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upsidedownwithsteve · 25 days

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance.

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy.

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless.

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one.

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death.

But it was closure.

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted.

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room.

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video.

It felt fresh. New. Clean.

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months.

At first, he dreamt of death.

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance.

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red.

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes.

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before.

It didn’t even really look like a gate.

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods.

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean.

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms.

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth.

Pomegranates.

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home.

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them.

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of.

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there.

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up.

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too.

He knew her. He knew her.

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before.

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you.

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it.

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap.

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came.

You were always alone.

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work.

Not yet, anyway.

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back.

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm.

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet.

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night.

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really.

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes.

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security.

Safety - an unknown feeling.

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place.

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too.

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it.

Then one night, he saw himself.

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked.

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up.

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm.

Safe.

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be.

Certainly not 1988.

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before.

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting.

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello.

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy.

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper.

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia.

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get.

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before.

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you.

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one.

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep.

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee.

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate.

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit.

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

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urlocalkitkat · 7 months

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Qsmp purgatory day six soulfire pov in a nutshell

Tubbo:it's joever pac Pac:it's always joever

*Intense planning to find bolas Rojas base*

Tubbo: IM SO CLOSE TO MENDING bad & pac: TROUSERS, TROUSITO!!

bad & tubbo: ohio is made up by the corn industry Pac: o: Foolish lied to me :`(

ANNOUNCEMENT TROUSITO IS COMING TO THE ISLAND WITH PAC AND BAD

Tubbo: ah! Your full of joy and love? Good,good

*Really short montage of bad telling trousers to kill tubbo for breaking the bookshelves*

*Server going to restart* tubbo: NO NOOO NOOOO NOOOO pac: TROUSERS PLEASE DONT LEAVE US

*Server restarts* bad & pac:we might be joever *Quick soulfire karaoke session while server is shut down*

PAC IS NOW A COLLABORATOR FOR THE PURGATORY PLAYLIST XD

*Accidently joins the wrong vc* Etoiles: you guys are in the wrong channel- team soulfire: heyy etoiles o/ you sleepyhead! Did you get comfy after you valorent games- Etoiles: dude i woke up like-20 minutes ago

TROUSERS WITH GAS MASK- Tubbo: another day another slay for you trousers

Pac: do you have any tea to spare- Bad: I HAVE A CHAINSAW

*BOAT RIDE WITH TROUSERS FOR TEA*

TROUSERS IS GOING TO SEE THE SOULFIRE ORIGINAL SPAWN :DD

TROUSERS GETS A CHAINSAW FOR DEFORESTATION XD

Bad:trousers do you want to kill fit twice? Trousers:*agressive nodding*

Griefing mission for green-soulfire

Pac:is is there another way to do this without killing fit? . bad:oh, you want to torcher and then kill him? Pac:that's the exact opposite of what I just said..... Bad:what if we chainsaw him? Pac:would you chainsaw him forever to death...? Bad:what does forever have to do with this? Tubbo:*becomes a tea kettle* THAT WAS THE BIGGEST SELF REPORT OF MY LIFE

*INTENSE MURDER TIME MUSIC* ITS MURDER TIME-Team soulfire going to kill fit

*insert Tom and Jerry chase scene*.

After killing fit. Pac&tubbo : IM SORRY FIT. Bad:REVENGE FOR TINA

*pac hugging the dead body of fit* it's going to be alright fit- pac

PAC PUT A GRAVESTONE FOR FIT MY HEART

pacs mom left him in the supermarket for 15 years-

Tubbo:i think fit should go on love or host-

I'm rlly tired and I'm probably never going to continue also people saying that team soulfire doesn't have enough communication???

#qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp bbh #badboyhalo #qsmp purgatory #4halo #qsmp soulfire #qsmp pac #qsmp fitpac #qsmp fitmc #pactw #fitmc #qsmp tubbo #tubbo #Qsmp trousers #qsmp blue team #blue team #team soulfire

