#just thinking about them makes me nauseous

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Beautiful Monster

Monster!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Word count: 910

Summary: Wanda messing with the darkhold might have gone a bit too far, but you don't seem to mind one bit.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, mommy kink, power play, mild breathplay (hand on throat). power imbalance, possessiveness, emotional dependency, obsession, magical corruption, transformation, Monster!Wanda imagery and non-human features during intimate scenes, canon divergence post-Westview

Authors notes: I was sent a tiktok by @scarlethexelove and then said like two things to her about it and here we are. Enjoy~

“I’m not a monster Stephan, I’m a mother.”

You remember those words clear as day. You’d followed Wanda since the Westview incident. Everyone else in town hated her for what she did, but not you. She’d given you purpose in that hex. So when she tried to fly off you ran towards her. Grabbed out for her. She looked down at you with what most probably saw as menacing, but not you. Not when you looked up at her with such a need and she could read your mind. So she took you. 

You thought she’d give up eventually on getting back her boys. The ones you’d ‘babysit’ in the hex. She didn’t though. It consumed her whole, right before your very eyes until one day you heard an explosion of her magic, felt it pulse through you and made you nauseous. You ran to her in the basement where she’d hole away with the darkhold. 

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw her. Her wimple had melted into her, becoming a part of her. Leaving her now glowing red orbs for eyes behind a cage. The tips of the wimple protruded out; now instead of two there were four points and they now resembled horns like a demon. Her fingers were longer and more claw-like, you couldn’t tell where her nail ended and flesh began. The familiar black tipped fingers you'd become accustomed to seeing now held red in them. A more crimson than scarlet color like her namesake. Her skin was paler than before and her lips stuck out looking like she’d worn black lipstick the day before and it hadn’t quite come off. 

“M-mama…?” Your voice shook. You were worried she’d been fully consumed this time. It was a nightmare of yours that she’d forget you wholly if the darkhold consumed her too much. 

Her head slowly tilted, you could see the orbs narrow like she was pinpointing who you were. Then she looked down at her hands, slowly wiggling her fingers in a wave pattern. She was adjusting. “I’m here baby.” Her voice was different, deeper, a whisper of an echo to it. 

You surged forward knowing it was still her, cupping her face and surprising her. A smile on your face as tears pricked at your eyes before falling over with your words, “I thought I’d lost you.” You squeaked out, a crackle to your voice. Her hand reached up, a long finger curled to wipe the tears. 

“I’m not leaving you. I just needed more power, but now I’m exactly what they all think I am…a monster…” You held her face a little tighter. Fingers brushing over the bumps and ridges of the wimple that seeped into her skin. 

“You’re beautiful Mama. Always beautiful. Not a monster.” You manage out before leaning forward, letting your lips crash into hers. She wrapped around your waist, holding you close like she might lose you if she doesn’t hold you so tight. 

She deepens the kiss, pushing back against you and pushing her tongue into your mouth. It feels different too, longer, slimmer. You moan into her as she backs you against the wall. One hand found your throat, the other slid down your front, pushing past your waistband as she pulled back from the kiss. A gasp came from you as the tips of her fingers hit your wetness. Your eyes finding hers, a smirk on her face making you go flush. 

“So wet for me Milaya…I’m not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. Do you like Mommy like this?” Her voice husks against you, wrapping you up and causing a fog over you. You nod,but that just gets you greeted with her hand leaving your throat to smack you. “Words.” 

“Yes Mommy!” You cry out, squirming under her touch and clenching around nothing before two fingers are slipping inside of you. “A-ah…Mommy…mmm” 

“Good girl. You can take Mommy so well can’t you? You’re made for Mommy no matter what form she takes.” Her hand is back on your throat, voice whispering in your ear. “Do Mommy’s fingers feel good? I bet they’re hitting so deep.” She drawls out the last word as she curls her fingers into your spot. Making you moan out and buck your hips forward. Your hips keep moving with her fingers. She can feel you tightening and hear your thoughts. She knows how close you are. “Look at me baby.”

You do as told and look up at her. Your eyes are dark and glazed over. You wouldn’t even be able to disobey her words if you wanted to, which you don’t you never would. 

“Cum for Mommy. Now.” It’s the way her voice sounds, like you have no choice. Even if you weren’t close you’d have fallen over the edge at them. 

Your whole body shook, you gripped onto her as moans and whines poured out your mouth. You never stopped looking at her though. Not once as the waves washed over you. She was too beautiful. She always was, but something about how she was right now just gave you pause and you never wanted to stop looking.

“Such a good girl for me.” Her movements slowed until she took them out, licking them clean and giving you a better view of her tongue as it wrapped around her fingers. You bit your lip subconsciously and she smirked. 

