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sweetestberryofthebunch · 2 months ago

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Wandavision; Double Feature (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

In a town terrorised by the mind control of a grieving witch, you’re Bella Swan. Well, not entirely, but the look on Agatha’s face when you’d said it like that was too good to miss out on. Still, there was no explanation to it. You weren’t magick, at least you’d never thought you were, but when your entire hometown, including your poor parents, began to play the charades the Scarlet Witch had created, you were completely unaffected. It’s like you’re immune to it, your mind protected by a firm, unwavering shield. Luckily for you, Agatha finds you before the witch behind the Westview Hex does. She offers a simple deal. Her protection in exchange for your loyalty. And, Technicolor or not, how could you ever resist the twinkle of those eyes?

~ a collection of snippets of your time with Agatha during the Westview Hex; Loose on plot, heavy on smut ~

Part I: And … Action!

In this Episode it is the 50s and you are sent out to spy on Wanda for the first time. Agatha realises just how much you aim to please, and decides to have a little fun with that.

Content/Warnings: imbalanced power dynamics, mentions of light choking, r definitely has a praise kink, mommy kink, no smut in this one yet but dw i‘m already three fingers deep into part 2

5k+ words

„Strip.“

„What?“, your mouth fell open, staring at her wide eyed. You were standing in her bedroom, already an insane enough thing to happen within knowing her for less than 48 hours. But hearing her stern voice order you to take off your clothes definitely topped that.

Agatha didn’t even look over her shoulder, unbothered by your confusion as she pushed open the winged doors to the gigantic closet across the room. There had to be a similar magic involved in it like the basement, there was no way a closet this size just fit into the second store of a little suburban house.

She’d brought you here after finding you on the streets, a single, vibrant blob of color in the new, black and white reality of Westview. You’d been shaking, eyes swollen from crying, Why was everything black and white? Why was your apartment suddenly occupied by a random couple you‘d never met before, declaring they had to sell milkshakes from the empty store beneath your studio now, because she had told them too. Why? And why was everyone dressed so differently, so … vintage?

Agatha had been the only bright, carefree face you’d seen after hours of stumbling around lost in town square. She had been just as confused about seeing you, too, but her initial surprise quickly turned into intrigue.

Her house was a safe haven, the first time since you’d woken up in this upside down reality you didn’t feel exposed, didn’t feel like a lab rat under a bright lamp, vulnerable, unable to run.

She‘d made you tea and you‘d sat on her couch, telling her everything that had happened. And, thankfully, she already knew. So you weren’t crazy.

The things she’d told you … witchcraft, magick, hexes and mind control … if you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you wouldn’t have believed it. Slowly, as you listened to her and nodded, you saw the color drain from yourself too, slowly fitting into this new world, this hexed Westview.

„I just don’t understand why“, you‘d eventually confess, and the witch - Agatha was her name - had shrugged.

„We’re going to find out.“ she’d leaned closer to you, hands clasping together underneath her chin as she smirked at you, „The same way we’re going to figure you out.“

Because if all of Westview had been hexed, you should have been too. But you weren’t. And, as you found out after Agatha had assigned you a room in her home she placed a twin sized bed in it with the flick of her wrist (you almost fell over in surprise). You learned from her that she couldn’t read your mind either.

And while you were too busy pouting over the fact she’d tired in the first place, she’d just shrugged it off. Because that lead to one conclusion. You seemed to have some kind of resistance, an immunity to any witchcraft. A shield around your mind, like a camouflaged helmet.

That night, before you’d curled into the new bed, you had made her a promise. Her protection and guidance in this hexed town, in return for your loyalty in her plan.

„What plan?“, you’d asked before retreating to your room, and the bewildered glow in her eyes had sent a shiver down your spine.

„We‘re going to get the Scarlet Witch, and we are going to take this power away from her.“

“Take your clothes off“, Agatha said now, back in her bedroom again, starting to rustle through the racks. The sound pulled you out of your memories, and you immediately felt the heat rising to your head.

„This is a 50s sitcom.“, Agatha explained, „You’re not meeting our lead actress in a graphic tee and jeans.“

When you still made no attempts to strip, she turned around with an exasperated sigh, palm pressing against her forehead. There was a pale dress draped over her arm, the fabric swinging as she raised her hands in a dramatic gesture, pointing at you.

„My Goodness, are you Mormon? Go change in the bathroom if you need to, there’s a robe hanging at the door.“

Finally, you made your way over to the bathroom she gestured towards, only stopping when she called out your name again.

„Honey, turn back around.“

You Stopped and did exactly as she said, turning around with one hand on the door already. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth at your compliance, and you felt your stomach twist at the sight.

The witch gave you a long, studious look. Like your face was a canvas she had yet to decide what to paint on. A project she was still mapping out. You shifted from one foot to the other, glancing anywhere but right at her piercing eyes.

„Take everything off. Including piercings“, one more glance at your ears, „Especially piercings.“

„All of them?“, the potential implications of your question only dawned on you when the words had already left your mouth, and you immediately wanted to sink into the ground, „I mean … I don’t-“

„Oh my!“, Agatha let out a low giggle, the amusement on her face undeniable as her eyes slowly wandered down your front, over your chest and lower, to the zipper of your jeans. You felt like your skin was going to burn right off under her gaze. Own eyes fixated on your toes, you didn‘t dare to look up even as the tips of her pumps stepped into view.

„That entirely depends on how much you decide to reveal“, she chuckled. Two fingers hooked underneath your chin, nails digging into your skin just slightly. Her grip was steady but not painful, forcing you to meet her eyes. One of her brows raised up in an almost cocky smirk, observing you like a lioness observed her unassuming prey. Watchful, but aware of her upper hand over the situation. Your breathing stopped, eyes wide, brain unable to form a single sentence. God, you wanted to sink into the ground in embarrassment.

The grin on Agatha‘s face was smug, entirely pleased with your reactions to her.

„Just remember this is a first meeting between two neighbours in the fifties. Maybe let her take you to dinner first.“

Before your brain could muster up an answer, she‘d already let go of you, turning back towards the closet. „Go change“, she called over her shoulder, waving you off, „Take a shower if you need to.“ You decided to ignore the obvious jab and do exactly that.

It turned out that playing dress up for this distorted reality was quite fun. After showering, Agatha had twirled your hair into little curls, letting it dry like that as she led you through each piece of your new attire displayed neatly on the big canopy bed.

With each piece of clothing you‘d slowly feel yourself emerge deeper into the world, feeling less out of place. Agatha had curled and then pinned your hair up, and you had slipped in various undergarments, stockings, and a metal wired bra with cone-like cups that weren’t fitted to your actual chest at all.

„I don’t hate this! I look like Madonna“, you commented, giving the full undergarments a onceover in the mirror.

„Ouch!“

Your hand came up to hold the ear Agatha had flicked with her finger, turning around to stare at her in accusation, „What was that for?“

„Madonna isn’t even a concept yet“, she reminded you, shaking her head at your dramatic reaction to what really had not been that painful at all, „Drop the modern references, you can’t let her know you’re not under the hex!“

You pushed your bottom lip forward into a little pout, remembering the notes she’d made you take on etiquette, culture and speak of the era you were trapped in. “I won’t slip up!“, you promised, „I was just … pointing that out. I‘m lifting up the team spirit!“

„Thank you for the amazing contribution“, Agatha dead panned with a little roll of her eyes, before nodding towards the little chair by the vanity again. She held a small case of some pressed powder in one hand and a big, fluffy brush in the other. „Now sit down, you can lift your spirits later. We’re not even close to being done.“

The checkered dress Agatha had picked out for you was beautiful. Bright shades formed the pattern on the cotton fabric that had you wonder what its actual colors were. The shades of grey that the world had been tinted in since the Hex were brighter than what Agatha was wearing. A part of you wanted to know if she’d dressed you in contrary or complimentary shades. The same part that wanted to see the colors she dressed herself in at all, that wondered if her eyes were blue or green. But, there was no way to know that now, not until the two of you managed to break this hex. So it was time to focus on that.