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remus2prompts · 1 month

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REAPER LIFE

"Alright, welcome back to Life! This season will be particularly interesting. As per other seasons, each player is given three lives. Green, yellow and red. Red automatically turn hostile to non-reds and their goal is to kill them. This time round, we brought back the Boogeyman, and altered it! At the start of the season, one person is chosen as the Reaper. Once a Reaper is chosen, that's it. No one else will be a Reaper, and they have that role for the entire season. Here's the twist. The Reaper's goal is to kill everyone on the server. You may ask that it's impossible for one player to do that against fifteen others, so we've given the Reaper a few secret buffs for each kill. All death messages are hidden from the chat to add suspense. However, in each session, everyone has one chance to submit a guess to The Gravestone on who the Reaper is. If it is guessed correctly, the Reaper is highlighted and can be seen up to four chunks away. If a player kills the Reaper, they are given two lives back. This applies to all three lives, this is an incentive to find who the Reaper is and secure your safety. The Reaper wins if no one else is alive. The Reaper loses if they die. The season will resume as standard afterwards. Good luck."

uhhh fic coming soon maybe (reblogs ppreciated!! asks are also open for Reaper Life thanke)

#hermitblr #hermitcraft #life series #trafficblr #grian #avian grian #grian fanart

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calliesmemes · 3 months

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THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF WARDROBES

SEND AN EMOJI; RECEIVE AN OUTFIT AND AN OPPORTUNITY TO GET TO KNOW MY MUSE.

Send both the EMOJI and the accompanying TEXT.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

🧳 [ suitcase ] — an outfit that your muse would wear on an ordinary day at work.

🎓 [ graduation cap ] — an outfit that your muse would wear on an ordinary day at school / university.

🗣️ [ silhouette ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to give a speech / for public speaking.

��️ [ sunglasses ] — an outfit that your muse considers “casual”, but they would still wear in public.

🎨 [ paint ] — an outfit that your muse would design for themselves if they had the technical skill to do so.

💌 [ letter ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to attract the attention of their desired lover.

🧠 [ brain ] — an outfit that your muse daydreams about wearing and wishes they could have.

🎲 [ dice ] — an outfit that your muse would wear in an alternate universe / “verse” / timeline of your choice.

🧣 [ scarf ] — an outfit that your muse would wear during the winter season.

🍁 [ leaf ] — an outfit that your muse would wear during autumn / fall.

☀️ [ sun ] — an outfit that your muse would wear during the summer season.

🏖️ [ beach ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to the beach.

❄️ [ snowflake ] — an outfit that your muse would wear when it is cold outside.

🎁 [ present ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for hosting a gathering for friends and family at home.

☘️ [ clover ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for attending a gathering for friends and family.

👑 [ crown ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for a “black tie” formal event.

✈️ [ plane ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for some sort of travel.

🗡️ [ sword ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for a training session.

💎 [ diamond ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to a celebratory ball.

🤢 [ sick ] — an outfit that your muse hates with a burning passion and absolutely would not be caught dead wearing in public.

🎭 [ masks ] — an outfit that your muse has worn on stage during a performance.

🎤 [ microphone ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to a concert.

🔥 [ fire ] — an outfit that your muse would wear when they want to look hot / attract attention.

💰 [ money ] — an outfit that your muse spent the most to acquire / identifies as the most expensive in their wardrobe.

🪦 [ gravestone ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for a funeral of a family member or friend.

🚪 [ door ] — an outfit that your muse would wear while lounging around on a lazy day.

👎🏻 [ thumbs down ] — an outfit that your muse regrets purchasing or acquiring.

💪 [ muscles ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to exercise.

🪩 [ disco ] — an outfit that your muse would wear to party at the club.

🛌 [ bed ] — an outfit that your muse would sleep in.

🪭 [ paper fan ] — an outfit your muse owns that has some sort of cultural significance.

💕 [ two hearts ] — an outfit that has a deeply personal meaning to your muse.

🔮 [ crystal ball ] — an outfit that has some sort of symbolic meaning tied to your muse’s character development or narrative arc.

💍 [ engagement ring ] — an outfit that your muse would wear for their wedding.

✏️ [ pencil ] — an outfit that your muse has worn during a scene that we have written or discussed together.

⚔️ [ crossed swords ] — an outfit that your muse has worn, for whatever reason, during a time of war.

⛓️ [ chains ] — an outfit that your muse has worn during a traumatic event.

#askbox meme #askbox prompt #rp ask meme #ask box #roleplay sentence meme #sentence starters #roleplay prompts #roleplay sentence starters #rpc help #funeral mention

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acourtofthought · 7 months

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How It All Comes Together

(contains spoilers for all series)

I have so many posts at this point. So. Many. Posts 😂 And they all touch upon a lot of the same information but I wanted to put every headcannon I've got in one place in the order of events (though the order of events within each book is flexible) that I think could happen.

I have no idea if any or even one will turn out to be accurate but when I combine her interviews, books, and Q&A sessions together, this is how the information seems to best fit together and makes sense to me.

Starting with an Elucien book:

"Let's focus on healing one sister then the other."

Elucien will restore spring together -

My father would think twice before standing against an army of superior strength and size.

"But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he's barely improved this past year" "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces"

"No. But we need to summon Lucien," Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn't like it one bit. "We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"I am the first one the others look to - I set the example"

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring"

But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. / Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess - perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there.

"She pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world."

Elain and Lucien will perform in Calanmai aka Fire Night together -

"There's a ritual. But it's...very faerie." / "From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come."

It was Spring, and yet it wasn't. / Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. / The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. / The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty ..

"It's his (her) instincts that select her (him)."

"I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court."

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that....fire.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts.

Elain will be able to shift into an owl (shifting being a marker of the Spring Court) -

"Your Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting"

"And once you were in this body, you couldn't change?"

Elain was again at my side, I hadn't heard her steps.

Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain cocked her head.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her.

"You came," Elain said behind her and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth - Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck. (How did she make it to Nesta in time when she was in the far reaches of their camp?

"Glamour for what?" "To look normal." "Being a High Lord, comes with physical markers too. It's why I couldn't hide what I was becoming from my brohters - from anyone. It's still easier to blend it." / "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping"

Elain, Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian will find a way to get those on the continent to sign the treaty -

We need the humans in others territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.

"He's spent months helping them sort out the politics of who rules Prythian's slice of the human lands."

"He'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people"

"My sister can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

"She (Mor) was still trying to convince them to sign the new treaty."

"I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

"At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more.

"Jurian..." "Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. "He's keeping everything running. I think he'd have been crowned king by now if it wasn't for Vassa."

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long.

"And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?

"She didn't used to be that way." "She loved balls and parties."

but Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”. / “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

Eris will join Elain and Lucien on the continent, not only to free Vassa and stop Koschei / Beron but to retrieve Mor and for their past to finally be dealt with (their past being a possible mating bond between them which is why he set her free)-

"My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too."

"I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian." He didn't mention his brother, oddly enough. "But they clearly know little about this."

But as Eris strode by...I could have sworn there was something like sadness - like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

But Vassa's freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved. She would have to return to the lake, to the sorcerer-lord who kept her prisoner, sold to him by the very queens who had again gathered in their joint castle. Formerly Vassa's castle too.

"Tell my Vassa I'm waiting"

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?"

"Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic's range."

"She knows the truth but has never revealed it" "Why?" "Because she's afraid of it."

"You're not the person I want to explain myself to." "I doubt Mor will want to listen." (as for a Mor love interest, I think Emerie could be a possibility but I also think the Golden Queen is another option. As her hair and eyes were taken, there's a chance she was made into something new and Elain said "she's not dead, only changed as I was". I don't think she's talking about Vassa. There's also a line where Mor claim she's always be drawn to things that were wild and free)

I think Elain will be the one to break Vassa's curse which I don't think is a curse at all but a Valg infection. If she can heal as Yrene did than we know a healers light can banish the infection from someone's blood. (I have a longer post on this but this is the Cliffs Notes version) -

I'd never seen such spell work. I'd sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threats to unbind it. I found none. It was if the curse was woven into her very blood.

"Black fire raced down his blood" (Chaols Valg infection)

"Will many of these soldiers die?"

Amren was holding Elain upright as she vomited in the grass. Not from the Caldron. But pure terror.

Elain rushed to Cassian. / Nesta was watching them when I reached her and Elain at the tree-lined outskirts. Had she done some healing, somehow, in those moments after she'd severed the king's head? / I didn't ask my sister, and she supplied no answer as she took the water bucket dangling from Elain's still bloody hands.

I think Lucien and Eris will finally kill Beron -

"Beron tortured you?"

Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him.

"The same things he does now." "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch."

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

And Cassian didn't need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction. "I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation." "I think you might even be a good male." "You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

Lucien will finally discover Helion is his father -

But not the gift of Helion. His true father. I still hadn't mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. "I would like to remove myself from the Mask's odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It's been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you'll allow it, I'll stay here for an hour or two." "Something bothering you at home?" Rhys inquired, falling into step beside the High Lord.

I think Elain, if she has healing powers (not to mention her affinity for growing things), will be the one to help the Pegasus. This would provide her a purpose in Day and even connects her to the land where the Prison is located) -

Helion's most beloved pair - this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate - hadn't produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy.

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon - had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them was no longer.

She found flowers - somewhere.

It's possible that if she does travel to the Prison, she'll also find where Koschei's box is located (possibly the box that possesses his soul) -

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls."

"Maybe...." "Part of me wonders if the Prison was either built or stocked with it's inmates to hide the Harp's (onyx box?) presence. There are so many terrible powers here, and the wards on the mountain itself. I wonder if someone hid the Harp (onyx box?) knowing that it'd never be noticed with so much awful magic around it."

"These are like no wards I've felt before." "They feel old. Incredibly old." "They probably predate this place being used as a prison (remember, we learn that the courts were not actually formed until after the Prison was made).

"But Koschei is as old as the sea - older." "I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself it's master. As he once tried to do, (hint that Koschei is Asteri / possible Valg?) long ago." "Those are legends that predate our courts."

Lucien will help infiltrate the castle where the other Queens had been staying. Not only did the castle once belong to Vassa but if Koschei's soul is not hidden in the prison, maybe it's hidden there -

"I told you; their castle is too heavily warded, and full of magical traps that would trip up even Helion."

I do think it's possible that Koschei will be defeated in an Elucien book and I think it's possible Lucien's fire will fail him in that scene causing him to tap into his Day powers in full -

"I was getting worried you'd never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn't have withstood Koschei's lake, I don't think."

Maybe Lucien will also be the one to help Rhys and Feyre undo the bargain that links their lives to one another -

"Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain - if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

I believe Eris will step into power as High Lord of Autumn by the end of an Elucien book. I also wonder if when they think everything has calmed in the rest of Prythian and the continent, they'll visit Feyre and Rhys only to be informed of Bryce having landed in Velaris (and her subsequent return to Midgard). This will set up the either the final spin-off (not sure if SJM still plans on having the third spin-off set in the past which she mentioned as a possibility in interviews) or the next round of ACOTAR books, some from the ones she was contracted for in her latest 4 book deal. -

A Gwynriel book would then follow -

I think Az's story will first tackle his past with Mor. If she is ready to admit to the truths Eris spoke of in SF in an Elucien book then she'll finally be in a place to have the conversation she needs to with Az -

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

I think the majority of his arc will deal with his hatred of the Illyrians, and now their issues with the Valkyries, possibly ending with Rhys leaving him charge of overseeing them in a more permanent position -

Perhaps we needed a permanent presence out here, until the Illyrians remembered things like consequences. / But the war had impacted us all, and with the rebuilding, with the human territories crawling out to meet us, with other Fae kingdoms looking toward a wall-less world and wondering what shit they could get away with...We didn't have the resources to station somewhere out here. Not yet. Perhaps next summer, if the climate elsewhere was calm enough.

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly.

It was healthy, perhaps, for Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.

Az might hunt down Bryaxis who I believe is the thing that guarded a portal to Hel that exists in the library. I think we'll see Bryce enter the portal in CC3 or Aidas exit it and they'll realize they need to close it back up -

"Do you want me to hunt it down?" An easy, unruffled question. "Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well," I said. A rare smile curled Az's mouth. "Generous of you."

"No, but..." Gwyn's swallow was audible. "I can feel something. Like a cat. Small and clever and curious. It's watching.

And then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but...a womb. The womb from which all life and come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. Nesta. Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. Nesta. It slid along her bones, her blood. She had to pull back. Pull away. The darkness pulsed, beckoned.

"The House is good." Nesta breathed. "Is it?" Nesta considered. "The darkness in the pit of the library - it's the heart of the House." Amren nodded. "And where is it now?" "It hasn't made an appearance in weeks. But it's still there. I think it's just...being managed. Maybe the House's knowledge that I'm aware of it, and didn't judge it, makes it easier to keep in check."

I think Gwyn may be a cousin of Eris's (maybe Lucien) which will cause conflict between she and Az as he'll struggle to let go of his prejudices toward Eris (and Lucien) while she will want to build a relationship with the only blood family she has left -

"My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court."

Gwyn will have siren powers that she can use to do her bidding against enemies -

Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the other's hadn't.

Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning.

Like Gwyn was calling only to her.

"I barely outran that one as I led it toward the camp. My timing was just good luck, though."

Gwyn will pull both Narben and the miniature manuscript from the sea. Seeing as how the book is one of the first printed books in existence, I think it will contain information that will be necessary for future threats to their world -

She would have kept it secret. I only heard from a fleeing water-nymph that it had been done."

"When it would not bend to her, she destroyed it." "It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war."

A miniature illuminated manuscript, crafted by the skilled hands of the smallest of the lesser Fae- one of the first printed books in existence. / He regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but he'd been foolish that night.

I think Gwyn's song may also be able to draw Azriel back, in the chance he has a different form and maybe that's what he meant when he made the comment that he sings. That he too needs to sing in order to pull himself from his "beast" side -

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving than I am." "With that pretty face?" she crooned. "I have a hard time believing it."

"They were shape-shifters who dwelled in the lakes and rivers and lured unwitting people into their arms. And after the drowned them, they feasted." Nesta stared toward the bog's black surface. "And they live in there?" "They vanished hundreds of years before we were born," Cassian said firmly. They're a myth whispered around fires, and a warning for children not to play near the water. But no one knows where they went. Most were hunted, but the survivors..." He conceded with a nod to Azriel. / "Just don't go running after a beautiful white horse or a pretty-faced young man and you'll be fine."

I think Merrill will be the main villain in Gwynriels story. That we'll find she had been in contact with Koschei before his defeat and gone searching for other survivors in other worlds at his command. She'll be the one responsible for helping them enter their world -

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove."

"But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds."

"I am descended from Labath, Lord of the Western Wind," Merrill seethed. "Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed."

"Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here." "But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well." "Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so we have been trapped here. Cut off from the cosmos. All that is left of our people, though our mystics beneath this palace have long sought to find any other survivors, any planets where they might be hiding."

"Merrill's brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms - different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can't even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself." "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody..

I think part of a Gwynriel plot will be Az and Gwyn working together to try to understand what Merrill is actually researching -

- and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it. and some other fancy thins that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated.

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research,

By the end of a Gwynriel book, I think we'll be set up for a Multi POV / Crossover Series book(s) in the ACOTAR world. Possible plotlines -

Nesta will raise an army of the dead / World Walk -

And one day, when the time was right...They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

The Harp sighed, a low purr rolling off it as Nesta’s hand neared. We shall open doors and pathways; we shall move through space and eons together.

He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp.

She could feel them around her. The dead. / Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

I think Lucien will be High King, wielding Gwydion. Yes, I realize it called to Bryce but unless we find out Amren’s recollection of the High Priestess giving it to him was wrong, it seems it first belonged to Fionn and was taken by Theia. Made objects can have others do their bidding, therefore it could have wanted Bryce to be the one to take it home. We know Helion responded to the mask, a made object, therefore Lucien should theoretically be able to wield made objects too -

Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he'd trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. / "But know that the Cauldron's benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.

"Lucien's goodness"

"He is a good male"

"he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people."

"Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before."

"But Lucien had learned to keep his cool".

Narben's powers had not been the holy, saviors light of Gwydion" (Side note, SJM tagged Elain under the Blodeuwedd fairytale and the uncle of Lleu (Lleu being the character that seems to match Lucien's part in the tale) was named Gwydion. Gwydion means "born of trees" and in ACOWAR, SJM tells us Lucien looked "crafted from the forest")

SJM once spoke of us seeing more babies in the ACOTAR world and I think this will refer to Elain in any future crossovers (not CC3) -

"But Elain had given it back - had pressed it into Azriel's hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back."

I think Elain's war days are over and a pregnancy would provide her a valid reason to sit out of battle. If she does have healing powers then I imagine she'd much rather tend to the wounded.

I also believe that by this time, the food that sustained the Pegasus would be restored and the illness preventing them from having foals would be cured (a possible Elain storyline), making it possible for the Valkyrie to ride into battle on Pegasus.

The End 😂

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i-am-creacheur · 1 month

Text

ok but a secret life au where after the Wither and warden in Ep.6 appear Martyn and Jimmy swap places. Nothing else changes.

Jimmy runs away, while Martyn is the one who goes to fight. It could just be them making different decisions, or Martyn telling Jimmy "no, go hide. I'm a better fighter than you anyway".

The main point is that Martyn dies, and Jimmy goes through the exact set of circumstances Martyn did: hearing the thunder strikes, fearing for his life and coming to the false conclusion that red's are being hunted, hiding in the cobblerooms. After the Wither is slain, he breathes a sigh of relief, and looks around for Martyn- just, for a second, forgetting- and finding a corpse instead.

Imagine Jimmy experiencing loss and mourning for the first time. Imagine him snapping out "I was sure you were hunting reds!" and being laughed at. Imagine him scratching out his name on that gravestone and replacing it with his closest allies. