanket you two were sitting on in the darkness, only illuminated by the stars and moon, to make sure it was to his comfort.

you two had,, an interesting relationship. it wasn’t quite ‘special treatment’, it was his craving towards your body. he loved the way you quivered and moaned underneath him, he couldn’t get enough of how vulnerable you were. there was never an inch of romance between those sessions, it was always fantasy and letting loose stress.

even whenever he called you filthy names and degraded you down to your core while his dick practically rearranged your organs into a brand new shape, you always took it with a smile. you had always looked up to him, even while you were still a new recruit. you took everything he had to give for months.

from the position he was sitting, scaramouche’s eyes lit up gorgeously under the starlight, having removed his hat for extra comfort whilst he was laying on his back. he seemed, bored? perhaps he isn’t quite used to dates, he most likely never could’ve had time to. though you keep your thoughts in your own mind and do you best to just relax with him.

“what was the point of taking me here?” he asked coldly, his gaze going from the moon to you, his head tilted while his hair fell almost perfectly on his face. you gulped down some spit, trying to avoid fumbling over any words. “well,, this time of night is when the stars and full moon are in perfect view, it’s a gorgeous place to take someone you care about-“ you spoke, avoiding mumbling or stuttering over your own feelings.

scaramouche’s gaze went from you, back up to the stars. his mind was occupied by the bright light, “indeed- it is quite the beautiful time..” he mumbled. thinking for a moment before sitting up, keeping a steady hand on the blanket and using it to stand up. “scara? what’s wrong?” you said, pushing your knees closer to your body.

“you said it’s a beautiful place to take someone, yet we aren’t doing anything”, scaramouche turned his head, followed by his body. “it would be a shame if we wasted the night away with idle chatter, so stand up.” he ordered, reaching his hand out, you could notice a faint pink on his cheeks- though with the shadows of the night, it was difficult to fully see.

“.. dance with me.”

the words left his mouth, you could only stare. he.. wants to dance with you? the number 6 of the fatui harbingers,, wants to dance. of course, you weren’t gonna wait to see what he’d do if you took too long. you took his hand, him helping you stand up and bringing you close to him. he took your freehand and put it on his shoulder, the hand he used to pick you up interlocked with yours. with his freehand on your waist, he pulled you in.

the soft nights breeze mixed with the illuminated sky left an indescribable feeling as you two started to move, there was no music, not even the faint sound of a lyre in the distance. you needed no music, you only needed to stare into his eyes to hear the sweet melody in your mind. scaramouche never grinned back at you, though he reciprocated the eye contact as he spun you away from him.

pulling you back in, he held your back and dipped you down. you gasped, not expecting it. his face crept closer, gently dragging his bottom lip up your neck and stopping at your jawline. then pulling you back up, your noses were almost touching as you continued to dance. your heart was thumping, as if it was about to fall and sink right down into your stomach. the grip on his shoulder tightened as you two spun.

it seemed like the nights light had become blurry, as if the stars were falling and it’s dust blew into your eyes. the tension of it all overtook your body, so much so that you didn’t even notice him leaning in. scaramouche’s lips interrupted your cloudy haze, it took force not to widen your eyes. he had never, willingly, kissed you before. scaramouche always said that you should never kiss him. you never knew why, though it hurt.

euphoria filled the night as you greedily kissed him back, filling up every bit of space between you two. it was quick though, he pulled away and took your hand, spinning you away from him again. letting go of your hand as you spun, taking a step back. you stumbled a bit, not wanting to fall and embarrass yourself.

you two stared at eachother from a distance, your eyelashes flickered while you blinked, watching him clear his throat. he seemed,, embarrassed? no, maybe uneasy.. you couldn’t get a read from his eyes. but he stared so longingly at you, you couldn’t help but be flustered. this is the most attention he’s ever truly given, being so caught up in fatui work, only spending some ‘quality time’ with you by letting the stress out his body through your body.

you almost spoke, until he finally interrupted you. your mind was still fixated in a haze, his hair was slightly messy from laying down and wearing his hat, his cheeks were flushed from how close you two where, his eyes half lidded made your body tingle and shiver. realization hit.

“i want to fuck you under the stars.”

you were in love with him.

within seconds, you ran right to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a kiss. he gripped onto you tightly and kissed back, inhaling sharply through his nose. the passion you felt at that moment drove you insane, as if you two were finally letting loose everything you had stuck inside. it was aggressive when he picked you up and put you right down onto the blanket.

wasting no time to rip off every article of clothing you had on, he wanted to see you and he wanted to see you now. you pushed away how overwhelmed you were with how fast this was going and tried to melt into the moment, listening to scara’s breathing once he had finally gotten you naked. he was staring, his hands gripped the blanket at the sides of your shoulders. embarrassment filled your mind, wanting to close your eyes to avoid his gaze- but if you were to, you’d miss everything.

the moonlight seemed to awake something within him, you realized that when he started doing things he never did before. usually it was you who gave the oral, but scara was quick to pull your hips up and dip his face right into your sex. the feeling had you tilting to ur head back, gasping and moaning at each quiver of pleasure that went up your stomach. all you could hear were the suckling sounds of scaramouche devouring you, as if he was trying to get every single drop.

the intensity of it all plus a newer feeling had you cumming faster then you normally would, already arching your back as you felt your orgasm right at its peak, just barely holding on. he was able to recognize whenever you were about to cum, due to experience. though he didn’t stop and make you beg like he would before, he went in deeper and let you have it right there. the sight of the stars filled your vision, staring into the sky as you let out a loud whimper orgasmed, not even realizing you were grinding into his mouth while you road out your high.

scaramouche pulled away in the dead middle of you riding it out, licking off any leftovers that could’ve been on his lips- he stared at your disheveled state. though he didn’t grin, he never smirked like he always did. he was silent, taking in your body and attempting to cherish it. scara pushed up and sat on his knees, unzipping his shorts and pulling them down enough to get his cock out, as well as taking of some accessories to be able to pull his shirt up enough to see his stomach.

you watched him, still panting from your orgasm. his shadow gloomed over you, his body covering the starlight from your reach. scaramouche went back to hovering over you, using a hand to adjust his junk to press right against your hole. “this… is it..” scara panted, looking into your eyes for a second. “w-what..?” you ask, confused on what he meant. though when he didn’t talk afterwards, you assume it was just sexual babble- which he did quite often.

you pushed it out of your mind quickly, feeling the tip of his cock start to press into your hole. you let out a sigh while he slowly buried his dick into you- he went until his lower stomach touched your skin, taking up any available space. your hands went from the blanket to his forearms, you wanted to feel as much of him as possible right now. he let you touch him as he started to move his hips, grinding them into you so his dick would reach the deepest parts of you.

sex was always pleasurable with him, even if it was something you weren’t too sure of trying out, scara always made it euphoric. so of course, you moaned at the pangs of pleasure that shot up your body. the slow movements he was doing were quite rare, he only was this gentle the first ever time you two had sex. the gentleness of course, didn’t last very long, as scara got aggravated- letting out a scoff before thrusting his hips at the speed he desired.

“Mm.. fuck..” he mumbled, gripping onto your hips, gently digging his nails into your skin. he always did that when he wanted you to squeeze on his cock, so you did just that. “yeah.. just like that” scaramouch panted, leaning over and moving his mouth to your neck. he bit down hard, harder then he’s ever bit before- or maybe your sensitivity to his touch right now has made it seem so aggressive.

hearing the twinges in his voice as you admired him, making sure to keep your voice clear for him to hear, you recognized him getting close to his release. you took this advantage to wrap your body around his, he had never gone raw with you like this before, he always used a condom no matter what unless it was oral. you wanted him to cum inside you, to end this euphoric night, you wanted to leave with a bit of him still with you.

scaramouche was too caught up in his high to truly care about how close you were, he fixed his posture while continuing to keep a harsh grip on your hips. the view you had was of his stomach and above, though he was thin, scara was very well built. you put your hands back on his forearms, trying to help him focus on his orgasm.