You had on multiple layers of underskirts, the cone bra, and a corset that was pulling you together from your ribs all the way below your hipbone, and the dress itself came with a little fabric belt held right at the nip of your waist, a few buttons at the front as decoration.

You felt yourself inhale sharply when you felt Agatha‘s delicate fingers tie it together in the back, giving both ends of the belt a little tug. You stumbled backwards, just a single step, but it was enough to suddenly feel her warmth against your back, body brushing against yours. You jumped at the sudden contact, eyes wide as they found hers in the mirror, slowly wandering down your body.

„Relax Darling“, she smiled, one hand adjusting the little bow she’d tied at your back, the other coming up to brush some of the curls she’d so intricately pinned into place back over your shoulder.

She exposed your neck and shoulder, all the way to your collarbones, where she had placed a single necklace with a pale gemstone.

You swore you could see the tip of her tongue dart out, licking her lips mere inches from the shell of your ear.

If you were braver, you’d roll your head to the side, expose more of the silky skin of your neck to her, offer yourself up right then and there. Maybe even beg her to taste your skin just once. Just for the slight chance she might actually do it.

But you weren’t brave like that, you were not even brave enough to meet her eyes right now, despite having no problems staring at the dazzling woman when she didn’t notice. So all you did was swallow hard, eyes fixed on the hands in your lap, covered by a little pair of white gloves.

You didn’t see the way Agatha’s eyes watched your throat move, didn’t notice how her hands ran through your fluffy curls just a little longer than necessary, before pulling away to stand upright behind you, hands coming to rest on your shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

“We’re done”, she announced, a satisfied little smirk on her stained red lips, admiring the work she’d done on you.

And certainly, you were completely transformed, looked like an entirely different person. The dress fit you surprisingly snug, you wondered if that also was part of her magic, your hair styled almost the exact same way as hers, both of your lips painted dark, both of your cheeks covered in blush. With her hands on your shoulders like that, you almost looked like a vintage photograph, the kind you kept on your bedside table. It made your insides feel like they were boiling.

In the small hall by the front door, your feet slid into little black pumps, polished to shine enough that the light reflected off the matte fabric. You stood back up, rolling your shoulders before taking the plate of freshly baked apple pie from the counter beside you. A small, unassuming gesture. Just a neighbor introducing themselves with a homemade pie. The perfect beginning to any storyline.

Agatha watched you from the door, nodding in approval when you gave a little spin to show off your final look.

“And remember“, she said, matter of factly, „you are just stopping by in town for a little while, staying with Agnes, your … mother in law.”

“Really?” You had to hold back a laugh, giving her a curious look, “that’s the story you made up for us?”

“It’s the fifties, remember”, Agatha replied. Her hand found the small of your back, fingers hooking underneath your belt, pulling you back until you were pressed against her. She was so close, you could feel the words she murmured into your ear, voice low and raspy, “We can always rewrite the plot later.”

You almost dropped the pie right then and there.

Just like that, she had already stepped away from you, letting out a little giggle that sounded a lot more like Agnes again. Her hands found yours, clasping over them, stabilising your grip on the porcelain plate again.

„So I am … married“, the words felt strange on your lips, and you had to hold back a nervous laughter. If this was supposed to work, you’d have to work on your acting skills.

Thankfully, Agatha came to help you out immediately. „To mine and Ralphs Beautiful boy … Bartholomew.“

Now you had to laugh, shaking your head at her. How she was able to just say things like that with a straight face was beyond you. You‘d better catch up to her soon.

„Yes of course“, repeating the story to her, you pushed your tongue into your left cheek.

„My husband Bartholomew, who works in the city.“ Your eyes found hers, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Goodness, even in this black and white reality, you could see the brightness of her eyes. You were longing to see them in color, wanting to know what they looked like when they caught the sun. Focus!

“And your husband Ralph, who is the guy you keep chained up in the basement.“ The look you gave her at that was a mix of concern, uncertainty and a little bit of accusation. The fact that she’d basically just taken over some poor guys house and banished him into the magical dungeon she’d summoned was a bridge you hadn’t yet crossed.

Agatha nodded along as you spoke, a wicked little grin on her lips. „We feed him twice a day, don‘t we? He will be useful later. Until then, he’s gonna be just fine down there.“

Her hands wandered from your hands up to your wrists, clasping around them. You weren’t sure if it was an act of encouragement, or a subtle warning. And you certainly weren’t going to ask. Your skin was already prickling with goosebumps from the touch alone.

Agatha‘s voice was low, the air around her vibrating with power.

„He hasn’t complained since I gave him his Xbox, and they haven’t even invented that out here. It’s best to keep him where he is for now.“ She inched closer, grip on your wrists tightening, effectively pinning you in place. Your breathing stopped.

Her voice had dropped to merely a whisper now, and you swore you could see a single flash of purple in her eyes. The only color you’d seen since all of this had started.

“Ralph is none of your concern, we need him alive and well for later.“, she was so close, you could feel the husk of her words on your face.

“Your job is to be a good little pet and do as I say. Your loyalty for my protection. Understood?“

After swallowing hard, you gave a small but firm nod. „Understood.“

After a few more seconds, she dropped her hands. The mask of Agnes slipped on and off so smoothly, it caught you off guard every time.

„Go now darling, or you’ll be late!” she smiled, and gave you a gentle push towards the front door, opening and holding it for you. As you brushed past her, she gave you a dazzling smile, hand up in a small but enthusiastic wave. Like she was sending you off on your first day of school, not a magical spy mission in a fake reality. Your life truly took a wild turn in the past 48 hours.

“Make Mommy proud!” Agatha chirped, standing by the door, and she was lucky you were already down the stairs. Otherwise you might have tripped and fallen and the whole operation would have ended right there. Your knees felt like jelly, but you straightened your back and rolled your shoulders. It was time to deliver. Most of all, it was time to focus on your mission, and not the way your stomach had just performed a backflip at her words.

As you made your way down the sidewalk, still a little uncomfortable in the pumps Agatha had picked out for you, you held onto the porcelain plate with white knuckles. It truly was a miracle you didn’t break it on the short walk to Wanda’s house.

„Alright“, you murmured to yourself, rolling your shoulders before pressing the doorbell. There was no going back now. „Here goes nothing.“

…

It turned out that you were quite the natural at this whole undercover thing. Wanda certainly made it easy, eager to talk to you, even more eager to try the pie you’d made, eyes rolling back in pleasure at the taste of cinnamon on her tongue.

She was beautiful, so to the point where you almost felt a little intimidated. You didn’t know what you had expected, but it wasn’t a girl this sweet, a few years older than you, her smile was warm and her voice genuine when she thanked you for the pie. You’d just shrugged and told her you appreciated the opportunity to leave the house for a while. At least it would be easier to click with her like this.

The ice broke for sure the moment you offered to help set the table, Wanda clapping her hands together in Delight. The two of you ended up on her couch, legs propped up like school girls on a movie night, plates of pie in hand as she‘d rambled to you about Vision. The girl was whipped.

How much she loved him, how excited they were to move to Westview, how much he already seemed to exceed at his new job. You‘d mostly nodded along, trying to memorise every little detail to repeat back to Agatha later.

It was weird, if it wasn’t for Agatha telling you the truth about the hex, you never would have assumed Wanda to be the one behind it. She seemed so … carefree. And unassuming. But then, eventually she did slip up.

„Enough about us!“, she laughed, „I‘ve been talking your ear off about my husband for over an hour, you must be so bored!“

You shook your head as you finished the last bit of pie and Wanda took your plate to place it on the coffee table. You gave her a grateful little smile.

„It’s fine really“, you replied, hoping people in the 50s would say it like that.

