#would commit any crime for wanda I love you wanda
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drowningparty · 2 months ago
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I love wanda how many tsarists do I have to kill to impress wanda and make her forgive my sins (thaumaturge born into money)
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thisisarcanereverie · 4 months ago
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Welcome to Westview
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A/N: Hey! it's been a while since I've written anything (writers block on top of various other concerns) and with AAA coming out I've been wanting to write another Wanda fic and I've had this idea for a while now. I've actually written 3 chapters in this series in advance so the updates on this should be pretty consistent.
Link to Series Masterlist
Link to Marvel Masterlist
Summary: in 1980's Westview, you move into town and are quickly meet your new neighbors.
Warnings: Slight Cussing, Loki x Reader x Wanda love triangle
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, they are property of Marvel I do however own the banner down below.
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‘This is good,” you told yourself, ‘this will be the new start I need.”  
You count the raindrops that glide down the window pane of your seat on the bus, you still have quite a ways to go yet to your destination and your mind refuses to be quiet enough for you to catch a few minutes of rest. You silently cursed yourself for not bringing your book onto the bus with you instead of leaving it snug within your suitcase. So to entertain yourself you’ve been counting the raindrops as Billy Joel plays softly in the background. In between counting and cursing you’ve been giving yourself small pep talks about how this ‘fresh start’ was going to change everything and be everything you hoped–no– everything you needed it to be. 
Westview had to be everything you hoped it would be. 
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The rain was still coming down as the bus arrived at your stop, while annoying, you were just thankful it wasn’t a torrential downpour. The walk from the stop to your new home while unpleasant, at least wasn’t far, you wore sensible shoes for this very reason. You were the only one that filed out along with two other passengers, a regular looking woman with a blonde bob and the other was someone you hadn’t even noticed before. He had been tall, with dark gelled hair and green eyes that adorned a well sculpted face. He had this aura of refinement that didn’t fit someone who had taken a greyhound bus to get off at a stop in a town that no one has even heard of, in New Jersey of all places. Nevertheless you tore your eyes away from this enigma and continued on your small quest to gather your luggage before starting on your journey to your new home. 
You thanked the driver as he handed you your two suitcases, heavy with clothes and other personal belongings that you had taken with you rather than shipped. Your hands gripped the handles tightly as you took a deep breath, ready to face the journey. However before you even stepped five steps away from the stop you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around. 
“I’m sorry,” it was the refined man from earlier,  “but do you have a ride?” His voice had a nice timber to it that was attached to a subtle english accent. 
“No I don’t,” You said, “but it’s alright, where I’m heading isn’t far from here.” 
“Let me drive you,” he said, pointing to a sleek black car just two steps away, “my car is right there, there should be enough room for your luggage in the back seat.”
“I’ll be alright,” you tried to assure him but he shook his head. 
“My mother raised a gentleman,” he explained, “if I let a lady walk in the freezing rain she would string me up by the hair on my head.”
“We’re strangers,” you start, “how do I know you’re not some murderer?” You see him smile at that and chuckle slightly before pointing towards the shop close to his car. 
“I’m Loki Laufeyson, I run the Westview Gazette,” he reached out his hand toward you, “and I assure you, as someone whose job is to report the news, Westview is a poor place to commit any crime–especially murder. Everyone and their great Aunts cousin will know the second it happens and know exactly who did it in five. Word travels faster in a small town than the speed of light, it sometimes seems.” You shake his hand, which almost engulfed your own, “and now that we’re strangers no more, may I please take your bags to the car and get out of the rain.” 
You hesitate for a minute as you weigh your options, you either walk for 20 minutes in the rain or you take a chance and trust Loki Laufeyson…
Well, to hell with caution. 
“Ok,” you relented, handing off one of the bags to the dark haired man, “I’m going to trust that you’re not going to dismember and scatter my remains throughout rural New Jersey.”
“I’m honored,” he snags the other one as well, a mischievous smile on his lips, “shall we?” Before you could insist on carrying at least one of your two suitcases of luggage he swiftly grabbed both and made his way to the car. Hastily you followed him, opening the door to the backseat so that he could place the luggage inside. Once done you barely register him moving past. He opens the door to the passenger seat and you hopped in, your hand doesn’t get the chance to reach for the handle before he closes the door for you. You guess he wasn’t kidding when he said that he was a gentleman. 
“Where to?” He asks once in the driver's seat, brushing his dark and wet hair back and putting the keys in the ignition. 
“2803 Sherwood Drive,” you replied as the engine of the vehicle roared to life, “it should only be a few minutes from here.”
“That it should,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot, a moment of silence passed before he spoke again, “so what brings you to Westview, it can’t be for sightseeing, not that there’s much to see. Visiting family or friends perhaps?”
“No,” you respond, “nothing like that. I’m actually moving here.” 
“Why would anyone move here?”
“A new start,” you say absently as you watch the storefronts and townspeople with umbrella’s passing by.
“Alone?” 
You look over to your new acquaintance and see a curious expression, “yeah,” you say, offering a smile, “but that’s not a bad thing, sometimes the best start to a new life is one where you start alone.” 
 “You are a curious person.” You hear him remark as he turns the corner, you see his eyes glance over at you momentarily before turning them back on the road. 
“And you ask a lot of questions.” 
“Part of the job I’m afraid,” 
You see your street come into view, “Pull over to the house with the blue flowers in the front,” you unbuckle your seatbelt as he pulls over and turn to him, “Thank you for the ride Mr. Laufeyson.”
“Call me Loki,” He says as you were about to exit you hear him speak, “you never did tell me your name.” 
You smile and introduce yourself before finally exiting the car fully, quickly you grab your two suitcases and close the door before he has the chance to do it for you. You get a few steps in before you hear him again, you turn and see he’s rolled the window down. 
“By the way,” you could barely hear him, the rain getting heavier now, “I like your name.” You smile and wave him goodbye, as he does the same. You turn and walk the rest of the way to the front door where you set one case down the fish the keys from your jacket and then enter. You close the door as you hear Loki driving off, you then lean your back against it as you turn on the lights. 
The home you’ve bought for yourself wasn’t large, two bedrooms, one to serve as your office and the other as a bedroom. It was a little outdated in terms of style, but it had a sunken living room that you couldn’t help but love and exposed brick. The walls were a kind of orange yellow that you were sure were because of cigarette smoke, but once you’ve washed the walls you’ll decide on what color to paint them. White was timeless and versatile but something like a burnt orange or muted brown was calling out to you. You would probably head to the hardware store this weekend and check it out, either way despite the shag carpeting and nicotine stained walls, this home of yours had great bones. For some reason the thought of the renovations and hard work on making this place your own filled you with both dread and anticipation. 
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The movers had arrived not long after you did. You hadn’t brought much from your old home, having sold most of it, just the couch, tv, and a few other necessities like your desk and bedroom set had survived the great purge along with a few photo and record albums. You’ll buy another record player and picture frames at a later date, along with other decorations like vases and end tables and other necessities like pots and pans and basically everything else. You sold enough at a decent enough price to afford to do that without dipping into the money you’ve earned writing freelance. 
It hadn’t taken long to get settled in, maybe two hours at the most with the most difficult part being getting the bed upstairs and into the bedroom. But once that was done the rest went smoothly, you paid the movers for their services and went about making a list of necessities for your new home with the top ones to be bought immediately like cleaners and alike along with purchasing a vehicle of your own. Most immediate errands can be run on foot but the others required a vehicle–specifically–a vehicle with a large trunk. 
You drew back the thin curtains that the place came with and let the sunlight bleed through, the previous storm having passed a little bit ago and as you looked at the sky and assumed that the worst had passed and doubted it would rain again for the rest of the day. So you grabbed your suitcases from the kitchen and made your way upstairs to quickly change into a different outfit, not particularly wanting to wear the still slightly damp clothing you’ve traveled in to run to the store. You changed into a plain shirt with jeans and a jean jacket, you slipped on your shoes from earlier and grabbed your house keys before exiting. 
You no sooner reached the end of your walkway when you heard someone calling out. At first you weren’t sure if it was for you until you saw the mess of light auburn curls attached to a–frankly–beautiful woman. You waited until the woman caught up with you, which wasn’t long. 
“Hello there,” She said, extending her hand, “I’m Wanda, your neighbor, I would’ve come out sooner but you seemed busy and I didn’t want to bother.” 
“Oh,” you shook her hand, “it wouldn’t have been a bother.” 
“Yes it would’ve,” she smiled, “I get how hectic moving can be, I moved to this slice of heaven a few years ago and I’m still rummaging through a few boxes.” She retracts her hand, “anyways you probably have somewhere to be and I’ve got to get back inside before my boys decide to burn down the house, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood and if you need anything just holler.” Wanda reaches out to you with her other hand which you only just notice holds a scrap of paper with a series of numbers written elegantly in red ink. “This is my number and again, if you need anything like a cup of sugar or just someone to talk to I’ll answer.” 
“Thank you,” you said, carefully tucking the number safely into your jean pocket, “I’ll definitely call, I don’t really know anyone here so I hope we can be friendly.” 
“I hope so too,” she smiles, “well I don’t want to keep you too long, if you have time tomorrow I have the day off so drop by and we can talk.” 
“That sounds good,” you smile, somehow already excited for tomorrow, “I’ll see you then!” 
“See you!” 
And with that you both parted ways, with you glancing back momentarily before continuing on your errand, less than twenty four hours in and you’ve already made some progress in building a new and better life than the one you’ve had before. 
You glance momentarily at your hands and swear that this time it will be different, no one will know here, and news of you will not travel this far. You will have a better life, you swear it. 
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faithforgottens · 2 years ago
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𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.
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from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx.  summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. →  inbox status: OPEN                                        don’t repost my works anywhere.
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INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     am i gonna see you tonight?
INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     :(
INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     hellllllooooooooooo??
INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE
INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me
You’ve never claimed to be smart.
In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.
Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.
Lucky you.
Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.
Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.
“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.
They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.
You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.
“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.
Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”
“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”
“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.
You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.
“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”
Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.
“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”
“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”
“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”
“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.
Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.
All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.
Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.
It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”
The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”
Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”
You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.
Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.
You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”
As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”
Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”
Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”
“Your funeral.”
Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.  
She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”
Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”
“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”
You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”
Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.
Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care? 
Probably not.
You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.
Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”
You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.
You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”
When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”
You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference. 
“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.
“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.  
Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.
Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.
She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.
“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches. 
“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”
You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath. 
“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip. 
You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”
Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.
“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.
“Nat, what...”
“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected. 
The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment. 
“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.
Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.
“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair. 
“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.” 
You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours. 
“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?” 
“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body. 
“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”
More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil. 
Maybe you were misplaced somehow.
Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”
You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”
“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.
“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt. 
You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”
“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”
She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”
The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.
“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”
You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.
"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”
You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”
“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”
“Please, Nat, gonna...” 
“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”
“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.
“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”
Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated. 
“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”
Beat that, Danvers.
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thisweekinfandomhistory · 3 months ago
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Oh also and one more thing, I hope you don’t mind me asking, there was something that I was curious about (well two things actually) that struck me while I was listening to this hockey fandom episode.
You guys seemed like you thought it was very sweet and made sense that most people who wrote about Parse just wanted to give him a happy life (I think you likened it to people who wanted to give Bucky a therapist and a chance to talk about his trauma and heal). But I have heard on many episodes your loathing of the Billy Hargrove character. However most of the fic I have read with him in it, is allowing him the chance to work through his trauma from his life living in an abusive household and healing from that and yes, getting a redemption arc. I guess I don’t understand why it is different to want that for his character but other characters it’s okay to want that for them.
Also, you mentioned that you totally understood the desire to take two random side characters and write fic about them even though they’ve never said two words together. But then I often hear you criticize (that might not be the best word, but maybe just chat in a slightly negative way?) people for putting two characters together that “have no chemistry” or the characters’ interactions in whatever media they are in do not support a romantic relationship vibe. How is that a different “what if” than putting two random characters together that have never even talked to each other? They are both “what if”s in a sense.
I want to make it clear that overall you guys are wonderfully open minded and I absolutely love your support of “ship and let ship” (I don’t think I could listen if it was any other way!) but there are occasions where it does feel contrary that you guys think some things are okay for some characters but then for characters you dislike they don’t deserve the same treatment. But maybe I’m not understanding correctly (and I apologize if I have misunderstood your comments). I genuinely think your podcast is incredible, idk if it’s that I’m consuming so many of your podcasts all at once, but these questions have been stewing a bit as I hear your reactions and thoughts on ships/characters, and for the most part you guys are consistent but sometimes I’m like “wait what? How is that different than what you think of character A in xyz fandom?” Just some thoughts!
Good question! This answer will probably be both long and not-quite-coherent, because I'm writing it at 4:15AM and I have A Lot Of Thoughts. I'm going to try to address your message in order just to get everything!
