#i have a vision for a piece. i just need to make it exist

[lohstandfound]

I need to draw the bolland sisters I need art of the bolland sisters

[blueheartedmayor]

OOC:

[satoshy12]

The Titan's Second Life Clockwork is Kronos

What many people don’t know is that Kronos had always known most of the Time-lines. He played with Time, since he learned he had that power. 

The moment he first laid eyes on his newborn daughter, Hestia, he knew what would come next. The visions came to him just as he was about to eat her and seal her in his stomach. 

They showed him all the futures in fragments. Like the hands of a clock moving forward, he saw his life as Kronos - from that moment on, his other 5 children, his downfall, Rhea's betrayal, the war, and how he ended up in Tartarus with his body cut into thousands of pieces.

It was an inevitability written into the fabric of time and time itself. And as Titan of Time, he would know best.

Once he tried to fight his fate. In his paranoia, he had devoured his children in the desperate hope of stopping the cycle and the prophecy. But now he remembered.

Not just glimpses of the future, but memories of an entirely different existence - one he had had long after his fall on Grace, one that was beyond even the immortality of a Titan.

He also remembers his future, of being, Clockwork. An Ancient of Time, in his new home, the Ghost Zone. His Titan soul and body had been destroyed and rebuilt in this place, so that he hardly looked the same. He wasn't even sure if he was still the son of Earth and Sky as Clockwork.

And he remembered the young Halfa, the young Daniel Fenton/Phantom. 

Kronos allowed a small smile to creep across his face, remembering how he had reacted when he had learned who he really was while still alive.

Flashback

Danny hovered in front of Clockwork, staring at the Ancient Ghost with wide, skeptical eyes. "Huh? You're the King of Titans Kronos!" His voice was incredulous.  

Clockwork's ever-shifting form barely responded, the red glow of his eyes steady. "Yes, young Daniel. I was the Titan you read about in school."  

Danny gave a low whistle. "Wow... So you really were crazy!" He laughed and shook his head. "Wait-hold on. How much meat is on a baby god?"  

Clockwork tilted his head slightly, anticipating the question. "Why do you ask?"  

Danny shrugged. "I mean... if you really were the Titan, and Kronos ate his children and a stone, how come you never tried to eat me?"  

Clockwork's expression remained unreadable. "You have no flesh."  

Danny frowned. "And a baby god does?"  

Clockwork's grin was almost imperceptible. "Have you ever seen one?"  

Danny blinked. "No...?"  

"Trust me. They have more."  

Danny opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, clearly not sure what to say, but he knew he had lost. In the end, he decided to let the whole baby-god-snacking thing go. "You know what? Never mind. I even had an idea for a new adventure!" He grinned and floated closer. "I was thinking... Maybe you could take me back in time? You know, help me out with my history class?"  

Clockwork chuckled, his staff shifting in his grasp. "Ah, history. You may find it more complicated than your textbooks suggest, young Daniel."  

Danny grinned. "Yes, but that only makes it more fun."  

Clockwork sighed and shook his head in amusement. "Very well. Let's see where time takes us now."

Flashback End

Yes, as he found out. He just made some new jokes and that was it. Still saw him as the same mentor as before.

Kronos was still looking at baby Hestia when he left the room. He would not eat her or any of the others. He shouldn't change the timeline that much. He needs them for destiny. 

Instead, he ignored them. He did still his old hobby or well future hobby of looking into Timelines. 

His siblings did notice, him doing that much more. Rhea after a time gave up to pull him away from doing that or being in his laboratory. While he didn't treat her like before, she is happy he didn't tried something like their father on their children. With that prophecy... But this way.

Hestia grew up in the shadow of his disregard and her mother's care, learning to keep herself. Demeter was left to flourish with the plants and crops, fairly untouched by her father's coldness, she learned quickly to ignore it. Hera felt the sting of his lack of interest, but she was strong-willed and sought comfort more from her mother, Rhea. 

Hades, the brooder in his last life, took it with stride and retreated to the underworld to build his own kingdom with the help of his uncle Iapetus. And Poseidon, the youngest of them at the moment, found solace in the vast oceans and swam in Ocaenus' kingdom.

Zeus then was born last, and by then all his children, long accepted their father and king's indifference to them. He barely glanced at the baby, his gaze lingering only briefly on the tiny fingers and toes that would one day wield thunderbolts. He knew what was to come, and he let it happen without a fight. 

He was to be Clockwork, the keeper of time, not a player in the game. And he was able to notice, his titan body too did took the changed. The titans noticed how his Golden Eyes turned Red, and his hair turned white. Same with his skin to change color to Blue.

Years passed, and the children grew into their power. 

After talking to others about their father. They saw their father's lack of concern as a lack of fear, a sign that they were not important enough to be considered a threat. Little did they know the truth behind those unblinking clockwork eyes.

As Zeus approached the teenage years for a god, Kronos said it was time. He knew it was time for his children to challenge him. 

Kronos did not plan to stand in the way. He had seen his end, and it was not at the hands of his own children.

One quiet evening, King Cronus called his children to him for the first time since their birth. 

They came, curious and wary. "I have decided to abdicate my throne," he announced, his voice echoing through the halls of the throne room.

Their eyes widened in shock. Hestia stepped back, her hand to her mouth. Demeter clutched the arm of her brother Hades. Poseidon looked out to sea, his mind racing. And Zeus, always the strategist, felt the first spark of hope in his chest.

"You are all strong in your own right," Kronos continued, his gaze sweeping over them. "I trust you to rule when I am gone."

The children and Rhea, like his siblings, didn't know what to say or had time to say anything. 

For Kronos had disappeared, leaving them all to fend for themselves again. 

Zeus had stepped forward, his blue eyes blazing as he looked at his siblings. "Let us show him what we are truly made of," he said, his voice resonating with newfound power. "We will not be ignored."

Time moved on, 

Iapetus would stay to help, moving to the underworld with Hades to serve as an advisor to the younger immortal.

In time, a new kingdom was built as they left behind their father's kingdom. And they built their own, now called Gods, as the Titans retired and moved on with their lives.

For thousands of years, no one was sure what happened to Kronos, for they could never find him. And most of his brothers searched for him. 

They talked about how Kronos must have done something with his experiments with time. They were never sure if he was still Kronos, or if he had messed up his time control too badly.

For Kronos, his body had changed, the familiar gears of time reappeared within him, and soon he was Clockwork again.

It was what he had chosen. The freedom of the Ghost Zone, his lair, had already appeared.

Clockwork smiled to himself. Here, in the Ghost Zone, he would watch time and move with his life.

Clockwork stood before a time portal, watching the swirling flow of moments. His past as Kronos seemed distant now, at least to him. 

Danny Phantom entered the room and Clockwork's face lit up with joy. "Ah, Daniel. It's good to see you again."

Danny smiled. "You didn't think I'd be back so soon! You did! I surprised you!"

Clockwork chuckled quietly. "Time has a way. I knew you would come, but not right now, maybe 1 or 3 minutes later or earlier..." He watched as Danny settled down nearby.

As the portal flickered again, Clockwork looked at him as he whispered, "All is as it should be.

[asha-mage]

🌶️

The MCU's Spiderman is not a poor execution of Peter Parker's character concept. He's not even poor execution of Miles Morales's character concept.

He is a poor execution of Terry McGinnis's character concept.

Peter Parker and Miles Morales both have so many fundamental pieces to their characters that are just missing for the MCU's Spiderman. Familiar names are floating around him- Aunt May, Mary Jane, Ganke Lee- but the fundamental ideas that make up Peter or Miles arcs just are not there. Themes like Miles's family expectations, Peter's constant money struggles, and the balancing act of doing good vs trying to live your own life are all absent. Even the idea of power and responsibility isn't properly introduced until the THIRD MOVIE when that really should been the central theme from the beginning.

Rather the MCU Spiderman has way more parallels with Terry McGinnis. Both are young hot shot teenagers who end up being taken under the wing of established and experienced hero who is on their way out. Both have complex relationships with their mentor which in a lot of ways serves as the driving force of their character arcs. Both gain high tech suits which enable their heroism. Both are viewed (or at least supposed to be viewed in MCU Peter's case) as heirs to the legacy of this hero.

It falls apart when you get into how they are different. While Uncle Ben is implied to have existed and be dead by the time MCU Peter is introduced in Civil War it's never actually confirmed and never properly comes up. Meanwhile the death of Terry's father is essentially the inciting incident of Batman Beyond: it's what motivates and drives Terry and the murder and it's fallout are the main focus of the first two episodes of Batman Beyond.

What's more MCU Peter's relationship to Tony is grounded in the fact that Tony just shows up one day and essentially taps him to join the Avengers. Bruce by contrast initially tosses Terry out on his ear, and when Terry turns up seeking justice for his father Bruce can't offer him anything but 'go ask the cops for help', and when that goes exactly as poorly as Terry said it would, Terry breaks into the manor steals the Batsuit and goes to stop Powers himself. Terry has active agency in his own choice to be a hero, which helps define his relationship with Bruce and to heroism. While MCU Peter was doing his own superheroics prior to Tony showing up in Civil War (not that he ever does much of that in future movies) his relationship to Tony is defined by Peter's dependence on him and his quest for Tony(/the Avengers)'s approval. And because they don't even bother name drop Uncle Ben or flashback to him, we're left with the impression that the main thing driving MCU Peter is that quest for approval. His motivations are never more complexly explored, and we don't even really see him just running around Queens stopping muggings or car crashes or anything that hints he enjoys or feels the need to actually help people.

And I think that gets into the final and most important difference between the two. Gotham not only needs Batman, it visibly and obviously and terribly needs Batman. Batman Beyond leans into this because decades without a Batman have left Gotham a cyperbunk dystopian hellscape. The city needs someone to stand up to the darkness, to be a symbol of hope, to be aspirational. Terry taking up that mantel means fighting supervillains, yes- but mostly it means doing what the original Batman did. Solving murders, stopping muggings, rescuing people from burning buildings or fighting off street gangs like the Jokerz.

But even in the earliest MCU movies, New York only needs superheroes when the current world ending threat shows up. Otherwise the city is all bright shinny clean streets filled with haplessly content citizens. This is the only reason that Vision's position of 'Our very strength invites challenge' in Civil War makes any sense- because the only purpose of these Superheroes is usually to fight a threat they where somehow responsible for creating. And this problem hits 'friendly neighborhood Spiderman' the hardest because he only has a responsibility to use his great power to solve problems, if their are problems in need of solving. Most of Peter Parker's (and Miles Morales's, Gwen Stacy's, or any other Spiderperson's) day is not fighting alien armies or netherworld gods. It's stopping break ins, rescuing people from car crashes, or dealing with other small scale local threats, that none the less benefit from someone with his abilities to make them better. Either New York in the MCU is an ideal utopian city where the police have everything handled apparently (which ha!) or Peter is apparently not interested in stopping bad things from happening. He spends so much of the first movie basically begging Tony to give him superhero things to do, not realizing that he could go outside and find people that need help on his own.

In conclusion MCU Peter Parker isn't 'regular Peter Parker but not an underdog', or even 'Miles Morales but white'. He's 'Terry McGinnis but without any agency in his own heroism'.

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Smut Challenge 2025, Fic One: Squirting with Sirius

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader Summary: Sirius is determined to make you squirt. Tags: fem!reader, reader has chronic pain, smut, oral sex (F receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, implied soft dom!Sirius, established relationship, Sirius being an attentive lover Main Masterlist | Smut Challenge 2025 Masterlist

The room is a cocoon of warmth, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows that dance across the bed where you lie, exhaustion settling deep in your bones despite the anticipation that hums beneath it. Your muscles ache, the familiar stiffness clinging to you like an unwelcome guest, but tonight, Sirius is here, and he always makes it better.

He looms above you, his dark hair falling around your vision like a curtain. His eyes are intent, the corners crinkling slightly as he focuses on the task at hand. There's always been something captivating about Sirius when he's in this state, head bent over some intricate piece of magic, but tonight, his concentration is solely on you.

"Relax for me, love," he murmurs, the rough timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine despite the heat radiating from his touch. His hands move with purpose, tracing the contours of your body with a familiarity born of years together.

He knows the spots that seize up with pain, the places where the ache lingers long after the day is done. His fingers press with practiced care, working into the knots that have burrowed deep, a silent understanding passing between you as he soothes the tension locked within your body. It's not just stress, it's pain, constant and unrelenting, but Sirius always handles you like he knows exactly what you need.

His lips trail after his fingers, a warm path that lingers on your skin. Each press of his mouth is deliberate, unhurried, igniting a slow burn that stirs you beneath him. He pauses at the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing delicately before the soothing sweep of his tongue.

A soft sigh escapes you as Sirius' hands knead at your hips, smoothing away the tension of the day. His touch is patient and reverent, never rushing, even as heat pools low in your belly. He loves this part--the watching, the waiting, seeing you unravel and respond to his ministrations before he's barely even begun.

Sirius' lips continue their journey, trailing light kisses across your abdomen, before he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there's a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he catches your hand flexing in the sheets.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your skin.

You nod, breathless, and he chuckles, the sound sending a warm shiver down your spine. He places another reverent kiss just below your belly button before trailing lower still.

"You've been hurting today," Sirius murmurs, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your thighs. "I can feel it in you--the way you hold yourself, the way your hands keep shaking. Let me take care of you, love."

His words are sincere, solidifying the trust between you despite the building tension in the air. He's not just here to make you feel good--he wants to take care of you, and the realization brings a pang of pleasure that's more than just physical.

The first touch of his lips to the inside of your thighs is feather-light, almost non-existent. But you feel it, a jolt of electricity that promises of what's to come. Your heart races as he plants soft kisses on your sensitive skin, moving ever so slowly upward. Each one sends a wave of anticipation crashing through you, leaving you breathless and hungry for more.

When you squirm, he places a large hand on your hip, steadying you. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of your panties, branding you with his desire.

"Easy there," he says, voice deep and husky with arousal. "We're just getting started."

And then, his mouth is on you. The first sweep of his tongue is slow, deliberate -- a promise fulfilled. It sends a shock of pleasure through you, so intense that your back arches off the bed. He groans, the vibration against your core sending another wave of desire coursing through your veins.

His tongue moves again, tracing a path that leaves you trembling. Your fingers clutch at the bed sheets, drawing them up in tight fists. His hands grip your thighs with a firmness that is both commanding and reassuring, holding you open to him as he continues his exploration--a dance of patience and urgency that has your nerves alight with anticipation.

"God, you taste incredible," Sirius murmurs against the heat of your core, the vibration of his words sending shivers up your spine.

He uses his tongue to part you further, finding a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. The flat of it glides over your sensitive flesh, while the tip teases just inside, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your lips. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently at first, then with an intensity that has your back arching off the bed. The pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation that threatens to sweep you away.

You can't contain the sounds that escape you, nor the way your hips buck up to meet his mouth, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he's offering. Every stroke of his tongue is a promise, every breath he takes a testament to the desire that burns between you.

"Sirius," you moan, your fingers tangling in the dark locks of his hair. The sound he makes against you vibrates through every nerve, making your muscles clench around nothing.

The sensation is almost too much, circling tighter and tighter until you're straining against it, aching for release. You can feel the familiar pressure building, but there's something holding you back, some knot inside you that won't untie, no matter how much you tug at it.

He understands without needing an explanation. Of course, he does.

"Are you going to come for me already, love?" Sirius teases, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. You want to answer, to tell him how close you are, but the words catch in your throat when his lips return to their task, relentless and unyielding.

His tongue presses harder, moving in slow, deliberate circles that have you gasping for breath. Your legs begin to quiver, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it feels like you might snap. He groans against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your body tenses, pleasure warring with the dull ache that never quite leaves you. But Sirius knows how to tip the balance, how to chase away the discomfort until all that's left is sensation--pure, electrifying, and all-consuming. When the tension finally snaps, it's not just pleasure that floods through you, but relief, leaving you gasping, shaking, feeling lighter than you have in days. The world narrows down to this one moment, this one sensation, and you cry out, clutching at the sheets beneath you.

Sirius doesn't stop, his movements only slowing as you twitch from overstimulation. His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you come undone, his fingers still gently stroking your trembling thighs, keeping you grounded as the aftershocks ripple through you.

He pulls back, with your taste still on his lips. His eyes, usually so teasing, now are darkened by desire. He gives you a slow, appreciative smile that doesn't quite reach those stormy eyes--eyes that speak of a hunger not yet sated.

"Perfect," he murmurs, punctuating the word with a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it's full of conviction--a blend of admiration and playful defiance that dares you to believe otherwise.

You shiver, the aftershocks of your climax still dancing along your nerves. It's overwhelming, the intensity of such pleasure, but Sirius has always been tenacious when pursuing something--or someone--he desires. And tonight, there's a determination in his gaze that leaves you both breathless and curious about what might come next.

His fingers trace back down your body, slipping between your thighs. They find the slickness he's caused and he lets out a low growl of appreciation. "So wet for me," he murmurs, his touch driving you to the brink of insanity as he explores your folds.

"Look at you," he breathes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers move expertly, finding all the right places that make your breath hitch. "So eager… so responsive."

A whimper escapes your lips as your body arches up into his touch, seeking more. Your thighs tremble as he circles your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what could come next. The sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve ending.

Sirius' lips press lightly against the inside of your thigh, the coolness of his breath contrasting with the heat of your skin. Goosebumps rise in response, a shiver running through you despite the warmth. "One more," he murmurs, so softly that you almost miss it over the thunderous pounding of your heart. "I want another orgasm from you before I make you squirt for me, love."

Your chest heaves as you suck in a ragged breath, anticipation mingling with the remnants of your climax. His fingers trace a path along your folds, teasingly slow, before two slip inside you. They curl upwards, finding that sweet spot that has your back arching and a strangled moan escaping your throat.

His mouth latches onto your clit again, tongue flicking over the sensitive nub. The sensation is overwhelming, yet not enough, a paradox that makes your mind feel foggy with pleasure. Your hands scrabble at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto as Sirius expertly works you towards another peak.

"Si-Sirius," you gasp, your thighs quiver, almost closing around his head as he continues his relentless ministrations. The pleasure is too much, too sudden, but he refuses to stop.

"You can take it." His voice is muffled against you, a hint of amusement threading through the seriousness. "Trust me to know what you need. Let me make you feel good."

His promise hangs heavy in the air, a guarantee that wraps around you, holding you together and breaking you down all at once. His fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. At the same time, his tongue presses into your clit--soft yet unyielding--and the world narrows down to the overwhelming sensation coursing through you.

The pressure builds rapidly, a tempest gaining force within you. Your body, already exhausted from the previous climax, teeters on the precipice, kept there by the surety of Sirius' touch and the focused attention he bestows upon your pleasure. A low moan escapes him, vibrating against your sensitive flesh and sending shivers up your spine. His fingers move with purpose, determined to draw out yet another release from your overtaxed nerves.

A keening cry catches in your throat as your body tenses, fingers tightening in his hair. The world narrows down to this single point of pleasure, all-consuming and overwhelming. Then it crashes over you, a tidal wave that leaves you breathless and shaking, your thighs quaking around his head. You can do nothing but ride the wave, surrendering to the onslaught as his name spills from your lips in a broken plea.

But Sirius does not let up, his fingers slowing their rhythm but refusing to cease altogether. His tongue continues its dance over your hypersensitive clit, coaxing out every last tremor from your quivering form. A whimper of protest--or is it a plea for more?--escapes you, your body too spent to resist the aftershocks coursing through it.

When your breathing finally starts to calm, the ache in your limbs a dull hum beneath the lingering pleasure, Sirius pulls back just enough to look at you. His face is flushed, eyes dark and hooded, but his expression softens the moment he takes you in--body trembling, exhaustion settling in deep. Without a word, he shifts, his hands ghosting over your hips, your legs, soothing the muscles he knows must be screaming from strain. It's not just about pleasure with Sirius; it's about you.

"That's two," he murmurs, sounding far too pleased with himself. Then, with a wicked grin, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh before moving lower, spreading you open further. "Now," his voice is a low rumble, his breath fanning over your wet and sensitive flesh, "let's see how many more times I can make you soak these sheets for me."

His mouth quirks upward against your thigh, and his gaze is triumphant when it meets yours, finding the glazed look of shock and pleasure that he knew would be there. He knows you, every curving line of your body, every breathy gasp, every secret shiver of delight. He also knows that you can do this, for him, with him. You've done it before.

The first time was an accident, really. He'd been down here, just like now, his fingers moving in those same, sinful patterns, his mouth hot and persistent, and then… then you'd come apart so completely that you nearly sobbed with it, drenching his hand, the sheets, even a good portion of his chest. You'd been mortified, hiding your face behind your hands while your body continued to jerk and twitch uncontrollably. But Sirius? His eyes had lit up as though you'd just handed him the secret to life itself.

Ever since, it's been a mission.

And now, as he gazes at you with those determined eyes, his cheeks flushed from the heat of desire and the exertion of his movements, his pupils dilated as if to capture every detail of your euphoria, it's clear he won't stop until he achieves it.

"Do you remember that first time?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, igniting goosebumps along your inner thigh. His fingers continue their slow, torturous dance inside you, coaxing out every last shudder of pleasure. "How you soaked me through? I almost lost control then."

A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body still humming with sensitivity as your hips buck involuntarily. There's no escaping his touch, nor do you want to. He presses his palm flat against your lower belly, just above where his fingers are buried deep within you. The pressure is just enough to add a delicious edge to the pleasure radiating from your core.

"I thought about it for days," Sirius confesses, his voice a low rumble against your skin as his mouth hovers just out of reach from where you want him most. "The way you tightened around me… how you reacted."

A blush creeps up your neck at his words, but it's overshadowed by a sense of anticipation that makes your heart pound in your chest. You can feel Sirius watching you, taking in every tremor and gasp that escapes you, and the knowledge only fuels your desire.

"Bet I can make it happen again," he murmurs, sounding more like a promise than a mere speculation. His confidence is both alarming and alluring, leaving you breathless with anticipation. "Bet I can make you come undone completely this time. Want to see you let go for me, love."

His movements are swift, practiced. His mouth is back on you in an instant, tongue tracing circles around your clit that start slow and deliberate, but soon quicken to match the rhythm of his fingers working inside of you. You gasp, feeling your body respond despite the aftershocks still reverberating through your muscles.

The sound you make is enough to encourage him further. Sirius hums against you, a low vibration that sends waves of pleasure rippling across your sensitive flesh. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of you, learning the contours of your body as if committing them to memory. He seems to take note of every shiver, every hitched breath, every involuntary twitch that betrays your mounting desire.

"That's it," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper as he pulls away just enough for the words to brush against your clit, making you squirm. "Don't hold back. Just let go for me."

Your breathing becomes ragged, punctuating the silence of the room with sharp intakes and shaky exhales. The tension coiling within you grows tighter, more demanding, an unspoken plea for release. Sirius knows--he can feel it in the way your body tenses beneath his touch, in the subtle tremors that run down your thighs, in the slight upward tilt of your hips even though you're trying to stay still.

"Fuck, Sirius, I..."

"Shh, love, let it happen," he murmurs against your skin, but the words are edged with a tangible urgency, a hunger that matches the wild rhythm of his fingers and tongue. Each stroke is more confident, more daring than the last, coaxing the tension in you to coil tighter, tighter still.

And then, Sirius presses a firm hand to your lower stomach, anchoring you to the bed, to this moment. His mouth descends to where you need him most, focusing on that sweet, sensitive nub of nerves that sends shockwaves through your entire being--and--

The world fractures.

It hits you then, all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless and shaking. Your release drenches Sirius's hand, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. You cry out, your body convulsing, bucking against his mouth. Your vision goes white, all other sensations replaced by this one overwhelming sensation, this shattering release.

"Sirius," you gasp, your voice barely audible, lost in the roar of your own pleasure.

He moans deeply, not stopping, his tongue still flicking over your sensitive nub, his fingers still curling inside of you. It's an unending cycle of pleasure, a cascade of sensations that leave you breathless and writhing beneath him. He seems insatiable, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure, and it only makes the waves crash harder, stronger, pulling you under.

"Very good," he murmurs against the soft skin of your thighs, his lips brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh. "Just like that." His voice is a low rumble, the sound vibrating through you, adding to the sensations already threatening to consume you.

And finally, when he pulls away, letting you collapse onto the soaked sheets, you're a trembling mess, and not just from pleasure. Your body is spent, the exhaustion seeping into every muscle, the dull ache creeping back now that the haze of release is fading. Sirius sees it, the way your limbs twitch not just from sensitivity but from deep-seated pain, the way your breath hitches not just from bliss but from the struggle to recover. He shifts immediately, pressing slow, grounding kisses to your stomach, your hips, your thighs, his hands smoothing over your skin in quiet reassurance.

"You're… incredible," Sirius whispers, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh, but there's something softer in his touch now. He knows what comes next. The way your body protests after too much strain, the way the deep ache settles back into your joints once the endorphins start to fade. He doesn't rush you--he never does. Instead, his hands drift lower, massaging the muscles he knows are screaming, working gentle circles into the stiffness left behind.

You can feel his gaze on you, heavy and warm, but you can't bring yourself to open your eyes just yet. The world seems to spin around you, and for a moment, you simply surrender to the sensation, letting it wash over you in waves.

When you finally manage to crack open your eyes, the sight that greets you makes your heart stutter. Sirius is watching you, his expression unreadable, his grey eyes dark with something that looks a lot like awe. He's propped up on his elbows, his black hair falling into his face, and there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"That was…" He trails off, running a hand through his damp hair, his mouth slightly agape as if he's at a loss for words. "I think that was the best thing I've ever seen."

You attempt a scowl, but it comes out more as a grimace, your face still flushed from the orgasm. "Don't get too smug, Black."

His grin is wicked, eyes sparkling with mischief as he settles down beside you, but even as his fingers draw lazy circles on your skin, there's care in the way he touches you now. His grip is lighter, knowing too much pressure might send a flare of pain through your already-overworked body. He watches your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, any tension in your brow. When he sees it, just the smallest wince as you shift, he tugs you closer, his hands moving instinctively to rub at the small of your back, the exact spot that always seizes up after nights like this.

"And can you blame me?" He shifts, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your jaw, and finally the curve of your neck still flushed from exertion. "You made quite the mess, love."

Your groan is muffled against his shoulder, but he feels it, his chuckle a low rumble in his chest as he pulls you closer. His arms wrap around you, strong and reassuring even as they threaten to undo you all over again.

"You know," he murmurs, fingers drawing lazy circles on your bare hip, his touch so gentle now it's almost reverent, "now that I've got the technique down, I might have to make this a regular thing." But then his gaze flickers down, catching the way your hands flex slightly, your joints stiffening in the aftermath. He shifts again, rolling you against his chest, one strong arm slipping beneath your back as he kneads the tension from your shoulders. "And after, I'll make sure you're taken care of properly. Can't have my girl hurting too much to let me do this again, can I?"

A shiver races down your spine at the promise laced within his words--part anticipation, part exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Sirius merely smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in satisfaction.

You're in so much trouble.

[astrologysaysno]

I saw an Omegaverse fanfic, thought of SVSSS and thought, why not mix them both.

So I offer to the masses the idea of a Second Gender-less Shang Qinghua.

I have a vision that pre PIDW, he had written a lot of books before that, some of which I can imagine are Omegaverse fics

So why not have the PIDW world collide with the Omegaverse and just give everyone secondary genders.

Not Shang Qinghua though, he's special like that.

I imagine that for his formative years, he freaked out constantly regarding the day he presents his second gender. He was really hoping to be an Alpha or a Beta to spare himself the travesty and possible karmic retribution of throwing away his original plans for PIDW by experiencing heat as an omega.

As the years go by, and every teen in his village starts presenting, it just never arrives.

Everyone is clueless. They initially think he's just a late bloomer, then after half a decade of when he was supposed to present, he's still not showing any signs, people just slap the Beta label on him and call it a day.

Going with the flow and not causing a scene, he goes through the Cang Qiong entrance exam, and he gets in.

Most of the people of the sect are immediately off put by him.

For a starter, he is completely alienated to all things scent.

