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notinmyvocab · 1 year

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Conference Call

Summary: It's VECNA week: the Vermont Educational Conference for the Northeast Area, and Larissa is bored and lonely. A few clicks online and she hires a... friend for a few hours.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut g!p, dirty talk, mommy kink, teacher/student roleplaying, swearing, unedited

Author's Note: Ummm so this kind of got away from me. Sorry not sorry.

P.S: Caiohme is an Irish name pronounced "Kwee-va"

It was that time of year again: VECNA week: the Vermont Educational Conference for the Northeast Area. If it weren’t for the fact that she was out of town at the most boring conference ever, she never would have considered even looking up the company. But the Vermont Educational Conference for the Northeast Area didn’t exactly inspire.

It had been a week, and she was homesick, and lonely, and sad, and perhaps a bit drunker than she’d care to admit.

And this hadn’t been the first time she considered doing something like this. It was just the first time she actually went through with it. And it made her feel sick, if she were being perfectly honest. Technically it was legal, but Larissa couldn’t help but let shame weigh down on her shoulders. Was she really so undesirable that she needed to buy someone else’s company?

That was all it was, she assured herself as she sipped her cocktail of Jim Beam and diet Coke. She was paying someone to come and be her friend for a night because no one at this conference was worth her time. And no one seemed particularly interested in interacting with an Outcast from Nevermore Academy. At least this way, she was guaranteeing conversation; guaranteeing companionship, if for only an evening.

Larissa sat on the edge of the hotel bed, which she had remade, and then remade again so that the corners were tighter and the sheets appeared crisper. Not that it mattered. It was a hotel, not her home. And this person was probably not going to be judging her bed. Still, Larissa had a reputation she liked to uphold, even with strangers.

She was starting to grow anxious as the minutes ticked by. She already put through her credit card information, so surely there would be no issue? Unless it was a scam. Oh dear, had she fallen for a ploy?

There came a sharp knock at her hotel door, the sound so sudden that Larissa nearly jumped out of her skin. Was that…? Larissa took another sip of her cocktail and set aside the glass before standing up and smoothing out the skirt of her dress. Her heart thudded uneasily in her chest. Maybe if she pretended she wasn’t there, then she could forget about the whole thing?

Larissa went over the door and opened it.

Before her stood a young woman with hair that she clearly attempted to straightened, but still tried resisting, certain sections insisting on creating a wave. It was a slightly imperfect detail that actually made Larissa relax. The woman in the doorway wasn’t perfect. She was a dream, but she wasn’t perfect, and that helped put Larissa at ease.

It wasn’t until she met the woman’s eyes that Larissa realized she probably should’ve shifted her appearance; kept this more anonymous. But it was too late now.

“Larissa?”

A fake name also might’ve been a better choice.

“Yes. Um, come in.” Larissa stepped aside and watched the young woman marvel at the hotel room as if she had never seen anything so nice. It had to be part of an act. Someone who did this line of work surely saw a lot of hotel rooms in her lifetime.

“So um, how has your day been?” Larissa asked, immediately cursing herself for sounding like an idiot.

The woman turned and smiled at Larissa, apparently finding her endearing. “Long. VECNA tends to get busy for me.”

“Is that so? Why?”

The woman raised her eyebrows, wondering if Larissa really wanted her to answer that. She gave the nicer. vague answer. “Lot of lonely teachers in an unfamiliar place.”

“And um… what shall I call you?” The website Larissa found didn’t actually give names, just pictures.

“What do you want to call me?” the young woman implored, and it suddenly became clear why the website didn’t have names. She saw Larissa’s uneasiness and gave a warm smile. “I answer to a lot of things. But tonight you can call me Kitty.”

“Kitty…” Larissa said slowly, tasting the name; testing the name. “Is that your real name?”

“Is Larissa yours?” Touche. It was, but Larissa did not do anything to confirm this. Kitty went on, “It’s short for Caiomhe.”

Larissa frowned faintly, not following the explanation. “I don’t quite see how Kitty is short for Caiomhe.”

Kitty grinned, giving a soft, embarrassed laugh. “It’s not. But you can’t go through middle school with the name Caiomhe.”

“Of course. Students can be cruel.” Larissa certainly knew about that. She also didn’t doubt that customers liked such a soft sounding name. “Would you like something to drink?” Words came a little easier to her now; knowing Kitty’s name certainly helped to soothe the nerves.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink on the job.”

Job. Right. Because that was what this was. She needed to remember that.

Kitty sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs. She was so simple in her plain black cocktail dress, yet exuded elegance.

“So, what did you want to do tonight?” Kitty asked, her eyes imploring yet mischievous, head tilted to the side.

“Oh, I’m… I’m not really sure,” Larissa replied sheepishly. That was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, but now, suddenly faced with the question, she couldn’t bring herself to answer. How could she possibly voice to this stranger what she wanted?

Kitty saw the struggle in Larissa’s eyes, and gave a small, sympathetic smile. “Most people just want to talk,” she said.

“Really?”

“I mean sure, I get some people who want to take me out to dinner; pretend I’m their girlfriend. But most just… want someone to listen.” That was what made it legal. If sex happened, then it happened. But as far as the records were concerned, she was paid to hang out.

Kitty narrowed her eyes slightly as she studied Larissa, trying to guess what her mental roadblocks were. The woman just seemed so tense. “What brings you to VECNA?” she asked. Maybe conversation was the key.

“I’m a principal,” Larissa answered. “I run a boarding school… for Outcasts.”

Kitty perked up in recognition. “Nevermore?”

“So you’ve heard of it.”

“I used to be obsessed with it when I was younger,” Kitty confessed. “A boarding school for the strange and unusual; I wanted to go so badly.”

Larissa blushed, pleased and flattered that someone actually said a kind word about her dear academy. She sat on the bed next to Kitty, one hand holding her drink and the other hand resting on the bed.

“Okay, so you’re the headmistress of an elite boarding school…”

“Principal,” Larissa corrected.

“I think, tonight, you should be Headmistress.”

And like magic, Larissa’s shoulders relaxed. She downed the rest of her drink and set the now empty glass aside. She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “And do you know why you’ve been sent to my office?”

Kitty immediately fell into her role. She sat on her hands, knees together. “Because I got caught touching myself in class.”

“Because you can’t help being a little slut, isn’t that so?” Larissa folded her arms across her chest.

She didn’t think she would slip into the fantasy so easily. She thought she would be trembling with unsteady nerves. Instead, Larissa slipped into the role as if she were slipping on her favorite heels.

Kitty pouted. “I’m sorry Headmistress. I couldn’t help it!”

“You never can. Tell me: did you slip your fingers in and out? Taste yourself when the teacher wasn’t looking?” When Kitty nodded, playing along, Larissa gave a wolfish grin. “And who were you thinking about when you were toying with your sweet little pussy?”

Kitty looked down, as if ashamed though Larissa saw no blush upon her cheeks. In fact, the corners of her mouth were curled upward; she was enjoying the game. Good.

Larissa tucked a finger under Kitty’s chin and forced her to look up. “Be a good girl, and tell me: who’s tongue were you imagining?”

“Yours, Headmistress.”

“Oh? Well, I suppose that puts us in a bit of a conundrum.” Larissa dropped her hand and stepped away from Kitty. She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to the side, as if she hadn’t already decided her next move. “See, you ought to be punished. Yet…”

“Yet?”

“I find myself at a crossroads. You should be bent over my desk; you should get a lashing for being so crude. But I think spanking you would just turn you on even more. Is that true?” Larissa leaned down over Kitty, hands planted on either side of the woman. “Maybe you’d like it a little too much.”

Kitty’s perfume was hypnotizing; she smelled like an azalea. Kitty could smell the Jim Beam on Larissa’s breath and she couldn’t help herself; she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips against Larissa’s. It wasn’t like she never kissed clients, but it was the first time she actually enjoyed it.

Larissa broke character, stunned by the small, affectionate gesture. She stared at Kitty, lips parted as if to ask why. Instead, she placed her hand on the back of Kitty’s head and pulled her in for a languid kiss, every movement of her tongue deliberate and precise.

And oh how Kitty relished in the attention. The kissing became hungry as Kitty craved more, needed more. She had never felt so… wanted.

Other clients pretended to want her. She knew the drill and it never bothered her. This was her life, and it paid damn well. But when they kissed her, if they kissed her, she could tell that they were imagining someone else, or just glad to have a warm body. It had never been about her.

This was about her. Larissa was kissing her.

Kitty pulled back from Larissa, and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

“No,” Larissa said. For a brief moment, Kitty’s brow furrowed and she looked confused and even partially worried. Larissa pressed a kiss against the younger woman’s forehead, soothing her worries. “I’m going to take care of you.”

She put a hand against Kitty’s chest, guiding her to lay down on the bed. She wasted no time in getting on her knees.

Kitty’s heart fluttered, both with anticipation and adoration. She gasped softly when she felt Larissa press a kiss against her bare calf, then her knee, then her inner thigh. God it took so much strength for Larissa to go even this speed.

Larissa tucked her fingers into the waistband of Kitty’s black thong, taking a second to admire them.

“Adore Me,” Kitty said, propping herself up on her forearms.

“Pardon?”

“The panties. I get my lingerie from Adore Me. They have like a monthly subscription where they send you stuff. That’s probably my absolute favorite thing I got from them. Though I gotta say, I like it a lot better in your hands.”

“Is that so? Because I think it looks best on the floor.” Larissa tossed aside the thong and placed her hands on Kitty’s thighs, digging her nails in slightly. “Tell me what you like.”

“I’ll like whatever you do to me.”

That answer apparently wasn’t good enough. Kitty jolted as she felt a sudden, sharp slap against her cunt though she was immediately soothed by long strokes of skilled fingers. “Be a good girl, and tell me what you like.”

“That,” Kitty gasped. “I like… I like it when you call me a good girl.”

“I see. That’s unfortunate because you haven’t been a very good girl, have you? Touching yourself in class isn’t something good girls do.” Larissa slipped back into the roleplay, finding she did quite enjoy it and while she did ask Kitty what she wanted, Larissa was the one paying for the night. Give and take.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” Kitty whined. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Because you’re a little slut.”

“Because I’m your little slut,” Kitty corrected, daring to hold Larissa’s gaze. “I just kept imagining your fingers inside of me, making me so, so wet.”

“Oh darling, you don’t need my help making you wet.” Larissa lowered herself back down between Kitty’s legs. She inhaled deeply, basking in the woman’s arousal. She couldn’t stand it any longer. Larissa dragged her tongue along the woman’s glistening slit, tasting Kitty’s desire.

Kitty gasped at the contact, swallowing her moan. She didn’t want to admit how good Larissa made her feel with only one swipe of her tongue; she wasn’t used to this. Some clients were clumsy. Some were terribly sweet and affection. But Larissa was something else entirely.

Larissa nipped at Kitty’s clit, making the younger woman yelp. “Don’t you dare keep quiet.” She returned to devouring Kitty’s pussy, and Kitty certainly did not hold back. She let herself moan and whine and beg for more.

“Please, god… fuck, it feels so good.” The feeling of Larissa lapping at her clit was divine; Kitty wrapped her legs around Larissa, holding her close, needing more. “F-fingers. Please, fingers.”

At Kitty’s request, Larissa pulled away, chin glistening. “Do you think you deserve my fingers?”

Kitty only managed a whine. God she needed Larissa so badly. Her lack of words earned her another sharp slap on her pussy, and a commanding, “Answer me,” from Larissa. “N-no,” she choked out. “No, I don’t. But I need them. I need you. Please.”

Larissa paused, pursing her lips.

Immediately sensing Larissa’s hesitancy, Kitty sat up. “Is everything okay?”

“Can we… do you mind if we try something?”

Normally she was uneasy when a client said something like that. But Larissa was… different. Even though it sounded corny as fuck, Larissa was special. So Kitty said, “Anything you want. Name it.” For a moment, Kitty worried that she sounded too overeager. That fear was allayed when she saw Larissa relax a little.

“I’m… I’m a shapeshifter. It’s what makes me an Outcast.” That obviously wasn’t what Larissa was worried about. Kitty could see in her blue, blue eyes that there was something more; something deeper. “And… well, I’ve never actually tried it before. But I… I find myself wanting to have you be my first. If you’ll have me.”

Kitty tilted her head to the side, not quite following what Larissa meant. Her first? The woman was clearly no stranger to sex; what was there possibly to take?

Then she added it all up, and when the sum made itself apparent, Kitty inhaled sharply. Not in disgust, or even shock, but in pure desire. She nodded, eyes practically glowing in excitement.

Larissa stepped away from the bed and turned her back to Kitty. She breathed deeply as her fingers fumbled with her dress, feeling Kitty’s eyes on her.

The moments passed agonizingly slow; Kitty had sat up at this point, rubbing her thighs together to feel some sweet friction without pushing herself over the edge. And as much of a cliche as it was, her jaw did indeed drop when Larissa turned around.

Every inch of her was perfect: the swell of her breast, the curve of her waist, the place where her thighs met. And right there among it all…

Larissa stepped closer, her cock hard with desire. Kitty didn’t even hesitate to get off the bed and down onto her knees. She took hold of the throbbing member, her touch curious yet gentle. She lips ghosted along the shaft, and Larissa swallowed a moan, the sensation more intense than she ever imagined.

“Can I?” Kitty whispered against Larissa’s tip, and when she saw Larissa nod, she immediately took the cock into her mouth.

And oh god what a sensation it was. Larissa immediately threaded her fingers through Kitty’s hair, making sure she kept her pace slow and steady. This was completely new to her and it was almost overwhelming. She already wanted to cum, wanted to see thick rivulets of white spill down the side of Kitty’s perfect hot mouth. Just imagining such a sight nearly sent her over the edge, but Larissa held back.

Then Kitty dared to take Larissa’s cock all the way down her throat and made a gagging noise. Was it real or just part of the show? Larissa didn’t care, she loved it all the same.

“Good girl,” she cooed. “Take all of me; choke on Mummy’s cock.”

Larissa’s voice faded as Kitty continued to take all of her, slurping and slobbering. Finally, right when Larissa was certain she would lose control, Kitty pulled away, spit dribbling down her chin. She planted one more kiss against Larissa’s cock before getting up and bending over the bed.

For just a moment, Larissa relished in the sight of this young woman spread and dripping for her.

She slid her cock into Kitty’s wet pussy and both women groaned in pleasure.

“Fuck,” Kitty hissed as Larissa started moving in and out. She reached down between her own legs to rub her clit as Larissa kept thrusting. “Fuck, Mommy, your cock is s-so good.”

Larissa thrust harder, feeling bliss in a way she had never felt before. She could barely hear Kitty’s whines, so consumed with her own pleasure. “That’s it, take Mummy’s cock,” she growled, hand finding Kitty’s hair and pulling.

She wasn’t going to last long like this. The dirty talk thrilled her, and Kitty too.

“Please make me cum, Mommy,” Kitty begged as Larissa’s thrusting picked up speed and she kept furiously rubbing at her clit. Her legs were shaking as an orgasm unexpectedly rocked through her body.

The sight of Kitty’s quivering form and the feeling of her orgasm tearing through her sent Larissa over the edge. She gave one final thrust and held herself inside of Kitty, filling her up.

Both women breathed heavily as they slowly came down from their high. With great reluctance, Larissa pulled out of Kitty and cum dripped out of Kitty’s sopping cunt, trickling down her inner thigh.

Unable to resist, Larissa lowered herself and dragged her tongue along Kitty’s slit, tasting their mingled cum. It was divine.

Neither of them said a word for a few minutes, hearts hammering too loudly to hear one another.

Larissa lay down on the bed, feeling her lower half shift back to her usual form. She watched Kitty slip into the bathroom to clean up. She closed her eyes, her mind completely blank for once. No worries, no cares, just darkness. How wonderful.

The sound of a lock grabbed her attention and she sat up to see Kitty about to slip out the door.

“Wait,” Larissa said without thinking. But then she remembered what this all was: a business transaction. The fantasy melted away.

But to her surprise, Kitty did indeed hesitate at the door. The young woman turned. She’d been booked for the night, and sleeping over wasn’t part of the deal. But maybe… maybe an exception could be made. Just this once.

“Will you stay?” Larissa asked softly.

“If you’ll have me.”

Larissa nodded, and Kitty relocked the door. She shed her dress and slipped into the bed beside Larissa. And as Larissa pressed a kiss to her temple, Kitty wondered if she had allowed herself to cross over into forbidden territory: falling in love with a client.

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@winterfireblond @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scream-queenlover @kaymariesworld @barbarasstar @yourlocaldisneyvillain @finnja555 @milfsloverblog @opheliauniverse @lvinhs @h-doodles @lilfartbox1

#my writing #larissa weems #fanfiction #wednesday #gwendoline christie

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barbariankingdom · 2 months

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Palmyra - Syria Ancient city in south-central Syria, 130 miles northeast of Damascus. The name Palmyra, meaning “city of palm trees,” was conferred upon the city by its Roman rulers in the 1st Century CE; Tadmur, Tadmor, or Tudmur, the pre-Semitic name of the site, is also still in use.

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wndaswife · 2 years

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young fidelity

「 wanda maximoff x gn!reader 」

tags: smut, angst, fluff, mentions of trauma, depictions of violence, blowjobs, degradation, some slightly boring avenger mission details, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 10 872

summary: Even months after Ultron's death, you haven't forgiven Wanda despite her attempts to become close with you. You plan to get by with little interaction when you are partnered together for a mission, but she has other intentions.

“We’ve received signals of active HYDRA technology in northern and eastern Nunavut. There are approximately two bases north and two in the east,” Steve announced to the conference room. “But because of the nature of the province, it’ll be much easier to split up into pairs — take down each base together, separately.”

“Nature of the province?” asked Sam.

Steve pulled up an image of Nunavut’s map onto the projector. About a third of the province in the northeast was dispersed up into dozens of distinct sections of land.

“North can mean this,” he said and circled about twenty different patches of land before doing the same for the right-hand side of the province, “and East can mean this.”

He continued, “It would consume too much of our time to travel between each patch of land to the other. Fortunately, what we can tell for certain is that these bases are small. The signals they’re sending out are from HYDRA technology nonetheless, but the signals are weak and the technology is outdated.”

“A base of about ten or less,” Natasha noted, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed and facing the projector screen.

Rhodes added, “Or much less.”

“Exactly,” Steve conceded. “We’ll head out in two days, give ourselves enough time to pack for the climate. Here are the pairs I’ve outlined…” He continued to announce the mission’s partnerships, but the back of your neck prickled with the feeling of being watched.

You looked over your shoulder to see Wanda’s eyes on you. She looked away quickly when your eyes met and she shifted in her seat, crossing a leg over the other and looking up to pay attention to Steve.

“Then lastly, Wanda and Y/N.”

At Steve's words, Wanda’s head lifted slightly in piqued interest and you looked back at him.

“Why do we have to pair up at all?” you questioned immediately. “Each of us could easily take ten or more on our own.”

“I know that’s right,” Rhodes agreed cockily before exchanging a nod with Tony, who considered your commentary comedic.

“These areas of Nunavut, of Canada, are unexplored territory,” Steve answered. “The weather conditions are extreme up there, and the terrain may not be safe or predictable enough for us to go out in it individually. This will be a quick mission, three days and no more, during which a portion of it will be trying to map out the province. The actual overtaking of the bases will take much less time.”

You weren’t able to find a way to object to that, so you sank down in your seat, something bitter brewing in you at the thought of having to work alone with Wanda.

“We’ll be picked back up the same way we’ll arrive — by the Quinjet in an isolated area at the edge of Nunavut where the land is much less dispersed, closer to the centre of the province but not nearly as populated,” Steve said, and with that, he concluded the meeting.

When Wanda stood from her seat, she spent a few extra moments tucking her hair behind her ear, adjusting her rings, and playing with her sleeves as an excuse to wait for you to walk ahead first so she could approach you.

But Vision met with her first and she looked over at you hesitantly, worried that she’d miss you leaving the room.

You began heading forward but instead of leaving, you started a conversation with Steve.

Now sure that she could spend a few moments talking with Vision without losing sight of you, she entertained his commentary on the upcoming mission despite not being included in the list of Avengers that were going.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you told him, leaning back on your heels nonchalantly as you attempted at repressing what felt like a raging wildfire set ablaze in your chest.

Steve turned off the projector and started storing away some of the wires. “Two days isn’t enough to prepare, is it?” he questioned suddenly.

“No, two days is fine, I think,” you said.

You continued with a quiet tone, aware of Wanda and Vision conversing only a few feet away, “Wanda isn’t trained to go out with only one other person yet. She’s not ready for this.”