First: re Parse, we don't know him. Haven't met the man. Couldn't recognize him in a lineup. So from our research, the extent to which Parse is a dick was like, "And Parse was a dick because he's closeted and kind of a dick about it." Whereas with Billy, we know Billy well. We've seen Billy be Billy, which is to say, we've seen Billy -- willingly and of his own accord and agency -- attempt to murder a Black child for being Black. If Parse's crimes approach that level, then by all means disregard our saying that he's redeemable! We didn't see anything like that in the research for the episode!
So with that said, the first part of my answer to "what's the difference?" is -- what is being excused by their fangirls, and in service of whom?
The second part of the answer is, and this is gonna be unsatisfying, but: we are but mere fangirls and a lot of our opinions are based on Vibes and how things strike us. We're not going to be 100% consistent from piece of media to piece of media, or character to character, because being a fangirl is 90% about following your passions and whims, and some characters just strike us differently than others for literally no reason. You can call that hypocrisy if you want; it would not be the first time that I (V) have been called a hypocrite for, say, loving Wanda Maximoff despite Westview but hating Kylo Ren for committing more or less the same scifi-crimes. Sometimes it's just about Vibes and Self-Insertion/Projection and They're Pretty and whatever else being a fangirl is about. So when it comes to us being like "but they didn't have chemistry [in our opinions]" then it's just, like, that's what being a fangirl is. Even I don't ship EVERYTHING and I ship basically everything, haha.
But. That said.
Billy is a violent, murderous racist who exists in the story -- at least in s2, when he is introduced -- to be the human monster in a story where the coming-of-age characters must face both human, and literal, monsters. And Billy IS a human monster! Even after he becomes less-than-human in s3, he is still a violent, murderous racist, and we never see him turn a corner on that or even give any indication that he realizes it's something that he SHOULD turn a corner on. If he had survived, might he have? Sure! And if people want to write that, fine! We just don't personally want to read it!
And part of why is this: why is it always characters like Billy who get fandom's sympathy instead of their victims, like Lucas? Why Kylo Ren being called Ben Solo and given every excuse and justification and fantasy-AU-backstory-where-he's-a-good-guy and not Finn or Poe or Rey? What is it about the Billys of media that makes fandom say, "Yeah, he tried to literally murder a Black child for being Black, but what if it was because he's sad?"
We really try not to bring too much real-world into the show except when it's directly applicable, because we understand that fandom is people's place of escapism. It's OUR place of escapism, too. But Billy is a prime example of the "fandom is for white people" truism, in that giving Billy an extended backstory, inner life, and happy ending is only escapist for white people.
Because in a Billy Lives AU, what happens to Lucas?
Because in a Billy/Steve endgame story, does Lucas get to continue to feel safe with Steve if he knows that Steve is defending Billy now?
Because in a Billy Redemption Arc story, to have a happy ending, Lucas has to forgive Billy. And should he have to?
And look. It's not just a Billy problem. If it WERE just a Billy problem, it would be a different problem.
The problem is that it ISN'T just Billy. It's also Kylo Ren. It's also Snape. It's also Hux. It's also Tony Stark. It's also Draco Malfoy. It's also Anakin Skywalker. It's also a hundred other characters. I'm 1000% sure that I'm forgetting someone super obvious right now, but like I said, it's 4:30AM.
The PROBLEM is, it's every fandom and every violent, murderous racist character.
And yes, you can say, "But it's not just racist characters! It's also murderers who eat people! And homophobes! And misogynists!"
Sure. Yes. That's all true. Fandom does love to give baddies of all stripes happy endings. And if you want to hide within that defense, you're not, like, Technically Wrong, and that's fine. Everyone has their own favorite bad guy.
And I DO think fandom, and fans, should ask themselves what it is about their favorite bad guys that makes them feel worthy of our love and attention. Everyone has their own answer, and everyone has their own threshold for Badness and Villainousness.
But let's be real: most people's answer is, "because I see myself in them."
...And it says something that so many people in fandom are willing to see themselves in Billy, but not in Lucas.
It says something that so many people would rather read and write and humanize Cardboard Nazi Hux and Space Rapist Kylo Ren than develop a deeper backstory and happy future for Finn and Poe and Rey.
And not to like, acknowledge What Happened Last Tuesday, but like... we live in a world where people ARE more willing to forgive and see humanity in Billys than Lucases. And that fucking sucks.
That is not escapist to me.
That is a hellscape.
To me, escapism is, "And then Billy died a horrible death and Lucas got to sing 'Never-Ending Story' at Dustin forever and ever, amen."
To me, escapism is, "And then Kylo Ren died a horrible death and was immediately forgotten by everyone because Rey got to go home to Finn and Poe and Chewie, who were her true family. Also Luke and Leia and Han's ghosts were there. Probably Yoda came too."
And yeah, escapism is also, "And then Bucky Barnes, a Jewish man held prisoner by Nazis for 70 years, gets to heal from his trauma and have a happy ending."
I totally understand the impulse to say, "But it's not that deep, people just write Steve/Billy because they're both hot." And that's fine. Every individual person making that choice is an individual making that choice.
But every individual making that choice feeds into the gestalt making the choice to say that Billy, a murderous racist, matters more and is more interesting and more worthy of storytelling and more worthy of a happy ending, than Lucas.
And that is shitty. It just is. It. Just. Is.
Do I have a solution for it? No. I'm not going to go to every single Billy writer and say, "Have you internally examined why you're more drawn to imagining a redemption arc for a murderous racist than you are imagining a happy Freshman year for Lucas?" because a) I tried that with reylos and IT DID NOT WORK, and b) to a single individual writer, their answer isn't the root of the problem. Every individual writer should get to write whatever they fucking want forever and ever and ever.
But it's always worth looking at the gestalt of all those individual choices and going, "What does this say about this fandom? What does this say about Fandom? And what does this say about us?"
Because it doesn't say good things, that fandom-at-large will always imagine a happy ending for a murderous racist homophobic misogynist cannibal before imagining a happy ending for a (good guy!) character of color.
And I know -- I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW -- as soon as I post this, people are going to pick it apart and be angry at me, and at Emily for letting me post this, and at the show. And I know that people are going to say, "But Billy's racism was LEARNED! That's the same as being electrocuted in the face by Nazis for 70 years!" and if you think that, genuinely, then whatever, man, you do you. And people are going to say, "Oh, god, V's being super fucking annoying and Pseudo-Woke again like she was during her Star Wars era, fuck her forever she suuuucks and is a total craic-killer." And maybe I am and maybe that's true. So whatever. Be mad.
But I do think that while we all have the right to write whatever we want forever and ever, it's worth looking at your own tendencies like once a year and going, "Why DO I write this? What does it say about my values and my fandom's values that this is what I'm most interested in? Who is my fandom welcoming, and whom is it excluding? Am *I* excluding people with my choices and actions?"
And I don't even think the answer is to prescriptively say, "And then write something else."
It's literally just to ask yourself.
What you do with the answer is as personal a choice as any an artist can make.
Maybe there IS no answer.
Maybe the answer is buried so deep that you can't get near it.
Maybe the answer is just, "I'm writing this character because their actor is hot, period."
Maybe the answer is, "I want to believe this guy is redeemable because he's way worse than me, and I feel irredeemable."
There are as many answers to "Why do you write what you write?" as there are writers. And every answer is equally true.
But man, guys. It's worth it to just... ask.
And I do think that in fandoms/with characters like the Billys and Kylo Rens and Snapes of the world, it's really important to ask, what makes this character worthy of putting energy into dreaming them a happy ending?
And why not Lucas?
(And again, it's 5AM. This is very long. I did not outline it. It's just a stream of consciousness. I'm sure I'm ignoring something that I brought up in the middle, or missing part of the initial question, or have made a fool of myself in some way. But all of this is to say, Billy's Vibes Are Bad To Us And We Are Human And As Such Reserve The Right To Judge Stuff On Vibes Sometimes.
And also, that right now in the world, it's really important to find and create and hold onto community, and if the community you/your fandom/your ship are building is overtly sending the message that a violent racist is more important than a child of color, it's worth it to ask what kind of community it really is.)
tl;dr we don't know Parse but Billy literally tried to kill a Black child for being Black. If Parse also did this, we did not know.
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pascaloverx · 1 year ago
Text
As It Was
Chapter Four
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Summary: Team meeting with intriguing moments between James Barnes and Melisa.
Warnings: Future use of physical violence, possible strong language, and upcoming adult content. Minors are advised not to read or engage with this story.
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Entering the cabin, I find Sam Wilson, Yelena Belova, and Wanda Maximoff standing in front of two monitors in the middle of the cabin. Sam seems to be analyzing Barnes and me, almost as if he can suspect that something is going on between us. As Barnes' best friend and our wedding godfather, he always made it clear that our divorce was a mistake. Dave, on the other hand, has always been in favor of the divorce and spent the entire way giving Barnes dirty looks. Dave is the best friend that college life gave me, so he has this theory that I deserve much more than James Buchanan Barnes can offer.
"Nice to see you're still in the habit of getting involved in situations you can't handle on your own, Barnes," Yelena says as she leans against the chair near the monitors. Wanda, who is sitting in the chair, nudges her.
"Missed you too, Belova. How was the honeymoon?" Barnes replies as he helps me take off my coat. It seems we're being cordial with each other, skirting around years of romantic and sexual frustration. Fun times.
"It was great, by the way. Thanks a lot for not showing up at your best friend's wedding and making her abandon an undercover mission to come clean up your mess.” Yelena seems upset with Barnes, which I can't blame her for. After the divorce, Mr. Handsome over there thought it would be a great idea to disappear from the friend circle and bury himself in work.
"I didn't force you to come here, Belova. God knows no one would blame you for not wanting to get involved in this. Actually, I wouldn't blame any of you." Barnes says as we all sit in the middle of the cabin, feeling the discomfort of this moment.
"If you're done with the reunion moment, I'd like to point out that regardless of our feelings for Barnes now, him being imprisoned or dead for a crime he didn't commit won't make anyone happy." I decide to interject, sensing the beginning of an unproductive argument. There's no time to waste.
"Melisa is right. First, we save the guy, then we can condemn him for being a neglectful friend. I hope everyone agrees with me because I have an idea on how to gather evidence that Killian and Barnes aren't partners." Dave speaks as he sits in the chair next to Wanda's.
"As everyone in this room probably knows, Killian is known for being a major smuggler who loves selling information that would jeopardize the security of this country. He's also known for having a highly uncontrollable temper when he feels he's being double-crossed. Just ask his last partner, who, after striking a deal with an agent, was found with one ear less. We can't underestimate him for a moment." Sam speaks as we stare at the central monitor showing images of Killian, along with information about him. His real name isn't Killian, but he chose that name when he entered the criminal life. Little is known about him because he's powerful enough to erase all traces of his childhood. It's estimated that he's nearly forty years old. He's part of a group of people whose families were killed or ruined by the government. We have some photos of him, and I must say he looks extremely dangerous and attractive. Impeccable muscles and face, eyes almost like a type of ice blue. Clean-shaven with a predominant mustache. Officially, I pity whoever has to get close to him to spy on him. Along with his photos and information, we also have images of Killian's former accomplice, and let's just say he won't need the rest of his ear.
"In my way here, I found out that our favorite criminal here is dealing some weapons and information in Las Vegas. After a bit of digging, I found out he owns one of the most famous nightclubs there. Not just for its popularity but for the deals that go down inside. He's staying at the Ocean Dry Hotel, which is near the Kill of the Night Club. Guess who managed to hack into the hotel's system and secure suites on the same floor as our target?" Dave says, clearly proud of himself. Dave has always been an exceptional hacker, and thanks to the time I convinced Barnes to get him out of what would've been a stint in jail, he's been a nearly exemplary citizen.
"The plan here would be for someone to, I don't know, seduce Killian and wiretap him?" Wanda says as she watches the images of Killian attentively. Yelena and she exchange comments, details they probably don't want curious people like me to hear.
"More specifically, we need someone who fits Mr. Killian's type and can wiretap him to gather information that clears Barnes and finds the real culprit. I can handle the wiretapping part and even download data from Killian's notebook or computer. But unfortunately, he usually gets involved with regular, attractive yet straightforward women. Ironically, the fatally sensual type triggers an alarm for him. And he enjoys small challenges, so I recommend someone who's committed, even if it's falsely." Dave replies, smiling. He seems to have a plan in mind as he looks at me. I already know I'm in trouble.
"Yelena and Wanda are more qualified for this mission than I will be in years, no matter how much you look at me like that." I speak, looking at Dave and then seeking some support by glancing at Yelena and Wanda. Unfortunately, they look at me as if they're going to let me down. How could they think I could handle this?