with a few more messy, aggressive thrusts, he dipped his head back as he came right into you. holding back a cry, he clenched his teeth and let out a strained groan. all you could do was admire him, his thrusting slowing down and ultimately stopping, his head dipping forewords again before locking eyes with you, the sweat dripping down his forehead. you didn’t even care that you only came once, your want to cum just completely disappeared.

before you could say anything to him, his eyes unlocked with yours and he quickly pulled his dick out of you, hearing a gentle pop and feeling his cum leak out. scaramouche shuffled around, pulling his pants back up and putting on any accessories he took off. with shaky arms, you pushed up and sat on the blanket. “scara..? why are you getting dressed so quick?” you asked, glancing at your own clothes that were scattered around the grass.

he didn’t answer you, not even a small noise to indicate he heard you. placing his hat ontop of his head, he finally turned to face you. “i told you, this is it.” scaramouche spoke, pulling the blanket you two had fucked on and wrapped it around your exposed body. “.. wait, you can’t mean that-“ you stare at him in shock, yet he doesn’t answer you again. getting on one knee, he covers your eyes with his right hand, catching you by surprise by kissing your lips one last time.

scaramouche pulled his hand away as he got up and turned away from you, walking away ever so slowly as the sun began to rise. you were left in shock, was that it? was this the end of you and his meetups? the wind blew ever so gently, your hair flowing along with each gust. his figure slowly disappeared into the sunlight, as if it had gobbled him up.

did the stars lie to you, you assumed so. as the tears spilled down your face, you knew why, and with a gentle whisper, you could only ask…

“did you love me back?”

[commonwealthoccurences]

Companions React: Sole Breaks Down

Request: “Could I ask for companions comforting a sole that’s usually an emotional rock, that they hadn’t seen this vulnerable ever? Like they come back from being away and just crumble into a sobbing mess. Pretty please?”

Note: *bangs spoon against pot* come get the hurt/comfort. CW: Mentions of unnamed characters deaths.

The setting:

Upon Preston’s request, Sole took off to a distant settlement to reorganize their resources, set up defenses, and bring them into the trade route. These excursions usually took about a week or two, so Sole could make sure they were fully stable before returning to Sanctuary to attend to their other duties. With this trip, however, they requested their companion stay in Sanctuary; they could handle this on their own, and the companion deserved a break.

Two weeks later, Sole returns, shoulders weighed down by their pack, ladened with goods the settlers had insisted they take with them. It had been a tough week, though that wasn’t really a new thing in Sole’s book, or anyone’s, really. Unfortunately, Sole hadn’t been able to predict the fact that some sort of disease would run through the tiny settlement while they were there, taking several of the members with it as it left.

They scrubbed at their skin in a nearby body of water every morning of those two weeks, rubbed raw and pink as a result of Sole’s quietly hysterical distress. They wanted no trace of settlement on them. There were elements of guilt in their relief to return home, but with returning home came the fact that they were safe enough to reflect on their weeks away from Sanctuary. There seemed to be no hiding from what had happened.

Sole got through the main street of Sanctuary well enough, sending nods to passing settlers, with a brief stop to drop off some of the food they had brought back with them with their local merchant; he would give it away to those that dropped in throughout the day. Once they made it down the road and to the entrance of their home, they felt the dam break. Their hands shook as they pulled the door open and moved inside, doing their best to ignore the tears that began to trickle down their face.

(*Gage’s scenario takes place upon their return to Nuka World’s Fizztop Grille)

Cait:

Cait was waiting just inside, having taken up residence in Sole’s living room with Dogmeat.

She went to make a joke about Sole being late, but when she looked up, she lost the words quite quickly

Sole’s shoulders were shaking, and it was quite obvious that they were trying to hide that they were crying, but it was impossible to not see

She practically tripped over herself to get to Sole, who was acting casual by rearranging the items in their back they had set on the floor

Her desire to comfort and protect Sole overrode her hesitance for physical affection and she found herself hugging Sole far too tightly than she should’ve

But it was partially panic on her end that caused her to grip them so tight

“Christ, what’s a matter?”