He doesn't give off a smell that any secondary gender has. It's like the equivalent of the taste of water, no flavour, just the scent of his nervous sweats and whatever he accidentally spilled himself with that day.

His stuff gets confused for unused supplies constantly, which is a real hassle, getting his mattress from storage whenever a newbie finds his bed and thinks it's an extra that was never used.

He doesn't seem to recognize scent either. Senior disciples have tried using their scent to drive off Qinghua like they do all juniors, but it doesn't work since he can't smell their haze of intimidation, forcing him to learn tells of behaviors through visual observation alone.

This causes him to become incapable of the process of scenting, unable to smell or be smelt. All attempts for his peers to give him a piece of their scent, it is ultimately washed off like dirt under the pressure washer.

In this scenario, it's the reason why he has never been caught as a spy for Mobei-jun. The King of the Northern Desert has tried to mark him with his scent to declare his ownership, but it fades by the end of the day at most. This frustrates Mobei-jun as he can't seem to get Shang Qinghua to make him his in this manner.

The other big thing is that he has none of the instincts that having a secondary gender would give him, a key one would be on the realm of romance.

My belief is that because of his biology, he was chosen to be head disciple.

The An Ding Peak Lord was going through performance reviews, found Shang Qinghua with no record on any sexually aligned misdemeanors, gets his work done faster, and thinks, "Let's make this boy my disciple."

Again, condolences to Mobei-jun, but I need him to remember that words exist cause his beloved is incapable of being courted by normal means, he needs to be told that you like him romantically or all attempts will go out the door.

I think about how in this AU, Shang Qinghua probably thinks he's a complete outsider that puts everyone off because he can't connect to them in the same way, but the rest of the Peak Lords look at him like:

"Hello, here is our socially inept sibling who we can't do normal ABO things with, but he's incredibly good at organising stuff, so there's that, I guess."

[galactic-magick]

A Collection of My Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Here’s the long list of headcanons I have about Viktor and my self-insert OC that’s been sitting in my notes app. Many of these will likely make their way into and be more fleshed out in my fics. I just have so much love for him and so many ideas that I had to post them.

Most are gender-neutral besides a couple. All the fics I’ve written in this AU so far are in my masterlist and in a series on my AO3.

Enjoy 😊

Drinks his coffee either black or with a shit ton of milk and sugar, no in between. You’ll catch him drinking the darkest roast in existence and then the next day he’ll be drinking a sweet milk Frappuccino or something

If you’re the same size or bigger than him, he likes to steal your clothes. Especially when it’s cold, he’ll layer a bunch of your sweaters, claiming yours are “warmer” than his

He loves when you play with his hair. It calms him down and soothes him like nothing else

Sometimes he feels bad he doesn’t have the arm strength to pick you up, so one time he asked Jayce if he could borrow his gauntlets

He can be very forgetful, but it’s never because he doesn’t care. Be patient with him his mind is a crazy place

He gets quite the ego boost when he realizes “talking nerdy to you” turns you on. He’ll purposefully start explaining science shit and get you embarrassingly flustered

He’s definitely a cat person. If you guys got one they would be basically attached to each other, to the point the cat would escape the house and follow him to work in the lab sometimes

Also likes to steal your hair and shower products. He loves all the scents and how soft they make his waves and skin

He can play the Viola, a skill his mother taught him when he was a kid. He’s very rusty but he’ll play for you occasionally

His favorite way to annoy you is poking you with his cane. He’s a little shit about it too, mainly doing it when you’re in the middle of something

When he works longer hours in the lab, you like to bring him snacks, only to find out Jayce is the one who eats most of them after you leave

He likes to see your face when you’re cuddling, so spooning isn’t really the go-to position. But if he does he’s not really partial to being the big or little spoon

He still has the toy boat he made as a kid. It sits on the mantle over your fireplace

He technically needs glasses, but his vision isn’t bad enough he has to wear them. He considers getting them only because you told him he’d look cute with them

If you’re afraid of bugs, he has no problem catching them and putting them back outside. He likes to let them crawl on him for a bit first though, he doesn’t mind them at all

If you ever get in a fight, he can be very stubborn in his opinions, and he often tries to fix the problem before understanding your side. Once he realizes that sometimes you just want him to listen to you, though, misunderstandings become much more infrequent

He loves food with lots of spices and strong flavors. Especially if you’re the one who cooks it

He snores when he sleeps, and pretty loudly at that. If you’re not a deep sleeper who can sleep through it you’ll probably need a white noise maker or something

He uses you as a fidget toy quite often, playing with your hands, massaging your arms and thighs, twirling your hair. Sometimes he’ll mindlessly start squeezing your tits, not even in a sexual way necessarily, just cuz they’re squishy

Wants kids with you, but is terrified of leaving your children fatherless if his disease gets the best of him

Everything in your house has the potential to be a new invention, you’ve lost count of how many appliances have been modified in some way

He likes puzzles, on the rare occasion he has free time to do them for leisure. He can even do those crazy multi thousand piece ones

One of his main love languages is definitely parallel play. He loves spending time with you even if it’s in silence doing separate things

Loves when you lay on top of him. He doesn’t care how heavy you are, you’re his favorite weighted blanket

He likes to keep his personal life private from most people, but never in the sense that he hides you. Everyone knows you’re together, but very few know how much you actually mean to each other

He leaves marks and hickeys on you even when he doesn’t necessarily mean to, simply because his canines are so sharp

Whenever he and Jayce are asked to travel anywhere to meet with Hextech investors, he always brings you with him. You couldn’t afford a honeymoon when you first got married, so he makes up for it by turning work trips into vacations

He likes to leave you love notes sometimes when he wakes up and leaves before you, but his handwriting is so messy you can rarely read them. He usually says what he wrote when he sees you next anyway though

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who offers you flowers whenever he sees you. whenever you had a planned outing, whether it was a simple trip to the shops or dinner at a restaurant somewhere in the city, the truth is that before you left the house, you would place a bouquet with the most beautiful and colorful flowers there were. you could call Namjoon a gentleman, an old-fashioned one indeed, but that didn’t stop him from carrying out his ritual. it’s just that, secretly, Namjoon counted the time away from you through the withered petals of the flowers he offered you. without you knowing, he bought the same bouquet for himself, placing it on his kitchen counter and consulting it whenever he got home. sometimes the flowers would fade overnight and Namjoon didn’t have any plans for you – but that didn’t stop Namjoon from staying away from you. after all, you didn’t need to leave those four walls to have a good time. “i know it’s short notice, but do you want to go out to eat? we can go to that museum opening before we go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who likes to have long conversations with you all night long. talking to you was like listening to odes from the most talented poets in this world. it was incredible how your perspective on the universe was able to captivate Namjoon. you could be talking about your day, complaining about little things that made you tired of living; you could be discussing an artistic vision of the same book you were reading; you could talk about all the probabilities that existed in the stars – it didn’t matter. with you, the words flowed like the freest rivers in the world, falling in a waterfall of enthusiasm, forming a small lake of fascination in Namjoon. having you there, with you lying next to him, your head resting on his torso, your hands spraying Namjoon’s skin with the tranquility that only you could provide – there, in that moment, Namjoon swore that both of you were one poem. “tell me about your day. tell me everything you liked and tell me what you want to repeat. talk to me and tell me how your day was and how it only started to make sense when we met.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who has a personal chef cooking breakfast when you slept in his house. when you spent the night at Namjoon’s house, he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. as much as he enjoyed falling asleep with you in his arms, he had to confess that he felt better when the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window and welcomed you to a new day. it was at that exact moment, before the day really began and everyone went their separate ways, Namjoon truly enjoyed your company. rubbing his face against your skin, wanting some of your essence to stay trapped in him, Namjoon pressed you closer to him. for some reason, it was in you that he found the strength to get through the day. as such, every minute was precious and he would enjoy every second of it – even if he needed to hire someone to make you breakfast. “just five more minutes and i promise i’ll let you go. let me enjoy just five more minutes. that’s all i need. you are all i need.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who gifts you your favorite artwork. visiting museums and galleries had been a norm in your relationship. going to as many openings as you could, scouring the country and world in search of new pieces of art, you and Namjoon enjoyed each other’s presence as tornadoes of emotions and messages surrounded each smile of yours. in the vibrant colors of each painting, you and Namjoon discovered new feelings; in the forced curves of each sculpture, you and Namjoon discovered new beauties; in the tenderness of each word exchanged, you and Namjoon shared eternal moments that would forever be blessed by the most ethereal gods. and to immortalize what was already glorious, Namjoon made a point of thanking your company by offering you the paintings and sculptures that had caught your attention. “what do you mean you don’t have space in your room? i know you want to turn down the painting, but all i’m hearing is that you need a new house with more space. tuesday we can start looking at some houses.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who loves to give you designer clothes. sometimes, the parcels that appeared at your house were so rare that you had to turn to the internet to decode that shirt or belt. often, the parcels that appeared at your house were from a collection so recent that you felt invincible when you wore them. every time, the parcels that appeared at your house had a note written by Namjoon to remind you that, even if you didn’t ask, even if you didn’t even know, he would always take care of you. you just needed to accept it and Namjoon would give you the world. “see it as an early birthday present. you don’t have to thank or reciprocate. this coat is for you. use it when we go to lunch on saturday.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who makes a point of giving you a kiss when others are looking at you. Namjoon enjoyed your company, it was obvious. as such, Namjoon liked to take you to work parties or friend gatherings or really anywhere where you could show off the new outfit he had gifted you. wherever there was an event that called Namjoon, he was quick to hold your hand and take you with him without any prior notice. these nights of get-togethers seemed divine in Namjoon’s company; there was something about his laugh that tied you to the moment; the way he spoke to his acquaintances made you curious to know more about all subjects, even though he had already told that story to you; the way he looked at you, eyes bright and bathed in tenderness, erased everything that was happening around you; and the way he kissed you, slowly, softly, right on the corner of your mouth, teasing you just a little, made you wish the day would end. “patience. we haven’t greeted the birthday boy yet. i promise just one more hour and then we can go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who introduces you to everyone as his ‘special person’. e v er y   s y l l a b l e of these two words was marinated with the most intense pride in the universe; ea-ch--tim-bre of these two words was intoned with the greatest fascination of the cosmos; those two words were Namjoon’s favorite words. ‘special person’. yes, he could have said that you were his partner or even a friendship that had been going on for years; of course, but all those words were empty. and you were special. you were special to Namjoon and he wanted everyone to know that. and that’s why he introduced you with pride – how lucky he was to find someone as amazing as you; that’s why he named you with fascination – how lucky the universe is to have someone as divine as you; that was why ‘special person’ sounded so good when uttered by him – how lucky you were to be the only one blessed by the gods. “if you don’t feel comfortable, i can call you something else. but, honestly, i don’t think anything i would call you would equal the importance you have in my life.”

[solsticehymns]

MONSTER: ONESHOT

REMUS LUPIN X F!READER / ANGST + FLUFF

summary: too tired to keep your eyes open, you start murmuring your book aloud, frankenstein. remus finds he relates terribly to it, but he can't tell you, for you don't know his secret.

a/n: oh. my. god. this hurt to write, i took 2 breaks to sniffle. actually highly recommend reading the original 1818 text of mary shelley's frankenstein, she was incredibly ahead of her time. the whole point of the book, to me, is that EVERYONE can relate to the monster. everyone is ugly in some way: that is what makes us all beautiful, too. and secondly, in the end, all anyone really needs is love. - sunny ☀️🌻

wc (minus the book quotes cuz i didn't write that lololol): 1339

The warmth of the library is making you drowsy.

Or maybe it’s the candlelight, flickering in and out of focus as your eyelids droop. Or the weight of the book in your hands, pressing softly against your lap.

Or maybe it’s him.

Remus sits across from you, hunched over his notes, his quill moving in steady strokes as he tries to focus on the text in front of him. There’s something methodical about the way he works—thoughtful, deliberate, as though committing each word to memory with care. You’ve spent countless nights like this, existing in comfortable silence, each lost in your own tasks but never truly alone. It’s become a quiet kind of routine, one you find yourself looking forward to more than you care to admit.

Tonight, though, exhaustion weighs heavy on your limbs. The prose of Frankenstein blurs at the edges of your vision, dense and intricate, demanding more energy than you have left to give. Your head lolls slightly against the back of your chair, fingers skimming idly over the corner of the page. Without meaning to, you start to murmur the words aloud, your voice slow and hushed, barely more than a breath in the stillness of the room.

“Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?”

You don’t notice when Remus’s quill stills, nor do you realize at first that he is no longer writing, no longer absorbed in his studies. He is listening, more intently than you can discern.

Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind?

Remus would be lying to himself if he said this wasn’t a question he had asked himself before. It isn’t just the words on the page—it’s the way they settle into the hollow spaces inside him, the places no one else can see. The places that ache on the nights when he is alone, when he remembers what he is, what the world will always see him as. A creature, a thing to be feared. Something unnatural.

He wonders if the creature in the story feels it the same way—this awful, gnawing loneliness, the knowing that no matter how much kindness he has inside him, people will only ever see the horror of his existence. No matter how much he longs for warmth, for acceptance, he will never truly have it. Because people do not love monsters.

You keep reading, voice quiet but steady, each word sinking deeper into him, making it harder to breathe.

“Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.”

Remus closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the truth of it. If he were different, if fate had not carved him into something wretched, could he have been good? Could he have been loved? Or had the universe decided for him before he ever had a chance?

If he let himself be seen—really seen—love would be out of the question. But it is just as impossible if he doesn’t. He can tuck the worst parts of himself away, hide them in the quiet corners of the world, but it won’t change the truth. He is what he is. And even if someone ever dared to love him, it would be a love built on a lie.

A sharp ache spreads in his chest, because isn’t that the cruelest part of it all? That he can never be known, not fully—without losing everything?

You turn the page, still murmuring aloud, unaware of the way he is breaking beside you. His fingers curl into his sleeve, gripping the fabric as though he can hold himself together by force alone.

But the words keep coming, and he can do nothing but listen.

You barely hear yourself continue, spilling out word after word of Shelley’s intricate and incredibly passionate prose:

“I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred—”

“Some people never get the choice, to be loved or feared. The world makes it for them.”

You nearly forgot Remus was sitting right there. You had no idea he was even listening.

The weight in his voice settles over you like a quiet confession, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. There’s something about the way he says it, something final and resigned, as if it’s a truth he has long since accepted. A truth he never expected to change.

Slowly, you turn your head. His eyes aren’t on you, but on the book in your lap, unfocused and far away. His fingers twitch where they rest against his parchment, as if resisting the urge to curl into fists. The candlelight carves soft shadows over his face, accentuating the tired set of his mouth, the crease between his brows.

You want to tell him he’s wrong. That monsters aren’t doomed to be alone, that love isn’t something they have to steal or fear. That the creature in the book is no different from anyone else, aching for kindness, for warmth. That maybe, if someone had just looked at him with softer eyes, he would have known he wasn’t meant to be feared. That maybe, if he let himself, he could be loved too.

But you know, deep down, Remus would never believe that.

Instead, you straighten slightly, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

“But he wasn’t doomed,” you say softly. “Not really. Not in the way that matters.”

Remus’s gaze flickers up to you, almost wary, like he is bracing for something he won’t be able to stomach. You hold his gaze, resolute, letting the warmth in your voice settle between you.

“He wanted love,” you continue. “He wanted companionship. And that isn’t monstrous. It never was. He didn’t ask to be made the way he was, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t deserving of kindness from anyone else.”

You watch the way Remus swallows, watch the way his shoulders tense like he is trying not to let your words sink too deep. But you can see it in his eyes—the way something small and painful cracks open inside him.

“I think,” you go on, your voice gentler now, “that if someone had shown him kindness first—just once—maybe everything would have been different, and he wouldn’t have felt so lonely.”

He shouldn’t react. But it strikes him, how you state it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it never even occurred to you that the creature might be anything but deserving of kindness. As if it isn’t even a question.

Something in him aches—something deep, something raw and untouched for so long he has almost convinced himself it isn’t there at all. He has spent years believing that there are conditions to love, that people only offer it when they don’t know the truth. But here you are, speaking of a creature cursed by its very existence, and somehow you still see goodness in it.

He wants to tell you. Not about the book, not about the creature—but about himself. He wants to ask if you would still look at him like that if you knew he was a monster, too. If you would still believe in warmth and acceptance if you saw him for what he truly is.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because if there is even the smallest chance that you might turn away, he can’t risk it.

Instead, he lets the words sit between you, heavy and aching, settling into the quiet spaces of his heart he has long since abandoned. Maybe you would not recoil. Maybe he is not as monstrous as he fears.

A soft nudge against his hand startles him. You close your book, fingers resting lightly on the cover.

“You’re not even studying anymore,” you whine, voice thick with drowsiness. “Can we go? It’s late.”

He blinks at you, as if shaking himself from some deep, unreachable place. Then, finally, he exhales, a small, almost imperceptible smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Let’s go.”

♡

☀️🌻 masterlist

[monicfever]

sound and vision. 𝜗𝜚 matt murdock.

on a quiet rooftop, matt lies beside his girl as she traces constellations with her voice, painting the stars he can’t see.

matt murdock had never truly mourned the stars.

there had been a time, long ago, when the idea of losing them — their sharp, distant shimmer, the way they blinked into existence in a velvet-dark sky — felt like one of the smaller heartbreaks nestled quietly inside the larger one.

but grief has a way of softening around the edges. over the years, he forgot to miss them. forgot what it felt like to look up and see. he learned to look inward, to trace the world with sound and scent and the subtle shift of air currents against his skin.

he hadn’t realized that he’d replaced starlight with other things. the click of her shoes across his apartment floor. the way her heartbeat quickened when she was lying. the warmth in her laughter when she wasn’t.

she never tried to fix what he couldn’t have. never flinched at what was missing. but she did have this tendency to share what she could — to narrate her world in a way that made him feel like he hadn’t lost a thing at all.

that night, it was a blanket thrown over her shoulder and a mischievous smile in her voice. “come on. i have a surprise.”

he didn’t ask questions. just followed.

they climbed the stairs slowly, her hand brushed against his every few steps like punctuation, like she couldn’t help making sure he was still there. she smelled like citrus shampoo and something sweeter, something sun-warmed and familiar.

the door to the roof groaned when she pushed it open. the air changed immediately — cooler, lighter, tinged with the city’s distant hum.

she laid the blanket out with the kind of precision reserved for small, sacred things. crackled open a bag of popcorn. popped the cap off two sodas with a practiced flick.

“okay,” she said, settling beside him, legs crossed like a kid at storytime, “i know you can’t see them. but they’re here. and they’re gorgeous tonight. want me to describe them to you?”

he turned slightly, smiled. “i was waiting for you to offer.”

so she did.

she spoke the constellations into life — drew orion and perseus and lyra with the lilt of her voice, every star mapped out like a heartbeat. her words were delicate, deliberate. she didn’t rush. didn’t pretend he needed her to fill the silence — he just liked when she did.

matt laid back slowly, the gravel of the roof pressing into his shoulders, the city pulsing around him like something alive.

beside him, she shifted — her knee bumping his thigh as she mirrored his posture. the blanket rustled softly beneath them, the scent of buttered popcorn mixed with the faint, crisp cool of the night air.

“okay,” she breathed, like she was about to tell him a secret. “the sky looks like... spilled sugar across black velvet. but not perfect sugar — some pieces clump together, some scatter way out on their own like they’re being shy. and there’s this huge one, low in the sky, almost yellow. it kind of glows like the streetlamp outside the bodega near your place, you know the one?”

matt smiled, just barely. he did know. it buzzed faintly in the evenings.

“and there’s this long stretch — like someone took a paintbrush and just swiped it across the sky,” she went on. “that’s the milky way. it looks fuzzy. a little messy. like a kid did it. i always thought it looked like someone smudged the stars with their thumb.”

her voice had that unfiltered wonder in it again, the kind that made him feel like he could see it too, just in a different way. she described the sky not like she was reciting facts, but like she was telling a bedtime story — full of colour and strange comparisons and joy so tangible he could almost reach out and hold it.

matt turned his face toward her, though his eyes were still closed. he just wanted to catch more of her voice, the little vibrations in the air, the way her pulse fluttered a little faster when she got excited.

she was quiet for a beat, maybe thinking. then— “If you could see it, I think you’d say it sounds like wind chimes.”

that made him laugh, soft and sudden. “yeah?”

“yeah,” she replied, entirely serious. “like a bunch of tiny silver notes hanging in the dark. it’s not quiet. just... peaceful.”

he let the silence stretch this time, not because he had nothing to say, but because he was a little too full of it all. of her. of this domestic kind of magic she carried with her, the way she turned a rooftop and a blanket and a few whispered descriptions into something sacred.

she was precious in a way that crept up on him. not just because of how fiercely she loved things, or how she always brought snacks, or how she narrated the stars like they were old friends. but because she shared it all. with him. without hesitation. without pity.

he could’ve told her. right then. just blurted out I love you. but instead, he reached for her hand, interlaced their fingers lazily, gave her the smallest squeeze.

she squeezed back. said nothing.

the city murmured around them — traffic rolling slow a few blocks away, a dog barking hoarsely in the distance, someone playing jazz out of an open window three stories down.

matt turned slightly onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers still twined with hers. the gravel was digging into his arm, but he didn’t care. not when she was still talking, not when her voice was this soft, low-laughter kind of lovely.

“you’ve got popcorn in your hair,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to pluck it out with mock precision.

“no i don’t.” she said, but she was grinning.

“you do,” he insisted, holding up the offending kernel triumphantly, “evidence.”

she leaned over and swatted at him, missing entirely, and laughed in a way that made his chest ache. not in the sharp, bruised way he knew too well. but in that strange, aching tenderness that always came with being close to something — someone — good. something real.

“you think you're clever, huh?” she said.

“i do.”

“you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he smirked. “i’ve been told.”

she rolled her eyes audibly, somehow, and flopped back onto the blanket, tugging him down with her. his hand found her waist automatically, like it always did, like it knew the way better than he did.

they didn’t say anything for a while. just breathed in rhythm, letting the stillness settle like another blanket over them. it was easy with her. he didn’t have to chase the silence away or fill it with half-hearted distractions. she didn’t expect anything but what he gave.

after a few minutes, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “do you ever wish you could see them? the stars, i mean.”

he was quiet for a second, thoughtful. “not really.” he said finally. “i think if i could id be too focused on what I was missing all these years. i like it better this way.”

she shifted slightly, turning to look at him. he felt the movement, the small puff of her breath on his cheek. “this way?”

he smiled. “hearing it in your voice. feeling how much you love it. it’s better than the real thing, probably.”

there was a pause. then she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth — light, barely there. “you're such a sap.”

“only for you.” he replied, completely deadpan.

she snorted, and he smiled wider, because he liked making her laugh like that — unguarded, a little surprised. like she hadn’t expected it and couldn’t help herself.

“you know,” she started, voice laced with that familiar teasing, “for someone who’s all serious and broody in court, you’re kind of a softie.”

matt turned his head toward her. “broody?”

“yes. absolutely broody. you sit in court with your tie all perfect and your jaw all tense like you’re in a crime drama.”

��i am in a crime drama.” he muttered, deadpan.

“see? exactly that energy.”

he huffed out a laugh, the kind that vibrated more in his chest than in his throat. “you don’t think im mysterious and cool?”

“oh no, you’re mysterious,” she said, dramatic. “like that one neighbor no one sees during daylight hours.”

matt gazed at her with mock offense. “you think I’m the creepy neighbor?”

“i think you might be batman, honestly.”

he bit back a laugh, one corner of his mouth twitching up. “im flattered. but I don’t do capes.”

“suspicious answer.”

“you watch too many movies.”

she grinned, triumphant. “and you dodge questions like someone with a secret lair.”

he reached over, slow and playful, nudging her shoulder with his. “If I had a secret lair, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”

“ouch.”

“you’d try to redecorate it.”

she gasped like he’d wounded her. “that is not true. I would simply add a little mood lighting. maybe a throw blanket or two. some ambiance.”

he tilted his head toward her, pretending to consider. “you want to add candles to my non-existent lair. that feels like a fire hazard.”

“you’re impossible.”

“so you keep saying.”

she rolled onto her side, shoving him lightly. he let himself be moved, dramatic about it, like she’d knocked him clear off balance. her hand stayed on his chest for a beat longer than necessary, resting there like it belonged.

“you’re lucky you’re charming.” she admired him.

“and modest.”

she snorted. “deeply.”

matt’s smile softened.

“you’re kind of dangerous, you know,” he said quietly.

she blinked, surprised. “me?”

“yeah.” he leaned back onto the blanket again, hands folded behind his head like they were just two regular people stargazing and not… this thing that felt like more. “you make things feel easy. like I could stay here forever and not worry about anything.”

she didn’t respond right away. just curled up beside him again.

“good.” she said. “i hope it always feels like that.”

and for a man who could no longer see the night sky, matt murdock had never felt closer to it.

started 4.20.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (12 - Red)

Chapter Summary: Unable to accept that she is now part of the team, you try to avoid Wanda Maximoff at all cost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4k+ | Chapter Tags: Age of Ultron!Wanda, Enemies to Lovers (sort of)

A/N: I got some interesting asks about Y/N's background. There are backstories about Y/N that will come up since Part 2 is purely a flashback. However, things such as how she became an Avenger is not covered, but you're welcome to ask me for headcanons (or give your own!). P.S. Someone asked how old Y/N is in the flashbacks, and she's actually younger than Wanda P.P.S get ready for some action too! it's my first time writing such a scene *_*// More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pretending Wanda Maximoff didn’t exist was easier than you initially thought.

You got good at avoiding her. It became part of your routine—timing your movements through the compound to miss her by minutes, memorizing her schedule so you could always be somewhere else. Sometimes you’d see a hint of her around a corner, a flash of the crimson jacket she usually wore or the dark fall of her hair, but you'd steer in the opposite direction without a second thought.

She seemed to reciprocate—or maybe she simply picked up on the hint. Either way, you both managed to coexist without the need to acknowledge the other. You, a lifelong night owl, suddenly found yourself becoming a morning person the moment you realized Wanda preferred the training room in the evenings. Working out before dawn felt like the safest plan. You told yourself it was working.

Meals, however, were trickier. The kitchen and dining area were unavoidable shared spaces, and schedules didn’t always align as neatly as you’d hoped. Some mornings, you’d find her already there, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, or she’d walk in just as you were finishing up. 

The team had a tradition—dinners together, a semblance of family in a life that lacked roots. You started to skip these, opting for protein bars or quick microwaves alone. It was easier than facing her across the table, being reminded of what she forced you to see back in Johannesburg. 

But then you noticed Wanda stopped showing up, too. On the nights you did show up, her seat was empty. The others didn’t seem bothered, but you couldn’t shake the feeling it was your fault. 

Despite having won the territory, you couldn’t shake the guilt that came with it.

—

Steve and Tony were at each other’s throats again.

Their arguments had become more frequent in recent weeks, and although you usually stayed out of it, they were beginning to take its toll on the team. You could tell lines were being drawn; team members quietly taking sides, aligning themselves according to whoever had a mission lined up. 

You walked into the meeting room, late as usual, pretending you hadn't heard them from halfway across the building. Steve stood rigid, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set like granite. Tony reclined with that maddeningly casual air that mostly irked Steve, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other animatedly waved as he spoke. 

Wanda was tucked away in the corner farthest from the door, partially shielded by Vision. Trying to avoid Wanda only made you seek her out involuntarily, as much as you wished not to.

“I'm telling you, Tony, allowing the government to dictate our actions undermines everything we stand for,” Steve said.

Oh. This again? The politics of it all was your least favorite thing about being an Avenger.

“Accountability,” Tony replied. “We can't keep making unilateral decisions without considering the global implications.”

Steve shook his head. “We've operated just fine without bureaucratic red tape slowing us down. Every second counts when lives are at stake.”

Tony snorted in a way that’s supposed to rile up Steve even more. “Operating 'just fine'? You call the messes we've left behind 'just fine'?”

You cleared your throat. “Sounds like a party in here.”

Neither of them acknowledged you. Your gaze unintentionally drifted toward Wanda, and you caught her eyes just as she quickly looked away.

“Since when did you become a fan of bureaucracy?” Steve asked.

“Since the paperwork started piling up from our little international incidents,” Tony said, pouring himself another shot of whiskey. 

You grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, leaning against the counter as their words volleyed back and forth. 

“Paperwork? Is that what this is about? You’re tired of paperwork?”

“I’m tired of taking the blame for all of us,” Tony said. 

“Well, you did create Ultron, didn’t you?”

Tony's eyes narrowed. If he weren't clad in his robe, he'd be suiting up right now. “Low blow, Rogers.”

“Truth hurts,” Steve replied.

You took a bite of your apple. “You two need a time-out or something?”

Tony turned to you, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, look who finally joined us. Got anything to say?”

“Nope,” you replied, chewing deliberately. “But could you tone it down? Your arguing is scaring the children.”

“You are the ‘children’,” Clint said with a smirk and you gave him a dirty look. 

Natasha hid a smile behind her glass. 

“I meant Vision,” you said, pointedly not looking at the synthezoid lest your gaze accidentally land on Wanda again.

Steve exhaled sharply. “This isn't a joke.”

Natasha set her glass down carefully. “Does this really need to be settled now?” she asked, her tone of voice indicating she’s taking charge now. “We gathered the team for a briefing, remember?”

“You're right,” Steve conceded. “We can discuss this later.”

Tony shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, what's on the agenda?”

Vision, to your surprise, got up from his seat. You recalled that before becoming whatever he was now, he had been Stark's AI, which gave him direct access to global networks. He would be among the first to hear any distress calls.

“We've received intelligence about a potential threat escalating in Southeastern Europe,” Vision said.

You took another bite of your apple, listening but keeping your expression neutral.

Steve picked up a remote and clicked it, causing a holographic map to appear in the center of the room. Red markers dotted a specific region. “A rogue faction has been intercepting shipments of advanced weaponry.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Stark tech?”

“Sort of,” Steve allowed. “But they're not just shopping for tech. They're also headhunting for the enhanced.”

At that, Wanda shifted slightly in her seat at the back, her attention fixed intently on the map. You noticed but quickly averted your eyes, focusing instead on the holographic display.

“Any idea who’s leading this faction?” Natasha asked.

“Not yet,” Steve said. “But Intel suggests they're planning something big, and soon.”

“So what’s the plan?” you tossed out.

Steve's eyes swept the room. “We intercept them before they can mobilize. It’s in the rural mountains of Cilo,” he pointed to a spot on the map of Turkey. “Barely any civilians, but we still play it clean—minimal casualties.”

“I'll prep the suits and run some satellite sweeps. Maybe we can get a clearer picture of their operations,” Tony declared, and without waiting for a dismissal, he headed for the door. Steve watched him leave, shaking his head with a mix of irritation and resignation.

“Roles, then,” Steve started, raising his voice just enough to reach the corners of the room—a small gathering today; Rhodes was with the U.S. president on a diplomatic trip in Asia, and Sam was aiding Sokovian refugees settling into their new homes.

“Natasha and Clint, you'll handle reconnaissance. Vision, you will join Tony for air support. I'll lead the ground team.”

“Who’s on the ground team?” you asked.

Steve held your look. “You, me, and Wanda.”

The pit of your stomach clenched. “Fantastic,” you muttered.

“Problem?” Steve challenged.

You quickly schooled your expression. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “We roll out at dawn. Meeting’s over.”

As you headed toward the door, Natasha fell into step beside you. “You okay with this?” she asked quietly.

“Why wouldn't I be?” you replied, not meeting her eyes.

She gave you a knowing look. “I know what you’ve been doing. Pretending Wanda doesn't exist isn't going to work on a mission.”

You sighed. “I'll be professional.”

“See that you are,” she said. “For everyone's sake.”

—

The mission was set for the next day, and you were mentally running through strategies, trying to anticipate every possible outcome. What you hadn't expected was a knock on your door late in the evening, well after Steve's usual bedtime of 9 PM. 

Normally, you'd peer through the peephole to check who it was, but your mind was elsewhere—fixated on a particular restaurant in Istanbul you hoped to visit if there was any downtime after the raid. You'd never confess this to anyone, but you were a bit of a foodie. Sampling the best cuisine in each country your Avenger duties took you to had become a personal quest. 

Without thinking, you stood and walked over, opening the door to find Wanda standing there, her hands nervously clasped in front of her. You looked down at your feet, waiting. 

“I need your help,” she said. These were the first words she had ever spoken to you, and you didn’t know why you'd taken note of it.

You didn't glance up. “Don't recall offering it.”

She slipped inside without asking, the soft soles of her boots silent on the floor—a detail that annoyed you. “Steve said he wants minimal casualties, and my powers aren't exactly…gentle. I need to learn how to fight without relying on it too much.”

“So go ask someone else.”

“There's no one else available right now,” she murmured. “Natasha is out, and Steve thought it would be good if we—”

You cut her off, finally raising your head to look at her. “I'm not interested.”

Wanda scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t be coming to you if there’s—”

“Then maybe Vision can help you,” you suggested coldly. “He seems to have taken a liking to you. I'm sure he can dig up some martial arts videos for you.”

She bristled. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like being civil is something that could actually make you sick.”

You met her gaze, unflinching. “I don't have time for this.”

Wanda inhaled sharply, and a strange energy coursed through your veins, the furniture in your bedroom shuddering as though caught in a miniature earthquake. But you held your position, unafraid.

“If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have to report back to Steve,” she warned. 

The threat was so feeble it almost made you laugh.  But you aimed to be more cruel than that.

“Go ahead,” you replied coolly. “Tell him I won't hold your hand.”

Wanda looked on the verge of an outburst. Good.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you still standing at my door?”

Without another word, she closed her eyes briefly. Suddenly, you felt a subtle push against your thoughts—a whisper not your own. “Why do you hate me so much? We have to work together—”

You recoiled, anger flaring. “Get out of my head.”

“I was just trying to—”

“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you spat, getting in her face. “Don't ever do that again.”

She reeled back slightly. If it weren’t for the fact that she was a hundred times more powerful than you, you might have thought she was intimidated. But as you drew near, you saw it wasn't anger in her eyes, but hurt—a wounded response to your harsh dismissal.

After a few seconds, Wanda nodded. “I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again,” she said softly.

Just then, Clint appeared around the corner. You gave him a questioning look. He might have seemed like he was just passing by, but you weren’t deceived. Clint had no reason to be in this hallway at this hour. It seemed more likely he had been eavesdropping on the last part of your conversation and chose this moment to step in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked lightly.

“I was just looking for someone to help me with hand-to-hand training,” Wanda explained, already backing away from your doorway.

“I’m the guy for that,” he replied. “Head to the training room, I'll join you shortly.”

“Thanks,” she said, casting a final glance your way before turning on her heel and striding away.

Clint turned to you the moment you two were alone. “Got a minute?”

“Not really,” you replied, though you stayed rooted in your spot.

He leaned against the wall beside your door. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn't look like nothing,” he countered. “You're being pretty rude.”

You folded your arms. “She never apologized to the team.”

“And you think giving her the cold shoulder is going to fix that?” he asked. “Grow the fuck up, kid. Bullying the new recruit isn't doing any of us any favors.”

“She did some really awful things, Clint,” you reasoned. “She hasn't taken responsibility for that.”

He sighed. “And you've never screwed up? Never done something you regretted?”

“That's different.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Because from where I'm standing, we all have our demons. You don't see the rest of us acting like we're better than anyone.”

You looked away. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

“Wanda showed me more than just a bad dream,” you whispered. “I—” You started to spill the details of your nightmare but stopped, the fear of appearing vulnerable, of seeming weak and worthless like your mother always made you feel, silencing you. When it became apparent you wouldn't continue, Clint added, “Ever thought that maybe she's dealing with her own nightmares too?”

You glanced back at him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because we're a team,” he said simply. “And teams look out for each other. Even when it's hard.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“No one's asking you to be her best friend,” he said. “But at least be civil. Professional. The mission depends on it.”

You nodded, standing straighter. “I'll do my job.”

“Good,” he said, pushing off the wall. “That's all I'm asking.”

“Good night, Clint,” you muttered, heading back to your room.

“One more thing,” Clint called out just before you could close the door completely. “You’re right—she never apologized to the team. But she sure as hell apologized to you earlier.”

—

The Quinjet touched down just beyond the rocky outskirts of the small Turkish village, three miles from the fortified base the team was about to infiltrate. The rogue faction had been using it as a stronghold to store advanced weaponry and conduct illicit operations. You unbuckled your harness and stood, adjusting your gear as the rear hatch lowered to reveal the arid landscape bathed in the golden hues of early morning. 

Natasha caught your eye as she secured her gear. “Play nice,” she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. 

You gave a noncommittal shrug in response.

She arched an eyebrow but didn't press the point. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her Widow's Bite and headed down the ramp.

Clint was perched near a cluster of boulders, bow ready. He didn't speak; he just shot you a pointed look and nodded slightly. You'd never felt more babysat than you did at that moment. Trying to make an effort to improve your working relationship with Wanda (at their behest), you headed toward her without a clear plan for the conversation. A pep talk maybe? You weren’t great at those, but you had absorbed enough from Steve to last several lifetimes.

But just as you were mere steps away from her, she breezed past without a glance in your direction, heading straight toward where Steve was waiting for Tony and Vision's signal to advance. It was as if you didn't exist.

Fair enough, you thought. Two could play at that game.

You tapped the side of your headgear, bringing up the HUD that F.R.I.D.A.Y had uploaded with the mission parameters. A translucent map overlaid your vision, highlighting your designated route through the village's eastern perimeter. Your task was to secure the potential exit points and ensure no targets slipped through once the operation commenced.

“All right, everyone, we’ve got clearance from the air team,” Steve's voice trembled over the comms. There was an unusual distortion in the signal, and you silently hoped it wouldn’t cause problems later. “Check in.”

“In position,” came the succinct reply from Natasha

“Ready on the western ridge,” Clint reported.

“Copy that,” Steve said. “Wanda and I will approach the main entrance from the south. Y/N, you take the north side. Secure any escape routes and watch for patrols.”

You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Understood.”

“Keep comms open and stay sharp,” Steve added, and with that, everyone moved into position.

You moved into position, the rugged terrain providing ample cover. The north exit was a chokepoint—a narrow path bordered by steep cliffs. Perfect for an ambush, but also a potential death trap.

“All clear on my end,” you whispered into the comm.

“Strange,” Clint remarked.

“Same here,” Natasha agreed. “It's too quiet. I don’t like it.”

Your instincts prickled. 

Then, a faint vibration underfoot. You frowned, kneeling to touch the ground. The tremor grew stronger, rhythmic.

“Do you feel that?” you asked softly.

“Feel what?” Steve's voice came through.

Before you could respond, the ground shook violently. From hidden crevices and camouflaged tunnels, a swarm of hostiles erupted, pouring into the pass like a flood. Dozens—no, hundreds—armed to the teeth and moving with eerie coordination.

“Ambush!” you yelled, scrambling for cover.

“Hold your position—we're coming for you!” Steve roared. 

It should have assured you, but for the next few minutes, you were on your own. You took stock of your surroundings. The pass was narrow—a choke point. It was clear now that it’s a trap, and the enemy got lucky that a superpowered didn’t end up scouting this area.

You opened fire with your dual silencers, taking down several men with precise shots. But for every one you dropped, two more seemed to appear in his place. They weren’t just attacking—they were herding you, forcing you deeper into the pass where the escape routes grew fewer and fewer.

Sweat trickled down your temple as you struggled to hold them off. Your muscles ached, and your breaths came in ragged gasps. An unexpected blow struck your side, slamming you against the rocky wall.

Gritting your teeth, you pressed against the cliffside, muscles taut. Outnumbered and isolated, and not to mention trapped on a dangerous corner, survival seemed impossible.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “Think.”

Just as the closest attacker lunged, a surge of energy hurled him backwards. Wind seemed to come in every direction as Wanda landed on her feet beside you, her eyes glowing red.

Relief washed over you. “Your timing is impeccable.” You hadn't expected that seeing Wanda would make you feel so incredibly safe, but it did. It really did.

She gave a faint smile, eyes scanning the swarm of hostiles regrouping ahead. “We need to find a way out of this trap,” she urged.

“Agreed,” you replied, reloading your weapon. 

The narrow pass had become a funnel, channeling them straight toward you. Rocks jutted out from the cliffside, creating pockets of shadow.

“We're pinned down,” you noted, pressing your back against the cold stone beside hers. The space was tight, forcing you closer together. You could feel the warmth radiating from her despite the cool mountain air. 

Wanda glanced upward. “We might be able to climb to that ledge,” she suggested, her breath brushing against your ear.

“Worth a shot. I'll boost you up.”

Wanda gave a small, amused smile. “You don't have to do that. I can get up there myself.”

It took a moment for the realization to hit you. Of course—her psionic abilities allowed her to levitate. That's how she'd reached you so quickly earlier; she'd flown. Heat rushed to your face as embarrassment set in. “Right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit foolish. “I forgot you could... you know...”

If Wanda picked up on your discomfort, she kept it to herself. “I can give you a lift if you want,” she offered.

You looked up at the ledge, then back at her. Swallowing your pride, you gave a curt nod. “Sure.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Just relax.”

That was easier said than done, considering the enemies that surrounded you both. But even harder than that was the idea of letting Wanda use her powers on you, even if it was just to help you reach that damned ledge.

“Ready?” Her eyes combed yours, fishing for consent.

“Ready.”

Her hands came up, almost invisible in their movement. A warm fuzzy feeling wrapped around you, and the ground fell away as she floated you up, effortless as breathing.

“Almost there,” she murmured.

She steered you onto the ledge, and when your feet hit solid ground, you exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding. “Thanks,” you tossed over your shoulder.

She smiled up at you. “Don’t mention it.”

She joined you shortly afterwards, landing gracefully beside you. The proximity was unavoidable on the narrow ledge, and you were acutely aware of how close you stood.

“Now what?”

Wanda leaned against the wall beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “We need to find a way to contact the team.”

You checked your equipment. “Comms are jammed.”

She frowned. “They must have a dampening field.”

An explosion rocked the ground nearby, showering you with debris. “We can't stay like this here forever,” you muttered.

Wanda took a deep breath. “There is... something I can try.”

You glanced at her. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard. “I can get inside their heads—like I did before—to make them stand down.”

Like she did before in Johannesburg—to you, to the entire team in this mission sans Vision. You saw the fear in her eyes—the fear of your judgment, of repeating past mistakes. It struck you then how much she regretted what had happened between you.

Another burst of gunfire erupted, making you both flinch. There was no time.

You looked her in the eye and nodded. “Do it.”

Wanda wasted no time further. She got to work, her hands moving like a spider’s legs weaving its web. Looking down, you saw the men freeze mid-step. One by one, they dropped their weapons, eyes wide with unseen terror.

Unable to help yourself, you asked, “What are they seeing?” 

Wanda kept her eyes on her work, pointedly avoiding your gaze. “Their worst fears and deepest guilts. They’re confronting the nightmares that haunt them most.”

For a split-second, you felt sorry for these people.

“Let's move,” you said, placing a reassuring hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

—

Reaching higher ground, you and Wanda were finally able to reestablish communication with the rest of the team. From his position, Steve was quick to inform the local authorities about the perpetrators that Wanda had incapacitated with her powers, ensuring they remained trapped within their own mental constructs until help arrived. Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint were busy collecting crucial evidence from the scene, items they believed would be vital in piecing together a solid case against the previously concealed masterminds of the operation. As for Vision and Tony, they razed the base to the ground. 

Back at the Quinjet, you and Wanda took up positions to oversee and secure the extraction route.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

She looked up, slightly surprised. “Y-You’re welcome.”

You shifted your weight, grimacing slightly at a bruise forming on your side. “Thought being a veteran would make this mission easier,” you mused, going over the jet’s controls to give yourself something to do while you both waited for the others. “Overestimated myself this time.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully. 

Another period of silence stretched out, taut but not entirely uncomfortable. She seemed to wrestle with something before speaking again. “May I ask you a question?”

You hesitated, wary of where this might lead. “Sure.”

She took a slow breath. “Do you think... you might ever forgive me for what happened in Johannesburg?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the distant peaks. “Deep down, I know it wasn't entirely your fault,” you began, “but sometimes it's easier to face your fears when you have someone else to blame for them.”

She absorbed your words quietly. “I understand,” she said softly. She thought about Tony. For the longest time, she blamed him for everything.

“Wanda, I—”

Before the conversation could continue, footsteps crunched on gravel behind you. The rest of the team was coming down the trail, and Natasha was the first to pick up on the fact that you and Wanda had been left alone together without any fireworks.

She walked up to you with a sly grin barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “Good work out there,” she said.

You rolled your eyes and drifted to a quieter corner, away from the team.

Wanda had saved you. That much was clear, and it meant you owed her your life—a debt that sat uneasily with you. You were grateful, of course, but the last thing you wanted was to owe anything to anyone.

Especially not to someone who terrified you to your core.

[bitebitekxll]

Physical Catalyst

Notes: Years ago I read an isekai fic that referred to guns as ‘physical catalysts’ which is where I got the name from (haven’t been able to find it but I’ll link it if I do) but the rest are just my own musings about a reader with a gun in Teyvat. Also first attempt at making a divider, but I think it’s kinda cool

So whether it’s SAGAU or regular isekai, imagine reader is in Teyvat, no one knows they’re not from Teyvat, and they have a gun.

This in and of itself isn’t a big deal, most people carry weapons in this world and tons of them have guns. But the thing is, they’re not the same as real world guns, are they?

Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but every case of guns we’ve seen in genshin (pyro fatui skirmishers, Chevreuse) shoot out what looks like elemental energy. Maybe they’re bullets infused with elemental energy, like what we see with the arrows for the bow users, except the bow users can still shoot regular arrows. We never see the guns shoot regular/non elemental bullets.

Which is why my theory (that might be pulled apart in a future update but for now…) is that they don’t exist. Teyvat guns are capable of shooting elemental energy, maybe fuelled by the wielder’s vision/delusion or maybe using some kind of pellets, but they are not equipped to shoot with the force needed to make a regular bullet be of any use.

So when reader shows up and has a gun from their world? Oh boy. A handgun is no weapon of mass destruction, but anything that can take down a lawachurl in one well-aimed headshot will terrify Teyvat’s inhabitants. I mean, their guns do damage too, sure, but it’s a relative amount. A burn from a shot of pyro, a shock from a shot of electro. The concept of a gun that can instantly kill someone, quicker and easier than an arrow? Using a tiny piece of metal that isn’t even sharp and doesn’t explode? You are going to throw entire nations into chaos.

If word gets out about it, you’re gonna have law enforcement from across all the continent investigating you, not to mention the fatui— be prepared for the harbingers to be hunting down your ass trying to get their hands on such a powerful weapon

Of course that’s only if you let the cat out of the bag. Use your weapon away from prying eyes, and you’ll probably be fine. Dead hiluchurls tell no tales, after all. Or men, if you’re more chill with murder.

It probably wouldn’t be too hard to find a metalsmith who could take one of your bullets and make more. Though I wonder what explanation you’d give as to what it is, without giving away the ‘deadliest handheld weapon in history’ thing.

Idk I just think the introduction of bullet-operated guns in Teyvat is interesting, might write some stuff for the different characters reactions to it at some point

[heliosunny]

I really like your Anaxa x mage reader very much!! but I wonder how Anaxa would react if he saw how mage reader was willing to break something apart of her just to remove the binding curse

Yall love 2 see him suffer huh

Yandere!Anaxa x Mage!Reader

Visit [main timeline]

The Magic Fall churned violently. It sensed what you were about to do. It knew you were about to break yourself. But you did not hesitate. You had to be free. You had to sever the curse, to rip Anaxa’s magic from your veins, no matter the cost.

And the cost was steep.

Something unseen, something vital tore apart inside you the moment you forced the incantation through your lips. Pain unlike anything you had ever known devoured you.

And Anaxa felt it. The spell cracked.

His magic snapped away from yours, the connection severed, the binding shattered. And then you collapsed. Your body slumped forward. Your vision flickered.

Something was missing.

Something was gone.

But you didn’t know what.

He caught you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you too tightly, too desperately.

"…Master?"

His voice broke.

You couldn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t want to— But because your mind was blank. Something important had been stripped away, but you had no idea what it was. His fingers dug into your arms, as if holding you would put back the missing pieces. As if clutching you close would undo this.

But it wouldn’t.

And he couldn’t accept that.

You woke up in the tower.

Soft sheets. The scent of incense. The faint hum of magic and a weight beside you, solid and unmoving. You turned your head. Anaxa was there, kneeling at your bedside, gripping your hand in both of his own. His fingers tightened the second your eyes fluttered open.

"…Master" he breathed.

He sounded wrecked. As if he had spent days searching for something he could not find.

Your mouth felt dry. Your limbs were heavy. Your mind was

…Empty.

You swallowed, throat aching. "What…"

What did I lose?

The question never left your lips.

Because the moment you tried to think about it, it slipped away.

Anaxa watched you. His grip did not loosen.

His gaze dull, haunted, never wavered. He could see it.

See the blankness.

See the part of you that had been ripped away.

And he was shaking.

"…You’re still you" he whispered, more to himself than to you.

As if saying it would make it true.

As if repeating it would keep you from slipping further away.

You frowned, your pulse uneven.

Something felt wrong. But you couldn’t grasp it.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his forehead, pressing it there—

Like a prayer.

"I will never forgive you" he whispered, the words trembling, breaking, unraveling. He exhaled, shuddering. "You threw yourself away....for what? To be free of me?"

Then his arms wrapped around you, crushingly tight, desperate, unrelenting.

"Why?" His breath ghosted against your neck, grief seeping into his every syllable.

"Why would you do this?"

You did not know the answer. Because you could not remember.

After that, he never let you out of his sight.

You breathed? He was there.

You walked? He followed.

You studied? He sat beside you, refusing to let go of your wrist, as if he thought you’d disappear.

And when you woke up, trembling in the middle of the night, a hollow ache in your chest, he was already holding you. Already whispering, already trying to mend what could not be fixed.

"I’ll be whatever you need" he murmured against your temple. "You don’t have to remember anything, Master. You only have to remember me."

You didn’t know what you had lost.

But he did.

And it was eating him alive.

Because you were different now. The way you moved, the way you spoke, the way your magic hummed, it wasn’t the same.

Something fundamental was gone. And it was his fault.

Because if he had been stronger, if he had just kept you closer, you never would have done this to yourself.

So he clung. Tighter.

He buried himself in your existence, refusing to let another piece of you slip away.

If you tried to push him back, he only held on tighter.

If you tried to tell him you were fine, he laughed, bitter, hollow.

"You’re not fine."

"You’re missing something."

And the worst part?

Even without knowing what you lost, you could feel it.

Every time you looked at him.

Every time you caught him staring, his hands trembling, his breath uneven, his expression unreadable, you could tell.

He would never stop grieving. And he would never stop loving you.

Your fingers drifted through his hair.

Soft. Warmer than you expected.

Anaxa froze. His breath caught, his shoulders tensed, as if your touch was something he had longed for but never thought he would receive.

Your voice was gentle.

"I don’t know what I lost."

"But I know you’re still here."

He broke. A sound escaped him, something strangled, something raw. His hands clenched at your robes, his forehead pressing against your shoulder and then he was trembling. A slow, painful tremor that shook through him, through you, through everything.

"Don’t say that" he rasped. "Don’t—"

He exhaled sharply, but it didn’t steady him. Nothing could.

Not when you, the one thing he could not bear to lose, had been hollowed out before his eyes.

Not when you, who had once been so sharp, so untouchable had become this.

This kind, empty thing.

His arms tightened around you, desperate, as if holding you harder would keep you from fading further.

"You’re not supposed to comfort me" he whispered, voice shaking, utterly ruined.

"I don’t deserve it."

And yet, you still held him.

Still let your fingers run through his hair.

Still stayed.

And he- he shattered.

Tears slipped onto your skin, quiet, unrestrained, unstoppable. He buried himself in you, clinging, breaking, unraveling.

And for the first time, he felt what it was like to lose something you could never get back.

[astra-ravana]

Mirror Magick Applications

Mirrors are a big part of our lives. Mirrored surfaces, both man-made and natural exist almost everywhere. Every culture has myths regarding mirrors and I'm sure some of these we have all heard. Such as breaking a mirror is worth seven years of bad luck, that you shouldn't keep them in the bedroom, or to cover all your mirrors after someone dies, so their soul isn't trapped. Mirrors are more than just shiny bathroom fixtures, they are literal portals and amplifiers with several magickal utilities.

Trapping Energy by Charging Mirrors

Mirrors can be used to 'trap' the energy of any setting you find particularly powerful. For example: leaving your mirror close to the ocean waves or in a dark forest overnight. It will absorb the potent natural energies, then you can use the mirror in late workings as you please.

Lunar magick is another area where mirror work is ideal. Place a few mirrors under the moon to charge them with the energy of that phase. If you want to use them for a specific purpose, consider marking them with a symbol or sigil. When you need the energy of the moon, or a moon phase, you can access it as needed by using an appropriately charged mirror.

Amplification

Mirrors, like crystals, can help to amplify the power of your spells ans rituals. Keeping a mirror on your altar can bolster and increase the success of your workings. Just as focused sunlight on a mirror ignites a fire, focused magick will ignite a spell. Make sure your spell components are reflected, or better yet, perform the working on top of a mirror, to substantially increase its power.

Scrying and Accessing Other Realms

When correctly utilized mirrors can be used to access messages and visions that we wouldn't normally be able to connect with. Scrying is an ancient divinatory magick that is often used as a form of fortune-telling. Traditionally, a lot of scrying was done with water, the ancient Celts and Greeks even practiced this form of divination. Mirror scrying is an evolution of these water oracles, with historical practitioners like the famous John Dee, who used highly polished silver, brass, mercury, or obsidian.

Scrying wit mirrors can be particularly powerful due to the idea that your reflection is the manifestation of your soul. When viewing your reflection, if you're well in tune with yourself, you can ask your soul questions regarding your life and development or even open up the door to another dimension entirely. Mirrors can be enchanted and sigified into being gateways in and of themselves.

Many scrying mirrors are black because one's own reflection can be rather distracting. The traditional material of a black mirror is obsidian, however you can craft your own by painting one side of a piece of glass black. Picture frames are great for this. A black mirror is the best option for scrying as you won't be distracted by your own features, leaving you open to interpret your visions.

Banishing

Mirrors, as reflective surfaces and magickal conductors, are often used in banishing spells. Banishing magick can be used when someone is directing negative energy your way or you're being harassed. In this case, a mirror can be used to return bad energy back to the person who sent it.

Banishing magick can be a wonderful tool when applied to bad habits or negative thoughts as well. To banish an idea or behavior, encant something akin to: "[what you're banishing] you've caused me pain, I banish you, now stay away. Mirror help to reflect my plight, and keep [what you're banishing] out of sight". Keep the mirror close to you in order to protect you from what you're banishing.

Defense

Mirrors are also an incredibly effective defensive tool. They can deflect any negative energy, ill intent, or malevolent spirits sent your way. By placing mirrors in areas where you need the most protection, you can repel any unwanted energy trying to infiltrate your space. For added potentcy, draw a protective sigil/symbol on the mirror and/or place a protective crystal in front of it.

Hexenspiegal: The Witch's Mirror

A hexenspiegal is a small mirror used as a protective charm to reflect away baneful/attack magick, the evil eye, and other bad omens and intentions, as well as return the energy back to its sender. Its basis is in German folk magick. Translated, it means "witch's mirror". Hexenspiegals may be suspended from cords, fastened to walls, or, in the case of small ones, worn as jewelry. You can make your own by cleansing, decorating (optional), and sigifying/enchanting a small mirror to your intent.

[daylightstring]

how to become the source of what you desire.

to become the source of what you desire, you need to stop seeing your desires as something separate from you. everything you want already exists within you, and your job is to live from that state as if it’s your natural baseline. here’s how to actually do that in a real, embodied way:

1. stop waiting and start being

a lot of people wait for the relationship, the money, the dream body, the recognition, thinking then they’ll feel confident, secure, safe, or happy. but the truth is, nothing on the outside will ever create lasting change unless it reflects who you believe you are. start now. stop saying “once i have this, then i’ll be…” and start asking “how would i feel, act, walk, speak, breathe if i already had it?”