“Let’s continue this in the bedroom darling.” 

[auroralwriting]

illicit affairs chapter five

pairing: biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

summary: retail therapy with the girls is always the way to solve family drama, especially after you might've just cut ties with tony once and for all

warnings: violence, language, small age gap (6~ years), angst, arguing, drinking, overall crime and gang stuff, sort of enemies to lovers

: ̗̀➛ series masterlist | masterlist

Dread. That was the one thing you felt deep in your soul the next morning. Of course Tony had found out what you had done. Why wouldn't he? It was a stupid decision on your part. Even if you paid The Guardians to be quiet, Tony would've doubled it to find out who paid them off.

Against your better judgement and Clint's warning, you found yourself walking into Tony's penthouse, fist clenched and jaw set. You knew what you were walking into. Tony had a nasty temper--just look at your healing hand.

Tony's voice bounced off the walls. He sounded angry, rightfully so. The moment you stepped into the room, Clint sent you a weary look. Vision looked almost nauseous, Bruce's eyes grew wide, and Rhodey and Tony looked as if they could have killed you right then and there. It was actually surprising you didn't already have a bullet hole straight through your skull.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Clint shook his head. You could practically hear his thoughts: you shouldn't have come. Clint was usually right. No doubts he was about to be right again.

"Tony--" you tried, your voice calm, a hand out trying to coax him to be easy. Almost like you were walking up to an aggressive dog.

Tony’s glare cut through you like a blade, his dark eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. He was still in his suit from the night before, his tie pulled loose and his shirt rumpled, as if he hadn’t slept. His hair stuck up in a way that might have been comical if his face wasn’t twisted in such raw, seething anger.

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me,” he snarled, his voice crackling with fury. “You went behind my back. My back. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel the weight of the others’ eyes on you – Clint’s silent, pleading stare, Bruce’s worried frown, Rhodey’s tight-lipped grimace. Vision looked like he was trying to calculate the best way to break up a potential fistfight without anyone getting seriously hurt.

“I did what I thought was best,” you replied, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your hands trembled. “I paid them off to avoid a bloodbath, to keep you from walking into a trap. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Tony barked out a bitter, humorless laugh, his chest heaving. “You think you know better than me? You think you’re some kind of mastermind now, pulling strings behind my back like I’m some idiot who can’t handle his own business?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Tony cut you off, his voice rising with each word. “You just put a target on your back, do you understand that? You’ve shown your hand. You’ve proven to every goddamn person out there that they can manipulate you – that you’re the weak link. You’ve made us look like fools.”

He took another step toward you, his face mere inches from yours now, his breath coming out in short, angry bursts. You could see the wild, furious gleam in his eyes, the barely contained rage that had always lurked beneath his polished exterior.

“You don’t get to make these kinds of calls,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to play hero. That’s my job. That’s my fight.”

For a split second, you saw it – the fear behind his anger, the raw, unfiltered terror that had always driven Tony Stark. The fear of losing, of being outmaneuvered, of watching the people he cared about get hurt because he wasn’t good enough, smart enough, fast enough to save them.

“You're not a hero,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “None of us are heros.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to find a crack, a sign of weakness, a reason to keep tearing into you. But then he just let out a shaky breath, turning on his heel and raking a hand through his hair, his shoulders trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

“Get out,” he said, his voice rough, broken. “Just… get out. I can’t look at you right now.”

You felt a sharp, painful twist in your chest, the cold, cutting edge of rejection slicing through you. You glanced at Clint, who gave you a tiny, sympathetic nod, his eyes soft with unspoken understanding.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, your footsteps echoing off the cold marble floors as you made your way back to the elevator. You didn’t look back, even as the doors slid shut, cutting you off from the chaos and anger and hurt you’d left behind.

The ride down felt like an eternity, each second stretching into a painful, suffocating silence. As the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, you took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter, to hold your head a little higher, even as the tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

You’d made your choice, and now you’d have to live with the consequences. But a part of you, the part that still remembered the sound of Tony’s laughter, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, wondered if you’d just lost your brother for good.

Retail therapy – that’s what Clint had called it the last time you got into it with Tony, when you spent an absurd amount on a leather jacket you never ended up wearing. This time, you were determined to actually pick out something useful, something that felt like you, rather than a desperate attempt to fill the growing gap between you and your brother.

The mall was busy, even for a weekday. The steady hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes from the food court, and the distant, repetitive thrum of pop music over the speakers did little to distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. You’d barely managed to make it out of the Tower without breaking down, and now, surrounded by strangers and the bright, bustling chaos of consumerism, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

You wandered into a high-end boutique, your fingers brushing over the racks of carefully arranged designer clothes, the soft, cool fabric a small, tactile comfort. You were lost in thought, your mind replaying Tony’s harsh words on a loop, when a familiar, sharp voice cut through your haze.