“She’s been doing just fine during training and other missions,” he reasoned.

“But she’s always supervised, and always with people who can support her if she screws up.”

With a smile of slight inexplicable amusement, he replied, “Then you can train her.”

Your fingers twitched at the mere suggestion.

Then, a voice chimed in from behind — Wanda’s. “No, I can fight. I’ve been training for months,” she insisted.

From the corner of your eye, you could see that she’d stepped away from Vision and was now standing by the edge of the table, only two or three feet away from you.

Wordlessly, you left the room, overcome by her very proximity.

Wanda followed after you, initially silent. She spun her rings around her fingers, watching the back of your head as she trailed behind you.

“So… when are we going to start training?” she eventually asked.

You walked through the hallways, heading straight to your room and avoiding having lunch until you were sure Wanda was no longer following you like an aimless puppy.

“I thought you said you didn’t need training.”

Suddenly filled with joy because you had actually answered her instead of ignoring her like you often did, Wanda sped up and joined your side.

“No, I never said I didn’t need training,” she corrected. “I just said that I could fight. But I would like to train with you. Before our mission. I think it would help. When can we start?”

“Not now,” you replied.

“Then when?”

You reiterated stubbornly, “Whenever I feel like it.”

Wanda bristled and she said wrapped her hand around your forearm. You tore it out of her hold and she looked at you, shocked at your resistance to be touched by her.

She swallowed and straightened in spite of herself then said, “I’m just trying to do my job”

“It’s not your job to bother me.”

“I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying-"

“To do your job,” you interrupted. “Right.”

She stared at you silently, unsure what to say yet not wanting to walk away from you.

“Is that how you rationalise things?” you inquired, your eyebrows furrowing together. “Is that how you rationalised what you did?”

Now feeling desperate for your validation and worn from the way you’d been avoiding her since the battle on Novi Grad, Wanda opposed, “I know that you’re angry, but everyone has forgiven me for what I have done. You are the only one who hasn’t.”

“You want to train?” you asked out of the blue.

It took a moment for Wanda to realise what you were asking and to decipher if you were being sincere in your question. When she supposed you were, she nodded cautiously.

“Then let’s go,” you muttered and turned to walk the other way, down to where the gymnasium and training room were.

When both of you changed into the proper clothes for training, you met Wanda in the middle of the holopad. You programmed a few rounds of holographic HYDRA members to attack her, and a few other adversaries the Avengers had previously fought to fill the time.

Wanda strapped on her sensory gloves, designed by Tony to signal to the holopad where she directed her powers and with what magic she used for the holograms. It had been helping her with her training to a great extent as it allowed her to use the technology in the training room as every other non-magic-wielder did.

She stepped onto the ten-by-seven metered platform and you set the tablet down by the staircase.

You noticed her looking over at you before the holopad flashed white once, signalling the beginning of the training session, and Wanda then looked away from you.

It began slowly at first, several scientists running at her from different directions and Wanda’s red magic flowing out of the centres of her palms and darting out from the tips of her fingers. Her magic made contact with the holographic foes, Wanda’s sensory gloves connecting the direction and intensity of her magic to the location of each moving hologram. They scattered into tiny pixelated squares when her magic came into contact with them, floating up and dividing into smaller geometric shapes before disappearing entirely.

The speed of the enemies quickened and with it Wanda’s reflexes.

This was the first time since the final battle against Ultron on Novi Grad that you’d seen Wanda’s fighting. Several months have passed since then, and she improved substantially. You’d never say it aloud, and you looked away from the brunette to avoid even admitting it to yourself, but she would be the perfect partner for the mission to Nunavut.

Eventually, the holopad flashed white, indicating the end of the training session when Wanda defeated the enemies you programmed her to fight.

She stepped off of the platform and stood in front of you, a glistening sheen of sweat on her body. She was panting softly and you blinked inquisitively for a moment at the grin on her face. “Come on,” she said and took your hand before pulling you up onto the holopad with her.

Wanda positioned you on one side of the platform and she stepped back from you. “So, what will you show me?” she asked.

“I don’t know how to train someone with magic.”

“We can go hand-to-hand,” Wanda suggested, running her palms down her sides. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

When you did nothing but stare at her, perhaps out of scepticism or curiosity at her mood switch, she added with a laugh, “What? Are you scared?”

There was not a single person in the compound but you who knew this side of Wanda; a playful side of her, one that was presently unburdened by the weights of her losses and the solemn monotony that cast over her like a stagnant shadow when she was with anyone other than you.

There was a feeling of laxness that settled within her in your company, a freedom she felt with you that she hadn’t been familiar with since her time with Pietro.

You chose to think little of this lest you fall victim to Wanda’s deceptions as you had when you first met her. The very recollection of that moment of weakness awakened chills up your spine and formed a terribly large pit in the centre of your chest.

“Okay,” you said. “Fine. A quick skirmish, that’s all.”

If she was lucky, she’d sometimes walk in on you training and watch you for as long as possible while being as inconspicuous as she could manage. She’d watch the way you fought and moved your body, the confidence in your strikes and flexibility of your limbs. You were nothing less than inspiring.

In many ways, Wanda idolised you.

The corners of Wanda’s mouth tugged upwards before she made an attempt to repress her giddiness to have a serious one-on-one with you. She raised her fists and bent her knees, eyes darting down your form to correct her posture accordingly. She took notes from you where she could.

In training skirmishes, the objective was to take the other down, get them off their feet and cause them to lose balance.

You watched Wanda’s footing, the way she rounded and approached you by subtly cutting away at the inches of space that lay between the two of you.

Despite the sternness of her brow, there was a vague outline of a smile on her lips.

Your attention on her incomprehensible smile sullied your focus on the skirmish; Wanda extended her leg and in one swift movement, rounded your body so she stood outside your line of sight. Her knee lifted to nudge your thigh forward and throw you off balance but you turned quickly, a hand wrapping around her hip.

Before you could push her back and move your legs out of her range of contact, Wanda’s foot raised and she knocked the back of your knees forward with the length of her shin. You tumbled backwards, and with your hand gripping Wanda’s hip, you pulled her down with you.

Her arm extended past the side of your head, a wispy lock of red magic coursing out of her palm. The burst of magic slowed the speed at which you fell, breaking your fall and letting your back meet the ground softly.

It was only when the brief panic of falling backwards abated that you heard Wanda laughing. Stands of dark hair were falling in her face, her expression light and free of the burdens that normally followed her around like a shadow.

When her laughing settled into a fit of giggles, she opened her eyes and looked down at you, her gaze flickering between your eyes and your parted lips. She pushed her hair back and she lifted herself up with the heel of your hand placed on the platform by the side of your head.

Her chest parted from yours but her hips stayed pressed against your own, your legs intertwined and her other hand resting on your stomach.

You removed your hand from her hip and let it fall to the floor underneath you, damning yourself for the way you watched every movement of her soft lips.

“Come on, you’re not even trying,” Wanda teased. She used her hand by your head and the other on your stomach to prop herself up, slipping off of your body and getting on her knees by your hip. She then proposed, “Let’s go again.”

“I promise I’ll go easy on you this time,” she jested and extended a hand to you.

You sat up on your own, Wanda’s hand dropping into her lap. “I said we’d only do one,” you reminded her and stood up. “We’re done.”

Following you, Wanda got onto her feet. “You’re such a sore loser,” she joked with a laugh and trailed behind you as you stepped off the holopad. She unstrapped her gloves from around her hands and set them by the tablet.

“What will we do next?” she asked.

“Nothing,” you told her, picking up your things and heading to the gym exit.

Wanda’s smile fell as she heard your stern tone. “But we’ve only just gotten here. There’s still so much I want you to show me before we leave,” she reasoned, speeding up and trying to get your attention as you walked ahead without regard for her trailing behind you.

You told her with finality, “Get someone else to show you.”

You exited the gym and Wanda decided to stop following after you. She watched you speed away, hands by her side as she stood alone in the training room.

Dejectedly, she wondered if she had done or said something wrong — something to drive you away. It seemed she couldn’t do anything right around you when it was you she desired companionship and intimacy from the most.

You exchanged not even a word with Wanda for the remainder of the day, though dinner was filled with yearning stares from her across the table and never any words, partially because Vision filled her time with endless conversation. He was fond of her, and you often wished she would’ve glommed onto him instead.

The following day, you saw Wanda for a short time during a meeting in which Tony outlined the rest of the mission.

Deliberation between Tony, Agent Ross, and the provincial officials of Nunavut resulted in the Avengers’ permission to enter and explore their grounds granted they limit any destruction of the land and would provide the required funding necessary to repair any damage otherwise caused.

After the events on Sokovia, it was also decided that it would be best if the mission went as smoothly and as covertly as possible. This meant that the Quinjet would only take them as far as the edge of the northeast to lessen chances of being seen in the air, and would be stationed in an isolated space until everyone returned from their respective missions.

Additionally, government action would be taken to set a seven-mile radius around the Quinjet prohibiting any public access and ensuring the mission stay entirely under wraps.

Comms would stay open during each individual operation and after three days or less, they’d all meet back up at the Quinjet to depart as simply as it had arrived.

Everyone was working on their preparations for the rest of the day — going over Nunavut’s map and geology, Tony refining communication technology to guarantee they work throughout the mission despite the distance that would be between the team throughout it.

The evening before the morning of departure, you were preparing for bed when a quiet knock came at your door.

Wanda was at the door holding a saran-wrapped dish of some type of pastry in both hands. “Hi,” she greeted with a tiny smile when you opened the door. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I’m just getting ready for bed,” you answered.

“I made blinis,” Wanda said, holding up the plate of what looked like a small stack of thin pancakes.

You stared at the dish for a moment then questioned, “At eleven in the evening?”

“Ever since moving here I’ve developed a bit of a habit of cooking when I’m nervous,” she explained, fingers tapping against the rim of the plate.

Then she continued, “You can save these in the fridge if you aren’t hungry.” It was a kind gesture, though you were convinced she hadn’t made them with you in mind.

You hadn’t spoken with Wanda since her training session. You wondered how she was doing with her practice and wanted to ask what was making her anxious. But you withheld your questions, having learned from experience the faults of coming to Wanda’s aid.

“Thank you,” you uttered and took the plate from her. Wanda seemed grateful that you accepted her dish and smiled at you when she transferred the plate to your hands.

An awkward silent moment passed between both of you. Wanda inhaled, her shoulders raising as she readied herself before asking, “How are you feeling? Are you nervous?”