2. create a stable inner world

to be the source, your internal state has to be stronger than your external circumstances. develop emotional self-discipline. that means not reacting when things don’t look how you want. feel what you need to feel, but return to your center. ground yourself through breathwork, meditation, or journaling. remind yourself daily that you are the creator, not the victim. your power doesn’t come from controlling the outside, it comes from mastering the inside.

3. shift your self-concept

your self-concept is the root of everything. if you still see yourself as someone who is unlucky, unwanted, behind, or insecure, your life will keep reflecting that back to you. every day, affirm the version of you who already has it. “i am chosen. i am adored. i am magnetic. i am respected. i am living in my dream life.” don’t just say these things, feel them. own them. let them become your new inner identity.

4. take aligned actions, not desperate ones

being the source means you trust deeply. you’re not chasing, begging, or forcing things. instead, you’re taking inspired steps that match your vision. if you’re manifesting luxury, how would you treat yourself now? if you’re manifesting love, how would you treat your body, your time, your energy? if you’re manifesting success, would you procrastinate or would you move like someone who believes their work is gold?

5. drop the fantasy, embody the version of you who has it

manifestation isn’t about daydreaming forever. it’s about closing the gap between what you want and who you’re being. embodying means making decisions as that version of you now. how do they dress? how do they speak? how do they hold themselves? how do they spend their days? start becoming them piece by piece.

6. detach from the timeline

the version of you who is the source isn’t checking the clock or obsessing over when it will come. she knows it’s already hers. when you detach, you’re saying “i trust that it’s done and coming in the most perfect way.” you move with grace, confidence, and calm because you’re no longer in lack, you’re in alignment.

7. live in the “of course” energy

you don’t need to prove your worth to receive. it’s not about deserving more, it’s about being more. the you who is the source doesn’t hope she’ll get it, she knows. she’s not shocked by her blessings, she’s grateful but unfazed. “of course i got the role.” “of course i met him.” “of course i’m glowing.” make this your dominant energy.

you become the source the moment you realize it was never about attracting, it was always about revealing. peeling back the doubt, fear, and programming until all that’s left is you, fully aligned with everything you’ve ever wanted. not because you chased it, but because you finally let yourself be it.

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love.

Chapter: X-Rose-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 6k+ 👀

♠︎Warning: ghosts, manipulation (it is kind of a positive one here so🐒)

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist.

Ring… the ring of promise was a tricky piece of ornament. For one it was love, peace, destiny. For others, it was a burden, slavery, anguish.

The faithful oaths, the ones that made life full of colour, hope, and laughter, made the weight of the ring feathery light. Those rings were the honour of love, the reminder of a family at the house that made it home, a lover who kissed his beloved or his wife with love.

The deceiving oaths, the ones that break your soul and crush it under the weight of the ring. The reminder of the unspeakable. It feels like you have been sold to serve the aristocrats who abuse you for their luxury.

Coronis’s finger tingled, her cheeks, her neck… they all tingled as the heat of His fingers lingered on her. The bloody necklace because of which she was brought here was around her neck again, burning her skin.

Thinking back at the time, she wondered if she had never removed the damn thing, would she have been saved?

She would have been back at the village, with her little family. Just existing. Poor Circe, she had always been Coronis’s closest. Her little eyes were most likely waiting for her older sister to come back and pick her up and tell her how everything was fine. She wanted that to be true. She wanted to hear that that was what was going to happen.

The palace was enormous, but her little shack was what gave her peace. This was a prison but that was home.

Oh, Nori, she thought. She never got to talk to her and tell her how wrong she was. Out of every person, Nori was the only one who made her screaming mind shut. Her soft touches against Coronis's skin, her tiny pecks… everything about her was perfect.

The desperate look when Coronis talked to her was heartbreaking—the way she forgave her in a breath.

Just one more night, that's all Her Highness wanted with Nori, where they could desperately engulf each other in their arms and touch, and make love all night. Just somewhere she could be herself and leave the pain behind. Somewhere she could dump all her obligations and responsibilities away.

She wanted to feel like a woman she never was. But with Nori, she was that. More than ever, she realized how much that one girl affected her life and gave her so much without even realising it.

Love, she gave her love.

Then her heart dropped into her stomach as the face of Nori flashed in front of her eyes from the time when He took Coronis by her hair. Nori was confused but more so betrayed.

The hurt in her eyes was fierce.

Coronis rubbed her eyes vigorously to remove the vision from her brain. Everything was already enough. Now thinking about how she hurt an innocent wasn't going to change anything. She had no way to go back and tell her. So she could only proceed in her life and pray for Nori to find someone who could love and cherish her like no tomorrow.

She was interrupted as the heavy door to her chamber opened. Turning around, she saw the guard- Jimin standing there. She sat up straight on her bed.

“Your Highness,” He bowed. “The Lord has commanded me to make you acquainted with the palace,” he informed. “And I am obligated to look after you till the sixth night.”

“Oh…” she said, knowing nothing about how to act in the royal palace. Ana did say that she would guide her around and teach her the etiquette necessary for a Queen-to-be before she left.

“I’ll guide you to the gardens,” he said as he stepped aside, gesturing her to follow him out.

“Right away?” she asked, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden need to get acquainted with the palace.

Jimin looked at her, “Pardon me, Your Highness, if I could, I would rather you rest however it is the perplexity of the concern. The Lord has demanded that you should be well-versed with the gardens as Your Highness might need it this instant.”

Hesitantly, she stood up and followed him. Anything against the orders of His Majesty was only going to put her in danger along with the helper who was ordered so. “It is fine. I do wish to get away for a while…” she said leaving the fact that she was feeling asphyxiated by the stiffness in her chamber. If she did stay there for more, she might indeed end up losing her consciousness.

The long hallways opened up to the thorny gardens, distinct from the one at the entrance of the palace. She noticed that it was at the back of the main palace and other structures were standing tall, not connected by any means. It was all beautiful to look at. The top of older towers next to each structure was covered by the thick mist, only the dark shadow could be seen through the blur.

The palace was what she thought the death house would look like. All grim and ruined. How many screams and blood trails did this hell-bound face throughout agonising time? She thought.

In front of her, there was an endless sea of dead ground, covered in dying shrubs. The chilling winds threaded through her long luscious hair. She could faintly hear the whispers again although it was harder to make what they were trying to tell her.

“Your Highness,” Jimin called. “This way,” he gestured towards the right corridor from the door. She followed the guard and passed many more who bowed their heads for her. Every single soul in the palace was now aware of their, His and Her Highness’, engagement.

Would they have respected her if she was here as a commoner and not their Highness’ love interest? Presumably not. Why would these rotting men care for that? The men in the shackle would have used her and discarded her long ago.

She looked at Jimin’s back. Only he was different, carrying fear in his tiny eyes and secrets in his shivering chest. She wondered if he would reveal them to her. Thinking about her thoughts, she scoffed. Everyone here was His loyal. No one. No one would betray him under His nose.

Jimin opened another door that led to the garden which was closed from all four sides. There were doors but not a single body guarding them, maybe it was guarded by the souls...

The garden was still large. The faded trails between the beds of dead black and red roses led to a bench and a tiny crumbling table between the flowers by the old fountain that had no water in it.

The flowers needed love. They were dried, empty and deprived of love. Coronis’s aching instinct wanted to replenish the garden. It seemed like once, this place had that love and care it needed to thrive.

“His Highness has gifted you this precious garden in hopes that you will bring back life to these dead hopes,” Coronis looked at the guards’ distant eyes.

She inhaled the stale scent of the roses as she took in the beauty of the ruin. “Bring back to life?” she slowly asked. “Did this place have any life before?”

He did not say anything. she, again, looked at him. The pain was shining in the guard’s eyes and delicate face. Maybe the once-forgotten memory pained him. He lowered his head, “Forgive me, Your Highness.” before Coronis could ask why, Jimin straightened up and turned around, “Please make yourself cosy, Your Highness. This garden is all yours now.” he then bowed and left her alone, closing the door behind him.

Nothing in this palace was remotely relaxing. Every edge of this folly buzzed with the fear of the unknown. Had she known that day that just getting her calf back for the meadows would cost her whole life, she would never have gone out or at least worn her cloak to hide her troubled head.

But now she was here, in the palace of the devil, waiting to get tied with the devil himself.

Sighing, she carefully stepped down the steps and slowly walked towards the table. Her benign fingertips brushed the delicate, withered petals of the roses. The thorns scratched her tips as she walked through them. The red against her porcelain skin was a contrast.

Upon reaching the table, she saw a pair of scissors, a big pretty black, dusty vase with some dead roses in it and some still on the table. ‘Why would anyone leave them half done?’ she thought as she picked the dusty roses off the table. They have been there a long time. Why haven’t the rain washed them away? Another question invaded her mind. The palace was as if it had a mind of its own. It seemed that it worked on its own laws, separated from the rest of the realm.

This garden was stuck in time.

This palace was guarded by the spirits, she could believe that now, especially after the encounter with spirits in the hallway a few moments ago when she was being taken for the gathering for the announcement of the marriage in the Lord's court.

The marriage…

Coronis felt weak in her knees and dropped on the chair that was already out of its resting place. The marriage was in just six nights. She was fated to be His Queen. She felt like the end of her life was laughing at her.

His Highness was a man of a wicked character. She found Him disconnected. He was a man of impulse and did what his stone heart demanded even though it was wrong-headed.

He was packed with secrets. There was much more to him than just his surface. His cruelty had an origin.

When Coronis was little, she was aware that the King, His Highness’ father, was a man perceived by the black spirits. His soul was black and when he died, the black soul flew in the sky like a rag and busted away. Finishing him and passing the curse.

Nobody knew how he passed away. The secret was buried in the palace she was sitting in. The legends said that the King’s own flesh would finish his throne. But the throne was still intact. Could it mean that His Highness ended His father's life?

Though it was an enticing question, the present was more dreadful. The King was dead. Coronis wasn’t. She needed to find a way to survive this tarnishing life before it gave up upon her. Glancing around the garden, she thought maybe she could indeed bring back life to this beauty.

She sighed and stood up, her knees were shaky but she roamed around, taking in every small detail of the surroundings.

As she was walking around the fountain she saw a red peaking out. When she got closer she saw a book lying there, covered in a dense layer of dirt. However, it seemed like it had been touched as there were faint streaks of fingers running down the book. But who would have touched the book? It is quite prevalent that this place has been opened now after who knows when. Maids were not allowed considering the dusty, dirty being of the garden. It wasn’t maintained. And thinking about a moment back when she entered the place, the only foot marks were by the door. Not this far.

Slowly she bent down and picked up the book. With the inside of her gown, wiped the dirt away as best as could from the velvety lining. She opened the book; on the first page, in beautiful handwriting was written “Dear Moon”. The ink was black but there were splotches of red painting it. As if it were dried blood spots. Coronis’s shaky fingers turned the page but before she could see what was written in the book, her fingers felt a piercing pain of burn making her drop the book on the ground.

Before she could react any further, on the dirty ground next to the book, in an elegant writing, it scribbled “Not Yet, Dear…”

Coronis’s scream stuck in her throat, she abruptly backed away and ran out of the garden, the thorns of the roses scratched much harshly, her skirt stuck between them, tearing it ever so lightly.

Panting, she managed to knock on the door, “Open the door, please!” she banged. “Please open the door! I wish to go back to the chambers!”

In an instant, Jimin opened the door for her. “Your Highness,” he bowed and led her to her chamber in the deafening silence. He wanted to ask what happened but he knew what conceivably must have happened. He could hear Her Highness sniffling behind him as she followed him like a wet puppy.

“Soon it will be dinner assemblage… His Highness expects you to attend it. He is organising a feast in respect of the marriage and he wishes Queen-to-be’s presence, diligently.” Jimin reports her.

…

The ballroom was filled with the scent of the delicious feast, packed with people. They all carried themselves like they owned the world which they did. They are the bloodhounds that rule over the realm. They may not be as powerful as His Highness himself but they were no less guilty in making this murderous realm.

Their hands were caked with the blood of millions and millions from the past. Their eyes were dead, no emotions reflected in them… just dead of the night sky. They were just puppets, in the end. But they were on the other side of the puppet world. These men taught their people how to be like them; the dangerous killers of humanity and dignity.

Coronis felt suffocated among them. She didnt belong there. She was an outdated lowlife in their eyes but they couldn't voice it out to His Highness. They preferred to be on the good side of the Master. They witnessed Amos’s dismissal. His screams, they could still hear them.

Amos was marched around in the palace for all the guards and ministers and maids to see what would happen if they even peaked at Her Highness. She was unattainable. They all were lowlifes in front of Coronis. This is what His Highness wanted to pass to everyone in this feast.

However, Coronis couldn’t find Him. Everybody bowed to her, the maids paid their courtesy to the Queen-to-be.

Some maids tried to win her over by offering some tidbits and drinks to her. But Coronis didn’t pay them any mind. She was escorted down here by Ana. Jimin was not there either. Even though Ana was there with her, she did not feel protected. She wished Jimin had been there by her side with his soft yet protective aura.

It was all a display of regard. The moment they turned around, they whispered among themselves, mocking her. She could hear but what stand did she have? She was just a girl. A captive of their Highness that He will use and throw away like a broken toy down the bridge where they threw the rest who were dead or half dead.

She felt like a prey in the grounds of predators. It was the reality but now it was dawning on her. There were most likely a handful of people who wanted revenge or wanted to kill the Master but they might take it through her. Who knows what goes on behind the closed doors of these sinister ministers?

She didn't need to think more. The ballroom on the opposite side opened and there stepped in the Great Lord himself. He was a handsome man. Coronis knew it but more so now when He came in dressed in His official attire. He wore His heavily jewelled crown with pride, His ears were decorated with long earrings, and His fingers were looped with rings but the ring on His ring finger of His left hand outshined the rest. He was dressed in a white blouse with huge necklaces lacing down the front; black silk-patterned pants hugged His thighs and ended under His leather boots. His cloak was of maroon velvet with black fur around it. It was long enough to trail behind Him.

His face… Coronis had to suck in a deep breath. He was breathtakingly handsome. His eyes were shadowed by the black kohl. His pretty lips were tinted with natural red. His jaw was sharp, and cheeks defined. His long, thick neck disappeared under the neck of his blouse.

His luscious hair was left open down to his narrow hips. The curtains of His shorter hair framed around his face. They looked soft and shiny. She wouldn’t have minded running her fingers through his mane if he were…

Her thoughts halted when the eyes of His Highness found her. Then she realised that they had all bowed down to give Him the courtesy. Quickly, she, too, bowed her head and waited.

The heavy boots thudded across the ground and stopped right by her toes. His Highness drank the beauty of His beloved. She was a good girl for bowing. He saw how her eyes ranked up and down His body. He could feel the heat of her eyes on His body, making His cock twitch in His pants. But he needed to wait for her to be ready before He could do anything. In the end, the fruit of patience is always sweet.

Coronis was wearing the gown that He had given Ana for Her Highness. A tiny smirk grew on his face. She looked immaculate in it. It fit her like a glove. The blouse of the gown hugged her perky breasts and pumped them up. The shoulders of her gown draped down her arms, beautifully. The skirt was long and a train followed her. It was black lace over the dark maroon velvet, it was flowy and not stiff. The bony necklace rested prettily just below the hollow of her neck.

Her hair was tied in a messy bun on top of her head, with pretty twists in the front. A piece of jewellery decorated them. He pinched her chin gently and raised her face, her eyes glancing into his cold ones.

“Oh, my dear Little Birdy…” His Highness purred with tenderness. Her smoky eyes, similar to His were beautiful with a pair of shaky black pupils. Her cheeks were tinted with blush and her lips dark maroon. They looked pretty against her porcelain skin. Her soft hair brushed against her cheeks. “Exquisite, you, my love, are exquisite…” His eyes were dazed as He gapped, hypnotised by her.

His large, warm hands cupped her face. His thumb rubbed tiny circles on her cheeks. She was home to him. His heart cracked as He felt warm. He wanted her to see what leverage she held over Him. She had become His strongest strength and the weakest weakness within a few weeks.

“My pretty, pretty Birdy…” He whispered. “The mere idea of you fills me with the desperate need to touch you, ravage you, eat you out in front of everyone just to claim you as mine and then fucking kill them all for seeing you,” He hummed, His hands lowering on her neck.

She was frozen under his warm touch. Unwantingly, her heart started to beat faster and her body flushed with heat. There was a throbbing in her ears and between her thighs. She hated that He was unresistible. But she kept herself at bay.

“Tell me, Little Birdy,” He purred. “Do you like the gown I got for your pretty body?”

She bit her lip, to keep her scared whimper in and nodded her head, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Her pulse was throbbing against His palm.

“Words,” He bellowed.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she whimpered. “I- I like the gown that you got for me,” she barely said.

He hummed with joy. “As you should! Have you even seen yourself tonight?”

“No, Your Highness,” she shook her head. Looking at herself was the last thing she had in her mind when she was going to get married to her doom in just six nights.

His big hands enveloped her small one in His and took her to the wall that was decorated with gold, and glass. She followed Him with her head lowered. Upon reaching, He made her stand in front of Him and raised her head with his two fingers under her chin.

She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the glass between the clean gold plates. A gasp left her mouth upon seeing herself in the glass piece. It was as if she was looking into the eyes of some elite lady who was seasoned to be a Queen by birth.

Coronis couldn’t believe what she was looking at. The reflection in the glass was- was resplendent; so sublime.

She never thought she could be so charming ever. Her natural beauty was breathtaking already and with the right care and proper feed, she was splendid. She hasn’t seen herself in a reflection in a long time. Even the fountain in the gardens was dried up, with not a drop of water.

Her mouth remained ajar. She felt a spark of confidence coursing through her veins. Her body shook not with fear but with the suffocation of the feeling that she had never seen herself like this before. All this time everyone told her that she was fabulous. Nori once told her that once she (Coronis) would see for what she truly was, then she would realise what power she held over the minds.

Coronis’s beauty was hypnotic. It was a means of manipulation and she never realized it.

“Look at yourself and tell me you see the most enchanting woman in this world,” He lowered his face to her ear and whispered. “Tell me you see what I am seeing.” He nuzzled his nose in her silky hair, sniffing her sweet scent. “Tell me what you see, my Little Birdy…”

Her mind was running fast, not registering what was happening. But she nodded, “I see… myself,” she muttered to Him. “I see myself. I look— I look good…”

His Highness chuckled, His warm breath hitting her ear. “Just good, My love? I say you are not even real,” He straightened up and held her by her shoulders. “I see everything. I know everything. Nothing goes past me,” He began. “Your pretty face screams your inferiority but you do not realise that you are superior to all these jesters here. You do not realize your worth. It is not only the beauty of yours but your little nature of being,” He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered, “You are more than what you see yourself for, Coro…”

The way He called her name sent a shiver down her spine. But it also scared her how much He was correct. All this time she considered herself as a lowlife but they were truly beneath her feet. She was better than any of them combined.

“Do you know what power you possess?” she shook her head no as He chuckled, “You will soon find out. You are more than what you let yourself take praise for. You, my Little Birdy, are more than what you realize…” He moved back a bit, giving her a space. “Now I enjoin you to turn around and walk right before me with your pretty head held high up. Be the Queen you deserve to be. Show them your authority. Do not bow down in front of any of them. They are beneath you… if not because of me then let it be because of your kindness and love. You have something they don’t– love and kindness… and the power!”

Coronis looked at the glass. There was a new fire burning in her eyes against all present there. At that moment, what His Highness was expressing was getting into her head, rightfully so. She looked at both of them standing. She noticed how they were dressed similarly. Smoky eyes, black and maroon attire, the burning eyes with superiority. The only thing she was missing was her crown.

She felt as if she was above them all but He was still above her. She could see it in the way His menacing eyes were gleaming in the burnt yellow glow of the mashals and candles. But He wanted her to hold more than them but a bit less than what He had.

“Didn't you hear, Little Birdy? Turn around and show these lowlives what you are,” He pressed.

Taking in a deep breath, Coronis straightened up. She raised her chin and broadened her body. “Now you will command them and start the feist. Make them pay respect to you the way they pay me. You have gained more control than them.”

With a nod, she turned around towards the crowd where they were still in a bow. Not a single tsk was heard. If a pin dropped, it could be heard. The orchestra was paused too as they bowed. Everything was paused, waiting for a command so that they could finally become the beasts and get drunk and tear through the roasted pigs.

His Highness looked from where they were standing. Jimin who was asked to accompany His Highness bowed down as the Queen-to-be passed him, with her giving him a tiny nod. She walked with her newfound spirit, her head held higher than the sky. Her hips moved swiftly with each step. Her demeanour made His Highness want to devour her right away. She was the only woman who made Him wait and crazy. He was not mad. He loved what she brought with her.

From the nearby tray, she picked up the goblet filled with red wine and climbed the stairs of the podium.

She glanced at Him once more before she began in a loud, confident voice, “I will become your Queen in less than six nights. You shall respect me like so,” she spat. “One more word uttered in disrespect of me will be your nightmare. This feist is for me and I will fucking rule over you. You will bow down to me, and beg for my mercy every day. My command shall be your duty from now on. If I say the day is night, then the day is night! Am I clear?!” she was a whole new being on the podium.

The people looked up with wide eyes at her. They frantically looked between her and His Highness. But He just smirked and stood pridefully.

That night, she didn’t only become their Queen but His pride as well.

“I said, AM I CLEAR?” she roared.

The people snapped out of their shock and complied.

“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”

…

The night was long. But still not enough to stop the storm inside His Highness.

He was still wide awake. It was closer to the morning, and raining and yet He was still cooped in His bochord. His cloak was gone, the crown was resting in its place, and the blouse was undone but draped over His broad shoulders. The adrenaline of the feist died down as soon as His Little Birdy was escorted back to her chambers.

After a few glasses of the wine she let herself feel breezy. Her cheeks were twice as red. She was magnetic. He made sure that she was by His side. Not behind but right next to Him. He wanted them to see how He saw her. She was braver than most of his ministers and officials. The way she demanded respect made His heart swell.

His Highness never wanted to marry anyone. He never wanted any woman to be important to him after Her but Coronis was… she was…

There was no word yet discovered for what she was.

His Highness was reading a book that She used to read. There were many lines that She had drawn under the words which She thought were moving. It was an epic. Like any other epic, they were fighting over a girl. They were killing and killing, only for one girl.

But there was more to it. In the book, the hero was a typical heroic man. He saved the girl and gave her a beautiful life away from the eyes of the hateful world. However, the villain was left alone, deprived of any love and care.

Not long after, the girl left the hero and ran away with someone else. It wasn’t the hero or the villain. The girl just couldn’t live with a man who was more worried about who was looking at her than the relationship they had built. She had left everything behind for the hero but the hero was fixated on the fact that someone else might take her.

The girl didn’t like it, she felt as if she was just living there with a strange man and then she left with a man who loved her and wasn’t fixated on the idea of having her but was truly in love with her and not like a price but luck.

His Highness always found this book to be fascinating. He never truly understood it but knew why She read it all the time. She was, just like the girl in the book, suffocated in the ordeal.

The train of His thoughts halted as a faint piano started to hum through the door of the bochord. He frowned and got up from His seat. Opening the door, He followed the sound of the music. He walked down the corridor towards the open space on His floor where the piano was.

As He rounded the pillar, He saw Coronis’s dark hair glowing under the candles. She was hunched over the piano while sitting on the stool and playing a sullen tune. Something in His heart stirred. The piano and the rain made His throat fill up to the brim. Her fingers danced across the keys as the sadness poured out of the big instrument.

Closing His eyes, He leaned His back against the pillar and let Himself get drowned in the tunes of His beloved.

With each passing moment, the grief through the tunes grew stronger and stronger. They forced the rain outside to match the thunder of her feelings. The ruthless winds grew stronger as if they were in grief with the Queen. The windows shuddered and banged under their pressure and the lightning bolted. But nothing stopped Coronis. She let herself go through the music.

His Highness opened His eyes to look at her. She was still unaware of his presence. He now noticed a crow sitting on the piano, looking intensely towards Him. it was as if that thing was trying to protect Coronis.

His Highness just kept peering at them in silence.

Her tunes slowed down as her shoulders shivered. The cold wind from the storm made her locks wave around her, gracefully. He could now see the wetness down her soft cheeks.

Finally moving from where He was standing, He gently touched her shoulders and rubbed her arms to give her some warmth from His palms. Coronis froze under His touch.

“Don’t stop, my Little Birdy,” He whispered. “Keep dancing your fingers across the keys, my Love.”

She obediently followed His words and resumed her tunes. The warmth of His palms warmed her. His presence was heavy behind her. His figure was towering over her, looking intently at the way she was playing the piano.

“I feel like you will be the reason for my death,” He muttered in her ear. “I am incapable of feeling but you, my Little Birdy, make me feel more than I can ever imagine.”

Coronis didn’t say anything but kept playing the keys. Her heart was heavy and needed to let it out. The confidence wore her down like a curse. She realized she could win over anybody but not Him. He was still her captor. She was still away from her family and Nori.

While she was here being gifted lavish gowns and being fed delicious foods, they were back at the shack. They were still fighting day and night for everything. Circe must have been a mess.

Coronis wanted to shut her mind now. It was too much guilt to carry for her. She let herself focus on the notes and played the piano.

“I am aware of the fact that you are not fond of me,” His Highness said. “But I will make you love me soon,” he kissed the top of her head. Her tears slipped down her cheeks far more furiously as a painful sob pulled out of her chest.

Coro was by the window of her shack by the moment Coronis returned from the feast. Coronis quickly opened the window after Ana left her alone after helping her change into her white nightgown.

The crow flew in and landed in her extended arm. “Coro, what are you doing here,” she whispered, feeling too many things at once as she saw him after so long. Only Coro could visit her like this. “Oh, what is this?” she questioned as she saw something stuck on his feathery back.

Letting the crow rest on the table, she removed the bag from his back and opened it. She gasped as she saw a tiny book inside it. She pulled it out and with it, a tiny ink pot with a feather was there.

Turning the the book open she saw the first page written in her father’s handwriting. Her eyes filled with tears as she traced the letters with her shaky fingers and started to read–

‘My beautiful girl, Coronis. It is your father. Upon returning, I couldn’t take the fact that you were gone. Everyone is devastated. The home doesn’t feel like home anymore. I do not think getting you married would have worked for any of us either. We can’t live without you. No one has smiled since you have left. No one wants to talk either.

I get it now why your mother was always so attached to you. You are different, Coro. No wonder why His Highness took you for himself. We were made aware today by the guard that you were getting married to His Highness in six nights.

We don’t know how we feel but you will become the Queen. We can only hope that you are being treated like one. My princess deserved good things but fell into this. I am sending you this notebook so you can write down what you can’t say out loud to anyone. Hide it smartly, yeah?

It will be alright, okay? Do not fear anyone. You are stronger than them. And do not worry about any of us. We are fine and getting by. Onyx was missing you so was Martha. Circe has been a good girl. She hasn’t created any trouble since you left. She said she made a promise to you to be a good girl for you. She is being a good girl, she wanted me to let you know.

If you can, write back to us… tell us how you are, okay?

Much love, princess.’

That event left her vulnerable and sensitive. She turned to the piano that was here. If only she could go and meet her parents once.

“Little Birdy?” she was snapped back by the raspy voice of the King. “have you heard about the legends regarding the one and only in this world?”

“No…” she whispered.

“You should,” He hummed against her cheek. His warm lips brushed against her cheek ever so lightly yet making her flinch away.

intrigued by the great legends of this realm, she asked, “W-what does it say?” she whimpered when He tightened the hold on her arms and let go.

Without waiting He turned around and unhurriedly stepped away. She kept glancing at Him. He was intimidating as He was walking away. His long hair brushed against His hips and flew with the wind around Him. before disappearing in the corridor, He halted and turned His face slightly so could only see His law and cheek. He inhaled and finally spoke–

“The lone will birth, carry the black of the vault. The ember will come back to life. The omen will attune. The lone would behold and no one shall rebel…”

…..

Sanaa's note:

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

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