“Stark? That you?”

You whipped your head around to find Natasha and Wanda, both dressed casually but still somehow managing to look effortlessly badass. Natasha had her hair up in a messy bun, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in, while Wanda’s soft, curious smile was framed by loose waves of dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

“Oh,” you stammered, trying to force a smile. “Hey, guys.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked over you, her brow furrowing just slightly as she caught the tight, tense set of your shoulders, the way your hands were clenching and unclenching at your sides. “You okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

Natasha’s gaze was a little harder to read, but you caught the way her head tilted slightly, her eyes sharp, like she was already piecing together the situation. She crossed her arms over her chest, one perfectly shaped brow arching. “You look like you’ve just gone ten rounds with Tony,” she remarked dryly, a hint of dark humor in her tone.

You let out a small, bitter laugh, running a shaky hand through your hair. “Close enough.”

Wanda stepped closer, her eyes still searching your face for cracks in the armor you were trying so hard to hold together. “What happened?”

For a split second, you considered brushing it off, making some lame excuse and slipping out the door before they could push you further. But then you remembered that these two women had probably seen more broken bones, bruised egos, and shattered friendships than anyone else you knew. If anyone could handle your mess, it was them.

"Tony found out," you sighed, rubbing a hand over your forehead. "About The Guardians. How I paid them off."

Wanda reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, her eyes filled with a quiet, empathetic understanding. “Come on,” she said softly, tugging you toward the back of the store. “We’re getting you something nice. Consider it a distraction.”

Natasha smirked, already scanning the racks for something in your size. “Yeah, something sharp, something that says ‘I’m not taking anyone’s shit today.’”

For the first time in hours, you felt a small, genuine smile pull at the corners of your mouth. Maybe retail therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

As the three of you shopped, you truly took in the presence of two women. It wasn't often you were surrounded by people other than the men in Tony's gang. Wanda and Natasha were lovely, truly. Even if they were Southside Avengers. They were funny, nice, and they truly seemed to give a shit about you--something you couldn't really say for your gang.

“Okay,” Wanda said, leaning against the full-length mirror in the fitting room with a mischievous grin. “You can’t just brush this off. What’s the deal with you and Bucky?”

You groaned, running your hands down the fabric of the jumpsuit, still processing the sudden rush of old memories. “There is no deal, Wanda. He barely looks at me, let alone talks to me. I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

Natasha’s sharp laugh cut through the air as she leaned on the other side of the mirror, arms crossed, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the way he stares at you when you’re not looking. It’s not hate, Stark. Trust me, I know the difference.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix the strap of the jumpsuit. “He’s just… intense. It’s not the same.”

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze soft but curious, head tilted like she was trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. “So, what happened? Why are you two so… weird around each other?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against the silky fabric. You hadn’t talked to anyone about this, not even Clint, who knew almost every dark corner of your life. But something about the way Wanda’s eyes searched yours, gentle but unrelenting, made you feel like maybe you could trust her. And Natasha, despite her razor-sharp edges, had a loyalty that ran deeper than most people realized.

With a shaky sigh, you leaned back against the wall, the coolness of the mirror pressing against your bare shoulder. “It’s… complicated. He was there. The night my parents died.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the rack she leaned against. “You mean he was involved?”

“Not exactly,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not like that. I think he was just… caught up in it. Wrong place, wrong time. But knowing he was there, that he saw it, maybe even could’ve stopped it… it’s hard to look at him and not think about that night because I honestly don't know. I don't know how involved he was or if he even...”

Wanda’s face softened, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours gently. “I had no idea. That must be so hard, to be around him.”

You gave a weak, bitter smile, your eyes drifting back to the mirror, catching the haunted look in your own reflection. “Yeah. And I think he knows it, too. It’s like we’re both just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For one of us to finally snap and say what’s really on our minds.”

Natasha leaned closer, her sharp eyes never leaving your face. “Maybe that’s what you need. Rip the band-aid off. Get it out in the open, and maybe you’ll both feel better.”

You huffed a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll just make things even worse. I don’t exactly have a great track record with this stuff, you know?”

Wanda gave you a small, encouraging smile, her fingers still warm against yours. “You’re stronger than you think. And if Bucky can’t see that, then he’s the one missing out.”

Natasha straightened, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “Or we just get him drunk enough that he can’t keep his mouth shut. I’ve got some very effective vodka stashed away for just this kind of situation.”

You couldn’t help the small, genuine laugh that escaped your lips, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to finally confront Bucky – to stop letting the past keep its icy grip on you.

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself off the wall and forcing a more confident smile. “Let’s get me out of this jumpsuit before I overthink this whole thing and run for the hills.”

Wanda and Natasha shared a quick, conspiratorial glance as you turned back to the fitting room, the echoes of their quiet giggles following you inside.

The three of you had just finished at the checkout, your arms weighed down with glossy shopping bags when Natasha suddenly slowed her pace, her sharp eyes locking onto a group lingering near the mall entrance. You followed her gaze, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the familiar, towering figure of Steve Rogers. He was standing beside Sam, who had his phone out, and Bucky, whose face was partially hidden by the brim of his baseball cap, the dark fabric shadowing his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes.

Wanda let out a small, delighted gasp, her arm brushing against yours. “Oh, look who it is,” she whispered, her voice dripping with playful mischief. “Talk about perfect timing.”

Natasha shot you a knowing smirk, adjusting the bags on her arm as she straightened up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t say I never do anything for you, Stark,” she murmured, her tone sly as a fox’s.

Before you could protest, Natasha raised her voice, calling out to the trio with a casual wave. “Hey, boys! Fancy running into you here.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his face breaking into a broad, welcoming grin as he spotted Natasha. Sam’s eyes lit up, and he quickly pocketed his phone, elbowing Bucky in the ribs as he straightened. Bucky’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced a small, polite nod in your direction, his eyes flicking over you briefly before returning to some distant, imaginary point on the polished mall floor.

“Hey, ladies,” Sam called, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s with all the bags? You robbing this place or just single-handedly boosting the economy?”

Natasha smirked, shifting the bags on her arm. “A little of both. You know us.”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Stark. Nice to see you out and about.”

You forced a small, tight smile, suddenly very aware of the way your heart was racing, the slight, annoying tremble in your hands. “Yeah, figured a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt.”

Wanda, still practically glowing with excitement, leaned in closer to you, her eyes sparkling as she glanced between you and Bucky. “We found some really cute stuff. You should see what she picked out.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up for a split second, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his gaze darted to the bags in your hands before quickly dropping back to the floor. You felt your cheeks heat, and you silently cursed Wanda for putting you on the spot.

Sam, ever the instigator, waggled his eyebrows, clearly picking up on the strange, tense undercurrent passing between you and Bucky. “What, you didn’t pick anything up for the rest of us? I’m hurt, Stark.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Maybe you should buy Barnes something. Might get him to actually speak to you for once.”

You shot her a sharp look, your heart now thudding wildly in your chest, but before you could respond, Steve clapped his hands together, his bright, blue eyes sparkling with that boyish charm that always seemed to disarm everyone around him.

“You ladies heading out for drinks again tonight?” Steve asked, his gaze shifting briefly to you, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “You should come by The Grove again. It’s on me this time.”

Wanda shot you a quick, excited glance, her arm tightening around yours. “Oh, we’re definitely in. Right, Stark?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, any excuse, but Natasha was already nodding, her eyes locked on Bucky with a wicked, satisfied grin. “Of course. We’ll see you there, boys.”

Steve’s smile widened, and he gave a small, approving nod. “Perfect. We’ll save you a seat.”

As the three of them turned to leave, Sam shot you a playful wink over his shoulder, while Bucky remained silent, his head dipped low as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. You caught the briefest flicker of his eyes in your direction, a ghost of something unreadable passing over his face before he turned away.

The moment they were out of earshot, you turned on Natasha, your heart still thundering in your chest. “What the hell was that?”

Natasha just smirked, tossing her hair back as she started walking again, her steps quick and confident. “That, Stark, was me doing you a favor. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Wanda giggled, her arm still looped through yours. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

You groaned, glancing down at the bags in your hands and already regretting everything. “This is a terrible idea.”

Natasha glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with the sharp, dangerous glee of a woman who lived for this kind of chaos. “No, sweetheart. This is a game-changer.”

[kinardnatural]

I try to look ahead, sometimes I look back instead part 2

PART 1

READ ON AO3

He lasted for about thirty minutes before he decided to leave the group. 

It had been going fine at first. Buck had even asked Cole some question and learned that he was working as a high-rise window cleaner. He also learned that he and Tommy had met through a mutual friend years ago and had reconnected, and before he got into details on how that had happened, Buck had asked him more about his job. 

“Isn't it scary? Getting up there, knowing that you can fall any moment?”

“Probably not as scary as firefighting. Or flying through a hurricane.” 

Buck threw Tommy a quick glance and ducked his head. “He, uh… told you about that, huh?” 

“More like prompted it out of him. I saw his medal-” 

The medal Buck knew was hanging inside Tommy's bedroom. He started to feel nauseous. 

“-and had to ask about it. That must have been something.” 