If they didn’t, Wanda seemed to not notice. „Tell me about Bartholomew“, she said instead, „Agnes never mentioned having a son!“

You swallowed, gears in your head turning as you came up with something on the spot.

„Well he lives in the City“, you said, „I mean, we do together. He writes for a tabloid, so he’s always busy. So is Ralph, that‘s why I‘m staying here for a while. He was worried that I was lonely. That Ag- Agnes is too.“

Wanda smiled at that, head tilted slightly to the side. „How very kind of him! He must love you very much.“

You almost choked on nothing at that, quickly busying yourself with a hand in your hair, brushing a lost strand behind your ear. „Well, I mean … I would hope so.“

Wanda eyed you with curiosity, shuffling just the slightest bit closer on the couch. „What is he like?“, she asked just a little quieter than before. Like she wanted to know the real deal now.

„Very different from his mom“, you offered, and feared it sounded more like a question than a statement. However, you took the way Wanda‘s lips curled into a distant smile as a good sign. She was buying every little piece of bullshit you had to barter. Good.

„He uh … It’s a little embarrassing but he started to bald very badly“, you had no idea where and why this had come to you in this moment, but the way Wanda leaned back and put her hands on her hips made you more confident in your story. Any reaction was a good one. If you shared, maybe Wanda would too… After all, all of this was to amuse her, to please the Scarlet Witch.

“We tried every treatment but he keeps losing more hair. He told me not to tell Agnes yet!“

Wanda gave you an almost patronising look. „Well, I would tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about that at all, and that the amount of hair on his head or what his mother thinks doesn’t change the way you feel about him! Vision has no hair at all and I still love him the same!“

There it was!

A slip up in the story. A mistake in production, almost too small for a regular viewer to notice. But you weren’t a regular viewer, you were a spy on a mission looking for cracks in the story.

„But Wanda“, you tilted your head to the side, looking at her with furrowed brows, the perfect face of innocent confusion. „Doesn’t Vision have hair? I saw him leave for work this morning, he drives past the kitchen window every day!“

Wanda‘s big, round doe eyes widened, fumbling to find something to say. You almost felt bad. Almost.

„Well, I mean …“ her gaze left you, darted from the empty plates on the coffee table to the pictures on the wall, which also featured her with a tall man, thin but definitely prominent hair on his head, even a little stubble on his upper lip.

„He’s been balding too.“ she finally said, lamely.

„Hah!“, Agatha shook her head at that, one hand on her hip as she laughed, „Balding my ass! That man is all steel and wires, the human form is merely an illusion!“

She was standing behind you as you sat at her vanity again, in the low light of the nightstand lamps, watching Agatha as she pinned your hair into little rosettes overnight. At the extent of your daily beauty routine, a part of you wished you did have magic like she had, so you could just wake up and wish for perfectly curled hair.

Then again, sitting here, wrapped in your nightgown and the robe she‘d given you as her fingers delicately ran through your hair, precise and yet gentle certainly was a way to spend your night. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch a little more, resisting the urge to wistfully sigh.

Trying your best to recount what you‘d found out earlier today proved a little harder though when she was all over you like this, barely covered by her own nightgown, one sleeve slipped off her shoulder,every little tug and pull on your hair sending a new shiver down your spine.

„So … that was helpful?“, you asked when she’d gone quiet after your story.

„It‘s strong evidence that she didn’t just create an illusion for the guy, but actually reanimated his corpse. If you can call it that. Is it necromancy if the body used is made of panels and electric wire?“

The way she said it, it wasn’t a real question. Her fingers busy pinning the last strand of your hair into place, before carefully wrapping a silk scarf around all her hard work, tying it together at the top of your head much like the one she was already wearing.

„I don’t know“, you answered anyway, flinching when suddenly, you felt her warm palms on your bare shoulders, soft skin resting against yours.

Her eyes found yours in the mirror, and her expression was unreadable to you. „Tell me what happened after she slipped.“

„Not much“, you said, „she … she stared at me really intensely for a moment, but then nothing happened, so I just offered to bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen. She thanked me again and then I left, but she did hug me on the way out. I don’t think she assumes anything about me.“

If the fact Wanda had gotten this comfortable this fast with you bothered Agatha, she didn’t let it show. Her hands on your shoulders began to move a little, eyes still holding your gaze in the reflection as her palms began to rub over your skin, back and forth and back and forth. You felt the hair on your neck rise.

„I …“, you sucked in a sharp breath, her hands wandering upwards, brushing over your neck for just a moment before going back to your shoulders. You felt yourself lean back into her tough almost naturally, like you were guided by some higher power. Like it was second nature, you tilted your head up a little, neck craning. Your legs were shaking underneath the layers of silky fabric you were wearing. You wanted nothing more than her hands back on your neck.

„Agatha“, the sound came out a lot higher, a lot weaker than you‘d intended, and your cheeks turned red in embarrassment.

The woman behind you just smirked, the way your body was reacting to her touch was not lost on her. She leaned over you, ever so slightly closer now. One of her hands stilled on your shoulder, fingertips grazing over the outline of your collarbone. Her other hand wandered back up towards your neck, thumb pressing into the back, stroking over the small baby hairs that flew free there, fingers loosely resting over your throat. She could feel your racing pulse there, feel every breath enter and release from your lungs. And she definitely felt the way you swallowed hard, felt the vibration of the little moan daring to slip out of your mouth.

She leaned down further, until her lips were less than an inch from your ear. „What‘s wrong darling? Cat got your tongue?“

“No“, you mewled, and the feeling of your throat moving against her grip was so delectable, you had to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fearing that one look from her might make you explode, „Yes.“

Need was burning under your skin, need for her to press down harder, need for her other hand to wander down lower. You were never more grateful for your new found powers than right now, knowing there was no way she could see the sinful images your mind was producing.

„Are you nervous?“, her tone was teasing, and when you did open your eyes again, she was smirking against the shell of your ear, brow cocked in a smug expression.

„There is no reason for you to be nervous. Not after you did so, so well for me.“ She put a little more emphasis on words than the last. Your hands wrapped tightly around the arm rests of your chair. God, you needed her to have her way with you so badly.

And judging by the look on her face, the curl of her lips, she knew that too.

The grip on your throat tightened, just a little. Her other hand tugged on the loose hair at the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at yourself in the mirror.

She was standing above you, halfway curled into you, holding you in her firm grip. Your cheeks were a bright red, a color quickly spreading across your entire face, creeping down your neck. There was a thin layer of sweat on your brow, and your eyes, goodness, your eyes were wide, fluttered half shut in a flushed gaze, pupils dark.

„You did so good for me today“, Agatha leaned in even closer, her breath ghosting over your cheek. The scent of rosewater and lavender invaded your senses, and if you had been in a position to, you would’ve loved to lean in closer, let the floral scent completely consume you. But you didn’t dare to move. Not with her hands on you like this, not when she was leaning closer, even closer never breaking eye contact in your reflections, dimply illuminated by flickering light bulbs.

And then, you could feel her. Her soft, plump lips pressed against your cheek, just above the corner of your mouth. It was short, feather light and before you knew it she had already pulled away. You instinctively tried to chase after her, but the grip on your throat kept you in place, holding your head exactly where it was as she leaned away, straightening her back. You immediately missed her presence right behind you, feeling cold all of a sudden. Her hand left your throat, giving your cheek one little pet on its way before she fully retreated from you, stepping away, arms crossed. Like she didn’t just almost kiss you, like your whole body wasn’t practically begging for her to come back. You weren’t above actually begging either.

„How about this“, Agatha spoke, matter of factly, „Tomorrow I handle Wanda, and you keep the house in tact. You remember your tasks?“

„Feed Ralph and the bunny“, you recounted, voice hoarse, „Keep everything tidy. Never touch the Dark Hold. Tend to the greenhouse out back, cook dinner. Don’t drive, we’re not allowed to drive without a man in the car. Save a plate for Ralph again, keep an eye out for Wanda‘s house.“

„Very good“, Agatha hummed, turning away from you to eye the bookshelf beside the vanity, fingers curling as she looked for something. You tried to pry your eyes away, but failed horribly.