“No,” you answered. “I’m sure it’ll be like any other mission.”

There was a strange look of despondency that struck momentarily across Wanda’s face at your response. She smiled at you then nodded.

“You have always been so strong,” she said, her gaze softening as she ventured through your eyes with her own. “I knew it from the moment we met. You’re different from them. Strong-willed. That’s why it was harder for me to-”

She cut herself off, her mouth closing to ensure she doesn’t slip up and let the next few words out: ‘That’s why it was harder for me to take over your mind.’

You looked at the floor between the both of you and took in a breath, then nodded. “Thank you for these,” you told her, lifting the plate of blinis up.

“O-Of course,” she replied and tugged at the hem of one of her sleeves. “Then, goodnight.”

Wanda headed back to her room in deep remorseful thought, tugging at her necklace and going over her conversation with you. She hadn’t meant to bring up bad memories, let alone the one that caused the divide between you and her, one that could not be crossed or mended no matter how hard Wanda tried.

She had only intended to compliment you, to offer to you in her hands what she stored so close to her heart — an affection and admiration for you.

But she failed to reconcile things with you.

Again.

That night you dreamt about your time with Wanda, before the fight between Ultron, the twins, and the Avengers.

You met Wanda before the rest of the team had even heard of the twins, a few weeks before their retrieval of Loki’s sceptre.

It was a strange series of events.

As was typical before the sceptre’s retrieval, you monitored any signal of its usage, any similar waves of power or sighting reports. After detecting a faint ring of energy in a mountainous plain of isolated land in Sokovia, you chose to go out on your own. What you saw on the monitors was a completely empty plot of land, but upon arrival you discovered a heavily-guarded compound stationed at the foot of a mountain and reaching an astounding height, and a young girl sitting by the edge of it, near the still water and under the waxing moon.

You never told any of the team about her nor her twin brother whom you never saw before the Avengers travelled to the HYDRA research base to retrieve the sceptre.

Wanda knew little of Loki’s sceptre, only that it was kept in a heavily protected sector of the compound. Despite the time you spent together, which eventually ended up being every night after the base’s scientists retired for the night and you were on your own in the lab, you couldn’t avoid telling your team about the sceptre’s location.

Retrieving it was part of something larger than your budding friendship with Wanda, though you still refrained from telling them anything about her and Pietro and their enhanced capabilities.

When the Avengers breached the HYDRA research base, you held no ill will to Wanda. The both of you were simply on opposite sides of a conflict that was long-running and complicated. You continued seeing each other though things became largely difficult once Ultron found the twins.

Though for a moment before the Maximoffs teamed with the android mastermind and they were unsupervised and not experimented on for the first time in several years, everything was blissful with Wanda despite everything else that had been going on between Ultron and the discourse within the team.

You saw her for hours at a time instead of a few fleeting minutes. You could travel anywhere with her rather than having to stick to the research base for the entirety of your time with her. You talked about anything that came to mind, sitting by a remote riverbank or under an evening sky discussing everything from Wanda’s childhood to your time with the team.

You cared for her and Pietro where you could, organising for them to stay in an unoccupied safehouse the team owned and keeping their activity there off the monitors.

When you returned to visit her one morning, their place was cleaned out and you found no trace of either twin. It was only until the Avengers made contact with Ultron that you realised where they had gone, who they had aligned themselves with and on what side of the battle they chose to fight for.

The team took a hard hit, each one of them falling victim to Wanda’s mind tricks, yourself included. She knew what specific memories to conjure, what fears to incite, what nerves to press on. She knew it because you’d told her all of it. She asked you for the best way to take the Avengers down and you told her — willingly.

You could never forgive her nor yourself for becoming the weak and unsuspecting piece in her game.

None of your teammates blamed you for what happened and made an effort to convince you that you had no hand in the Avengers’ collective loss. But you blamed yourself in spite of that. It was your fault.

You skipped breakfast with the team in the morning, your dream weighing heavily on you and the recollection of your blunder from months ago eating at you again as you recalled you’d have to spend the next three days with Wanda. Your mistake did not bring you as much guilt as it had months ago, but rather it made you angry. It made you bitter.

Despite having missed breakfast, you met up with the rest of the team by the foot of the Quinjet as planned. You packed a single bag full of your things, making sure to pack light to make sure travel wouldn’t be so tiresome.

Natasha recapped everything that happened while you were gone in the morning, which wasn’t much. Steve took some of the bags into the Quinjet while everyone else buckled themselves in.

Wanda, who was yet to be seen, finally arrived.

“Y/N, I’ve been looking for you,” she said, slightly breathless when she stood beside you. “I thought you were still in your room, so I was going to get you.”

You weren’t sure what to answer her with and you considered ignoring her and boarding the jet. But if you wanted anything from the mission, it was to come back to the Quinjet successful and to have minimal conflict with her.

So you answered with an acknowledging nod, “No, I just got here.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on your upper arm. “You skipped breakfast.”

“I’m fine. I wanted time to myself.”

“But-”

Natasha intervened, beckoning the two of you over and saying it was time to leave.

Wanda looked over at you, concern still drawn across her expression. But you ignored it and walked ahead, boarding the Quinjet with Wanda following silently behind you.

The high speeds the jet could reach allowed for the trip to Nunavut to be no longer than three hours, which wasn’t all too strenuous as trips often were before the latest Quinjet models that now incorporated several rooms and even a kitchen.

Despite the room on the jet, Wanda stayed in one place for a majority of the journey. She got up twice for the kitchen, but largely sat around the main seating deck where you were. No conversation took place between the two of you though you did catch Wanda looking at you several times.

As planned, the Quinjet landed in its designated spot.

Comms were secured and designed to reach the very northern tip of Nunavut to the very east, though bases were expected to be no further than six-hundred kilometres out, allowing for the team to exchange updates throughout the mission.

After double-checking each other’s supplies and going over the mission plan once more, you each set out for the HYDRA bases.

High-speed snowmobiles charged for week-long usage were supplied for travel. You drove the vehicle while Wanda clung onto you from behind. You had the company of Rhodes and Tony for the first forty minutes before they branched off, following the signal of their assigned base.

Though it was snowing heavily and there was nothing but blinding white plains and mountainous terrain in the distance for as far as the eye could see, the tracker Wanda held grew stronger as you travelled further into the snowy Nunavut.

She fed you directions from behind every so often, arms wrapped snugly around your midriff.

You couldn’t see the way Wanda laid her head against your back, often forgetting to give you directions as she hugged herself close to you, feeling the most secure since the two of you last spoke before she partnered with Ultron, even if you didn’t converse very much. It’d been quite a while since the two of you spent so much time alone together.

“It’s ahead, Y/N,” Wanda told you after fiddling with the tracker and ensuring it was working properly.

“Ahead?” you repeated. “Already?”

Wanda replied after a moment, likely adjusting the antenna of the tracker and double-checking the screen wasn’t broken. “It seems like it,” she said finally.

You sped ahead, eager to get the mission over with and head back to the Quinjet.

“There’s something strange about the signal… It’s getting stronger. Stronger than the signal back at the compound.”

“I know visibility is pretty low right now, but I can’t even see it. How is the signal that strong?” you told her. “Are you sure it isn’t picking something else up?”

Wanda assured, “It has the same signal impression, so it’s definitely the same base they picked up. But the technology they’re using is a lot stronger than what the compound detected.”

“Stronger… So, modern technology?”

“Which means more scientists,” she figured. “And the signal is only getting stronger. There’s maybe a lot more than ten scientists, Y/N.”

You looked ahead, letting the sound of the blowing wind and snow null things out momentarily as you considered the options. “How many more?” you asked Wanda.

She estimated, “If I were to guess and assume that the signal was only to get stronger before we arrived, then maybe thirty of them. I think we should wait for one of the others to finish. I don’t want to go in without knowing what’s waiting.”

“You said thirty of them.”

“But that’s only what I think. I’m not Tony or Steve, I don’t know how to read this as well as them. I’m not as experienced either.”

You heard the twinge of self-criticism in her words but you kept quiet about it, looking ahead and focusing on driving forward when your mind couldn’t detangle itself.

When several more moments passed without a response from you, Wanda’s arms squeezed gently around your waist. You felt the reassuring pressure of her embrace through your layers of winter gear.

“What are we going to do, Y/N?” she asked.

You gnawed at your bottom lip. “It’s only been about two hours since we left the Quinjet,” you uttered, shouting above the noise of the wind. “Even if we waited for help, it’d probably be at least eight hours until even Stark and Rhodes could meet us, and they’re the closest to us right now.”

“So we meet them instead? Come back together?”

“No,” you answered. “There’s not much else we can do but power forward for now. We’ll map out the base, try and get an estimate of how many scientists we have to deal with, and if things seem to be in our favour we’ll continue with the plan. If not, we’ll wait.”

There were several small safehouses scattered around northeast Nunavut built covertly by SHIELD decades ago. The plan was to clear out the HYDRA bases, avoid casualties if possible, rest in the nearby safehouses whose coordinates were also programmed into the tracking devices, then head back to the Quinjet as soon as the journey could be made. If you had to wait for help, you’d have to do it in one of the safehouses.

The both of you chose not to alert the team of the base you were approaching for fear that it might distract them and take them away from their respective missions. They would be updated only in the case that the base would be too much to handle without help. There was nothing to gain in telling them what wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Wanda guided you forward for the next thirty minutes, her arm squeezed even tighter around your waist then it previously was. “We’re approaching,” she told you then looked past your shoulder.

You squinted through the thick blanket of snow, looking for a light or an outline of a building, anything for you to pinpoint where the base was visually.

“Can you see it?” Wanda asked.

“No, I can’t. Are you sure we’re close? Maybe we’re still a few miles out.”

Then in an urgent demand that made you break the snowmobile so hard that you nearly fell out of it, Wanda blurted out, “Stop, stop!”

After catching your breath to calm your thumping heart, you looked back at her. “Holy shit, what?” you gasped.

“The HYDRA base should be right here,” she said. At the sight of your mistrusting expression, she lifted up the tracker and showed you the blinking red dot representing the base and the smaller blue dot that represented the snowmobile. They overlapped each other, meaning that it should’ve been right in front of you.

You got off of the vehicle and walked ahead, squinting and looking around at the snowy plain. Greys and whites stretched on for as long as you could see, and it was all you had been seeing for the last three hours.

Wanda got off of the snowmobile too, wrapped up in a heavy layer of winter gear and walking up to you as a circular ball of jackets and scarves. “Do you think it’s really out here? Maybe the tracker got water damaged or something.”

“I don’t think so,” you replied, stepping through the blinding white sheets of blowing snow.

The young witch ran up beside you, afraid to lose you in the hurricane-like winter. She buried her face further into the shelter of the scarf, leaving her eyes uncovered to allow herself to follow you closely.

“The signal and… now this,” you continued apprehensively. “There’s something that isn’t right with this base, and not just because we can’t see it.”

In the white expanse of snow that went on for kilometres more and mountains that lined the horizon, there was a single outlier.

You approached what looked like a metal pipe coming out from the ground, uncovered by the snow despite the way it had been coming down for the last three hours. A steady release of steam bellowed out from the pipe. You removed your glove and steadied your hand on top of the steam, only for it to be warmed. The snow that fell on your hand melted on-contact.

“Look how strong the signal is now,” Wanda mentioned, pointing to the edge of the screen.

You lifted the tracker up again, looking back down to those overlapping red and blue dots.

“The base is underground,” you told her, your eyes running across the snow you were standing on, then further down where you were sure the building stretched out below.

Eventually, an entrance was found after wandering through the shadowed tundra — a snowy stone walkway and a metal door rusted from years of usage and neglect.

“Should we… go in?” Wanda asked you, clinging to the sleeve of your jacket with both hands. “Is it safe?”

In concealed irritation, you took your arm away from her and opened the door. A warm burst of air hit your face and you kicked away the inches of snow behind the door to allow yourself enough space to step inside.

Wanda followed after you, her cheeks tinting a soft pink when the door closed behind her and the two of you were immediately developed in the warmth of the underground bunker. She pushed her hood back and removed her gloves.

The entrance den was small, giving off the illusion that one had found a storm cellar instead of a research base of an underground terrorist organisation.

You walked forward despite Wanda’s quiet whispers of forewarning, across the slotted floors that made visible piping from below and a leaky cement foundation that made you wonder how old this base must be.

As you walked deeper into the bunker, the tracker’s coordinates of the technology that was sending out signals became more precise. It was stronger, quicker, and indicative of transmitting hundreds of gigabytes of data every few minutes. It wasn’t nearly as fast or efficient as the monitors Stark found in Sokovia’s research base where Wanda and Pietro were stationed, but perhaps only a few models behind.

Voices could be heard from around the corner, and the tracker specified that their primary monitor was but a few metres away.

Wispy tendrils snaked around Wanda’s fingers as she readied herself for any sudden attacks.

Carefully, you unzipped your jacket and pulled out a thermal camera. The base didn’t seem to be well insulated, which was likely why they had to make up for it with the amount of heating they used. Fortunately, this meant that the thermal camera could detect individuals through the wall you were hidden behind with ease.

They were positioned poorly around the lab, as if not under any suspicion that someone might intrude their base. There were six people walking on a levelled platform a few metres up by the ceiling, rounding the room’s perimeter and doing nothing in particular. Five people circled around the southern area of the large room, and there were seven in the centre where the lab monitors were.

You expanded the thermal camera’s range until it reached the outer borders of the bunker and found no outliers.

“Eighteen of them?” Wanda whispered, looking over your shoulder as she stayed close to the wall. “Why so few of them for such advanced technology?”

“For somewhere so far out and underground, maybe they had to overcompensate,” you supposed.

Wanda looked around, then at the details of the ceilings and elevated levels. “It looks like this used to be a bomb shelter repurposed for HYDRA,” she observed. “Pietro and I were experimented on in something similar.”

You bristled at the mention of their experimentation. You recalled the hours spent with Wanda as she talked about what Strucker did to her and her brother, the inhumane treatment and the trauma she received from it.

“If I go from up top and bring them down, we can move in on them in the middle of the lab,” you proposed, fidgeting with the thermal camera and looking up at the elevated floor above the staircase ahead.

“Wh- We’re going to separate?” Wanda whispered.

You reasoned, “We’re not going to take on eighteen of them coming in from one direction.”

“But where will you go?”

“Stay here and wait until you see me come through right there,” you said and pointed at the wall wherein the entrance to the lab’s elevated walkway could be seen beyond it.

Wanda stared at you as if to survey whether you were being sincere and looked away when you met her gaze. “Okay. I’ll wait here,” she uttered and stepped back, away from the view of anyone in the next room while having a clear view of the walkway.

Without another word, you turned and went back up the staircase you descended. You took a left and followed the path down to where the other side of the room became visible.

Wanda watched you intently, ready to come to your aid if you were to suddenly need her help. Her eyes darted between you and the walkway in the other room.

You weren’t much for combat, so you helped Tony design weapons similar to Natasha’s Widow’s Bites. Vial-like ammo were ejected from small silent guns, attaching to a target’s exposed skin, preferably the neck, before releasing a toxin and attacking and incapacitating a target’s nervous system for up to an hour. From complete stupefaction to a remarkable loss of one’s senses, they were perfect for a swift in and out.

The first four people went down quickly with the other two fleeing for the stairs. They made to escape through the exit Wanda was waiting in but were quickly paralyzed with a wave of her fingers.

At the sight of you jumping down from the walkway, Wanda kept the scientists in the lab from escaping while you stunned four of the ones by the corridor and knocked the fifth unconscious.

You quickly disposed of the empty gun and switched to the other, landed two vials on two different scientists while Wanda clouded the minds of the last five.

You eyed them when they dropped to the floor.

“They’re just in a trance,” Wanda explained suddenly when she saw you looking at them. “I haven’t done anything to their minds.”

She hadn’t used her magic to brainwash anyone since her and Pietro’s fight with the Avengers, and certainly not after her argument with you.

Ignoring her, you moved to the monitors and took out a USB before extracting data from the primary console. The parts were easier to navigate because they were older, but there was a lot of data to extract. You’d get data out first then corrupt what the base had left.

Wanda was flipping through their files as you did your own work, looking up at you occasionally and eyeing your body for any sustained injury.

The monitor screen flickered on when you moved the mouse accidentally, and on it was a file that caught your eye. Though it was in Cyrillic, it was easy to read — The Enhanced.

A gasp came from Wanda that startled you and you looked over to her to see she was holding a file in two hands.

“What is that?” you asked.

Her words were firstly a jumble of stutters, but she eventually answered you. “It’s information on me and Pietro. They were studying the experiments on us.”

You looked at the file on the monitor.

The Enhanced.

She read from the file and thought out loud, “Underground and in an old bunker like this, they were trying to replicate the experiments, make new weapons and reuse the progress that Ultron made with the Mind Stone.”

After making the connection, Wanda looked around at the research base then at the scientists on the ground. Her hands trembled and she dropped the file, running her fingers through her hair and scratching at her palms to ground herself.

“I cannot be here. We have to leave,” she told you.

“Just a few more moments, Wanda, this is almost finished.”

But she insisted angrily, “No, we have to go now! You do not understand the kinds of things these people do. I cannot be an experiment again. You cannot.”

She suddenly reached her hand out and placed it on top of the USB. The progress percentage on the console boosted up rapidly. Its internal wires glowed a dim red, an advanced version of Wanda’s neuroelectrical manipulation.

Within seconds, the data finished extracting and Wanda ejected the drive and placed it in your hand.

“Let’s go now,” Wanda told you hurriedly and took your hand, rushing the two of you up the stairs and down the walkway.

You left the way you came, but when you turned to get onto the snowmobile parked just outside, Wanda was still standing by the exit.

“Wanda, what are you doing?” you called down to her, the loud blowing wind encapsulating the two of you once again.

“We need to get rid of this base. Forever.”

You walked back over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Limited casualties,” you reminded her.

When she turned to you, her eyes were filled with tearful fury. “Let me do this,” she said sternly.

You stared at her for a few moments before nodding and letting go of her.

A gas pipe was snapped in half, so it blew out into the bunker.

With shaky hands, Wanda sped up the release from the heating pipes, bundling them up into a focused ball of hot steam so its temperature rose.

It continued to rise until the metal from the pipes and walls distorted from the heat, and you were sure Wanda’s wrath on its own contributed to that ball of heat’s temperature.

At the first sight of a spark and a quick lick of a flame, Wanda shot the ball to the side at the expelling gas without warning.

It happened within seconds; the bunker filled with purple flame and rushed right up to Wanda’s face.

You reached over her shoulder and shut the bunker door before wrapping your arms around Wanda and moving her away. Her back made harsh contact with the stone wall adjacent to the door when you pushed yourself against her body, protecting her from the explosion.

The purple flames cooled into orange, bursting out from the frames of the door and turning the snow on the ground to water.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, your heart racing.

You looked back over to Wanda, whose face was flushed pink with parted lips. She was no longer crying but her eyeliner was smudged beneath her waterline. She was looking at you though you could see the reflection of the flames in her green eyes.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Her mouth closed and she swallowed. She blinked and simply nodded in response.

You nodded and said, “Okay. Good, okay.”

You stepped back from her and zipped your jacket up then put your gloves back on.

“We should head to the safehouse now,” you advised. “Update the team then get some rest, and we can leave for the Quinjet tomorrow morning.”

Wanda only nodded again. She watched you as you ascended the steps and mounted the snowmobile. She fitted her hat back on and then her gloves, and caught her breath as she followed after you.

She took her seat behind you on the snowmobile and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Ready?” you asked.

She nodded, feeling the back of your jacket against her cheek. “Ready.”

You held the tracker in your other hand as you drove to the nearest safehouse. Tony and Rhodes wouldn’t be there, for their nearest one was thirty miles south. But you didn’t dread being alone with Wanda as much as you did before.

A part of you that hadn’t been awoken since the last you spent those evening hours awake talking with Wanda sparked a modest flame. Recollections of your time with her spread out during the last few months came to you in the blinding white plains of the Nunavut tundra.

On the way back to the compound after a mission a few months ago, Wanda had stayed with you in one of the rooms and tended to your injuries. She was surprisingly proficient in bandaging you up and keeping you elevated, and while you sat in quiet disdain for her, she reminisced aloud about how she and Pietro had to care for themselves for most of their life on their own and how caring for someone else often made her think of him.

The journey to the safehouse was a twenty minute drive. The building was larger than you envisioned.

You dug through the depths of your jacket for a key safely stored for the safehouse and opened the garage. It was miraculous that it still worked.

The team was reassured that the buildings were safe from being built with any malicious intent during SHIELD's active operation, and were nearly forgotten until the exploration of Nunavut was proposed.

You stepped off of the snowmobile and had Wanda unlock the door and take the bags in while you pulled the vehicle into its proper storage inside so it wouldn’t be frozen outside by the time you left in the morning.

Locking the door behind you when you stepped into the house, you shedded off your layers and hung them from the hangers, moving your boots to the side beside Wanda’s.

The place felt brisk the moment your jacket came off so you wandered around looking for a thermostat. From what you were all told, each safehouse came with three bedrooms and bathrooms, a common room, and a kitchen.

You found the kitchen first, then a hungry Wanda who was standing by the counter with canned tuna and a glass of tap water.

“Are you hungry?” she asked you, offering you the can of tuna.

Looking around, you took the fork from her. “Where did you find this?” you inquired with a laugh.

“There’s some food here, but they’re all raw or canned. Made to last, I would think,” she noted and took out another can from the pantry before peeling the top open. She took a fork from the counter.

“I turned on the heat when I came in,” she told you. “It should get a bit warmer in a few minutes.”

You looked through the pantry and took out a box of macaroni and cheese, then turned on the oven, feeling the prongs heat up. “Do you want to share some pasta?”

“Yes, please.”

Within forty minutes, you’re sitting on the common area couch with Wanda in silence, eating cheesy boxed macaroni.

For the first time, you felt strange looking back at your history with Wanda before Ultron. It twisted something in your stomach and made your shoulders tense.

Looking at her docile expression, unsuspecting and delicate as she sat across from you, legs crossed on the couch as she ate with you. The dim lamp from the corner of the room beside the broken television cast the silhouettes on her face you often used to follow with your eyes when she laid beside you in the plot of grassy land in front of the hideout she and Pietro used for a period of time after Strucker vanished. It was warm – the last few weeks of summer.

It was March now, months since the battle on Sokovia and even longer since the last time you spent this kind of time with Wanda.

Wanda put her empty bowl down and took a sip of water. She wrapped her fingers around the cold glass, her thumb running over the ring on her index finger.

“I know you don’t like me,” she uttered suddenly, “so I would understand if you never forgave me for what I’ve done to you.”

You looked up from the bowl in your lap and at Wanda, who was looking down at her fingers avoidantly.

“But I will always look up to you,” she continued. “You are so brave and kind. You are what I had wished I was becoming when I worked with HYDRA, and when I allied with Ultron. But I made a mistake. And I keep making mistakes.”

“You’re doing okay,” you told her suddenly before you realised what you were saying.

Then you added, “Everyone thinks so.”

Wanda looked at you, studying your face for what felt to you like quite a while. “When I looked inside your mind,” she said, “I saw something pure. I feel the same for you as I did before, if not with more gravity. I want to know more about you and these things I can feel that you love.”

“What do you want to know?”

“This Shakespeare — I have read him and understand very little of what he writes about, or rather how he writes. I made my own way through several acts of Hamlet but found I could not pretend I found any sense of enjoyment in his writing. His works are enjoyable to you?”

And then you were laughing a kind of laugh that made you place your bowl on the coffee table to avoid spilling it over.

Wanda smiled as she watched you, the crinkling of your eyes that she found pleasing to look at and the unrestrained sound of sincere joy that came from you, especially when it was because of her and no one else. She laughed, quietly and with a few chuckles.

“That was funny?” she asked, still smiling.

You nodded and answered, “Yes.”

But she continued to look at you, anticipating an answer.

“He writes strangely, but because he lived from quite a while ago when the English language was different,” you said. “But also because he was an artist, and like any other artist, his work can be interpreted. Overtime, it’s become easier for me to understand his age of English, but the poetry of his works have become no less interesting to me.”

“What’s interesting about it?”

“There’s an eloquence to his style of writing, I think,” you thought aloud. “And for certain works like Hamlet, for example, it’s tragic and ironic, with beautifully written characters, all within a bound book of one of the most artistic styles of writing I’ve come across. He’s-”

Wanda leaned over, the sudden act making you halt your words and look over to her, only for her hand to find the side of your face. Her lips met yours in one swift movement and her eyes fluttered shut.

Her nose was decorated with freckles.

You stumbled back in your seat and Wanda’s hand lifted to your knee.

She parted from you, looking down at her hand on your knee and her fingers slowly retracting from your cheek.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered, her cheeks flushing.

Carefully, you took the glass away from her and placed it beside her empty bowl. Wrapping your hand around her wrist, you pulled her closer to you until her other hand was forced to remove itself from your knee and lay itself down on the couch by your hip.

You kissed her with a sudden ferocity that made her breath hitch.

“Wanda,” you breathed.

She moved closer to you so she was sitting up on her knees in front of you.

Your hands moved down her body, arching her back with your fingers pressing into her sides so you could kiss up her stomach then between her clothed breasts.

With a pleasured sigh, Wanda’s hands came up to the sides of your head, her fingers playing with your hair and urging you to kiss her body.

Now irritated by the distance between you and her bare skin, your fingers hooked around the collar of her long-sleeved white shirt and yanked down.

Wanda hid a grin in your hair and kissed the top of your head.

You kissed the swells of her breasts, burying your face in her chest and nipping at her delicate skin. You craved more and your fingers pulled down her bra, exposing rosy nipples. Your tongue ran up one of them and they hardened at your contact.

“I like that,” Wanda said, an arm wrapping around your neck and pulling you closer to her.

“Yeah?” you answered, looking up at her from between her breasts. You kissed up her chest and neck, running your tongue up her pulse point and making her squirm. “What else do you like, pretty girl?”

She blushed at the pet name and hid her face against the side of your head.

“Anything, Y/N,” she answered. “Anything from you.”

You wrapped your arm around her ass and picked her up from the couch, making her giggle and wrap her legs around your hips. Your other arm was wrapped around her waist.

Wanda kissed your forehead and your temple while you peppered kisses against her throat.

You carried her up the stairs and towards one of the bedrooms Wanda pointed at. You flicked on the lamp on the nightstand and lowered Wanda onto the bed.

She pulled your shirt off when you leaned over her while you unbuttoned and slipped her jeans off. Her legs were smooth and you couldn’t help but run your hands up the sides of them, gripping at her soft thighs and her hips.

Her shirt was pulled off next while you took your pants off.

You tucked your hands under her ass and you lifted her further up the bed, which made her laugh. You leaned back down when she was laid in the middle and kissed her.

Her hands ran up your stomach and undressed you until you were bare on top of her. You unclipped her bra and wrapped your lips around one of her nipples, kneading her other with your hand.

Her back arched up against you and she wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you close.

“Gods, you’re beautiful, Wanda.”

She shuddered when your hand ran down her bare stomach and you grinned against her cheek when you realised how sensitive Wanda was.

Your free hand pinched one of her nipples between your thumb and index finger and she yelped before burying her face in your hair.

You slipped her panties off and dragged your fingers through her folds that were already slick with her anticipation.

Wanda’s cheek warmed your lips when you kissed them for she was flushed, overwhelmed and embarrassed being exposed for someone like you. She idolised you, regarded you with high praise and adoration.

To have you kiss breasts and call her beautiful, to touch her in a way she hadn’t been in years. But even her first time had been rushed, a decision made at the snap of her fingers.

Your fingers were brought to your lips and you licked her juices from them. Wanda’s eyes widened at the act and you grinned down at her. You ran a thumb over her bottom lip and kissed her, her flavour melding between your dancing tongues.

You reached down between your stomachs and jerked your hand around your stiff cock. Wanda’s eyes followed your hand and her lips parted at the sight of you. You pecked her lips, amused at her awe.

A hand ran up her cunt, collecting her slick and coating yourself in it.

“Are you ready, Wanda?” you asked, looking up at her.

She nodded eagerly, hugging her arms around your neck tightly. “I’m ready.”

You entered her with a long groan, feeling her soft walls squeeze around your cock. Her eyes were squeezed shut, shaky whimpers leaving her.

“Y/N,” Wanda groaned. “That hurts.”

“You’re so tight,” you told her. “I’ll be careful.”

She opened her eyes and pulled you down to her so she could kiss you. “No. I want you, please. Harder.”

You wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting the lower half of her body from the bed and angling her hips down against your thighs.

With two hands on either of her hips, you pulled her up and down, fucking her on your cock as Wanda’s mouth fell open, broken moans and cries of pleasure singing from her throat.

She reached a hand down to you and you took it, interlacing your fingers as you dug your other hand’s nails into the side of her ass.

Her ass slapped down against your thighs and you could only stare at her in admiration, watching her breasts bounce on her chest with every thrust into her, the sounds that came out of her that were for you, the sound of your name on her tongue that was moaned in a way that no one would ever have the pleasure of hearing for their own names.

Your hand moved between Wanda’s hips and you laid your hand flat against her lower stomach while your thumb began drawing circles around her clit.

“Oh my, Y/N!” Wanda cried. “Oh, I feel so strange.”

She was quite sensitive, nearing her climax so soon. You kissed up her stomach and let go of her hips, laying her flat down on the bed and mounting yourself over her. You kiss her and massage one of her breasts.

“Let me see you, Wanda. Come for me.”

Wanda buried her face in your neck, her hot breath panting against your chest while your thrusted into her and grasped harshly at her hip to maintain a strong hold on her delicate body while you fucked her.

She babbled out a mess of half-finished words and her walls tightened around you.

You lifted your head to see her and Wanda’s head was thrown back, her fingernails digging into your upper arms as she came. Her orgasm washed over her in heavy forceful waves, making her shudder and tighten her knees around your hips.

There was a certain pride in making Wanda come, a young girl so often taken by timidity and whose inner feelings were unshared with those she did not find solace in. To have her shudder under you, hands grasping desperately at your body while she cried out your name sent bursts of warmth up your chest.

She took your head between her hands and pressed shaky kisses to your face, up the bridge of your nose and against your cheekbones, to your forehead and finally back down to your lips. “Let me get you off,” she whispered.

You switched positions with you now laying on your back, Wanda on her knees by your ankles. You reached down and ran your fingers through her hair in admiration, then down her cheek. Wanda smiled at you and kissed your hip.

She firstly took your cock with both hands, flicking the tip of her tongue against your tip. She ran her tongue through your slit gently then wrapped her lips around you, hands jerking you slowly.

When she had you with your head thrown back and your cock stiff in her hands, Wanda let go of you and kissed up the length of your shaft.