“Yeah. It… was an unforgettable experience,” Buck agreed. “That's when I first met Tommy, actually,” he felt the need to add. 

“Really? I thought you all worked at the same station?” 

“That was before Buckaroo’s time,” Chimney mentioned. 

“Evan was actually my replacement at the 118,” Tommy chimed in. “And it took us seven years to meet.” 

“Evan? I thought your name was Buck.” 

“Yeah, most people call me Buck.” He felt his face flush and took a huge gulp from his beer in hope to conceal it before anyone took notice. 

They continued to chat, and as much as Buck wanted to hate on Cole, he quickly found that he couldn't. He was nice. Very easy to engage in conversations with and indulged in every topic with great interest. 

Tommy had found a great guy, and it was killing him. 

He had finally had enough and called it a night. He said his goodbyes, uttered them a lot more coldly to Chim than the others, and left.

—

“I'm really sorry, Buck.”

“I heard you the first few times, Chim.” There was only so many times Buck could ignore his pleading brother-in-law their following shift. “It still doesn't change anything.” 

“I know you have every right to be mad at me–” 

Buck scoffed.

“I may not have thought the whole thing through–”

“You deliberately withheld vital information, Chim,” Hen interjected with a glance up at the pair from her phone. “How did you think this was gonna go?”

“Look, I thought… I wasn't lying about Tommy asking about you. He does that a lot. I figured that if I can get you two together for a gathering that it might ignite some old sparks.”

“You wanted to turn me into a homewrecker in the process? That makes it so much better, Chim.” 

“No! No, God no! That wasn't-”

“I don't care what you thought or what your intentions were. You knew I wasn’t over him and you knew he would bring his shiny new boyfriend. H-how would you have felt, if I did the same to you, with Maddie? How great would you feel?” 

A pause. 

“Not very great.” 

Buck scoffed again and shook his head.

“Now, I'm gonna be mad at you for a while, so let me be that. Just… no more meddling. Please.” 

“No more meddling! Crossing my heart.” 

If only Buck could believe that.

—

“He seemed nice.” 

Tommy looked up from his breakfast burrito and glanced at Cole, who seemed very interested in picking on his croissant. It was their typical brunch date, them sitting outside a cafeteria enjoying the lovely weather. 

“The barista?”

“No, silly. Buck.” 

He damn near choke on his burrito. 

“Uh-huh,” he managed, all too casually.

“He is so into you.” The tone was teasing and Tommy shifted on his seat. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The way he looked at you? The way he blushed when you called him Even.” 

“Evan,” Tommy corrected. 

“Evan. Why do you call him that?”

“It's his name.” He swallowed. “I call Chimney by his name too.” 

Cole seemed to accept the answer. “Cool.” He leaned back and Tommy relaxed, thinking the conversation was over for a moment when silence hit. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

“So have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” 

“Buck. And you. Hooking up?”

“Cole.” 

“What? I'm curious. He's hot. Like. Really hot. I wouldn't mind being squeezed in between the two of yo–”

“All right, Cole.” That was an image Tommy definitely didn't want imprinted inside his head. The thought of someone else touching Evan was more unwelcoming than not. 

“I'm just saying. It would be hot.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Am I not hot enough for you?” He smirked, switching gears. 

That seemed to do the trick. 

– 

[vaguely-concerned]

ingellvar must have so many strange off-putting little personal habits in their day to day life that they don't even realize come across as weird, especially if they haven't ever dated outside of the watchers much. in rye's specific case I think lucanis has a capacity for such immaculate 'sure my life is already so fucking weird this might as well happen' energy that I believe he'd be able to roll with the punches admirably given the time, but it really would be a situation like

(what was going on there was that rook was placing down some experimental wards, by the way, it's what he does to calm down before bed and if he wakes during the night. what with the necropolis itself being a liminal space of lf sorts on a cosmic scale, watchers take the additional liminal space between wakefulness and dreaming extremely seriously b/c they know there are things drifting through that would just love to get their foot/tentacle/conceptual spores in that particular half-ajar door that should not be allowed inside. or outside, I suppose, depending on your point of view. rook and lucanis are also experimenting with whether solid wards can help any with lucanis' weird post-spite dreams even if they can't do anything for the more mundane ptsd ones. third reason because in my worldstate they still live in the lighthouse after the game: unless gently dissuaded wisps will sometimes drift by while you're asleep and hover over your face curiously as they sense your mind doing stuff in the fade, and no one likes waking up on an eldritch sneeze with a well-meaning yet terrified wisp zooming about the room. important watcher novice 101 lessons.