„Let’s add something new to that list. I‘m gonna give you a list of reading assignments. Some history, some spellbooks, some metaphysics.“ She glanced over her shoulders at you, giving you a wink. „Time to find out more about those curious little powers of yours, don’t you think?“

You nodded, staring back at yourself in the mirror one more time. Whatever your life had come to these past days, no one was ever going to believe that story. But, at least in this story your co-star was Agatha Harkness, and you had a feeling you’d just passed your audition with flying colours.

#agatha all along #wandavision #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #mcu #berry writes things

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sspacegodd · 8 months ago

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The common denominator.

youtube

#magick #easy peasy #path of least resistance #common denominator #earth #wind #and fire #water #tao #microcosm #macrocosm #effortless action #aleister crowley #lao tzu

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missmonsters2 · 2 years ago

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What We Are

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda discovers all the things that Vision's done for her that have made her heart flutter was your idea.

Warnings: it's not angst...but it's not not angst. Also not beta'd.

Note: why do i feel bad for stealing vision's thunder. Also I will fix my mistakes later when I mortifyingly see them later :-)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was a Tuesday when Wanda dropped by.

The rain had been pouring relentlessly, and she had magicked herself to your front door, but even so, she was still soaked to the bone. It was late June and just a few minutes past dawn when you heard the hesitant knocks on your door.

The years of working for Stark have made you paranoid as you check through the peephole carefully to see who could be at your door. Your heart constricts momentarily when your eyes land on familiar red hair and those melancholy green eyes.

You opened the door, swallowing as you took her in. Drops of rain dripped down her cheek, almost like tears, as you let her in.

"Wanda," you blinked, the questions building in your mouth but unsure which would come out first. You settled with, "let me get you a towel."

You opened the door wider to allow her to slip through wordlessly before shutting and locking it with a soft click. The rain outside pours relentlessly that it almost feels deafening in the silence.

She stood in the hallway between the kitchen and your living room. Wanda looked around the quaint home you've built for yourself and felt even more lost.

You returned with a dark navy towel, sighing as you sling it over her wet head, gently drying her hair. "What's the point of using your magic to get here if you're going to get soaked outside anyway?"

Wanda didn't say anything, just allowing herself to be under your care.

This is familiar.

It was a time before Vision and just a little after when Wanda began to see him too. Then, it was Vision's job to take care of Wanda, and all of it went away—you went away.

"You should take a hot shower," you told her.

"I don't really catch colds anymore," Wanda mumbles softly.

"Lucky you, but you're still dripping on my floor and your nose is all cold and red. I can't imagine the rest of you is toasty warm," you smirked at her, and Wanda wanted to tell you that the tip of her ears was hot, but then she'd have to admit she was blushing.

You guided her upstairs to the bathroom, gave her a towel and a set of comfortable clothing, and told her to use anything she felt like using. Once she finished, she could meet you downstairs, where you'd be making breakfast.

Before you left, Wanda's quiet voice stopped you. "Thank you." Her voice is hoarse like she's about to cry. But it was sincere, and you gave her a light-hearted smile to put her at ease.

"It's good to see you, Wanda."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda's skin feels warm and soft, the bath doing her wonders. She hoped you hadn't been waiting too long, but Wanda couldn't resist taking a soak first. She wiped the bathroom mirror of the fog and looked at her reflection. The bath helped return some color to her skin, but she still looked tired with her dark circles.

Wanda only towel-dried her hair just enough to ensure it wouldn't drip on your floor. She felt only a little embarrassed to be given clean underwear by you but not a bra. The clothes you give her are soft, comforting, and smell like clean linens and leaves.

This is crazy, Wanda thought.

She hadn't seen you in months, and prior to that, it was always sporadic and brief.

Wanda hadn't known what compelled her to show up at your door, but she knew much of it was due to loneliness.

Everyone was gone.

But Wanda had hardly slept and hated how Scotland looked suddenly and decided that Portland would be better—Portland—where you've been living for years.

The smell of bread, honey, and mushroom soup filled the air when she left the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled unabashedly, and she was glad you couldn't hear it. As she entered the kitchen, she found you chopping dill and parsley.

"Hey," you looked up at her, smiling as she fidgeted with the ends of her sleeve. "Have a nice bath?"

Wanda nodded, giving you an awkward jilt of her lips meant to be a smile. "Thanks. Did you need help with anything?"

You shook your head. "Should be finished any moment now. I wasn't sure how hungry you'd be with it being so early but I thought something warm would be nice. Why don't you take a seat? I left out some bread, butter, and honey for you."

Wanda felt something crawl at the back of her throat as she sat. It was such a traditional breakfast, and it reminded her how Vision once tried to make paprikash for her.

"I'm sorry," Wanda said suddenly. "For just showing up here."

You were silent. The sound of your chopping paused momentarily before it resumed again. "It's fine," you told her. "I mean, I wish you'd call in case I wasn't home. It would've been awful for you to stand out there alone."

But Wanda didn't know how to explain that your unused phone number was more daunting than just showing up. She didn't know how to explain anything.

"Are you not often home?" Wanda asked instead.

You hummed. "Not often, but occasionally I do consulting work for some non-profit companies. It gets boring being retired sometimes."

Wanda nodded.

It was lonely being retired alone. She had looked around your house and found no pictures or indications that you might've been seeing anybody. It brought forth something strange that she didn't know how to identify, so she placed it aside to be forgotten.

It was quiet again, and Wanda felt restless. There were just so many feelings inside that she couldn't sort them. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream. She was relieved. She was anxious. She was a mess.

"Breathe, Wanda."

The words were unexpected. She sharply looked up to find you not even looking at her as you squeezed lemon juice into the pot.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it quietly, Wanda was pretty sure she just wanted to cry now.

"I'm sorry," Wanda repeated. She didn't know what else she could say. "I know it's been a while since we've last seen each other—spoke to each other. And now I'm here, and I've shown up unannounced and taken a bath, and now I'm wearing your clothes—I must seem crazy to you."

You just started to laugh, coughing lightly to cover it up when she gave you a look. "You don't have to explain anything to me," you told her, stirring the pot before grabbing some plates. "I know it's been hard."

There was a pause as if you were hesitating to say it before you decided to. "You miss Vision."

The words instantly hit the back of Wanda's throat and made her eyes water. "Yes," she could barely get a single word out.

"I know," you told her softly as you came over with a bowl of mushroom soup that looked amazing, but all she could smell was her own salty tears.

Wanda couldn't hold it in then as she placed her elbows on the table, her face in her hands as her shoulders wrack. "I can't believe they're all gone. I keep waking up and expecting to see him. I feel like I can't breathe. It's not fair. It's not fair."

You rubbed her back, and she leaned into you, the familiar feeling of it all like it was just yesterday she was at the compound, alone and confused after losing Pietro.

Wanda didn't even know what you did for Stark, but you were always around. You showed her to her room, gave her Tony's stream services passwords, and gave her a list of all the shows and movies she was to catch up on.

Wanda wondered where all of that went, and she could only vaguely remember ending when Vision was beginning. But Vision was different. He had said something so profound that it had given her the courage to keep moving on.

"I know," you told her, brushing your fingers through her soft, damp hair. "You have a lot of love to give and nowhere for it to go. It's just what grief is, Wanda. And if you're grieving, then you're persevering."

Wanda stiffened in your arms.

It was so familiar. It was just a rewrite of words she's heard before—words she had never told anyone else.

"Did Vision tell you that?" Wanda thought wryly as she straightened herself to look at you.

You looked momentarily confused before guilty and awkward. You let her go, but Wanda hung on.