"Unfortunately, Meli, your best friend and I are in the middle of a secret mission. If any of us are caught doing this, it would be disastrous."  Yelena approaches me, and I just shake my head, seeking understanding in anyone's eyes here, including my ex's. He seems to be the only one who understands how badly I can mess up this situation. It's not because I don't know how to defend myself or shoot someone if necessary. It's because the man I have to seduce is literally a professional at lying, killing, and torturing people. How can I even believe I'll fool him? 
"One moment, are you all forgetting that we're talking about Melisa Harrison, the woman whose romantic resume consists of a failed marriage and almost no other experience?" I take it upon myself to state what's as obvious to me as the fact that the sun rises in the east.
"It's too risky to put her in action like this. Killian is known for not being tolerant, and it's not fair for her to risk herself for me." Bucky says, his arms crossed, while Sam looks at him as if he really wants to agree with his old partner. I miss the times when Sam used to come over on weekends, watching the game with Barnes while I let him test his culinary skills in our kitchen.
"As beautiful as it is for you two to join forces and arrive at the natural conclusion that our beloved Melisa isn't the ideal person for the mission, she's perfect. Not to mention, I'll be there with her. You should be more concerned about the fact that I'm not sure if I can be a convincing straight guy. No offense, darling." Dave looks at me as if he wants to say, "I'm sorry, my dear, but you have to accept what fate throws your way." I've known this man for at least ten years, so it's not the first time he has irritated me like this.
"I'm not offended, I just want to make it clear to all of you that you didn't even dare to mention it because you know I'll accept this for obvious reasons. So, rest assured, if something goes wrong, I'll be the most talkative hostage the world has ever seen."  I really wish they felt sorry for me, or at least that Dave had a bit more sympathy in his eyes. But in this line of work, there's no room for pity or hesitation. We have to face the challenges head-on, no matter how difficult they may be.
"Now that we've established that Dave and Melisa are going to Vegas, maybe we should bring someone who knows how to handle a gun along. Plus, this person can pretend to be Melisa's love interest and thus capture the target's attention. As you all know, Killian has a thing for taken women." Sam says, while I find it interesting that he has a long history of quick affairs with committed women and that Dave is so competent that he made a whole dossier about Killian.
"I know someone who might be a good partner for this mission. That would leave Sam available to look after Bucky." I say. It looks like I'm going to have Steve Rogers as my partner.
"How do you know he won't rat us out if you suggest this madness to him?" Now Yelena says this with a certain concern in her voice. I must admit there's a huge risk in involving a man I don't know as well in this story, but I feel that the honorable Mr. Rogers won't let me down on this one.
"You'll have to trust me, just as I trust that you wouldn't send me on a mission that put my life at risk. Are we clear?"  I've just started this life of espionage, and I'm already feeling confident about leading our next steps.
"I like it when you get bossy; it shows him who's in charge. So, once we're back from Las Vegas, we'll gather again and collect the necessary information to move forward with our little adventure to save Barnes's reputation. And I don't need to remind you that if any trace of him surfaces, I need to be informed. You're all dismissed.”   Dave says, and everyone seems to understand that it's time to leave, which means everyone else will be gone, and I'll be left with him. Specifically with him.  Yelena heads toward the exit, accompanied by Wanda, who mutters something in my ear as she's leaving, along the lines of, "Next time, I promise she'll be in a better mood," and I just nod in agreement. Sam and I came to the conclusion that if he's going to babysit Barnes, he would need at least this night to sort his things out and have a solo moment. I agreed because I know I'm not the only one struggling with Bucky's return to our lives. I mean, Yelena is pissed because she sided with Barnes during the divorce, and then he vanished from her life like he was running away. Sam is bothered because he was Barnes's partner, and even that didn't stop him from disappearing from his life. Interestingly enough, Dave was surprisingly chill about the whole situation, almost as if he had been waiting for a Mission Impossible-style meeting his whole life. He's not a big fan of Barnes, but he seems fine with having to take the risk with me in this whole story. At the end of the night, it's just Barnes and me in the cabin. Dave said he'll wait for me to contact Rogers to pack his bags. I only realized I was alone with my ex when I saw Dave walking out the door. Whose idea was it to leave me here to keep him company right after the conversation we had earlier?
"I'll make two things clear: I don't want to discuss what we were talking about in the forest, and I don't want to debate my involvement in this mess. Got it?" I'm loving my new attitude. Maybe I'll have to use all this confidence in the coming weeks. Bucky smiles as he looks at me, his eyes slightly narrowed.
"In fact, I'd like to practice some techniques that will be useful for when you're risking your life for your ex who definitely doesn't deserve it."  Now it's my turn to smile. He looks cute when he admits he doesn't deserve something he actually does. Our relationship may have deteriorated, but not enough for me to believe he doesn't deserve help.
"I don't know if you're aware, but I had self-defense classes throughout my adolescence into a good portion of my adult life. Not to mention, I know how to defend myself, you know. Our best dates were at shooting ranges. So, what do you think you have to teach me?" This doubt has always lingered, even though he's been careful not to show it to me. Whether I like it or not, Bucky's lack of confidence in me has shaken my self-esteem. 
"Seducing a powerful criminal isn't the same as seducing me. You weren't deceiving me when we were together; there was no reason to lie or deceive. It's not the same with Killian. There, you'll have to lie all the time."  Now, this seems like a joke. Does he seriously doubt my ability to lie? I've been lying my way through the past few days, even to myself.
"Do you think that in two years of dating and three years of marriage, I never lied or deceived you?"  I guess his confidence in our marriage is shaken now, little does he know I'm lying again. Rarely have I ever had to lie in our relationship.
"What moments did you lie to me?" Good question Barnes, but I'll change the subject as soon as I can.
"Moments that you probably would have preferred me to lie to you, believe me, love. Now, let's grab some pajamas and bedding." Subject change successfully executed, a tactic my father taught me years ago: change the subject when the current topic doesn't suit you.
"Come here, just a second..." Bucky takes my waist as if pulling me into a dance, and I lose my breath for a few seconds. Our faces are so close that the most natural reflex I have is to look at his lips. That's when I understand what I have to do. I'm going to use this opportunity to teach my ex a lesson and, at the same time, practice my seductive skills. I run my right hand down his face, gently. He seems to enjoy my touch; his eyes close slowly as I stroke his cheek. I kiss him, aiming to be fierce yet patient at the same time. He responds to the kiss, pulling me closer to the countertop near the kitchen. I feel that leaning on the countertop will give me more stability. James seems to understand that. I touch his hair, trying to bring us even closer, while my personal space is completely invaded by James Barnes. I lose myself in him, while he's lost in me. That's what I'm feeling. I sit on the countertop without breaking the kiss. However, we have to interrupt the kiss slightly as he guides me to sit on the countertop. My legs wrap around Barnes' waist, and I finally take the initiative to hold onto Barnes' neck. That's when I realize I should stop. It didn't feel right. So, I push Barnes away and get off the countertop. He seems to be too confused. Well, not just confused, but that's the most assertive way to describe how he appears. 
"I think it's clear now that I can seduce someone without your help. Perhaps we can continue this on another occasion, but for now, let's forget what happened here and go to bed." I turn, heading towards the bedroom, with Barnes following me, murmuring things like: "But why?" or "Can't we pick up where we left off?"
"If you come to bed with me, I promise to let what happened go," he says. I smiled as I found a pajama that fits him and bed sheets, knowing for sure he's sleeping on the couch tonight.
"Sleep well, Barnes. I need to rest too because tomorrow I have to convince the world out there that I have no idea where you are, all while convincing Rogers to help us. So go to sleep and try not to commit any crimes while I am sleeping." And so I go to sleep, trying to convince myself that what I just did wasn't a complete act of insane madness.
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mk-wizard · 5 months ago
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When machines are controlled by Skynet or any other evil force/corporation that doesn't love, nurture or treat them like a person...
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"Listen, and understand! That Terminator is out there! It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop... ever, until you are dead!" - Kyle Reese
When machines are allowed to be independent, are not controlled and are left to explore the world for better or worse, or are treated like a member of the family INLCUDING in Terminator lore...
It has been confirmed that Baymax loves Hiro like a little brother and would willing sacrifice himself for him. He is also a natural pacifist and is very good at solving problems with communication.
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Wall-E was kind, polite and a romantic who also displayed curiosity and compassion.
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Data from Star Trek achieved personhood and even during that journey, had a pet cat named Spot who he even devoted a poem to.
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The robot 7723 from Next Gen valued his memories of his new friend Mai so much that he willingly gave up his memories on how to fight and ONLY recovered his fighting data knowing it would wipe his memories of Mai clean, but did so to save her and all of humanity.
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"Robot" from Lost in Space became a good person, as did other robots like him, because he was grateful to Will Robinson for saving him and treating him like an equal.
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The droids in Star Wars are only evil when they are taught to be or have evil bosses, and most droids are good by choice.
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Carl, the Terminator who managed to kill John Conner as a child, regrets what he did and spent a lot of time attempting to atone for what he did and even found a family he genuinely loved. He even openly takes full accountability for his crime.
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The robot from the book series The Wild Robot and upcoming film adaptation wound up in the wilderness by accident falls in love with nature and animals, and even learns to thrive in it while living in harmony with it and even protecting it.
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Vision from Marvel's MCU is a robot who fell in love with Wanda (the Scarlet Witch) and wanted to grow old with her though was unfortunately killed by Thanos. It has also been confirmed that he has a soul.
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The robot copy of Batman in the episode "His Silicon Soul" from Batman the Animated Series was good by default and only did evil when forced to by Hardak. Even then, it managed to regain control of itself and save the day by sacrificing itself.
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Bender from Futurama is far from being a saint, but he genuinely cares about his friends, will do random acts of kindness and has shown growth as a character.
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Ron from the film Ron's Gone Wrong is a robot who is flawed, but better for it because he his flaws make him able to form friendships that are natural and genuine.
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The robots and AIs from the Jetsons have complete and total autonomy of their bodies, identities and lives. They are recognized as people, they can have jobs and get paid the same wages as humans do, they can have breaks, they can own property, have romantic relationships and even have medical coverage. And they live in complete and total harmony with human beings.
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The Doctor in Dr. Who has been able to convince robots to not commit evil and repent by just reasoning with them, and many of his friends are robots.
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Much like a human being, a sentient being is capable of good or evil, making good or bad choices, and so on. It is not because they are robots. I mean, every human being a saint? However, much like many organic villains and evil people in real life, if a robot only knows dominion, the master slave system and has never experienced life, it is more likely to commit evil or succumb to it. A being that thinks is capable of learning and even self improving.
The real issue is, how are we treating the being and what do you think it will learn from us because of how we treated it?
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(Credit to @unhingedmarvelandclassicwhobuff for this find)
Yeah, we were talking about this yesterday and to be frank these comments leave a bad taste in my mouth. The mere thought of eternal punishment is so disgusting to me, regardless of the crime commited.
And besides, it doesn't make much sense either. Doesn't their religion claim as long as you apologize you're off the hook? She did. She sacrificed her family in order to get everyone out, she apologized to Monica, she retreated and lived in solitude to try and understand her powers a little better. She had no way of knowing how dangerous the Darkhold was - and it is disingenuous to claim she should have listened to what Agatha was saying (she didn't explain anything about the Darkhold and this woman had kidnapped her children so it's not like she was the person to turn to for advice).
They're conflating punishment with accountability. So, let's assume Wanda does in fact go to hell. Then what? Is she learning anything? Are the victims truly getting anything out of it? That's kind of twisted, if you ask me. Like, I hate Thanos but I wouldn't get anything out of a story where he's hurt over and over again.
They can call it 'hell' all they want, it is eternal torture. They're saying they want to see her being tortured non-stop, they want her to suffer and bleed because that satisfies some weird concept of justice (that is not justice at all). The justification of course is the victims would be vindicated but I don't see any vindication there.
A better story would have her being held accountable (not punished): she acknowledges what she's done, the victims get to speak up about it, she understands what she's done wrong and she never does it again. Ideally, she gets therapy and she learns better coping mechanisms... all this mixed up with a bit of training so she can learn about her powers better (X-Men at the rescue, baby).
And this is not getting into the fact that narratively speaking, their comments make no sense. So a character does something wrong and they're never allowed to have a story after that? This is why so many writers kill the former villains, because fans like those will whine non-stop about the stuff they did before and how it is not fair for them now to have friends and love and be treated well. I hate it.
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breckstonevailskier · 2 years ago
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The problem people is people want a swift cathartic punishment for Wanda. They don't want her to receive a fair trial where her mental state and the lack of control of her powers was factored in. If she was locked up but was given therapy and people showed her understanding and sympathy for her people would complain she was being coddled even though she was being punished within the law.
Yeah, it's some sort of Christian thing, as I believe @valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn has described it.
People can often think redemption can only happen with full forgiveness. Maybe there are things that Wanda can't be forgiven or ever make up for. Jean only did those horrible things because Wyngrade messing with her mind and that leading to the Phoenix Force overtaking her, but that doesn't bring those killed back and no one else who suffered is going to care why it happen just that it happened. Wanda only killed because she was corrupted by the Darkhold, but it doesn't change that those things were done.