blessed mental image of rye cross-legged on the floor, barefoot in his PJs with his hair down and no makeup, peaceably tracing out elaborate geometric shapes that somehow make your eyes scared when you look at them* while lucanis sits on the bed and reads out loud to both him and spite and occasionally sneaks some carnal looks at rook's fully unleashed curly hair and bare wrists & throat...... okay I think I've found the thing that will help me through the day thank you for coming on this journey with me)

*what is the paint he's using made out of and why is it such a deeply unsettling colour? don't worry about it! :) patented mostly well-meaning yet also borderline condescending mortalitasi hand wave of 'don't worry your sweet little non-nevarran head about it we both know you don't actually want to know. do not ask questions lest you learn the answers, especially if you're going to be annoying at me and freak out about it. let the things man was not meant to know stay unknown. unknown by you I mean I'm built different'

[salty-and-spiraling]

The saddest part about your favorite characters being villains- especially villains that aren't heartless- is that they'll never win. And you know they'll never win but it's so heartbreaking anyway.

Cause they're bad. They're bad guys and the bad guys don't win. But they're people! They have families! They love, they laugh, they cry! But they can never get a happy ending. They're too far gone.

No matter how much you hope, it'll never happen. They'll never get that bright future on the horizon. They've hurt too many. Done too much. They brought this on themselves and they have to live with it.

You know all of this, yet still you want them to be happy. You still wish there could have been some kind of work around. I say this especially if the villain had a sad backstory. If they'd been pushed to their breaking point. If cards they'd been dealt had never worked for them. If they were made this way.

Then you just can't help but think, "what if?"

What if they could've had a chance? What if just one moment had played out differently? They weren't born evil, it didn't have to be this way!

But no. It's a losing game.

Cause that's why they exist. To lose. They need to be an obstacle in someone else's heroic story. A monster to be defeated. Born to fall so that others can rise.

In the end, despite everything. They're bad guys, and bad guys lose. That's how it goes. How it always goes.

Thanks for reading. I'm gonna go cry.

[angelpuns]

Genuinely feel so sick to my mf tummy but idk if its cause of dinner which was an autistic nightmare ( spaghetti but it was just..fucking wrong. ) or the like...10 chocolate orange sticks I had. They're super small but i was not keeping track of how many i ate cause they were such a sensory pleasure to eat :/ Or maybe its my body rebelling against taking a break idk

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[eli-is-an-idiot]

right it's only recently hit me that the biggest set of exams that i'll ever take (eleven subjects with at least two papers each, fuck my life D:) are in four months and i am nowhere near ready, so i'm probably going to be a lot slower with updating my writing

so if you're reading only a day away (first of all, i appreciate you so much!!) i'm going to write some more tonight and maybe tomorrow, but after that my Revision PlanTM kicks in and i'm probably going to vanish for the forseeable future

i'll do my best to be somewhat consistent, but i can't guarantee anything - i just want to be clear here so people aren't left without an explanation

[crows-of-buckets]

Thinking too hard about Aviae and Zevrans friendship and it's making me Ill

[threewaysdivided]

The Shaper of Minds and its possible consequences for a certain character

I have finally joined the rest of the internet in losing my mind over a D&D Podcast - in my case, the wonderful Dan Jones & Dragons.  With Episode 26 due to stream on Dan’s Twitch this week, I really want to talk about some of the stuff that came up across the just-finished Gala sessions because the fallout from that has the potential to be incredibly fraught.

THE SHAPER OF MINDS

The relic the Flower Crowns were going after this mission – The Shaper of Minds – is a potentially fascinating narrative device that might as well have been lab-engineered to be my exact brand of personal nightmare fuel.   It’s a small, ornate brass key that can alter any part of the target’s mental faculties/thoughts/memories at will should the wielder touch it to any part of their victim’s skin.

Now, on one hand, there are a heap of interesting (and even benevolent) applications for a tool like that.  It could instantly grant access to skills, languages and knowledge that would otherwise take a person years of study to learn.  It could be used to sort through and resolve memories that had been faded by time, muddied by trauma or forcibly supressed by magical/medical means.  But on the other…

As described and used in campaign so far, the primary function of the Mindshaper is to alter memories (and the attendant personality) with the target having no awareness that their mind has been changed.  It’s basically gaslighting on steroids, except that where a gaslighting victim still retains their original recollection – and has to be manipulated by their abuser into doubting their own perceptions and instead accepting the alternate telling of events (a cognitive dissonance that can eventually lead the person to recognise the manipulation) – the Shaper of Minds entirely replaces the original recollection of events with the version the wielder wants their victim to perceive.  There is no internal conflict between accounts, no inconsistencies that could alert the victim that someone has broken into their head and rewritten their perceived reality.  The person they reshape you to be is the person you believe you always were.  And all it takes is a single touch.