"Did he tell you?" Wanda pressed on. "Those words—did he tell you that they were the biggest reason I could keep going?"

Wanda looked so angry. The idea of being betrayed by someone she loved sharing something so private had you sighing.

"No," You reassure her. "Vision didn't tell me."

"Then why—"

"I told Vision that." You cut in, the words leaving your mouth in a tumbled mess that was awkward and clearly made you uncomfortable.

Wanda sat there with mild shock on her face.

"You...?"

You rubbed at your brow, taking in a tired breath. "Vision was very interested in you, and he came to ask me why you were silently holed up in your room. He knew what grieving was, but he didn't understand it like we do. Not yet, anyway," you muttered.

Wanda looked at you. You looked tense and reluctant to share any of this information, and she didn't understand why.

"I told him because you were grieving, but you also still had love to give. I told him he doesn't understand yet because he's always been alone and is lucky to have never lost anyone. You can't grieve what you've never lost," you had a distant look in your eye, and Wanda wondered if you were reliving this conversation with him.

"I told Vision that you were going to be okay, though," you shook your head as if brushing the memory away. "Grief was just love that had nowhere to go; it is persevering through loss."

The words rock Wanda much harder than they did years ago. Maybe because the truth behind the words that had given her way when she was lost was actually from you.

You, who let her show up at your door unannounced. You, who would always let her show up at your door unannounced.

You have always given her a way to remain still, a way to return, and a way to move forward.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Wanda's voice cracked.

It cracked because perhaps before Vision, she thought there might've been you. It never came close to anything, but Wanda still felt it. And that's why she showed up at your door on a Tuesday in late June just a few minutes past dawn.

You shrugged. "You seemed interested in Vision too. Curious, at the very least. We...I never really knew what we were. Friends, I think, at that time. Just barely, though."

Wanda remained quiet. The mushroom soup was going to go cold soon, but you didn't seem to mind as you tore a part of a piece of bread into uneaten chunks.

You seemed thoughtful. "I used to think we were just a case of 'almost'. Almost friends. Almost teammates. Almost something and almost nothing." You turned to her and gave her an unsure smile. "But now you're here on a Tuesday when I had been considering an hour before you arrived that even almost is gone."

Wanda replayed the words in her head and felt the unease she was experiencing the last few months slip away. She's still grieving, but just as you said, it was just her love having no place to go.

But...

Wanda looked at you as she took hold of the spoon and scooped some of the soup up. She's sure in time, her love will have a place to go again.

"Did you tell Vision anything else?"

You smiled at her as you also began to eat.

"I told him you'd appreciate paprikash. I can't take responsibility for him following my instructions wrong, though."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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cavorta · 2 years ago

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July 29, 2023 Have a good weekend and a blessed Lammas/Lughnasadh if you celebrate it.

I have created a Sigil for Climate and Environmental Protection and it is free to use (not commercially). Here you can read what went into it and download printable files: https://cavorta.substack.com/p/sigil-for-climate-and-environmental

#sigil witchery #sigil #sigils #climate protection #environmental protection #biodiversity #magick #magickalactivism #resistance magick #sigil magick #mother earth #mother earth love

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astra-ravana · 7 days ago

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Using Demonic Sigils

Demonic sigils are specific types of symbols or seals that are used in various magickal traditions to represent, summon, or communicate with demonic entities. These symbols are believed to hold the essence or the power of thr demon they represent, acting as a focal point for rituals involving these entities. The use of demonic sigils dates back to ancient times and has been incorporated into numerous magickal practices and grimoires throughout history.

Historical Origins

The practice of using symbols or seals to represent demons is ancient, with roots in cultures around the world. However, the formal use of demonic sigils is most notably documented in medieval and Renaissance grimoires. These texts, such as 'The Lesser Key Of Solomon' (also known as Ars Goetia or Lemegeton), provide a catalog of demons, each accompanied by a unique sigil.

A sigil can have immense power because it's a gateway to a certain energy. It's like having a direct line to a powerful person, except that the person is a spiritual force, not constrained by the time/space continuum. The ancients knew all too well that our world is not only physical, that there are entities among us that we can't perceive with our ordinary senses, yet they can be communicated with through symbols which activate our higher intuitive faculties and open a door for their arrival.

Purpose And Use

Demonic sigils serve several purposes in magickal practices, including:

• Summoning- Sigils are used in rituals to summon demons, providing a method for the practitioner to focus their intention and call forth the entity.

• Communication- Sigils facilitate communication with demonic entities, acting as a bridge between the practitioner and the spirit realm.

• Command- In some traditions, possessing a demon's sigil gives the practitioner a degree of control, over the entity, compelling it to perform or grant requests of the summoner. Most entities will resist this type of magick and some may turn hostile. Use sigils with respect and consideration.

A sigil of a summoned demon can be utilized in various ways after the ritual. For example, by carrying it with you, placing it in a prominent place in your home, an altar dedicated to the demon, or in some cases of baneful magick, placing it near the target, burying it, burning it, etc.

Creation And Activation

Demonic sigils found in grimoires are traditionally received through mystical revelation or compiled from older texts. Modern practitioners may use these historical sigils or create new ones through various methods of sigilization, such as the rearrangement of letters from the demon's name into a symbolic design.

Activating or charging a demonic sigil typically involves ritualistic practices. These can include specific invocations, the use of ceremonial magick tools, and the creation of a ritual space. The goal is to energize the sigil and open a channel of communication with the entity it represents.

There are also techniques that can be used to create a unique sigil that connects a person with a specific demon for the purpose of attunement. Such a sigil being charged and activated to serve a single connection rather than everyone who chances upon it, can be a more powerful conduit. It is comparable to a dedicated VS a shared network.

Authoritative Texts With Demonic Sigils

Some grimoires contain extensive lists of demonic entities, their attributes, and corresponding sigils. Here are some notable texts that include information and drawings of demonic sigils:

• The Lesser Key Of Solomon (Ars Goetia, Lemegeton, Clavicula Solomonis)- Particularly the first section, known as the Ars Goetia, which details 72 demons along with their sigils and methods of summoning them.

• The Grimoire of Honorius- Attributed to Pope Honorius III, this grimoire includes sigils and instructions for summoning spirits, including demons, and is known for blending Christian and pagan elements.

• The Book Of Abramelin- Written by Abraham von Worms, this book describes an elaborate ritual known as the Abramelin Operation, designed to obtain the knowledge and conversation of one's guardian angel but also includes information on the summoning of demons as part of its broader magickal practice.

• The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum- An appendix of Johann Weyer's 'De Praestigiis Daemonum', this text lists 69 demons along with brief descriptions and is notable for its critical perspective on the practice of demonology.

• Grimorium Verum- (Latin for True Grimoire) is an 18th century grimoire attributed to one 'Alibeck the Egyptian' of Memphis, who purportedly wrote itnin 1517. Like many grimoires, it claims a tradition originating with King Solomon.

• The Munich Manuel of Demonic Magic (Codex Latinus Monacensis 849)- A 15th century grimoire, this manuscript focuses on necromancy and demonology, including sigils for summoning demons.

• The Grand Grimoire (The Red Dragon)- Known for its powerful rituals and the summoning of demonic forces, this book also contains sigils and instructions for making pacts with demonic entities.

• The Black Pullet (La poule noire)- While primarily known gor its talismans, this grimoire also includes methods for creating sigils and rings that are used to grant the user various powers, including influence over demons.

• The Sixth And Seventh Books Of Moses- These books are a collection of magickal texts that purport to describe the magick practiced by Moses, including the use of seals and sigils associated with both angels and demons.

The sigils found in these texts are often used in their original form even today. There have also been modifications and new sigils are constantly being created, especially by chaos magicians.

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maziecrazycloud · 11 months ago

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“Led Zeppelin are gods among men, and Aisling Cowan in their queen.”