The only sound Sole made was a choking whimper and Cait gripped them even tighter

Curie:

She reads the distress in their stance the moment they cross the threshold into their home

Similarly to Cait, she gets up from where she’s sitting immediately, but stops short of Sole

“Oh, goodness. Are you alright?” She reaches out but doesn’t quite touch them, not wanting to intrude

Sole shakes their head, unable to disguise their very obvious distress

“Physical or emotional?”

Sole opens their mouth to say emotional and gets out about half the word before choking on their own breath and curling forward into themself

“Would you like a hug?” Her voice is quieter this time.

Sole nods and she brings them in for a soft hug, rubbing their back

Danse:

Danse is far more emotionally intelligent when it comes to other people’s feelings than people give him credit for

He’s seen it happen before; soldiers compartmentalize their emotions as much as they can, for years even, but everyone has a breaking point

And sometimes it’s over something one might consider small, like breaking a dish, or sometimes it’s loss that brings them to their knees, as it would anyone

Regardless, he’s known all along that one day Sole won’t be able to suppress their emotions anymore

When they come in crying and shaking, looking defeated, he’s unsurprised. Sad in an inevitably knowing sort of way

He gets up and walks over, taking their pack from their hands and helping them shed the heavy jacket that was weighing them down

He requests they sit and takes off their boots before going to get them a glass of water

He doesn’t say much, considering he doesn’t have much to say, but he’d much rather show how he cares via actions rather than words, anyway

Deacon:

He’s somewhat similar to Danse in the fact that he knows Sole’s going to need to break at some point, however it’s in less of a “I’ve seen this before” attitude and more in the fact that he can relate

But Sole has an easier time trusting than he does, so he knows their break is coming at some point, whereas he knows that there’s never going to be a point where he allows someone else to see what Sole is allowing him to witness

So when they stand there, defeated, looking over at him like a lost child, he simply opens his arms

He’s not one for hugs, but he makes exceptions, and it seems this is one of those situations that calls for an exception

When they sob into his shoulder, he pats them on the back and replies with a simple, “I know, Boss. I know.”

Gage:

Gage is chewing at a piece of dried Mirelurk, grimacing at the salty taste.

Sole makes their way across Fizztop Grille, dropping their pack carelessly next to one of the couches.

Similarly, they drop down next to Gage where he’s sitting overlooking the rest of Nuka World, not saying a word.

After a moment, punctuated by a very obvious sigh, Gage looks over at Sole. He chews contemplatively for a moment, “You and me both. Wanna talk about it?”

Sole shakes their head and Gage responds, “Cool.”

He pats them on the back, admittedly, awkwardly and a bit too harsh to be comforting, but it’s Gage

He’s doing his best

Haylen:

Haylen has Dogmeat in her lap chewing at a Radstag bone, her hand running mindlessly over his fur

She doesn’t jump up when Sole comes in, cautious at the idea of spooking them

“Sole,” She calls out, shifting to move her feet flat on the floor

When they don’t respond and instead sniffle, she’s motioning Dogmeat off her lap and stepping towards them

“Everything alright?”

Sole shakes their head and she presses her lips together in worry, “Anything I can help with?” another shake of Sole’s head

She brushes their hair away from their face with a soft, “Oh, Sole.” and brings them into a light side-hug

Hancock:

He really does like to think he keeps his cool easily, but he really doesn’t in this case

Sole’s crying and that’s not something he thought would ever happen

“Whoa, whoa. Talk to me, what’s going on, Sunshine?”

“Bad day.” Sole chokes out

He suppresses nervous laughter, knowing it can’t just be that, but lets it go and instead puts an arm around their shoulders to pull them in for a tight hug, snug and reassuring, with his other arm finding their waist

MacCready:

He’s alert immediately, thoughts jumping to them being hurt, and potentially fatally so

Considering he thinks its an emergency, he’s in front of them and examining them for injuries within seconds

Sole doesn’t protest for the longest time, but eventually they grab ahold of his wrists and shake their head

He stops for a moment and looks them over again before sighing; this is something he doesn’t know what to do about

“Sit. You’re going to collapse if you’re not careful.”

When they’re seated he helps them shrug off their coat and sits nearby, not pressuring, but available if they want to talk

Nick:

Nick’s view is similar to Danse’s, and he isn’t quite surprised when they come in crying

He sets the pen he was writing with down and shifts back in his chair, opening his arms for a hug if they want

When they cross the room he wraps them in a hug and rubs their lower back, trying his best with the awkward angle him sitting provides

“You need to take time for yourself.” He recommends, but other than that, he remains mostly silent

Piper:

The queen of panic, despite her best efforts

She’s used to tears because of her experiences with Nat, but not from Sole of all people

She does something similar to Mac, where she checks them over briefly, before she realizes this isn’t a physical injury that’s hurting them

She’s competing with Cait when it comes to tight hugs, wishing she could protect them from whatever’s bothering them so

A sympathy crier, she has to blink away her own tears

“Let it out, Blue. We can talk about it later, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. I swear.”

Preston:

Preston’s not sure how to handle things, considering how used to Sole being a rock he is

He knows it’s not quite right, considering he knows other people view him the same way, and it’s incredibly difficult being the one holding it together all the time, but he’s still genuinely surprised when he sees they’re crying

He knows what to do when he realizes what’s going on, though; exactly what he wishes he could request from someone else

He brings them into a hug and mumbles reassurances; that they don’t have to be the tough one all the time, that their emotions aren’t weakness, and that everything’s going to be okay

X6-88:

A fan of mutual silence, X6 helps them get comfortable and brings them into their room; he’s always viewed quarters as the safest place to be, both in the Institute and when Sole gave him his own quarters afterwards

He helps them into bed, making sure they’re comfortable, before asking if they have any small injuries they need addressed before settling in

If they say yes he cleans and dresses their wounds as gently as possible before settling into bed near them, a respectable distance away, but within reach if they need, and begins reading a book Sole left on their nightstand

He knows it’s hard to be alone when you’re being attacked by emotions, but they don’t seem to want to talk about what’s going through their head quite yet; instead, he rubs their back and encourages them to cry it out

[legionofpotatoes]

Thoughts on black panther 2 under the cut

The movie is an open wound for better and worse. It's a beautiful, raw lament on grief that hits like a brick and operates with deft grace when it comes to that fickle diegesis of what happened IRL vs what the characters struggle with in context of the story. The bookends, especially, work very-very hard to shed the trappings of genre and get to the very heart of grief, of finding a way through it and into a form of catharsis both bitter and liberating. Coogler's direction and choices are incredible in these moments; he's reaching impossibly deep into parts of us that are vulnerable and tender, ready to trigger and unbalance at a moment's notice, frightened at being touched; yet he cradles them gently, guiding us through his pain with grace and comfort, never letting us down with even a single false note or misstep. In these moments, the promise of cinema feels fulfilled.

It becomes clear that Coogler is a master at reinterpreting his own humanity into a filmic experience without losing a single thing in the transition. The type of storyteller entire nations should cherish.

In-between those bookends though, we have the story proper. We see the depths of unprocessed trauma driving people and nations apart. The narrative ping-pongs between some plots that share in this ethos and others that do not, ending up in a wonky edit that still works in the moment despite itself. The story, however, in its attempts to weave grief into a meaningful plot catalyst, ends up in such murky waters that my face heats up remembering it. It's something of a peeve of mine at this point, and I really hoped not to see it here.

But first, some of the good: it undoubtedly tells a story that gets very dark very fast, and editorial rewrites are welcome additions; riri williams and the hydra lady are clear additions to balance out the tone of the primary conflict with some MCU charm, a move that seems regrettable on paper but ends up something of a saving grace for the fucking runtime (there is a version of this story you can competently tell in less than 2:40 hrs, I'd stake my life on it). And they mostly work! Riri is a delight, Okoye gets an incredible range of emotions to play with, M'Baku rules as expected, and the US stuff is negligible. And as difficult as it was to watch miss Anti-Vaxx Supreme wear the black panther suit and talk about science, her acting chops were annoyingly above reproach. And truth told the dramatic weight of the filmmaking overpowered my real-world biases more times than I expected, so that's something I guess.

The presentation is similarly stunning. The DP finds incredibly visceral ways into intimate moments that are impossible to look away from. The music soars, quietly elevating but never taking control of the rhythm, something that's often a death knell for drama but not in Coogler's capable hands. They introduce new sounds and instruments to the palette, creating a trance of leitmotifs that inspire awe and reverence. The set design, the props, the costumes. My god the costumes are a feast to drink in and appreciate. I would selfishly hope for the camera to linger on them just a few seconds more. The audio-visual artistry is firing on all cylinders.

Which is why what irked me the most falls squarely outside of them and smack-dab on the story department.

Namor and Talocan are, once again, triumphs of character and set design, but his story is yet another in a long line of ugly decisions by the MCU to portray anti-colonialist sentiment as almost inherently genocidal. They're just all murderous autocrats, these pesky indigenous folk whose feelings got hurt that one time. And I know this isn't like, super evident in the noise of the film's plotting, but looking back in hindsight it does drive me up the wall. Knowing that they pulled that shit again.

Let me defend myself a bit here. I get the writing instincts, I'm not stupid. It's a baseline flaw in Namor that needs to be foiled and tempered by Shuri so his own unprocessed grief can end the death march he has set his nation on. It's a starting point, of course it is, I'm not about to launch into the semiotics of behavior modeling in media, down that road lies madness. But like, I'm sorry; the optics of heightening the stakes due to his childhood trauma are still weird as hell when seen in all of their loaded context, in the entire breadth of their start and end points. There are ways of ferreting a gentler conflict of character out of that predicament. Why flip him into evil tyrant mode again? Why do that. Who benefits from doing that. Whose feelings are being carefully protected when doing that. The moment they arrived at his ultimatum I visibly winced in my seat. Again. They did this again.

Why go for this centrist parable when you've done it once already? And pulled off a minor miracle in not making it overtly gross? Why tempt fate twice? I'm not gonna spell it out, but it is evident that the true nuance of these narratives remains a real tough sell for the mouse house.

It sucks even worse here because there really are those ample grounds for personal, character-centric conflict to drive the plot, but instead we see hints of it until suddenly we get killmonger 2.0 with even less thematic clarity and direct engagement with the protagonist's flaws. Another progressive ruler *incidentally* obsessed with mass murder, going against a girl refusing to process her grief and meeting his violence halfway. And sure, yeah, their individual traumas are expositioned multiple times, they exchange philosophies, arrive at the root of their conflict, yada-yada... and then they punch about it. Nothing is learned, nothing is gained, one of them eventually strong-arms the other long enough for them to have unmotivated flashbacks, and then some both-sides bullshit argument gets made and everyone kisses and makes up.

Licking the boot of the status quo while wearing the aesthetics of African brilliance and Mesoamerican perseverance. I don't know, man. Maybe I'm out of line but it genuinely sucks. And I understand what the greater, out-of-text meanings of seeing this alliance be forged on screen can be, I don't deny that incredibly valid read. It's just how we get there, and with what. The optics. It's the progressive tyrant, again. Can we fucking not anymore.

We all know what you are saying with this.

(a tiny side complaint irt to this whole issue is an unfortunate failure to show-not-tell Talocan's allegedly unbeatable military might - their water superiority is not in doubt, but betrays unremarkable adaptability to their opponents. killmonger articulated specific plans to smuggle undetectable vibranium tech to saboteur cells around the world before inciting his hostile takeover. No such plan is clearly stated by Namor, no scalable ground-level threat is demonstrated, and it ends up feeling like his crusade is doomed both in ethos and feasibility - further diminishing his image by tacitly portraying him as incompetent and incapable of tactical foresight. this is a nitpick, but can compound the flaw in some cases)

Ultimately what is most regrettable here is that the rest of the movie fucking rules. Truly. The film oozes love and reverence for Boseman and it bleeds into every nook and cranny of camera language and musical cue. It looks and sounds gorgeous. The levity is partitioned out of its essential moments where sadness is present and needed; and Coogler is hurting bad in the driver's seat, it is as palpable as anything happening to the characters, so where he then arrives at the end feels like a true multi-faceted catharsis bringing a smile to anyone with a heart.

It's an open wound. And we all know what it's like to have one of those.

Just wish it showed better craft at placing that wound within the tale of a nation.