That is a brand of existential horror that had me on edge all throughout Session 24 (basically from the moment it was implied the key was in play).   Reality may be objective, but each individual person’s internal reality is governed by their perception – their memories – of the events in their life, no matter how incomplete, biased or otherwise skewed that personal perspective may have been.  You have value just by being you because you are not replaceable, but the thing that makes you unique is, in large part, the sum total of those inimitably specific personal memories.  No-one else will perceive the world in exactly the same way you do, and even a few minor changes to just a few of those perceptions can flow on to massive differences in ideals, values, priorities and future choices.  In that regard, the use of the Mindshaper Key isn’t so much an alteration as an obliteration of the victim’s former self and replacement with someone new; even if that new stranger is largely indistinguishable from the original.  And, again, all it takes is a single touch.

[Sidenote:  This made Mister Wick an especially effective antagonist to wield the key, since his Galas functionally trap even targets who are aware of the threat within the rules of high-society behavioural expectations.  Otherwise-innocuous actions like a handshake or private conversation suddenly become incredibly dangerous, while being nigh-impossible for the Flower Crowns to extract themselves from without committing an atrocious faux pas and potentially tipping Wick off.  Perfectly designed stage for a psychological horror-thriller encounter.]

Which of course, brings us to a certain character who fell victim to the key in Episode 24…  [put under the cut for spoiler reasons]

MORENTHAL

This poor Drow, he can never catch a break…

Morenthal may not have been the most mechanically dangerous party member to fall victim to Mister Wick’s manipulations although, given that the key was revealed to let its wielder read existing memories during the alteration, and that all of the Flower Crowns were fully briefed on the locations and nature of the Eversteel artefacts, him getting a hand on any of them could have been very bad plot-wise but from a character point of view I think he’s the one who the key’s effects had the potential to be most personally devastating for.

The way things ended up playing out across Session 25 was precisely the nightmare scenario Gamb was fretting about out of game: Mister Wick forcibly implanted Morenthal’s mind with false memories of being his lifelong trusted confidant and supporter, then – before the Flower Crowns could reverse the key’s effect – Morenthal discovered that Mister Wick had been killed in combat with Coil and Preston, leading to the Party having to physically restrain him so they could use the key to undo the damage, thus confronting Morenthal with the realisation that not only was everything he thought he knew about Jonathan a lie, but in actuality Jonathan had committed possibly the most invasive violation he’d ever been subjected to in order to forcibly make Morenthal into one of his loyal tools.  That level of emotional and mental whiplash would be rough on any character, but for Morenthal it’s particularly brutal because…

Based on what’s been revealed in-game so far, the core of his character is that Morenthal is an abused child.  This most-clearly came up in his conversation with Gelnek in Session 14; he was a child who grew up with nothing, raised by the Bloodletter Mercenaries as a tool instead of a person, and taught to see faces only as targets – with him also mentioning to Hobson in that their “combat training” involved being relentlessly beaten down until he learned to fight back.  During his Session 21 visit with the Nightmother, he openly admits that “nowhere feels safe”.  From that it’s pretty clear to read that Morenthal has never felt unconditionally loved, safe or respected around other mortals.

(This also helps contextualise why he’s so devoted to the Nightmother.  From what little we have seen of his visits to her, Iris is a fond “adult” figure, who does not threaten, does not judge, asks nothing of him aside from his company, and cares equally for all the souls that pass through her domain.  For a child “growing up with nothing” but violence, that would have been everything.)

But then, enter Jonathan fucking Wick.  And now, just for a short while, Morenthal has all these “memories” of Jonathan being there to confide in, encourage him and support his escape from the Bloodletters.  Suddenly he believes someone was there for him and, while the memories might be fake, the feelings of unconditional safety they would have brought were very real.  Little wonder that he started acting like a Trilby-level naive goober around Mister Wick to the point of accidentally snitching on the rest of the group.  Only, then it turns out to be a lie and those memories are gone.

For me, I think one of the worst things Morenthal might end up dealing with in the aftermath of having his memory fixed isn’t the specific feeling of personal betrayal or the potential shame at having been caught: it’s the realisation that he was always alone.   That there was no mortal on the outside who cared or came for him when he needed them – just him and the distant fondness of a Divine.  That would be awful beyond words, and yet the Flower Crowns were forced to inadvertently inflict it upon him in order to restore his mind.  No wonder he wouldn’t look any of them in the eye before the session closed.

Worse still, the nature of the key makes it incredibly hard not only to trust others, but to trust your own mind.  The players and audience above-table know that Morenthal is back to experiencing and remembering reality as it happened, but the question could very well linger for him, bringing with it a hefty dose of paranoia.  Sure, Morenthal correctly remembers that Coil is a straightforward, loyal person who wouldn’t be tempted to tamper with his mind beyond undoing Jonathan’s manipulations… but he “remembered” that about Mister Wick too, and wouldn’t that be a beneficial thing for the Party to have him think?   To Morenthal, people were already Not Safe™, but now the one person he ever believed might be had actually violated him worse than anyone else in order to force and abuse that trust.  How is he supposed to trust anyone if he can’t trust the authenticity of his own recollections.  (I get the feeling that Morenthal probably isn't going to be capable of relaxing until the Shaper of Minds is confirmed to either be locked back safely in the Vaults of Eversteel or fully removed from the Mortal Plane by Six).

It makes it really tragic that all of this came directly on the back of Episode 23, where Gamb revealed during the above-table break chat that - even if Morenthal didn’t recognise why – he unconsciously trusted Trilby and Gelnek enough to jump off the airship without checking that his rope was secure, because deep-down he knew they would catch him.  To go from that high-point to the whiplash of him first thinking the Flower Crowns had killed the only person he was ever “safe” with, then them inadvertently subjecting him to the most painful realisation he could ever experience and potentially leaving him wondering whether he can even trust his feelings about them is absolutely gutting.

I think the thing that scares me most about how the aftermath could potentially play out is another trait that Gamb and Dan have established for Morenthal: he's a flight-risk.   He shies away from letting people get close and, if he feels unsafe enough, he runs.  It’s already been mentioned/implied that he’s considered fleeing the group at multiple different points across the sessions.  And with him likely not feeling safe even in inside his own mind right now, that risk is probably at an all-time high.  The poor lad is staring down the barrel of a potentially-impending multi-level emotional crisis, where a lifetime of instincts will probably be urging him to run hard and fast because People Are Not Safe™.

And the thing is, that instinct isn’t a good one for him either.  Morenthal might have gotten by on his own “just living to be” up until Filgrove, but that feels a lot more like surviving out of necessity than having an actual life.  It’s pretty obvious that he pushes people away as a defence mechanism:  if you don’t care about anyone then you can’t be hurt by them or have those people used against you.  But if you don’t let yourself care and feel things, you’re not really living.  The truly tragic part of his running being a potential foreseeable outcome is that the Flower Crowns are good for Morenthal.  (I doubt Morenthal realises it and can’t speak to Gamb’s above-table thought process but it’s interesting that one potential interpretation of Morenthal’s cynical, faux-apathetic, “stinky” behaviour is that of a former abused child quietly testing the boundaries of whether he’s allowed to exist in a way that’s inconvenient for others, to which the answer from the Party has largely been yes provided he isn’t actively encouraging Trilby to get himself killed, or killing people without explaining himself).  He survived alone before because that was all he knew, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t do so well if he tried to go it solo again after being with people (he’s already confessed that the idea of Feyli being gone makes him miss her).   That’s not a road to walk on his best day, let alone with his current headspace and tendency towards self-destructive choices. 

It reminds me a lot of this article:

“Still, it’s easier for us to keep blaming ourselves because it’s preferable to facing the unthinkable: the fact that our parents don’t love us. …  Most people would rather do anything than accept this as the truth. Not only is it painful; it’s humiliating.”

So yeah, suffice to say I am incredibly concerned about how Morenthal’s arc is going to play out over the next session(s).  Here’s hoping that Gelnek and/or Coil have enough emotional savvy to keep an eye out, and enough patience to stick to him even if he lashes out in attempt to drive them off.  Even if it all works out okay, I get the feeling that this one’s going to be ugly.

Can’t wait to see how everyone chooses to play it ❤️‍🩹

[widowshill]

happy aro week to everyone who celebrates. give your local aro a hundred dollars to compensate for their suffering (me).

[petoskeystones]

no i’m literally so happy for you guys. you have your boyfriends and scholarships and awards and jobs and hobbies and friends, and i have these dead sailors

[fractured-clockface]

the funeral is on saturday. i havent even seen her in years but i grew up with her. lots of mixed emotions and being a system its complicated because some of these feelings aren't mine and theyre all so complicated and i have flashes of memories that dont fit together to fit a cohesive narrative.

what do i feel about it? how should i feel? what was she like? how did we feel about her back then? who from my past am i going to see at this funeral? will i remember their names or faces?

never lost someone like this before. i have to learn how to grieve. thankfully i have therapy between now and then, because right now all i can do is repress it to keep moving

[strwbrymlkshake]

It's difficult dealing with so many people who think we aren't meant to be with eachother. I don't get why someone else's relationship can mean so much to bystanders. Can't you find something else to do?

[sporadicfrogs]

Hm. I have. Much work anxiety

[natjennie]

took my meds yesterday and today. slept like shit. nauseous. starting to notice a connection.