In May of 1971, CREEM magazine’s journalist: Oliver Thorne set out to try and discern just who Aisling Cowan was, the elusive female guitarist of the intrepid LZ. Here is his interview and cover of LZ’s performance in Usher Hall, Edinburgh, Scotland. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

(OBVIOUSLY ALL OF THIS ISNT REAL FOR LEGAL REASONS) I hope you guys like it though. Both Aisling and Oliver are my OCs that I have created for the story I have been writing known as “Forest of Time”. In which a girl from the twenty first century gets pulled back into 1969 by the Seelie Court of Fae. She get sucked into the world of rock n roll when she meets Jimmy Page by chance. Or not👀. Strange magick is afoot. She changes history on accident and becomes a part of LZ, for good or worse. I haven’t written this specific part of the story yet. But I couldn’t resist creating just how much Aisling changes history. Enjoy!

Here is the link to my story if you’re interested!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42940200/chapters/107881455

I really flexed my understanding of newspapers and i love CREEM, so ofc I had to make an alternate universe version of the magazine to fit my AU of Zeppelin! Cheers and Dark Tidings.🎸👹 (this may be the best thing ive ever made)

Article below!

Non vintage textured illustration of Aisling✌️

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monbons · 2 months ago

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Carry On Countdown Day 19: Fluff

(Eight snakes, does Simon Snow have a thing for rabbits?) (What about vampires in rabbit suits?) ~Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Wayward Bun

For those not in the know, my dearest friend @bookish-bogwitch is a genius. She has written TWO magickal mishap fics that turn Baz into an adorable bun---a bunBaz.

The other fic, Basil Pitch's Diary, is a masterpiece not only of narrative form, but it masterfully blends humor and angst and pining.

My love for bunBaz (and Em!) knows no bounds, so I could not resist dedicating some fanart to the fluffiest of all Bazzes for the third time this year ❤️.

If you have been watching my videos on mute, stop it immediately. Today's is a gem.

Today's pocket surprise: bunBaz

@carryon-countdown

#simon: hey babe why don't you slip into something sexy? baz: say less.#i think i have peaked when it comes to coc videos #love you em <3 #coc 2024 #carry on countdown #carry on countdown 2024 #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz in felt #the monbons doll factory presents coc 2024

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elhoimleafar · 7 months ago

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All Sisters, brothers, friends! Don't underestimate the power of your voice, and don't be afraid to raise your voice witches! Speak out against injustice. Whether it's through fierce conversations, creative expression, or acts of resistance and defiance, let your voice be a beacon of hope. Inspire others to fight for the world we all deserve, a world filled with compassion, respect, love, and unity. ✊✊🏿✊🏻

Witches, let your voices roar! ️We have the power to speak truth to injustice, and that power can ignite change. It's time to raise power and support each other and use our voices, and platform for a purpose bigger than us. ✊🏾✊🏿✊🏻

Xxo. Elo 🌙🔥🐍

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elfiewhore · 10 months ago

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Mommy domme elf story

Hello my dears and darlings! Finally, the long promised elf mommy domme story is here! Or at least, the first two chapters. As I began writing I realised that this idea had a firm hold on my mind and I want to write a slow, lewd and enticing tale. So that means this will be part 1 of ? - The first two chapters.

Please feel free to give me any feedback and/or tell me what you'd like to see next! This story is written from the perspective of the reader as the member of an adventuring party. The gender and name of the protagonist is purposefully left vague which, while it does mean some specific descriptions will be a little nonspecific, hopefully means that you can easily identify yourself in the story <3 This story is strictly 18+ and contains/will contain content including but not limited to: Humiliation, peeing, diapers, AB/DL, gfd, age regression, crossdressing(depending on how you identify), chastity and monsterfucking. All that out of the way, without further adieu I give you the first two chapters of my as-yet-unnamed story!

Chapter 1: An unexpected parting “I’m afraid I cannot continue along this path. To be quite frank you are all far too reckless. The strain it places upon me is far greater than any I have faced before. I wish you well, but I must depart.” That was the last words of your party’s healer, a priestess sworn to a god of healing. She was your last resort, having had to beg for the mercy of the church to provide her services free of charge. And she wasn’t wrong. Your party are notably reckless, charging headlong into combat without a second thought. This devil-may-care attitude had at first earned you some renown, as your bravado led to taking on the most dangerous of missions posted in the Adventurer’s guild. Slaying harpies, undead, and even a gryphon! The stuffed head of which is now resting within the guilds’ storage as collateral for your replacement arms and armour after the last debacle. Not that it was your fault, mind! You were always good. You listened to the numerous healers that had come and gone through your party. Standing where they wished, protecting them, ferrying potions. You were always their favourites, it wasn’t fair that the others always dragged you down. But you couldn’t leave either, the reputation stuck. You sent out subtle enquiries to other famous bands only to be rejected at each turn. Even the less reputable groups required steep entry fees as ‘insurance’ should they require costly resurrection magicks. Truly it was a terrible situation. And now here you were sitting in the foyer of the guild. The wooden walls of this esteemed establishment groaning under the weight of trophies and banners of heroes long past. They did little to inspire as you sat with your chin in your hands, waiting for a representative from the guilds’ treasury so that you can convince them not to repossess your equipment. “Just give ‘em the puppydog eyes. No one can resist those!” Your group had told you. And this was also true. It wasn’t your fault that you weren’t especially strong or imposing. It was useful for fulfilling your role but unfortunately led to you often being underestimated or treated childishly. Your mind swirled in a thunderstorm. Travelling without a healer was tantamount to a death sentence. Out in the wilderness, even the smallest cut could lead to a life-threatening infection. Not to mention mummy rot, lycanthropy, wyvern stings. Everyone had a role to play and you were missing one. “Excuse me. Is this the Adventuring Guild?” Came a breathy, soft spoken voice. Airy and light. You glanced up to see a woman standing before the desk, speaking to the clerk. Your breath caught for a moment in your throat as you took her in. Long, beautiful hair the colour of spun gold and braided with gems that glittered like stars tumbled down her back like a waterfall, framing the back of this curvy, enchanting figure. Every movement, no matter how small, was performed with effortless grace as she rested a staff of living wood against the desk. Atop it rested a crystal so pure one could see right through it, and silvery threads of magicked metals intertwined with the knots and whorls of the staff. Pretty (and valuable) as that staff may be your eyes refused to be pulled away from this woman. Clad in a robe of forest greens that flowed about her as if pulled by an unfelt breeze. Trumpet sleeves made of thin, almost translucent fabrics revealed pale and unblemished skin. But most notable of all, perhaps, were her ears. An unusual thing, one might thing, to focus upon. But the tips were long and pointed.

An elf.. you think to yourself. A rarity to be sure. These reclusive, powerful creatures lived for millennia within their enchanted forests and reclusive holds. To see one traveling the world was an unusual sight indeed, for they often cared not for the affairs of men, halflings and other mortal beings. Content to remain within their own communities and spend their time plumbing the depths of the arcane and the nature of the divine, among others. “Yes this is the Ad-” the clerk stops, their eyes widening as they look up at this woman. “H-How may I.. Help you?” “Hehe! Oh please don’t be alarmed, sweetie. I don’t bite!” The woman’s voice again, a soft whisper. The susurration of a blanket being draped around you. “I’m only here to see if any parties are in need of a.. Oh what’s the word in this era.. A physiker? No..” “A healer?” Your eyes widen. That was your voice. Why did you speak? You groaned internally. Drawing attention to yourself never ended well. The figure turns, blessing you with a radiant smile. “Yes! Oh thank you!” Her eyes regard you from above as you are given a chance to look upon her face. Flawless as the rest, her eyes were a strange cavalcade of colour. At once purple, then gold, then blue as they took you in. Though no wrinkles could be seen, for elves are forever youthful, her countenance held a certain age to it. A wisdom beyond your own. You attempted to be polite, to meet her gaze. But that was difficult at the best of times and you were somewhat distracted by the revelation that her dress did little to contain a bountiful chest. The creamy pale skin stark against the deep green dress. It did not look ill-fitting, mind. Simply.. This woman’s bust demanded attention. Her ruby-clad lips draw your eyes northward once more. “My my! Let me help you with that!” She coos, in a voice tinged deeply with maternal concern. She reaches down and cups your cheek with a touch so delicate and warm you at once wish to melt into it. Your face had been rather beaten up in the last adventure, and with none to restore your vigor now you simply had to patch them up. But now the aches subsided more swiftly than they had ever before. Not just those upon your face, as the elf whispers her magic, it travels through your body. Soothing the woes of fatigue and injury. Even old wounds you had long since accepted receded before her radiance. Her hand pulls away and you can’t stop your face from following. Unbalanced, you collapse upon the floor with an embarrassed groan as you are snapped back to reality. A sound graces your ears. Like a babbling brook meets the chime of crystals. You realise she’s giggling. Your cheeks flush red as you rush to your feet.

Her laughter stops as she looks genuinely apologetic. “I am sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was simply.. Cute.” Normally being called such a thing enraged you, frustrated you. But now… It felt comforting. “It’s okay.” you mumble.

“A-hem!” a stuffy voice draws your attention. You see the stuffy mustache first, like a hateful caterpillar resting upon the craggy face of a mountain filled with debt. The treasurer. “You again. I told you before if your party cannot prove to this guild that you are capable of finding a consistent and reliable healer to prevent any further deaths we will be forced to repossess the equipment we have graciously provided! I shan’t hear any more arguments or delays! So I ask for a final time. Have you a member capable of sealing wounds and ensuring your survival?” their stern gaze pierces you and your words wither in your throat. You tried to muster some kind of response but all that begins to croak out is a pathetic “N-no..” “Now now!” A scolding voice rang out. “There’s no need for that! No matter how urgent you feel your issue may be there’s no excuse for snapping! Or being impolite! If you must know ‘tis I that has joined this worthy band of warriors and, personally, I believe you would scarcely find a better purveyor of magicks and mending than one of my people. Now unless you would doubt the provenance of my ability, I have matters to discuss with my noble companion!” It was the elf. When did- You didn’t ask her to join you?! You barely spoke a word to her. And yet here she was, standing beside you with an arm protectively holding you against her side. Your cheek presses against her soft, warm breast through the thin fabric as you are held with a surprisingly firm grip.

Chapter 2: Mommy’s home

The elf, whom you learned was named Nimue, was true to her word. Requesting (or gently demanding) to be taken to where your group were staying to introduce herself. She was apparently a mage of great renown amongst her own people who had left the isolation of her home to travel amongst the younger races as, in her own words, she ‘missed the energy and vibrancy of youth’ You couldn’t very well say no. You needed a healer. Furthermore elves legendarily had little need for riches which was a source of great frustration for any trader that fancied trying to arrange a trade deal for their crafts. So payment seemed not to be an issue. Dutifully you returned to the house your party had purchased many moons ago. Now somewhat dilapidated, the garden overgrown. It made you well up with shame to bring such a perfect and ethereal figure to this place. But her face remained impassive as she was led inside not that the interior fared much better. Broken bottles, dust, overturned chairs. Too often had your party returned here either too tired or drunk to care about cleanliness and it had become simply a part of the decor. First to meet you were the leaders of your band. A pair of twins, one a swordsman named Krennan and the other a channeller of barbaric rage named Mithra. “Well now, pipsqueak. Who’s this you brought with yo-” Began the swordsman, only to be cut off. “I think that’s quite a rude nickname to give someone, don’t you think?” The elf’s voice came in clipped tones, her hands on her hips. “How would you like it if someone called you pipsqueak, hmm? Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you get to bully others you know!” The twins look stunned. Confused. They hadn’t even exchanged names and already this lady was scolding them like a schoolteacher. “Well? Not to mention the absolute state of this abode. I’m told you are the ‘leaders’ of this little group? Hmm? Well I don’t see much leading if you leave this place in such a mess!” You couldn’t help but smile, though you attempted to hide it. To see these two being taken down a peg was… Wonderful. You glanced up at this woman, this saviour and your heart leapt just a little. You clung to her side even though you technically could have left at any time. Nowhere felt safer than right here, especially after her gentle arm almost habitually draped itself around you. “Now do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?” Her voice never raised, not once. But the tone, the power, the authority. It was all that was needed. The duo mumble and hang their heads, somehow cowed by this beautiful stranger. “Now apologize.” She commands. Krennan begins to mumble but withers under her gaze. “S-Sorry for calling you a pipsqueak.” He says a little more clearly. “That’s better. Now dearies. Thanks to a certain someone here-” she announces, rubbing your arm affectionately. “-I am your new… What was the word again in this era?” She asks you. “Healer” You say back up to her, feeling an utter rush of pride that you could be helpful to her. Especially as she beams back down at you. “I am your new healer! I’ll make sure you’re all back in bed safe and sound each and every night!” Her words are accompanied with a happy giggle. “But first sweeties, I think we need to do something about this mess, don’t you? After all. Cleanliness is next to godliness! So come along, pick up a brush. No dillydallying!” She ferries you and the other two further into the house, ushering you like children.

The next few hours consisted of chores. Cleaning the house, trimming the garden, dusting every inch that could be dusted. Your other companions - A scout named Callie and a sorcerer named Ilnax, were roped into the affair with sleepy confusion. That they fucked regularly was the worst kept secret in the group and today was no exception. But Nimue had some kind of.. Allure. Power. Nothing magical, you don’t think. Simply an aura of maternal authority. You found yourself eager to please, trusting that she knew best. And before long, the house was transformed. No longer a dilapidated sty, it looked somewhat close to actually livable! “Okay sweeties! Well done! I’m so proud of you! Teehee! And now it’s bath and bedtime for all of you!” That snapped some of them out of the strange spell she had woven. “Bedtime? We’re not-” Began Callie, only to find Nimue’s smiling face gazing down at her. “I am responsible for your health and that begins with a good and consistent sleep schedule! I’m told you four are constantly staying up far too late. This won’t do, so long as I’m here you will sleep at a reasonable hour! You wouldn’t want to die because of a silly mistake you made because you were cranky, would you?”

As usual, you were last for the bath. You were used to it. The others simply barged their way past you to take the hot water for themselves. As you stepped into the bathroom you blush as immediately you realise that Nimue is also in there, standing near-naked before the tub. You never thought you would see an ass that perfect but you could probably bounce a gold coin off that thing as silken underwear are nearly swallowed by the cheeks. She turns with a yelp, covering her bare chest but then chuckling and dropping her hands revealing perfectly pink nipples. “Oh, it’s just you! Hehe! Close the door silly.” She says with a chuckle. Your cheeks burn, not just because of her nudity but how somehow you don’t count as someone she would be embarrassed by. As if she doesn’t see you as an adult that would find such a sight enticing. But you find yourself closing the door. “It’s getting late, so I thought I would join you in the bath! That’s okay, right? No one changed the water so I did it myself and added some firestones. It should be nice and warm! C’mon!” She beckons, turning and slipping off her panties before climbing into the tub. You debated leaving, but why should you? She was inviting you in. And the water was literally steaming hot. You hadn’t had a warm bath in so long. You realise that while you had been debating internally your body had made the choice and you were already sinking into that warm, steaming water. The tub, small as it was, would only fit if you sat between her gorgeous thighs. They cushioned your hips like pillows as she wrapped her arms around your stomach, pulling you back against her to give you a hug. Her breasts squishing against the back of your head as she does so. “I’m so glad I found you, little one. This was just what I needed! Oh this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful time!” She coos, bringing some water up and beginning to wash you. Overwhelmed, you simply sit still. It was nice, finally. To have someone stand up for you, take care of you, protect you. Finally you could just relax. Just.. Relax.. “Ooop! It looks like someone’s having a bit of an accident!” She titters. Your eyes flutter open as you look down and to your utter horror you see between your legs a definite tinge of gold in the water. Did you- You pissed yourself! You immediately try to scramble out, stammering an embarrassed apology but again those powerful arms keep you still. “Shhh…” She soothes, softly petting your head. “It’s okay. I understand. You were relaxed. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She whispers into your ear. “I’ll take care of it. I promise. But for now.. We should make sure there’s nothing else in there, hmm?” Unsure of what she meant, you simply settled back into the water as her hand trailed down between your legs. You tense as she touches your most intimate place, but quickly relax as her gentle hands slowly start to rub and tease you. “W-What are you…” “Helping you relax.. Shhh..” She whispers into your ear as she continues just gently touching you. Holding you in a motherly embrace as her delicate strokes make you shiver so sweetly. You had never been touched like this. So carefully, tenderly. Not trying to simply get you off as quickly as possible. But wanting to fill your mind with a haze of pleasure. It was overwhelming. It was everything. You settle even more comfortably against her chest, half turning to nuzzle into her breast as she holds you close. “That’s my little champion. My brave heroic adventurer! You’ve done so much, such a good job! Now just relax. Let me take care of you. Let mommy take good, good care of you now…” Those words reached your ears and swirled into your mind. Soothing all worries, caressing your anxious soul. You didn’t even realise when you felt your hips lift and grind against her hand as you cum for her. She was taking care of you now. You were hers, happily and hopelessly hers. You could never have imagined how far that would go.

#trans nsft #nsft #ab dl #ab dl kink #diaper kink #piss kink #diaper humiliation #diaper wetting #fantasy kink #ab dl baby #mommydomme #mommy k1nk

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bigcowboydyke · 1 year ago

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about your disability pride month post: is there anything important/significant you think people should take notes on when writing a character with an upper arm prosthetic? (like starting from the elbow if i phrased correctly)?

Yeah! I think the biggest is that you ought to consider first, esp if its an OC, your reasoning for making the character disabled- you wanna make sure you're not fetishizing or exploiting their disability to prop up abled characters. I've got a list of questions for authors to ask themselves along those lines that I can post or dm

Secondly, you have to consider what level of realism you wanna go with. If you have a character where, in universe, the prosthesis functions in exactly the way an arm does, you could just go with that if you want - it's the path of least resistance, right? BUT you ought to consider that most prostheses in media exist in that way AT THE EXPENSE of good representation of disability. Erasing disability or "curing" it with magical prostheses IS a form of ableism that is so pervasive it just goes unnoticed by most. I believe personally that disabled bodies are worth portraying well even when the creators of the source material did not do that. SO if you want to go with real well thought our representation, here are some common things I think authors and artists often miss (specifically as it pertains to upper limb prostheses):

1) I already said this, but seriously, I cannot emphasize enough that upper limb prosthetics ain't cheap and are usually uncomfortable. Your character, if they are poor, or even like middle class, won't have access to multiple high tech popular mechanics cover story type robo arms. Even if they did ...

2) Not all limb different folks use prosthetics! I personally have used multiple and I disliked them. I tried very hard to learn, but there are multiple requirements to be able to use each model and sometimes, a lot of times actually, limb different people - especially people without a hand or an arm function Better without prosthetics. Be aware in your art that limb different people are Whole. How you ask can somebody without an arm, say, do all that stuff?

3) Consider the idea of adaptation in your writing and art instead of relying only on magicking disability away with prosthetics. Disabled People live in a world full of barriers and tend to be Very creative about navigating it, adapting to our environment through just being a little clever about how we do things is the biggest way i see other people with upper limb differences interact with the world. There are three main ways that we go about this without prosthetics: Using adaptive equipment, Finding an alternate method, or as a last resort, asking for help.

Example 1: I have like 1.5 arms ok so obviously only 1 hand, and I need to clip my fingernails every once in a while. The obvious solution to me, while it may seem gross, is just to bite them off. Bad habit, but efficient. I could use those horrible little nail clippers, with my remaining stump and a little finagling but it takes forever. I could also get some adaptive nail clippers - they make great big handled ones for ppl that can't grab the little ones. Or, I could ask my partner to trim them, but I'm usually too proud to do that. Let disabled people have their flaws too lol!

Example 2: I love to rock climb. This is where adaptive equipment comes in. I could slip off a rock climbing wall pretty easily right? So bouldering (rock climbing without harnesses) is totally inaccessible to me. But if I go to a gym that has harnesses, then that's fine - they catch me if I fall and that's adaptive for me.

Adaptive equipment comes in many shapes and sizes and can be regular items repurposed.

3. If after all that you Must create art or write about an OC or preexisting character that uses upper limb prosthetics, consider that in general, limb different people's prosthetics are not equivalent to having two arms. Prosthetics are only practical for limb different people if they enhance your life or are useful in some way, however, getting one high tech enough to do that is unlikely because they are expensive. There are different groups, clinics, and charities that make lower cost options but they tend to be much lower tech than is depicted (and often are clunky). My first prosthetic was a long flat piece of metal, similar to a doctors tongue depressor, attached to a plaster cuff velcroed around my stump. The idea was that since I had a little bit of stump poking out, I could pin objects against the metal and it would work like a crab's pincers. It was okay, but I did accidentally smack many. Many. Things with it, including my own face and since it was metal, that was unpleasant. Obviously hindered more than helped. Also it did not look even remotely like a hand.

4. Which prosthetics you can get generally depend on what you got on you. Literally. Bodily. With upper limb prostheses, If you don't have an elbow or wrist, your options are almost exclusively limited to the pricier electric options that are both super futuristic, unavailable to many, and also like new car priced. Many of the manual, non-electric models depend on the ability to flex a wrist or elbow, so if you have those things are a little more accessible overall. It also matters whether you are born limb different like me, or if you are an amputee. Amputees are more likely to be candidates for prostheses than people like me because they have all those preexisting muscles and nerves for prosthetics that are higher tech and require surgical attachment Also prosthetics might be an easier learning curve, and more useful for somebody who has been abled bodied than it would be for somebody who never had that limb in the first place.

5. This is a little thing and ... Not to get too medical with it ( and neither should yall) but limb different people often have physical changes associated with lack of or loss of limb. If you do not have a limb, you are not going to be developing the muscles that are surrounding it in the way an a nondisabled person would. Again for example I have 1.5ish arms which means I've got plenty of stump on my "affected" limb. Even when I did Varsity sports and everything, I was never able to get beefy on that side. It is a pet peeve of mine that many people do not seem to get this - Most art I see of vash the stampede has him with two super beefy shoulders and like yeah i get it that's hot, but if hes got roughly the same amount of stump as me, he probably shouldn'tlook like that. Another thing in this vein is chronic pain is associated with limb loss and limb difference- I have it and its reasonable that any prosthetic user or nonprosthetic using limb different person is more likely to have it. Again these are little things but if you're looking to do good representation you need to consider that limb difference is not just a cool little stylistic choice to make a character look tough or what have you - limb loss and limb difference mean that that character will not only think differently than abled bodied people, but move differently, pose differently, have different routines and preferences than are ever represented in most media. Disability is not a style, and it's not a diagnosis, it's an identity. It's important above all to be respectful of that by letting go of centering able-bodied expectations and aesthetic in your art and writing. Hard to do but i believe in y'all!

Hope that helps! I've also got a bunch of links to go along with these points, if you want them lmk! I'm always happy to take asks about this stuff!

Tl;dr please consider making characters that don't use prosthetics, or don't use them excessively because it's more realistic, better representation, and makes me, a disabled dyke on the internet, really happy.

Lastly if y'all liked my advice and appreciate my time you are always welcome to tip me for it - my c*sh*pp is $neptunedrive

#cripple your art #disabled characters #vash the stampede #trigun #character design #disability justice

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