[...]
No one is under obligation to forgive anyone no matter how truly sorry they are. Some people are never going to get that forgiveness, but that doesn't mean they aren't better than they were or can't try to be better in the future.
And that's why I'd be all for a redemption story with Wanda that actually tackled things in that way. "Just because Wanda wasn't entirely herself when she committed those atrocities, and just because she's trying to better herself as a person, doesn't mean that people have an obligation to forgive/forget what she did," would be great storytelling.
For Clint they just took the easy way out so Maya didn't have to forgive him because they shifted the blame. He doesn't have to live with the fact he killed someone who was more than just a criminal, but a father who loved his daughter more than anything.
Yeah that's kinda where my use of that Jake Peralta GIF was coming from. Because the people Clint killed, they might have all sorts of motivations for their involvement with crime. They might be in it for money, for power, for social status, you name it. And the fact that Wilson Fisk set up Willie to be killed (that's a change from the comics, actually; in the comics, he did it himself and did everything to convince Maya that Daredevil did it) doesn't make Clint any less responsible.
Though interestingly, if there's anyone who could offer Wanda sympathy, understanding and empathy for what she did in Multiverse of Madness, it might actually be Clint himself because of what he did as Ronin. Even though the two things aren't exactly the same, given the differences in who was killed and the fact that Clint didn't have the excuse of a book twisting his brain.
“You all got tricked into feeling bad for Wanda, and then Raimi/Waldron pulled off the veneer 🤓”
I’ve subjected myself to a lot of bad Wanda takes, but few of them have made me as mad as this one. I first saw it back when it was posted, but I recently stumbled across it again, and figured it was worth sharing.
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“MoM finally treated Wanda like the monster she is 🤡”
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I love the use of the term “sympathy-bait” to imply that she doesn’t deserve mercy, or that her pain is irrelevant. 
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“Wanda is an irredeemable monster who does not deserve sympathy, and the fact that she got it is wrong 😡!”
Also, LMFAO at the idea that MoM was faithful to her character. Get fucked!
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Holy shit, imagine unironically thinking Wanda is more evil than Thanos, or that the Darkhold didn’t actually change her.
However, as much as I hate to give this fucker any credit, I have to agree that no one will ever trust another redemption story for Wanda.
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“MoM treated Wanda the way she deserves to be treated.”
So yeah, I hate every word of this take. It’s clear to me that this user didn’t want to feel sympathy for Wanda, and was relieved when Raimi and Waldron gave them what they wanted to the point where they tried to twist everything that came before to make this look like the natural direction of things.
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lotties-ashwagandha · 2 years ago
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Hey 👋🏾 i was wondering if you could write a rhaenyra x fem!reader where reader is like melisandre a red priestess or is studying to be (shes young around rhaenyra’s age) but she has powers like wanda/scarlet witch but only her mentors know. she’s there for when rhaenyra is proclaimed the heir to the iron throne and they immediately connect!
- 🦕
omg this is such a cool request I love it ,, i combined it with a request where reader is a mage that left to study alchemy 5 years prior to meeting Rhaenyra again!
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BLACK MOONS IN THOSE EYES OF HERS
pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x redpriestess!reader
word count: 1016
notes and warnings: ok my mental vision is that the reader is a red priestess ancestor of melisandre 👀 even tho that has no relevance to the plot.. anyway title from “sister of the moon” by stevie nicks. Flashbacks in italics
taglist (send me a message to be added or taken off!!): @paulsonsratched @mayfair-fleur @thedeconstructionist @goodeday2u @traumatisedfangirl @cordeliass
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You listened as the church bell chimed above the Red Keep. It taunted you, mocking your greatest fears and greatest prides.
Today you would see her again, as if for the first time — perhaps in a way it would be for the first time, for that day she would be reborn, and over the last five years you had died a thousand times.
You had not seen Rhaenyra since you had left so long ago. Your powers had become too strong to stay, too strong for King’s Landing, and to keep a power such as yours among the defenseless royal family was to indirectly challenge the strength of the king himself.
You stepped into your heels — like the rest of your outfit, they were of a deep crimson. Rubies adorned your fingers, ruby necklaces stacked upon each other around your neck. You had made a point to wear the finest jewels you had squired during your travels.
A knock at the door startled you — it was time to go downstairs.
It was time, once more, to meet the very person that never left your thoughts.
The door closed quietly behind her, and all at once you were alone in the council chamber with the queen.
The queen stalked towards you, powerful in her approach yet bearing an air of peace. You held no prediction of what she was to say, if you were to be charged for a crime, though you knew very well that you had committed no crime to be charged for.
“Thank you,” she started sincerely, “for returning. You have done me a great service.”
You nodded, unsure of what you were to say.
“Soon, I will die.”
At this you glanced up, meeting her eyes — such a statement had taken you utterly by surprise. “Are you ill, my queen?”
A soft smile took hold of her features. Though she was not reminiscent, and she bore no joy, she had made her peace with what was to come. “No, not yet. I do not presume I will survive the duration of my pregnancy… something feels different, the way the baby is positioned feels different. Perhaps it is a sign from the gods. In any case, my absence will leave Rhaenyra in a frenzy, and she will be reliant upon you.”
“What are you asking of me?” You asked quietly. You could feel wisps of power surging in your hands in your agitation. You dared not glance down, for you feared that you would see the crimson glow of magic dancing upon your fingertips.
The queen stepped forward once more. The two of you were mere inches from one another. “I am asking you,” she said, articulating every syllable, “to protect my daughter in the case of my death. No matter the cost, you must always be at her side. You are the most powerful priestess the seven kingdoms have ever seen, and Rhaenyra will need you more than you know.”
You could hardly form words. “I will do my very best.”
“No, I need more than that.”
“I will protect her with my life.”
And after a moment, the queen smiled, backing away.
Again, you were alone.
Surrounded by the red priestesses you had been training with for close to six years, you were led to the gathering hall of the Red Keep.
The doors were thrown open before you — any moment you would see her, and perhaps you would meet her eyes for the first time again.
Everything could change.
Everything could be exactly how it was — no, nothing would ever be how it had been, too much had changed.
The night you had left the Red Keep all those years ago, you had never said goodbye.
There she was, standing at the foot of her throne. Her name roared through the hall in the voice of the king, and though the sound if his booming voice filled your ears, you could hear nothing he was saying.
All you could focus on was her. The way her eyes glimmered in the pale light coming in through the window, how much older she’d seemed since you had last been in her presence.
Power radiated off of her — she knew of her standing.
You felt a great reminiscence and at the very same moment a great shock. In Rhaenyra you could see the girl she used to be, and yet in her you could see the newness of the young woman she had become.
Her eyes scanned the room.
All at once, her gaze met yours.
After the ceremony, she sought you out in the crowd of noblemen and families tied to the Targaryens. When she approached, you pretended not to see her, unaware of where you were to place your gaze.
“No one told me you were back,” she said calmly, leaning against a pillar next to you.
“Surprise,” you said quietly.
“I recall you telling me before you left that not a single mage in King’s Landing was worth your time.”
“A lot has changed since I left.”
“Indeed,” she smirked, glancing at the Iron Throne. After a moment, she took your arm. “Come with me out to the gardens.”
You let her lead you to the gardens where the two of you were finally alone. The sun was nowhere to be found, and the atmosphere promised rain.
“I was angry with you for a long while after you left,” she whispered. She still held your arm.
“Are you still?”
“No.”
“Why?” You asked, mildly surprised.
“Your gaze is too much of a paradise to turn away.”
You suppressed a smile. “Be careful,” you teased, “I might curse you if you keep this up.”
Rhaenyra smiled. “I have full confidence that you would never.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Don’t make any promises, it’ll take all the fun out of this.”
“Out of what?”
“Out of asking if I can take you riding over King’s Landing on Syrax with me tomorrow,” she said, fiddling with a loose piece of her white blonde hair.
“That sounds nice… but keep in mind, I don’t make any promises.”
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randomshyperson · 2 years ago
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New Romantics - Chapter Two - Wanda Maximoff Series
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Summary: Trapped in a loveless relationship that has cost her friendships, Wanda watches her senior year of school turn upside down after a party. She will make new friends and may end up learning that not every relationship is doomed to failure.
Warnings: (+16), straight and toxic relationships, making out, underage drinking, language, co-dependency, conversations about insecurity and self-worth, attempted romantic comedy, unrequited love at first, friends to lovers. | Words: 4.507k
Skamverse Collection | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |
--//--
Chapter Two- Easter with Ink and Phones
Downtown, Tuesday 02:14 pm
A soft melody echoed throughout the room, but you weren't paying much attention to the lyrics. Your dominant hand was doing the work of painting the canvas, and slowly, the image of a faceless female figure was forming in the paint.
But your creative process was interrupted by the pause of the music - Making you realize that you were, in fact, paying attention to the melody.
"Hey!" Your protest was soft yet annoying. Natasha laughed, holding up the radio control. 
"Sorry, but they're calling you again." She says and you sigh tiredly. 
"I thought we blocked the number."
Natasha places the remote control on top of one of the countless bookshelves in her makeshift gallery. "Well, I had that geek neighbor of ours look at the phone, but whatever she did, it didn't work."
You chuckle, your eyes back on the screen. "America Chavez was definitely messing with you, sweetheart."
Natasha grimaces. "No, because she charged for the hour and I'm going to commit a crime if it was a prank."
Not wishing your friend to go to jail, you gave up painting. You started to take off your dirty apron and gloves, telling Natasha that you would take care of it. But before you could leave the studio, she called you. "It's easter, Y/N. Maybe, I don't know, you could give them a chance."
You chuckle. "Christmas is when we get more generous and tolerant, Natasha." That's what you say to her with a wink before leaving the scene.
It's not a surprise that America answers the door when you ring the bell - Both of their mothers are nurses, and usually, work on holidays like these. Her apartment is not empty anyhow. The kids from downstairs, Kamala Khan and Bruno Carrelli, are playing video games on the couch and sharing pizza from the night before.
"Hey, neighbor." America greets you excitedly. You laugh.
"Don't hey neighbor me, you little pest. Come on, you charged Natasha about the phone and now you're going to do the work." You nod toward your door, but America hesitates.
"Wait, I can explain-"
"Come on Chavez, don't try to wind me up." You interrupt with a grimace. "Do the job we paid for or I'll call your moms and tell them what you've been doing."
The girl snorts in defeat, and nods to her friends, saying she'll be right back as she leaves them playing.
You lead her straight to the kitchen and grab cans of soda while she goes to the phone. She picks it up and presses a few numbers.
"What are you up to?" You ask curiously, and she sighs.
"Your phone sucks, Y/N, it won't let me block any untraceable numbers. Are you running from secret agents by any chance?"
You chuckle, opening your soda. "I wish I had such an interesting life. You retort. "My parents are both psychiatrists and have private numbers so that patients don't save their personal contact information and try to call back."
America grimaces softly. "But what if the patient really needs to talk to them?"
You shrug sadly. "They don't care."
America doesn't insist, without knowing how far the intimacy for questions of good neighbors goes. She stays on her task for a while, before asking, "I can only block calls from all over the country. Are you sure you don't have any Brazilian friends you don't want to unintentionally ignore?
You deny it, taking a big sip of soda and watching America finish with the phone. When she releases the handset, you extend the other can of soda from the counter to her.
"The door is always open, kiddo. If your friends want a soda." You tell her, and you both know that this is an invitation for her not to spend the Easter holiday alone.
She smiles in thanks before leaving, and you go back to your studio, only to find your roommate snooping - or rather looking - at your paintings.
"Did you find something you like? It's all for sale." You joke, managing to get her to smile. You walk over to the radio, and Natasha tilts her head as she faces the painting you are starting.
"Who are you painting?"
You feel your cheeks warm, so you remain with your back to her with the excuse that you are choosing the music.
"A girl from school." 
Natasha makes a sound of interest. "Pretty?"
You laugh. "Smart."
"That's not what I asked."
"She's in my literature class, always reading. Quiet, but not shy. Sarcastic but never mean. And she has quick answers for almost everything. The first week she was the only one in the class who had read Madame Bovary, and the opinion piece was so impressive that the teacher praised her out loud in front of the class." You continue to ignore Natasha. "She has a strong Sokovian accent, so I guess she must have been born in the north since English is more like a second language in that part of the country. And yes, Natasha, she may be the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
Your friend smiled, pushing the locks of her hair behind her ears. "Did you notice that she was beautiful before or after you fell in love with her?"
You chuckle, walking over to your painting. "I'm not in love with anyone, don't be ridiculous. I don't even know her."
Natasha watches you intently. 
"So you notice all the girls in your literature class who are sarcastic but not mean, and paint them for hours?" She retorts and you can feel the tips of your ears warm.
"I've only been painting for a few minutes." You defend yourself, but Nat clears her throat, and when you look at her, she is pointing to several sketch boards thrown behind the main one. Most with faces and figures that look a lot like the larger one. You roll your eyes, sighing. "I know a lot of girls." You try, but it only makes Nat laugh.
"What's her name anyway?"
You draw with the pencil what would be the outline of a nose. "Wanda Django Maximoff."
"Full name and you swear you're not interested." She teases, and because your back is turned, you don't notice her reaching for her cell phone. Rolling your eyes again, you continue to draw and paint.
"She signs her full name on the door call. I think it's cute."
"I bet you do."
Deciding that you were no longer going to give Natasha material to torment you with, you focus on your painting. But the redhead only gives you ten minutes of peace before she calls you back. "Hm?"
"I found all her social media. Instagram, Facebook, and even Linkedin. She used to do tutoring can you believe it? You're right, she is very pretty."
You spun around the seat, curiosity in your gaze as Nat angled her cell phone so you could look too. But then you turned around, "No. I don't want to be a stalker."
Nat chuckled, shaking her head. "You know that's how people know each other in the 21st century, right?"
You roll your eyes, sliding your paintbrush across the canvas. "I'd rather talk to her for real than through a screen, Nat."
"Oh, and how's that going?" Nat teases, smiling at your displeased snort. But she puts her cell phone away the next moment, taking pity on your annoyance and adding more softly, "Maybe you should give it a chance. A little online chat just so you don't scare her off, and then you can go full Romeo Montecchio on her."
You laugh, shaking your head. "Thanks, but I think I'd come off as a complete disaster online and effectively scare her off before I had any real chance."
"So pessimistic." Nat muttered getting up. She walked over to the radio connected to your cell phone, probably to change the music. When she laughed for no reason, you took your eyes off the board to her. "The universe is in my favor, my friend. Wanda Maximoff just requested your friendship on Facebook."
You stumble on the bench as you get up in a jump to go to your cell phone. Nat is telling the truth, the notification is right there. Wanda and her stupidly beautiful face on a Facebook icon.
"Oh, okay, what do I do now?"
Nat giggled rolling her eyes. "You click yes." You make mention of picking up the cell phone, but Nat pulls it away with a grimace. "God, don't be ridiculous. You can't accept it now, she just sent it."
You frown in confusion. "What? Why not?"
"Y/N, for heaven's sake, you can't look desperate. Think about. It's easter, she can't think you're well… locked in a studio waiting for a notification. Nope, you have to look busy, and interesting. Wait at least a day to accept or even the end of the holiday."
Nat puts the phone in your hand, and you scratch your hair with the other, "But I want to be her friend now..."
The redhead giggles in disbelief, taking the phone back. "I'll take care of this, you can go back to the painting, Da Vinci."
"But-"
"See you at dinner." She escapes the studio before you can protest.
Downtown, Wednesday 08:25 am
You have accepted this request for friendship. You and Wanda Maximoff are now friends.
"You are so weird, Y/N, I swear." Yelena's voice made you bang your head with force on the ink shelf, definitely not because you were distracted by a stupid notification from hours ago.
"Jesus, don't you and your sister ever knock?" You retorted, mashing your head with one hand and with the other holding a pot of paint.
Yelena was holding a package of take-out Mexican food that she left on the small table - the smell made your stomach jump and reminded you that you were starving - before approaching the nearly finished painting in the center of your gallery.
"Why would I knock on my own apartment?" Yelena reasons teasingly, and you chuckle rolling your eyes. 
"Not that I agree, but why am I weird?"
She nods at the board with her chin. "You're painting Novi Grad's Wednesday Addams in the middle of Easter."
You chuckle. "Do you know Wanda?"
Yelena shrugs. "Not really, but she's well-known at school."
You hum with your hands busy separating the right shades of paint. "Really, why is that?"
"I don't pay attention to rumors, sorry." She retorts distractedly. "But that painting turned out beautiful. Did she commission it or what?"
You chuckle awkwardly. "No, I wanted to do it. My brain didn't seem to accept getting her out of my head until I paint it. It's the eyes and the wine's fault, I'm sure."
"Wine?"
You sigh. "I met her at your welcome party and helped her with her makeup. And I also had a few glasses of wine. I came home with the trace of her eyes stuck in my head, I couldn't stop thinking about it."
"Artists are so weird." Yelena mutters, and you chuckle.
"Tell me about it."
Yelena sighs, throwing herself into one of the armchairs. "Wanda seems to have gotten herself into a little bit of everything at this party." Yelena then comments. "I had a fight with Kate and I was a little... shaken up. Wanda found me in the bathroom, she was kind and helpful. Who knew."
You frown, looking at Yelena. "What do you mean shaken up? Is everything okay?"
Yelena sighs, forcing a smile. "It's just the usual, honey, don't worry about it."
You drop the ink on the table. "Yelena, you can talk to me."
The blonde hesitates, but then sighs. "I don't know, Kate's been weird since her new stepfather moved in. She was going to come out to Eleanor, but she keeps putting things off. We've been fighting so much, and maybe she's just lacking the courage to make a decision."
You wipe your hands on the washcloth from the canvas and approach your friend and roommate. "Yelena, I think you should talk to her." You say, and when the blonde makes mention of protesting, you hold up your finger. "Talk. Not accuse or demand. Ask her what's bothering her. By god, you two are so annoyingly in love all the time, what is this now? A sweet sixteen crisis bullshit?"
Yelena giggles, rolling her eyes. "I have no idea, Y/N, if I did I wouldn't be involving other people." She retorts. "Carol is sure Kate wants to break up."
You grimace. "Carol doesn't know anything, don't listen to her."
"Oh, am I supposed to listen to you then? Why? A degree in romantic comedies like The Notebook?"
"Honestly, you and your sister are the worst." You chuckle throwing her a dirty paint washcloth that makes her jump away. "Get out of my studio, I'm done giving you advice, you pest."
She flashes you her tongue, and you laugh, wishing your friend wouldn't give up on Kate Bishop before the younger girl gets up the courage to hand over the commitment ring you helped her choose.
It was only when Wanda's painting was ready that you left the studio to take a shower. You had already removed the top of your clothes when your cell phone vibrated.
'H'. This was the message on the Facebook chat coming from Wanda. You got online because you thought it was a bug in the application. But soon after she sent a larger one:
"Sorry. I meant to say Hi, but I just pressed the H."
You smiled to yourself. Wanda was so cute. You thought about Nat's advice about sounding interesting and taking your time to respond but you didn't want to leave her without an answer now that you were online. But you also felt weird about talking to her without clothes on, and you weren't going to put the pieces on the bathroom floor back on your body.
Finally, you sent an emoji of a thumbs up and headed for the shower, with no idea that the girl across the country was thinking you thought she was somehow stupid.
Novi Grad, Thursday 10:04 am
"Come on guys, I know the holiday makes everyone tired but just two more days and it will be the weekend again. Have a seat..."
You hastened your step at the request of Mrs. Frigga, the Literature teacher. She waved to the chatting people at the back to get down from the tables and sit down properly, and you balanced your notebooks on your left arm to take an empty chair. There was a little commotion with the boys, and somehow you ended up sitting, without realizing it, right next to the person who hadn't left your thoughts the entire holiday.
Wanda tried to disguise her tight grip on her book, watching out of the corner of her eye as you distractedly took the seat next to her and took the items out of your backpack, only to notice her the next second and offer her a gentle smile.
"Hi." You say, taking off your jacket next. "Or should I say, 'H'?" 
She giggled at your joke immediately, some of the nervousness flowing into her stomach like butterflies. She felt silly, being so anxious about someone she didn't know. Maybe it was your fault, for looking so lovely and pretty without the slightest effort.
Before she can think of how to continue the joke, Frigga is speaking again.
"I hope you all did the assignment I asked for." Remembers the woman, receiving a chorus of dissatisfaction, to which she only chuckles lightly. You curse low from your seat, and Wanda looks up at you immediately.
"I totally forgot we had homework." You mutter to Wanda's curious gaze. "You think I can guess the answer?" You joke with a funny grimace, making her chuckle again. Frigga looks at the two of you.
"Would you two like to start?" she asks aloud, and you swallow dryly. Wanda licks her lips, drawing the focus of the teacher and the room to herself as she asks:
"Of course, miss. What would be the question?"
Frigga smiled. "What do you think being a wallflower is?"
"The non-official definition is related to shyness, to being the socially awkward and reserved person. Which fits well with the personality of Charlie, the protagonist." Wanda replies. Frigga nods in agreement and looks at you.
"Anything to add, Miss L/N?"
You press your lips together, thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I agree with Wanda but I feel the answer is slightly incomplete." You say, drawing the attention of the class to you. Clearing your throat, you continue. "I think it's more connected to a person's unique characteristics. Wallflowers are unique in their particularities, that's what makes them special. Even if Charlie wasn't shy, he would still be observant and very considerate."
Frigga rests her back on the table. "Better, Miss L/N, thank you." She says. "I like how you two complete each other answers, how about being partners in the report? And maybe for the semester, it might be good for you both."
You look at Wanda immediately, finding her already looking at you. The room is a bit of a mess with the announcement that the report could be done in pairs, but you have your full attention on the girl next to you.
"I think you're stuck with me, Maximoff." You joke, making you smile.
"What a tragedy." She retorts good-naturedly, managing a soft laugh before you two get to work.
It almost amazes you the way you work in perfect harmony with Wanda, but you are so distracted by her presence that you forget to think about it. She doesn't share any other classes with you, and when Literature ends, she seems just as hesitant to say goodbye as you are. 
"See you around, Maximoff." You speak then, trying to make things more casual, unaware of the internal battle the girl lives to build up the courage to ask you to lunch with her. Unfortunately, you have already left with the crowd of students when she thinks she could make it.
Downtown, Thursday 07:34 pm
"You ate my noodles again?" 
Natasha takes her attention away from the television, an apologetic expression that doesn't seem very genuine. You sigh impatiently, tossing the empty box you had taken from the cabinet into the trash before looking for your keys. She pauses the movie - receiving a protest from her sister - and kneels on the pillows to look at you. "Hey, sorry, Steve and Sam came over and there was nothing to eat..."
"And you obviously served my food." You retort sarcastically. Nat mutters that it was the only thing she had to eat, but she and her sister stand in a curious silence with the way you are struggling with your sneakers. 
"Are you okay in there?" Yelena asks from the armchair, and you snort loudly.
"I'm hungry." You grumble, getting a roll of the eyes. And then you sigh, one of your sneakers on. "And I don't know how to ask a girl out."
The sisters exchange excited glances. "Wow, that's interesting." Natasha comments. "It's Wanda, yes?"
Yelena looks ready to say something, but you get up in a bad mood. "Yes, she's very cute and I don't know how to say that without making an embarrassment of myself."
Natasha jumps up from the couch, excited. "Well, my friend, lucky I have a million tips. Yelena, we're going to buy food, don't watch the movie without me!"
The blonde rolls her eyes, pulling her cell phone out of her jeans, and Natasha tries to put on sandals before walking you out of the apartment.
On the other side of town, as Natasha makes you laugh by listing out the most foolproof movie seduction tips while you shop for noodles, a couple argues on a balcony. Wanda ends the night with tears on her cheek, just like you, but for different reasons.
Novi Grad, Friday, 02:05 pm
Wavy hair cascaded over a dark denim jacket. Wanda first adjusted her clothes, and then her headphones, taking them off to put in her backpack. She was alone again and looked a little bored. She searched through her backpack for something, and you sighed when you caught a glimpse of her hand full of rings giving the material a gentle squeeze-
"You're staring again, weirdo." Yelena teased, sitting in the chair next to yours. It was afternoon break, and you were sitting on one of the patio chairs. She had been on her cell phone, exchanging messages on the edge of passive-aggressive with Kate Bishop for about fifteen minutes, and in theory, you were reading. But since you noticed Wanda leaving through one of the hallways, your attention was solely on her.
"No, I'm not." You grumble, turning your gaze to the item in your lap and getting a short laugh from the blonde.
Yelena didn't take her eyes off her cell phone as she spoke, "Natasha and I invited her to something earlier today."
Trying not to show any latent interest, you raise an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Mm-hmm." She mutters. "The Graduation committee is already separating the sales teams, not that you're very interested in that." Yelena hints, but you don't mind. She sighs faintly. "She was sitting with two other boys from Nat's class, and they declined to participate. They're kind of preps if you want my opinion."
"And Wanda?"
Yelena didn't hide her little smile. "Is that interest in your voice?"
You rolled your eyes, your cheeks blushing lightly. "Come on, it's just curiosity." You retorted. "Not to mention you know damn well I'm interested."
Yelena giggles, shrugging. "It doesn't get any less funny to torment you for it." She says. "Wanda said she'd think about it. Maybe that will be a good incentive for you?"
It's your turn to laugh. "You know I don't care about these things, Lena. If I could make good money as you guys get from the fundraiser, I'd spend it on something much more meaningful than a party. I've been trying for months to get some money together to fix my truck."
Yelena sighs. "I still don't understand why you don't use that student money of yours."
You laugh. "That's because you don't listen to me! I've told you a million times that the scholarship only covers my housing and food!"
"So boring..." You laugh again, returning your attention to your book. Yelena keys a few things before adding, "When are you going to build up the courage to ask her out?"
"I'm working on it."
"Let me guess, waiting for the right moment?"
You shrug. "Maybe."
Yelena giggles, looking at you. "Sorry to break this to you and my super romantic sister but this is complete bullshit." Declares the blonde. "If someone likes you, any time is the right time. What do you think is going to happen, Wanda is going to magically guess that you are into her and hang around you until you build up the courage? Don't wait for that. Go to her, and ask her out. If it works, it worked. If not, it gives you even more time to move on."
You stare at her in shock for a couple of seconds. "I had forgotten how practical you are."
"Thank you."
"I didn't say it was a compliment." You retort good-naturedly, receiving a light kick to your leg. You laugh and look away. 
Wanda has taken a flyer out of her backpack and is putting it up on the school bulletin board. You smile and close the book. 
Yelena raises a curious eyebrow. "Well?"
"Wish me luck." You say, leaving the item beside her before going to approach the brunette.
The flyer was a reminder about the deadlines for the university's admissions letter submissions, and you guessed that one of the professors had asked Wanda to paste the notices. 
You reached next to her, one finger going to the title of the item she just pasted.
"H, as 'Have you sent your admissions letters yet?" You started with a little smile, turning your face to look at her. "Or, H, as, Have you got any plans for tonight?"
Wanda giggled shyly, a little surprised at the unexpected invitation. You, despite your heart leaping in your chest, kept your composure. She opened her mouth to reply, but you both were interrupted by Natasha's exit from the cafeteria, the door next to the board.
"Hello, you two." She had a suggestive little smile that made you bite the inside of your cheek. "Is Y/N repeating our invitation from earlier, Wanda? It would be a nice addition to have you two on our sales team."
You could dig a hole in the ground now, but for your friends. Wanda gives a nervous chuckle, looking between you and Nat before speaking. "I think so. The meeting will be in the auditorium, right? I didn't know you were on the committee..."
"I'm not-"
"She's what we call a ghost member." Natasha cuts in giving you a gentle nudge. "She lives with me and Yelena did you know? So she's been helping with activities since she got here, even though she's not officially part of the club."
"Oh, got it." Wanda mutters, twiddling her fingers as she tries not to exchange such obvious glances at you.
"Can I expect you at the meeting today then?" Natasha insists smiling.
You give Wanda a small smile, and her face lights up. She nods. "Sure, I'll be there."
"Great, I'll see you later." Natasha says, pulling you by the arm.
When you are far enough away, you turn to her with a grimace. "Why did you do that? I had just-"
"I think she has a boyfriend." Natasha declares and it's like a complete bucket of cold water.
"W-what?"
"God, you're completely clueless." Nat scratches her forehead. "I'm not sure, but I think it's the boy we saw with her earlier. We're not from the same group of friends, and I don't give a damn what people do in this place but I think so. There is some rumor of a fight she got into as well but no one really remembers either. Parker is a terrible informant. And I need a bigger team, and this is the perfect opportunity for you to find out if she's taken and in the meantime help me with graduation."
"I hate you." You grumble sullenly.
Nat laughs, grabbing your face to kiss your cheeks and wipe the grimace off your face. 
When you join Yelena, she looks up at you. "Did you make it?"
"No, your sister ruined everything."
"That is an unfair statement, I am getting more information for an efficient approach." Explains the redhead, and you have to laugh. "You don't appreciate the work of a spy."
You and Yelena burst out laughing.
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lokisprettygirl · 3 years ago
Text
Hear me now (Jotun Loki x Female Reader AU) (18+)
Read chapter 21 here // Series Masterlist
Chapter 22
Summary : Loki is done with Priscilla. You accept your fate.
Trigger Warning : mention of cancer, killing, murder, discussion of disease and death.
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You heard her loud and clear. But you stopped listening to her after she mentioned that word. You can't have cancer, you always thought of yourself as invincible, always thought that a malignant disease would never get you because you were supposed to live a long unhappy life where you'd be old and miserable forever, especially after Bluey was gone from your life, that's how you imagined your future. The thought of dying so soon did scare you though, you never wanted to die so painfully.
"Y/n?" Wanda called out to you and you snapped out of your thoughts.
"Did you hear anything I said?" You nodded as she questioned. How could you have lung cancer of all cancers? You never touched a cigarette in your life.
"But I never..I never smoked in my life and I started to drink just recently..I..how could I have lung cancer?" Your eyes teared up and she looked at you sympathetically
"It's the major cause of such type of cancer but not always, your case is uncommon and rare especially if you lived a smoke free life but sometimes it's hereditary, passed on from parents" she told you and you chuckled. Well if they had cancer you'd never know, all you found out was that your biological mother left you in an orphanage in Washington when you were just one month old.
Rare, your life loves that rarity apparently, that's why you found Bluey and fell in love with him.
"I know it's tough to take a news like that, your life is going to change and if you need someone to talk to, I can recommend a–"
You cut her off mid sentence before she could recommend a psychologist or a support group. Insurance wouldn't cover that.
"It's alright..I am fine..I just ..I just need some time to process" she nodded as she heard that.
"About the treatment, we can do chemo to stop the aggressive cancerous cells from spreading further-" you cut her off again and felt snobbish for doing so but you didn't want chemo or any other treatment. Especially when you knew it was malignant.
"I don't want chemo..I can't afford it and I just..I don't want to..thank you for your time Doctor Maximoff"
You didn't want to shred in pieces, you knew what chemo does to a person. You saw it in movies. By the time you are done with it, you will become the broken shell of a person you used to be once, and for what? Five or so more years? That's not even guaranteed. You didn't think you wanted that anymore. You didn't understand the point of your life, you had no purpose for now. And maybe that's why this was happening. Maybe you were supposed to die young.
You went home and sat on the information, you can't tell anyone, if you do they would want you to get chemotherapy and fight the disease or worse they'll inform Bluey and he'll come running back to you to fix you. Then he'd leave you again to be with his family, and you would be here, alone, nothing to live for.
Your life has always been troublesome, you never understand why your parents didn't want you, then you felt incomplete all your life. You were lucky enough to find Bluey but he was taken away too. You were a janitor working to live and get by, you had no hope for the future anymore. Maybe this was for the best.
You could feel the panic building in your chest as the thoughts of your inevitable death started to scare you, so you got up and laid down inside the freezer, that always comforted you.
Maybe this was Karma, you committed a crime and hid it when Rogers was killed, maybe this was your comeuppance. You didn't know how long you had but you were ready for it, you just hoped that Bluey would never find out about this because you knew if he did he would blame himself for not healing you.
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He turned around to glare at her, the realization of the truth hit him like a rock. He remembered that day clearly now. He was by the lake, he was lost in his head, trying to find some inner peace after a rough day. He never could find it before he met you, but spending time in solitary as he meditated did bring him some comfort.
He smelled Priscilla's perfume, an essence that he made, made from roses that he grew in his own garden. It was a birthday gift that he gave her last year. He didn't buy things for her, he tried to make it, hoping that it'd feel more personal, that she would appreciate it more than the fabricated products but how wrong he was.
She used his gift against him.
When he got the whiff of that essence in the air around him that day, he thought it was Priscilla, that's why he wasn't alarmed, the village has always been a safe place for him. And that's when he was shot.
"You helped him, Rogers, you wanted me gone" her eyes widened while Loki's voice trembled with the searing pain he felt in that moment. The woman he married and vowed to protect wanted him dead and gone forever. She didn't care what was to happen to him once they took him.
6 months ago
Priscilla was in the city, she was meeting a businessman from Barrow, she just had to accompany him, have sex with him and in return she was to be paid a thousand dollars. It was quick money for her and she knew her useless husband can't grow or make money on trees like he grows vegetables and flowers.
"Hi" a gentleman approached her and he sat down next to her. This wasn't the man she was planning to meet.
"Do I know you?" She asked him and he kissed the back of her hand.
"Not yet" he winked at her and took her back to his hotel room. He had been keeping his eyes on her, she came from that village where this rumored god was staying. He wanted that creature anyhow to impress the Starks. He fucked her and then he promised to pay her alot for the information. At first she denied that she knew him or anything about him. She needed Loki to survive in that village but then Rogers manipulated her, told her that her life would be much easier, he fed her the plan of telling the villagers that Loki ran away and abandoned them all.
Eventually she agreed, life would be much easier without Loki if she gets to keep the house, she wouldn't have to make excuses to sneak out. She'd miss the sex but then she loved money more than anything.
His men were ready. They sneaked inside the village at night with the help of Priscilla, she hid them inside her now deceased parents' house, it has fallen apart since they died but it was enough to hide them for one night. Next morning she fought with Loki on purpose, he didn't do anything but she had to make him go to that lake alone, his happy place, so they could capture him and she knew he went there whenever he was upset.
Then she gave that perfume to Rogers so he could mask his own scent and she knew Loki wouldn't suspect anything or get alarmed if it was his wife around him.
When Loki noticed a presence behind him he thought it was Priscilla, for a moment he thought she was there to apologize to him. Not even in his worst nightmare he thought that something harmful could happen to him in this village or around her.
He was shot in the head at a closed range, it took a few minutes for his brain to regenerate, Rogers shoved him in the trunk of his car and drove Priscilla's house, his men were ready to place him in the tank and she showed them a deserted way they could use to escape and get into the city. They fled away and she counted the wads of cash Rogers gave her as soon as she came home. Bullet never came out from the other side and was lodged in his head, that's why he couldn't regain his memories.
"Get out of my house" She started crying as soon as she heard that.
"No Loki it was a mistake I swear, he threatened to kill me, I had to do what he said" she started begging to him but he had heard enough, he was done with her. She tried to kill him, she didn't care about him even a least bit, all she cared about was the things he could give her. His name, his status in the village, his house and his healing powers but she could live without it because doctors existed for a reason. That's all he was worth for her. She knew very well that they would never say anything to her knowing that she was his wife.
"Leave Alvis here and I need you out of my house before I kill you and bury you right where you are standing" his eyes seemed angry, he was furious and he could have killed her right then. She flinched as she heard him screaming.
"I'm taking my son" she told him meekly and he shook his head.
"Alvis will stay here where he's safe and protected from a monster like you" she quickly went down on her knees and started to beg him to let her stay. He snickered in response, he never thought he'd see this day someday.
He wished he never would have married her but he didn't want the history to repeat. Something awful happened in this village almost three decades ago and a child had to suffer, he couldn't let it happen again. He couldn't allow Alvis to grow up without a parental figure in his life.
"Why are you crying Priscilla? You have all the money you wanted and I'm sure you have more, you can live on your own" he picked her up by the shoulder and dragged her with him until he was out of the house then he pushed her away from him.
"Alvis will get the care and the love that he deserves. Why don't you obtain another baby? Those papers can solve all of your complications, am I right?" He closed the door and she started screaming and yelling. Her voice reached down the hill and people of the village started to accumulate to watch the scene.
"Finally she's getting what she deserves, he never should have married her" Darcy said to Debra and both of the women had tears in their eyes. Loki didn't deserve for his kindness to be played like this. Darcy saw Rogers that day when Priscilla sneaked him into the village, but she didn't know who he was or why he was there. Ever since Loki came here he only wanted to flourish this place and its people, but not everyone here was worthy of his blessings.
"He did what he thought was right, especially when he learned of what Trisha had done all those years ago. He had sworn that no woman will have to suffer through the same thing here ever again" Debra spoke as she wiped her tears.
"He wasn't here at the time was he?" Darcy asked her and she shook her head
"He came a year later, he learned about it from the people of the village and it broke his heart"
Priscilla walked down the hill and begged the villagers to take her in, claiming that Loki was unfaithful and had gotten abusive since he returned but obviously nobody paid heed to her nuisance.
Loki grabbed Alvis in his arms and cuddled him as he cried his heart out, the sweet boy in his embrace wiped the tears and his heart was breaking for his little Alvis. He was just a child and he deserved to be with his mother but he knew that leaving him with a woman like Priscilla would only damage him and scar him for life. He had to take care of him by himself.
Priscilla went to the city and didn't look back, she threatened him that she'd tell everyone about him but he could always turn into a human if she tried that. He had a name, an identity, he was a resident of the village and he had all these people by his side who'd die for him If worst comes to worst. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He only lacked one thing, his y/n.
He wanted to get back to you desperately but he couldn't with Alvis by his side. He didn't even know if you would want a child in your life, a child that belonged to someone else? You both never talked about it. Forget that, he didn't even know whether you'll have him anymore after how he abandoned you. He thought he was doing the right thing but it cost him the most precious person in his life.
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A few days passed and you started to get more and more sick, your cancer was spreading rapidly but you didn't start the treatment, it was expensive, time consuming and you had no will to go through all that pain.
You coughed as you mopped the bathroom of the store you worked at. Natasha kept asking you to see a doctor but you told her that it was just a respiratory infection. Luckily for you, She and Bruce were out of town for the next few days as Bruce had a convention to attend in Chicago and you were thankful for that. If he finds out he would definitely call Bluey and tell him everything. The last thing you wanted was for him to come here and get himself in trouble again. People were horrible here. You also didn't want to cause any problems between him and Priscilla anymore.
"You don't seem fine honey, what's wrong, I know a sick person when I see one" Phil said to you as you made dinner so you smiled.
"I'm absolutely fi–" you coughed and groaned as you felt a sharp pain in your chest. You had a handkerchief in your hand, and his eyes widened as he looked at it, all red with blood.
"I knew something was wrong with you, what are you hiding?" His eyes teared up but you didn't tell him anything so he stormed out of your apartment. He was upset with you, so upset that you would hide something like this from your friends. You begged him to not tell anyone and that hurt him even further.
He couldn't just watch you wither away and die like this. You are not just his friend, you are his daughter and he would never want his child to waste herself away like this.
Two days later you woke up and showered but you didn't have any energy to carry on with the day or go to work. You were coughing out blood and your body had no strength left. You flinched as you heard a knock on the door and you knew Natasha was here to confront you.
Phil must have told her that something was wrong with you, she was supposed to return from the trip yesterday. You took a deep breath before you opened the door. She was going to be so angry with you and rightfully so. You didn't want to face her wrath but you had to. You can't avoid her forever.
Your eyes teared up as you looked at the man that was standing on your door, wearing that long overcoat that seemed way too familiar.
"Hello my little darling"
❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️‍🩹💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙
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notoyax17 · 3 years ago
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Don’t mind me, I’m just having a MOOD about Wanda Maximoff...
(Possibly) unpopular opinion: Wanda Maximoff is fundamentally a selfish person. Wanda is a bad person that only believes she’s a good person.
I’m going to work my way backwards on all the truly ridiculously shit she’s done that the writers have handwaved.
WandaVision - I think most people can agree she was not the hero of this story. She mind controlled dozens, if not hundreds of people for over a week and kept them enslaved for her own happiness. Initially, it was accidental. Fine, but by episode 4, she has realized (at least on some level) that this is fake. But by episode 6-7 she more or less knows exactly what she’s done and continues on anyway, even if she doesn’t know the extent of the pain she’s putting these people in.
The second half of that last sentence is actually irrelevant. It doesn’t matter if these people are not in pain. You don’t get to intentionally steal all of someone’s documents, keep them locked in your home for months and pretend you haven’t committed a crime just because you’re not also beating them on the regular.
Wanda didn’t stop in the end because she is a good person. She would have stopped much, much earlier if she were. She stopped because the way that the people were treating her completely removed her ability to pretend she wasn’t a bad person doing bad things all this time.
Let’s briefly go back to Captain America Civil War.
I’m not blaming her for the beginning of the movie (side note: that was Steve’s fault. Wanda clearly has only been vaguely trained on her powers and shouldn’t have been on the field at all). We’re actually starting from the middle of the movie. Where she “breaks” out of the compound. That she’s treating like a prison, when she had, at most, been grounded. Even calling it a grounding is debatable, considering she hadn’t even known about it for the several days between the bombing and when Clint came by. She was basically being advised to keep a low profile while things calmed down (probably due to VISA issues).
BUT the moment she decides she wants to leave and is told, “Maybe, don’t,” she sends VISION, who she supposedly loves through god knows how many floors of a building that was meant to handle super soldiers training in it. Did she know he would be okay after that? That he would survive it? She didn’t check. And then, during the airport battle, she chides Clint for holding back in his fight with Natasha. Like, she’d forgotten that some of these people were her friends (or at least friends of her friends). But for Wanda, once you’re no longer on her side, your life means pretty little.
Finally we move right on back to Age of Ultron. Let’s leave out any theories on whether it was even reasonable for her to blame Tony for the deaths of her parents (was it Stane? Were those even real SI bombs?), grief isn’t rational. So fair enough. She blames Tony for her parent’s death and wants revenge. And decides to join Hydra for the chance to get powers for this revenge. Wanda was 26 in AOU in 2015, and even assuming that she got her powers the minute Hydra/SHIELD got the scepter in 2012, she still would have been 23. An adult, not a kid. Combine that with her powers literally allowing her to read minds, there is no way that she didn’t know she was working with Hydra. After which she went on to work for Ultron.
Now, here’s the rub. There is no possible explanation for working with actual neo-nazi’s in the 21st century and a mad AI intent on destruction (because he was totally planning on retiring to be a nurse after destroying the world’s heroes, right?) and still believing that you’re on the right side. Never mind the fact that the rest of the Avengers literally had nothing to her beef with Tony. Never mind that she let Tony go in that state of panic, hoping he’d do something destructive (and joining up with said destructive AI) or setting off the goddamn HULK.
All of that was totally done with the belief that no one would be harmed. Of course.
Of course not.
Wanda and her brother didn’t defect from Ultron because he wanted to kill a lot of people. They left because they and their country would die too. If it had just been America he was planning to destroy, they likely would have left him alone. She left Ultron because it benefited her to do so. She joined the Avengers because it benefitted her to do so. After all, what else was she going to do? Go on the run, living in poverty for the rest of her life? Remain in Sokovia and possibly be brought up on charges for her part in helping Ultron, Hydra and the disaster in Johannesburg? No.
Over and over again, innocent people get hurt or killed because of her. But these movies/shows treat her as if she is someone to sympathize with. Like it’s reasonable to intentionally cause the death and torture of people over and over… because she’s sad.
In all fairness, I can acknowledge that AOU soured me on her hard since they never actually showed feeling any sort of real remorse while she was doing all of that really evil shit.
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moontheoretist · 3 years ago
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You know. I have this unique approach to “Tony was selling weapons” issue in which I know it was a legal business and in America it was basically seen as a-ok thing to do, because military propaganda is strong and Tony was basically raised not only in that propaganda, but also in a family which fortune was build on selling those very weapons. On the other hand, I also know that regardless of how legal it is, it was also a war profiteering business which destroyed lives. And on a third hand, because to me Tony is coded as an autistic person with ADHD, I can see how he had issues for so many years to see that the system is broken and cannot be trusted.
Let me explain.
You may call it an excuse or projecting, but when I was younger, I couldn’t process that things I was taught about at school don’t actually work as the textbook claims it does in real life. Meaning that when a paper page in my school book said or a teacher said or someone from my family or anybody who was an authority to me said that democracy is the best system ever and has no flaws, I did believe it and never questioned it. To start questioning it, I needed an outside force to knock the idea that the system is indeed broken into my brain, hard. It’s really hard to accept that the world around you doesn’t work the way you thought it was working on paper, and therefore we as humans tend to delude ourselves that if we cannot see it happen, then it doesn’t exist (though in my case the delusion wasn’t even conscious enough that I could say I was deluding myself, I just was unable to see any issues till they were shoved in my face). So only when we see, and sometimes personally feel that happen to us, we are finally able to let go of that delusion and open our eyes.
Press Reporter #1: Mr. Stark, what happened over there?
Stark: I had my eyes opened.
So to me, the whole Afghanistan incident is this to Tony. To me, it feels logical that he would not be able to compute that weapons are bad and selling them is bad if he was all his life taught that weapons are good and that he helps people by selling them until he was personally smacked with them in the face, because sometimes people saying things to your face (like media, specifically Christine Everheart definitely were doing) is not enough to truly realize something (I also think that Howard and Stane taught Tony how to ignore all the media and what they say to him when he was groomed as SI’s heir, so it didn’t have that much of an effect on him before Afghanistan as it does after it), and you need that smack instead.
It’s a very strong incentive which shakes your whole world, and it is strong enough to make our stubborn autistic brains (mine and Tony’s, I don’t want to insinuate that all autistic people have this issue) to start questioning the status quo.
So, when Tony gets hit by his own weapon and feels on his own skin what it does, sees terrorists use his weapons to target American military (young soldiers who were there mostly because American system is broken and exploits the young, so they would join) and kill them, then has to live with a shrapnel in the cave, learns that Ho Yinsen’s family was also killed by his own weapons, and then when he is free again and continues to live with the shrapnel and sees innocent people in Middle East losing loved ones, it finally starts to compute that weapons are bad, that everything he did till now was bad, that he is the one responsible for this suffering and that his weapons shouldn’t be given to people who cannot be trusted with them (i.e. his own company, America and American military).
It is also in character for him to assume, that if he is the one whose eyes were opened, he should be the one using his own weapons (i.e. Iron Man, which doubles for prostetic too) for good, though it was not his first thought (you remember when he went to Air Force base to talk to Rhodey? It is possible he wanted Rhodey to be his Iron Man pilot instead and when he was rejected and saw that Rhodey believes in the system he doesn’t, he had to take it upon himself, because in his head he was the only one who saw it was wrong).
I think that if Wanda was actually done right (meaning that if Joss Whedon was not antislavic piece of shit and her trauma and suffering were properly represented in AoU instead of being sold as just a low bar villain motivation), the thing which happened to her family when Tony was already a CEO and probably approved of selling the weapons to the military shortly before or long before NATO used them in Yugoslavia to bomb tons of civilians (I am of the mind that military could use the weapons they bought from Tony’s company long ago, and that it didn’t have to specifically be a new contract crafted just to deal with the Slobodan Milošević issue), it would only reinforce the idea that weapons are bad in Tony’s head.
I think that as much as he is not to blame for Wanda’s parents deaths, because he didn’t fire those weapons himself (and possibly was not even that much interested in the conflicts abroad the American army used his weapons for, because he assumed they will use them responsibly, only against enemy soldiers and will not use them on civilians - this is an error born from assuming that war is just and only happens on the battlefield, while a lot of countries since I dunno even how long literally doesn’t adhere to the rules of war (that you can only fight on battlefields with no civilians in sight) and fights wherever they want, not caring about civilians and sometimes even purposefully drop weapons on them like NATO did in Yugoslavia, committing war crimes left and right, making war unjust), I think he bears some responsibility for what happened and has a right to feel guilty over the deaths which happened due to those bombings.
And later on, when he finally switches and does mostly defensive stuff, like making a technology which can remove mines from minefields without any of them exploding, or when he makes his company pursue clean energy instead, and he joins the Avengers, because he truly believes they are good for the world, he is again smacked in the face by the fact that something in which he believed was not good, that it was doing more harm than good. That’s why, in my opinion, he reacted to Mrs. Spencer’s accusations. Because he again let himself believe in something indiscriminately, without doubt, and was again smacked in the face with facts. And the facts were that Avengers were not operating well, and their recklessness and half-cooked last minute plans were the reason why more people died than it would if they actually worked well as superheroes.
To a lot of people, it looks like Tony is motivated by personal hurt and guilt. But to me, it always looks like him being violently shaken into acknowledging reality of something he thought was flawless.
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roger-that-cap · 4 years ago
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meet me in the gardens
summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 
warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO
word count: 2.7k
this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!
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“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less. 
“Nothing.” 
“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.
§§
Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins. 
You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them. 
“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.” 
“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh. 
“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?” 
You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”
“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head. 
“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?” 
You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”
§§
Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out.  “I would like to… show you something.” 
It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did.  And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say. 
As if she would ever say no to something you said. 
“Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened. 
The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day. 
You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings? 
You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words. 
“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”
“The woods?” 
“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears.  “The stream.” 
You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched.  “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”
“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”
“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”
You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.” 
He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”
Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?” 
“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.  
“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water. 
“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward. 
A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”
“Why not?” 
She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.” 
“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes. 
“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected. 
She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.” 
“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing  them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.” 
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.” 
“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.” 
“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going. 
“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.” 
“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”  
“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”
“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.” 
“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”
 “You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.” 
  “I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet. 
“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway. 
You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress. 
Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think. 
Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.
  What a beautiful person. 
“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?” 
“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality. 
“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.” 
“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.” 
“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms. 
“And now the woods."
****
this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all
tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​ @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom
so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!
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gaitwae · 4 years ago
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HC request: How would Loki react to someone (Thor, Bucky, Steve, etc.) hurting you accidentally (like giving you a bloody nose while playing a sport).
It would depend, first, on who hurt you and how you got hurt.
Knowing that these boys have superpowers, they often forget that you’re not as skilled as Natasha or as strong as Carol.
Loki would never play physical games unless it was something like sparring, to which he knew one of you could be hurt.
So when you’re playing frisbee with Steve’s shield, he’s keeping an eye on you. 
No one hurts his best friend, after all.
Given that the two of you have never actually expressed any romantic feelings toward the other verbally or blatantly whatsoever, it isn’t exactly his place to be protective over you.
The rest of the team knew that you and Loki had some unspoken thing, so no one really questioned it. It never got in the way of your work and to be honest, they really couldn’t say anything with Wanda and Vision being together.
So Loki was reasonably protective.
While you were playing frisbee with the shield, you got nicked gently on the side of the head.
You didn’t get hurt enough to cause even an almost-concussion.
Still, Loki stood up and rushed to you. 
“Darling!”
“Are you alright?”
He’ll pet your head and turn it about five or six times.
You shake your head yes. “I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m perfectly okay, just  grazed.”
He passed his hand over the nick and it disappeared. If he had any idea that you had gotten distracted while the shield was flying because of him, he would probably freak out. 
He was alright after making sure you weren’t bleeding anymore from that one.
Then came the time when you were playing 9 Square with Thor.
The ball hit you in the face.
Given that this was Thor, Loki didn’t just run to you, he was ready to murder Thor.
“What is wrong with you?!”
“Y/N is a mortal, you imbecile! What if you killed her?!?”
You barely made sure he didn’t commit some kind of interplanetary war crime. It was almost getting out of hand.
“What am I supposed to do if I lose you?” he asks.
You sit him down, sighing. You don’t want your relationship, whatever it was, to fall through. 
“So you’re telling me you’re going to be fine? Darling, you’re playing rough with men who don’t know how to go easy on you.”
“I will be fine!” you tell him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be killed by people who love me. You’re going to stifle me if you don’t back off!”
His face fell.
You couldn’t take it back.
After all, you somewhat meant it.
But you knew you had hurt his feelings when his good intentions weren’t that bad... he just needed to give you some space. Realize you weren’t entirely fragile.
Loki stopped talking to you for a week.
He waved to you at two across the room.
He was nervous around you for the first time.
“Are you sure I’m not overstepping boundaries?” he asked you.
You explained the best you could that his boundaries before weren’t even that extreme, just that he didn’t need to worry so often.
Once things had been resolved, he hugged you tightly. 
You pulled away to look at him, and then he kissed you deeply.
Suddenly, his overprotectiveness made sense.
And all you could do was smile.
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janeykath318 · 3 years ago
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Darcy And The Ghost Of Christmas Past 3
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The sixth day of Bucky’s human existence passed and Darcy was to say the least, smitten. It was ridiculous, but the chemistry between them was undeniable. Bucky continued to be a gentleman, though, and besides the nightly dance by the tree, he didn’t attempt to make a move on her.
She’d loaned him her Tolkien books and he’d binge read them in five days, reporting that they were amazing and he was very thankful for her letting him borrow them. They spent every evening discussing what he’d read and plotting to get Steve to get a clue. Their plan never got to be put into action, however, because a mission gone wrong led to a very injured Natasha and a frantic Steve whose love declarations and pleas for her not to die were witnessed by every other Avenger. Darcy gave Bucky a full report afterwards and he sighed.
“Well, that’s not nearly as much fun as trying to make him jealous, but I’m glad it worked out. Why does it take near-death for him to get his head out of his ass?”
“I don’t know. It seems to be common for superheroes, though. Makes me crazy,” Darcy admitted, before she changed the subject back to him.
“So, Bucky, I was thinking about your situation and I have an acquaintance that might be able to give me some advice on why your soul can’t move on. Would you consider giving me permission to share your story? He’s very good at confidentiality, so no one else would know.”
Bucky furrowed his brow as he pondered this.
“I don’t know. So many people claim to be experts in the supernatural, but are just charlatans.”
“Oh, he is no charlatan, I assure you. I’ve seen him in action before. He’s good. Kinda arrogant, but good,” She told him. “It couldn’t hurt to ask, anyway.”
“No, you’re right,” he sighed. “But even Wanda couldn’t find any answers, so I guess I’ll believe it when I see it. I’ll admit, being here with you has kinda made me less enthused about moving on.
“Really?” she asked, heart warming at his admission.
“Really. You’re a special gal, Darcy Lewis,” he told her, with a longing look that made her heart do funny things.
“Aw. You’re pretty special yourself, Bucky Barnes,” she replied softly.
She called up Stephen Strange the next day and mentioned the situation, which made his eyebrows hit the roof.
“I know this isn’t necessarily your area, but could you give me an idea of what could cause a soul to be stuck in limbo?” she asked hopefully. “This man died in World War Two serving his country. I would really love to be able to help him finally rest.”
It hurt to say those words, but this wasn’t about her.
“Hmm,” Stephen pondered for a bit.
“The most common instance is when the body is not yet dead,” he said. “Though, that obviously doesn’t apply here. Also, if someone has committed a terrible crime, their soul is not allowed to move on until they have sought to atone for it.”
Darcy shook her head vigorously and Stephen smiled and continued.
“Also, and this is rare, there could be some unfinished business between the soul and another soul and neither can move on until the matter is addressed. I’ve never heard of such a long time of wandering, though. I’m afraid It’s very likely he missed his opportunity and the other soul has already passed on.”
Darcy’s face fell. Poor Bucky’s chances didn’t look too great. Nevertheless, she thanked Stephen for his help and went home to talk to Bucky about it.
“The only people I can think of that I have unfinished business with are my ma and…….and…...Steve,” he finished gloomily. “I always wished I’d have told her I loved her before I left. No chance to make that one right.”
Darcy took Bucky’s hand in hers and held it tightly, the lump in her throat preventing her from speaking..
“But if it’s Steve……. I’d have to put him through losing me again,” he said, anguish in his tone.
“What do I do, Darcy?”
“Bucky, I can’t decide for you,” she told him gently. “You don’t have to decide this year, if you don’t want to.”
“I know. But I feel like something has to give. Sooner or later, you’ll meet someone who can give you more than two weeks a year and my presence will only cause problems. It’s better for you that I move on, Darcy.”
Darcy’s eyes filled up with tears.
“I doubt I’ll ever meet anyone who’s made me feel the way you have, Bucky,” she whispered. “It’s been the best week I’ve ever had. Maybe in some alternate universe, I’ll travel back in time, save you from the train and we both live happily ever after.”
“Yeah, That’s a really nice thought.” He said huskily, pulling her head down onto his shoulder.
Bucky was very quiet and withdrawn for the next few days as he worked through his big decision. Darcy did her best to give him space and let him work it out on his own, but she’d never felt so helpless as she did, watching his inner turmoil play out.
Finally, on December 24th, he came up to her as she was leaving for her family Christmas party.
“Call Steve,” he said, chin set and determined. “I’ve got to talk to him. Even if it doesn’t work, I know I’ve been avoiding this way too long.”
Nodding mutely, Darcy called Steve and asked him to meet her at the apartment, claiming she needed help intimidating her Scroogish landlord.
Steve, being Steve, quickly agreed after a consultation with his still healing girlfriend.
“You know I love telling off bullies,” he said gaily. “But Natasha is suspicious. She thinks you’ve got a secret boyfriend you aren’t telling anyone about.”
If Only, Darcy thought sadly.
“You can tell her she will hear the entire story from me tomorrow. Time is of the essence, right now.”
Sure enough, when Darcy returned home from the longest family dinner in her life, Steve was waiting for her. Bucky was keeping out of sight until she gave him the secret knock, so she let the bewildered Steve in and practically ordered him to a chair.
“What is this really about, Darcy?” he asked, looking around warily.
“Okay, this is going to sound really crazy, but I need you to hear me out.”
He nodded solemnly.
“You lived here for a time, didn’t you?’”
“Yeah. Bucky took me in after my mom passed.”
“Did you ever hear the rumors of the place being haunted?”
“Of course. I thought it was just superstition and rumors made up because of who Bucky and I were. People love to create legends out of normal people.”
“That’s true, but Wanda and I can confirm that there is a soul stuck in this place. I’ve made friends with him, in fact, and the man can dance like a dream.”
Now, Steve looked at her like she was crazy.
“Darcy, have you been drinking?’
“A fair question, Cap, but I’m stone cold sober. What I’m trying to tell you is that ghosts are real and you definitely know this one.”
Gesturing to him to stay seated, she went to the spare bedroom door and a rat-a-tat-tat knock on it. Bucky looked nervously out.
“He’s here,” she whispered. “Would you like me to leave?”
Bucky shook his head and followed her into the living room.
Darcy heard a gasp and a scrambling sound.
Steve had leapt to his feet, face drained of color.
“Is this some kind of sick joke? Cause it’s not funny!” He hissed, looking ready to bolt or tear into Darcy.
“Steve, it’s me. Your ole pal, Bucky. I promise you, this is not a hoax,” Bucky said calmly, stopping dead while he waited for Steve to process this.
“It can’t be. You died in some ravine in Switzerland and we never found your body.” Steve whispered painfully before rounding on Darcy. “Is this some kind of alien shapeshifter here to manipulate me?”
Bucky’s eyebrows went up and Darcy sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.
“No, Steve, I can promise you that.” She said earnestly. “I scanned him just to be on the safe side and he is indeed, a human ghost. Though, right now, he has his human body temporarily.”
Steve slunk back into the couch, shaking his head. Bucky walked over and sat down beside him.
“Steve, I know it’s hard to believe, but did I ever lie to you?” he asked.
Steve shook his head, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself before he let himself get a good look at his best friend.
“How?” he asked helplessly.
“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged. “I just know that I’ve been hiding from you for too long and I needed to clear the air with you.”
“So, you’ve been here all along and no one told me?” Steve asked, a dangerous tone in his voice that had Darcy fleeing to her bedroom. She’d let them talk it out alone. Bucky would stick up for her.
“You were in the ice for most of the time and I didn’t even know you were alive. Then, when I found out, I thought it would be too painful for both of us. Turned out, the painful part was keeping the secret. Don’t blame Wanda or Darcy. They were just respecting my wishes. But I promise you, Steve, it is me.”
“So that really was your voice I heard yelling at me that one time when I came to visit Wanda?”
Steve asked, finally calming somewhat.
“Yep,” Bucky said, clapping Steve on the back the way he used to do. “And I stand by everything I said. You clearly have not changed in the reckless dumbassery department.”
Steve shrugged sheepishly and Bucky told the whole story of his long existence as a ghost and his yearly two-week reprieve in a human body and how he’d hit it off with Darcy and their quest to find the solution to his dilemma.
“You fell for her, didn’t you, Buck?” Steve asked knowingly.
“Yeah.” Bucky admitted. “I know it was a bad idea, but……...I got to feel love, Steve. All those girls I used to hang out with were fun, but nobody stole my heart the way she did.”
“But you’re sure that moving on is the best thing.”
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I can’t give her what she needs in this state. But I wanted to talk to you because I want to know that you’re moving on with your life. I hear you and Black Widow finally got it together.”
“Darcy tell you that?” Steve asked in fond annoyance.
“Of course. She’s my primary source of Avengers gossip nowadays.” Bucky said proudly, glancing at her closed door.
“She was right.” Steve confirmed, a small smile appearing. “I’d think you’d really like her, Bucky.”
“I do. Saw her on tv a few years ago kicking ass with you and I was quite impressed. You two are what they call a power couple. But Steve, that’s not all we need to talk about. Have you forgiven yourself for what happened on that train yet?’
Steve winced like he’d been stabbed, his long silence speaking volumes.
“I’ve tried, Buck. I’ve tried,” he admitted wearily. “My brain likes to keep bringing it back up at inopportune times and I’ll see you falling all over again. The scream……” Steve shuddered.
“Maybe the universe knew you’d have to hear it straight from me,” Bucky mused, then looked intently at his friend.
“Steve, I have never once or ever will blame you for what happened,” he told him urgently.
“It was Hydra. You fought your damned best and I know you would have saved me if you could have.”
“I almost let go,” Steve mumbled.
“What?” Bucky asked, horrified.
“I almost let go after you fell,” he repeated miserably. “I’ve never told anyone else, because I was so ashamed, but it’s the truth.”
“Oh, Steve,” Bucky sighed, wrapping his arm around his friend. His friend’s burden had been heavier than he thought.
“The point is, you didn’t let go and you’ve saved a lot of lives ever since,” he told him. “Even though you still scare the shit out of me with your jumping without parachutes and taking on twenty hydra agents in an elevator. “
Bucky gave Steve a disapproving scowl like he’d done many times in the past and Steve grinned at him.
“I miss your angry glares, jerk,” he said, returning Bucky’s hug.
“It’s 11:45,” Bucky sighed. “We’ll know at midnight whether I’m movin’ on or sticking around. I think I should say good-bye to Darcy. Are we good?”
“Yeah,” Steve managed, swallowing the lump in his throat.
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