I write mainly for Wanda and Elizabeth Olsen/Her characters but I am open to write for the characters listed below.
Also requests are closed until further notice :)
As are my asks if anyone ever wants to chat. I also don't allow any hate towards anyone on here.
18+ Only.
Minors DNI
Elizabeth Olsen
Wanda Maximoff AU
Wanda Maximoff Avengers
MILF Wanda Maximoff
Innocent Wanda Maximoff
Professor Maximoff
Sister Maximoff
Leigh Shaw
Other Charaters by Elizabeth Olsen
Scarlett Johansson
Natasha Romanoff
Maria Hill
Gingie's Kinktober 2023
Gingies Horrorfest 2023
Gingie's 12 Days Of Christmas Event
I hope you all have a fab day/night and happy reading beautiful people :)
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Eldritch Cleo?
Cleo reaches for a bit of not-quite timeline She wakes up at dawn and sits at the bowl-edge of Atlantis to take care of her post-games routine, gets everything set to rights before Joe drops by, is free to accompany him materials-gathering right away and pulls it away from where it shimmers into non-existence, snaps it off and threads it through the eye of her needle. Joe is sitting beside her, at the bowl-edge of Atlantis, eyes carefully shut and averted.
She always has to do a bit of maintenance, after the games. All those possibilities and snap decisions mess her higher dimensions right up, and it’s not like she’s any less piecemeal undead in the conceptual and metaphysical than in the flesh. She pulls a long thin string of sinew from the bowl beside her left thigh, threads it through the eye beside the bit of timeline, twists them together, ties a knot at the ends. That’ll do.
Joe fidgets impatiently, probably trying to decide whether it’s better for him to be right here to remind her to fold herself back together when she’s done, or literally anywhere else on the server, doing literally anything else. She ignores him, reaches up-around-past-through to grab at one of her leftmost limbs, half-detached and up beside her fifth spine. The thing always needs repairing, crumpled time straining under the wear of branching minutes against the stitches that bind it to bones of flesh.
Sewing it back up is habitual, at least, needle-holes already punched through by scores of other Cleos. Cleo takes care of it quickly, in and out, in and out, tie off, drop the leftover thread to disintegrate into the temporal wastebasket of the ocean below. Then she turns to Joe.
“Well, does it look right?”
“I’m not particularly keen on gibbering madness right now,” says Joe, a solid thing beside her, small, vast, himself, “so I couldn’t possibly say. I’m sure you’re radiant and terrible as always though.”
She snorts at him, swats at him with a limb that goes right through him and makes him shiver, and then, belatedly, with her actual solid right arm. “That’s offensive. If you gibber it’s your own fault,” she informs him. He rolls his eyes beneath his closed eyelids.
She grins at him with an entirely different Cleo’s broken mouth, and grabs for another bit of timeline.
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