“Y/N, you’re so beautiful,” she said, looking up at you from below. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever been lucky enough to know. I haven’t treated you as I should. I do not deserve your patience, and certainly not any permission to see you this way. But I hope to show you how much I adore you. Because I do. I truly do.”

“Wanda…” you uttered quietly, ready to protest before she wrapped her lips around your tip again and bobbed her head down.

She took a few inches at a time and you felt her throat open up for you as she moved her head down. One hand rubbed at your thigh and the other was placed atop your hip. She adjusted her position, kneeling and arching her back to get as low as she could, her ass stuck up in the air. She inched further down, relaxing her throat until her nose brushed your lower stomach.

She took your hand with hers and placed it against the back of your head.

You took hold of her hair and pulled her up along your cock and back down. You could hear Wanda’s mouth attempting to accommodate you with every entry into her mouth. She breathed through her nose, her grip tightening around your thigh as she drooled around your cock.

You pulled her up further occasionally so her lips reached only your tip, allowing her space to breathe before pushing her back down.

Wanda never protested, only looked up at you with sheer determination to bring you pleasure. She did gag at the depth you were fucking her throat in, though still that seemed to please you and Wanda was satisfied.

After ten minutes, you pulled Wanda off of your cock, wiping the drool from her chin and uttering, “Good, Wanda. That was good.”

But she was drunk on the taste of your cock, the pre-cum she was treated with occasionally when she curled her tongue around you a specific way and sucked at you with a certain velocity.

“I want more,” she objected and kissed up your cock again, her tongue running up your veins and kissing your tip, running it through her lips and sucking at it teasingly. She rubbed her cheek against your wet cock then ran her tongue up it.

So you took her head between both hands and positioned her over your cock. She parted her lips instinctively and you jutted your hips up into her face, thrusting her throat down onto your dick at a speed vastly different than before, your speed having increased tenfold.

Wanda grasped the blankets and scratched at your hips while she tried her best to take you as deep and fast as you wanted, using her for nothing but your own pleasure. Her eyes filled with tears and her saliva coated the base of your shaft.

Your hips bucked up into her face and Wanda looked up at you, studying intently the line that formed between your eyebrows and the way your eyes squeezed shut. She flattened her tongue and wrapped it around your cock, flicking it side to side where it could fit.

“Wanda- Fuck, I’m coming!”

You shot your cum down her throat, your hands on either side of her head pushing her back gradually to fill her mouth with your cream, then finally you pulled out altogether to cum onto her face.

With the tip of your cock, you rubbed your cum against her lips and cheeks. Wanda smiled and kissed your shaft proudly.

You wiped it off her face and ran your coated fingers through her messy hair while Wanda swallowed what she could, licking your cum from her fingers too.

“God, you’re fucking filthy.”

Wanda grinned and climbed up.

You wrapped your arms around her body, kissing each other’s tired faces.

She twirled your hair around her fingers and with her cheek pressed against yours lazily, she whispered, “I’m tired, Y/N.”

“Sleep,” you answered and put a hand to the back of her head, letting her rest her head on your chest. You kissed her hair damp with sweat, and rubbed her smooth bare back as she dozed off.

You muttered confessions of your adoration of her against her head, kissing her forehead in her sleep and eventually covering your bare bodies in thick blankets.

For now, she wouldn’t know how you admired her, her intelligence and her kindheartedness, her strength and her beauty. The green of her eyes and the softness of her smooth curves, the feeling of her lips and the smoothness of her skin.

But perhaps she would know at some point or another, and that brought you joy – a future you could imagine with her.

You pulled Wanda against your chest and kissed the top of her head.

A future with her.

The very thought comforted you, and you fell asleep soon after her.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut

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gatheringbones · 10 months

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[“It can be difficult for people raised as girls to express rage when we’ve been taught from very early on that it is in our best interest to suppress our anger. It is culturally acceptable for women to be sad, not angry. In one study on gender, anger, and the workplace, the participants conferred higher status to sad female employees than to angry ones. For men the opposite was true. Men, particularly white men, are rewarded and forgiven for their anger, while women are penalized and blamed.

Ceci, the mestiza paralegal, now lives in Los Angeles with her husband, five-year-old son, and twenty-two-year-old stepdaughter. She described herself using the exact language of a woman who was taught by the culture not to value or express her anger: “I’m a people pleaser. I don’t rock the boat. I go along with everything, do what people tell me.” This is the path of being a good girl, a good woman, and eventually a good mother. Lifelong gendered learning teaches people raised to be women to push down anger and any feelings in the “sub-anger” ballpark, such as annoyance, irritation, and frustration. I imagine this emotional push-down like the carnival game whack-a-mole. Each time an uncomfortable or unpleasant anger-related feeling pops up—whack!—women automatically bang it with a big-headed mallet, sending it back beneath the surface.

Like the rage itself, this game of anger whack-a-mole is an international phenomenon for women. In Korea, there is a culture-related anger syndrome called hwa-byung. It translates literally to “illness of fire” and mostly affects working-class middle-aged housewives, who have chronically suppressed anger stemming from strict gender roles, gender-based inequality, and patriarchal family structures. In traditional Latin American folk medicine, it is believed that holding onto certain emotions can cause physical illness. In Northeast Brazil, the term engolir sapos translates to “swallowing frogs,” and is mostly used by women to refer to the suppression of anger and irritation, and the pressure to tolerate unfair treatment without complaint.

Cheryl, the Black civil rights lawyer who internalizes her mom rage, is practiced at playing whack-a-mole with her anger: “I’m good at repressing things. So, a little problem, I repress it, and it gets packed on top of all the other things that make me mad, until there’s no way to untangle it. It’s just this huge tangle of anger that I’m trying to disassociate from all the time.” In our present-day culture of busy, intensive motherhood, stuffing down unpleasant emotions can be a matter of practicality. Minutes are a precious resource, and airing every frustration is a time expense that modern mothers cannot afford. Emails must be sent, dinner needs to get into bellies, and bodies need to snuggle under covers. But the perceived time-saver of the Emotional Whack-a-Mole phase is a mirage. Every time a mom suppresses her angry feelings, as she’s been taught to do her entire life, she is pushing them onto an ever-growing pile of anger inside her. Eventually, the pile will topple.”]

minna dubin, from mom rage: the everyday crisis of modern motherhood, 2023

#minna dubin #bi literature #gender stuff #currently reading #brainspace

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girldragongizzard · 8 days

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Chapter 17: It heal

I constantly have a growing number of questions for Chapman.

I finally remember one I want to ask, which I do so silently, by showing hir the screen of my tablet instead of hitting talk, “Why no human talk?”

We’re in the very back of a bar named Pooty’s. It’s on the same block as my building, right on the northeast corner, nearer to the Courthouse than the coffee shop is. The staff often go there after closing, but we’re here for dinner with those who are off. And the others aren’t sitting with us. Rhoda’s entertaining them at a table nearby, and we’re all watching the pool players.

Rhoda, Chapman, and Nathan, with the help of Seagull, have worked together to set something up for me that could seriously leverage any possible goodwill toward dragons that City Council might have.

County Council is going to have to come second.

Anyway, in preparation, Chapman has told the others that sie wants to confer with me alone for a bit and to make sure my tablet is in the best working order. Because I’m going to be relying on it.

Rhoda’s working with them to plan something else.

Chapman turns the tablet so it’s right side up for hir and considers my question.

When sie types something out and pushes it back, it says, “I cut corners for my prototype.”

We keep doing this for our whole conversation while drinking our own beers and eating a huge platter of fries that we’re sharing.

“Who for?” I ask. “Who people like me?”

“Trans people, like us,” Chapman replies.

“Prototype you? Or you prototype?” I hope that makes sense.

Chapman takes a little extra time, “I make prototype based on me. That way, spare clothes fit when someone tries it. Then we talk customizations.”

So, sie did make the prototype based on hir own body, but hir current body isn’t based on the prototype. That’s what I was curious about, briefly. Now I have another question.

“You make more?”

“Not yet.”

“Get easier with each?”

“A bit.”

I nod and ask, “Other dragons?”

“Can have. Not soon.” Chapman looks at me and says out loud, “We know we need to coordinate with them and prove that you can learn to be civil with each other. And we need to do it fast. And your discord server is a really good idea. So that’s what Rhoda’s talking about with the others. To figure out how to get their contact information so you can personally send invites. Our strategy, as you know, is two pronged. It has to be.”

I nod some more, like the human I resemble. This puts my bosom more into my lower peripheral vision and I see the second-hand Torrid dress I’m wearing. I am distracted by the novelty of this, but not necessarily in a good feeling way. I focus on the novelty and on Chapman’s words as best I can.

The TARDIS dress was destroyed in my demonstration to Seagull.

Chapman continues, “Your meeting with the Mayor, facilitated by the weekly, will help counter the alarmist propaganda the daily is publishing. The true locals are tuned to the weekly, even though it’s not on paper anymore. But the daily’s stories go right to the radio, as we’ve been hearing today. And that goes to the broader internet. And, on top of that, the local political establishment is currently behind the idea of running you all out of town.”

I nod once.

“The Mayor’s daughter is a dragon, though,” Chapman says. “Which is why we’ve got this interview. But we also absolutely need to rally the local dragons to cooperate. As quickly as possible. The Mayor’s daughter joining your discord might accelerate that. I feel it.” Sie considers me carefully for a moment, and then says, “Can I ask you a question this time? It’s really personal. I’ll keep it on the Tablet.”

I point at the tablet and nod.

“Can I scan your body when a dragon?” sie asks, then pushes the tablet toward me, initiating our ongoing silent exchange. The silence is for the wizardry stuff.

“Why?”

“Biology. Mating season. Important to know.”

That does make me feel a little weird in a mostly fun way. But, regardless, I answer, “Yes.” Because I want to learn what sie learns from that.

“See if you lay eggs,” Chapman says. “But also deeper.”

Ooh, “Yes.”

“I have theory.”

“What?”

“OK, so,” Chapman says out loud again. “There’s this idea, and I think it might be true, that dragons all work similarly to a set of salamanders when it comes to mating. Y - er, they might all be physiologically females. But these salamanders are really cool!” Sie pulls the tablet over to hirself and starts searching Wikipedia to bring up the relevant article. “They aren’t really a species. Scientists are calling them a bioform. Because what they do is they harvest DNA from a variety of other completely different salamanders. Each member of this bioform can collect spermatozoa from other salamanders and harvest just part of the DNA and store it for later. They can mix and match from all their off-species mates, and then have a clutch based on that.”

Sie looks at me to see if I’m understanding that. I hesitantly nod after a moment. More hesitant from the scrutiny than anything. What sie is saying makes a lot of sense and sounds really cool. I had no idea anything could do that, but why not, though?

“It’s not conscious, of course, and no one knows if there’s any logic to it, any rules or laws or if it’s random,” sie explains. “But, it happens and can be studied. And it results in a group of amphibians that are chimerical in a way that is only rivaled by one other set of bioforms on the planet now, that we know of. Dragons.”

“Beyond rad,” I reply with the tablet.

Chapman nods now, “Some people think that dragons can do this with a wider range of species, and that’s why y - they’re all so different. Of course, the sudden appearance of dragons seems to prove the presence of some kind of divine or magical power in the world, and a lot of people think dragons embody that power and use it to do otherwise biologically impossible things, too. And, I’m not exactly skeptical.”

“What do with Mayor and discord?” I ask.

Chapman glances at my question and tightens hir lips. “People who are aware of this theory, or who have the time to consider it – people who are not necessarily politicians – are concerned that this could make mating season, this Spring, particularly fraught. Of course, we may get our answers sooner, since mating season is just starting for the Southern hemisphere.”

“We fix before,” I say out loud, hitting talk.

“That’s what everyone hopes, yes. But if we can find out we can make better plans, and it behooves everyone to take the future into account while addressing the present. Fortunately, a lot of the people I know are very good at doing that.”

While I’m thinking about that and formulating a response or a question that could provoke more interesting revelations, we’re approached by a couple of men with pool cues in hand.

This is not a college pickup bar. Back in 2005 it was a bit of a music venue, but when stricter noise ordinances (which I do violate) got passed, Pooty’s stopped hosting shows. Now it’s what locals call an industry bar. A place where other food service workers collect to relax and commiserate with the staff. But we’re both vaguely feminine looking people who appear to be in our 30s, and I guess we’re cute? But cute to straight men? Really?

“Would either of you ladies like to join us in a game? We could play partners?” one of the men asks.

Oh, that’s easy. We could have fun playing, and we have a bunch of our friends here to watch out for us. So we could risk saying, “Yes.” But they’re not my type, and…

“Thank you, boys,” Chapman says in a lower register than I typically hear, dropping hir voice from a maple syrup tenor into a molasses and bourbon baritone. “She’s the only lady here. And while I’d normally take you up on it – I love pool – we’re here on business and have kind of a time crunch. You understand.”

I nod in Chapman’s direction when sie says, “business”.

“Ah, of course. Sorry to interrupt,” says the other guy, who then elbows his friend and gestures back at their table with his head.

Nice. No scene.

“You use magic?” I ask Chapman silently.

Sie takes the tablet and responds, “You didn’t feel it?”

“Not when human,” I reply. “I don’t think.”

I’d been paying attention for the day, as we did things, and looking out for times I thought Chapman would be using magic. And I have yet to have felt a shift while wearing the pendant.

“Oh, really?” Chapman asks. “I will update notes. And we should test it for real. Didn’t use magic.”

“Nice guys.”

“Eh.”

We hear them laughing with each other, and both glance their direction to see them glancing back out of the corners of their eyes and elbowing each other.

OK. Maybe not.

The Pacific Northwest (or Seattle) Freeze, a standard of regional conduct, can really cut down on a lot of surface impoliteness when people are talking face to face. But the moment you turn your backs to each other, the knives do get sharpened sometimes.

I grew up here and never really noticed it before until Rhoda pointed it out one day. She’d been really frustrated by it, being a transplant from New York, herself.

Now I feel like I’m seeing it in action in stark relief to what I’m used to. But I wonder if it’s some kind of bias introduced by my new position in life.

I have a growing group of people who care about and support me, and I’m also hyperaware of my differences with humans, and how humans act around me. Especially since being targeted by the police.

On the other hand, I haven’t had much time to practice pretending to be human today. I’ve been so busy, and it’s my first day with the pendant.

I bet my mannerisms look really weird. Maybe cute, but really weird to those guys. It’s probably what got their attention. Maybe they mistook us for sisters. And then, based on our reaction, now I bet they think we’re queer, which would be right. And my weirdness becomes the subject of laughter.

Great.

“Let’s rejoin the others,” Chapman says.

Good idea, but I have one more question for hir.

“What your full name?” I ask.

Chapman smiles and almost breaks out in giggles, and then types it into the tablet, “Chap Man.” Then sie says, “In a phone book, I’d be listed as Man Chap. Which I think is funny. Chap is my first name and Man is my last. Legally. But I wanted a single word name, and that’s the easiest way to do it so that it still works with most databases. It’s really just Chapman.”

“Why Chapman?” I ask.

Sie shrugs, “I just really like the sound of it. It kind of subtly counteracts how femme I like to dress sometimes.” The sie asks, “Why’d you pick Meghan?”

“Not brave warrior. Though am,” I reply. “Real reason. Rhymes with dragon.”

“God, you’re such a trans girl.”

“Also. Meg short for Megabyte. Or Megalodon. Or Megnificent.”

“More damning evidence! Come on.”

—

Alone again with Chapman, it’s 2 AM and we’re back on the roof of my building.

I’m wondering once more where that first helicopter came from. None of us have found the answers to that. It wasn’t mentioned in any of the brief press releases the police chief issued earlier in the day. And I think we’re all hoping it will be made known by Monday night, just for curiosity’s sake. But maybe for legal reasons, too.

That said, my own reason for worrying about it is that it had directly targeted me. And now I’m standing on the place where it had done that, and I’m taking off my disguise.

Chapman got us up here through the lobby, the elevator, and the roof access, all without consulting property management. Of course.

Only Rhoda knows we’re up here, but she went to bed a while ago.

Since Chapman has obviously seen my naked human form, as sie had designed it based on what sie saw in the mirror before top surgery and hir queer makeover, I just take off my clothes and carefully fold them near the access hatch. And then I slip off the pendant, dropping it onto the roof in the process.

And stretch.

“Meg,” I say, like a cute cartoon animal voiced by an Angelina Joli impersonator.

“Oh, that’s a good thing to know how to say!” Chapman exclaims. “Your own name is important. OK.” Sie takes a gunfighter stance, with finger guns at hips, “You ready to be scanned?”

Sie had already just scanned me while I was disguised, and I didn’t feel a thing. This time I definitely feel the shift.

My sense of it is so discerning, I can pinpoint it to just behind Chapman’s sternum, right next to hir heart.

I’ve heard that people don’t perceive their center of consciousness to be in their head. They perceive it to be in or near their heart, and I wonder if Chapman’s one of them. But it’s not like I can scan hir.

“Theory supported!” Chapman declares. “You lay eggs, Meg. And you share that reproductive trait of those salamanders I was telling you about. It just remains to be seen what other dragons are like. Dammit, I love it when we all guess right, though.”

I lay eggs.

Yes!

Chapman walks around to face me more directly from my front, which isn’t ever strictly necessary for me, since I can look anywhere, and then says, “Thank you for consenting to that. It was a really invasive procedure. That’s intimate personal knowledge, and I swear I’ll keep your personal information secret. When it comes to body and mind, as opposed to actions and situations, I like to keep my scans based on full informed consent, if I can.”

I cat smile and say, “Yes.”

“In an emergency, though, I will probably do what I need to do to keep everyone safe,” sie adds. “That’s also something you should be fully aware of.”

“Okay,” I say.

That was a complex one to learn. My first two syllable word. But it seemed important and really useful. It does sound a little less human when I say it, though. What would be the velar plosive in a human, the “k” sound, has an extra kind of record scratch noise to it when I render it.

“Oh, you know just enough words now you could make a simple sentence. Have you tried that yet?” Chapman asks.

“No,” I say. Then I select a couple other words to try to say in succession, and manage, “Now. Yes.”

It doesn’t sound like a sentence to my ears, but I know it can be one.

My verbal vocabulary is at eleven words, and I’m thinking of more I wish I could say right now. But I’ve got my AAC, which is fine for longer conversations. And, once I have that keyboard and computer set up, I’m going to write so much. The words I chose to learn are the ones I thought would be most useful to say quickly in critical moments. Words that might bring another dragon up short, so that I can take the time to pull out my tablet.

I huff.

I’m starting to realize just how much of my time is spent communicating.

I mean, it’s mostly what humans do most of the time anyway. But when you’re used to doing that so easily that you take it for granted, it can be a shock to lose most of that ability all of a sudden. And, by the third day, just before Rhoda had pointed me toward that app, the novelty of playing charades as a dragon was wearing off and I was so ready for something more.

I mean, I was mostly used to sitting around my apartment or my old corner of the coffee shop without anyone talking to me, before. But I still talked way more easily than I do now.

And then, after Rhoda gave me that app, things just got so intense so quickly.

But the only way to get a handle on it all without getting more seriously hurt or captured was to talk. And, sometimes to talk as fast as possible while being so impaired.

I think I’ve been doing pretty well, but I’m tired.

And it’s been a long day of talking, too. And I spent so much of it disguised as human and uncomfortable about it.

I go back to my purse, which I took off with my clothes, and hold it up and look at Chapman. I probably should have tried leaving it around my neck, but I didn’t want to risk hurting it.

Chapman obliges and comes over to help me put it back on.

Then, I pull out my tablet and put it on the roof, then curl up with it in front of me and hit, “Thank you.”

“Past my bedtime too. You’re very welcome, of course,” Chapman says. Sie looks up at the stars for a while, then says, “Don’t change anything. Do your thing in the morning, when you normally would. Keep the routine. Let’s see how the city responds. And… dammit. We didn’t do anything about that gash! We just hid it under my magic.”

Through the dull ache and occasional sting of my wound, I am amused that Chapman finally referred to hir art as “magic”. Sie will never do that with humans around.

For some reason, though, I’m not really worried about it.

“It heal,” I say.

“Uh-uh,” Chapman says. “I’m going to work with Rhoda to come back with a vet for you. We should at least suture it. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“Okay,” I reply. Then lie my head down on my wing claws, loafing with my other four limbs, and say, “Go.”

“Have a good night,” Chapman says and heads for the hatch.

I smile.

Sie pauses before opening up the access, and turns and says, “I wanted to be funny and hit you with some song lyrics, but I can’t think of any.”

I lift my head.

I haven’t listened to music for the past seven days. I’ve heard music at the shop and Pooty’s, but I wasn’t listening. And I used to wear headphones all the time.

What changed?

#writeblr #dragon #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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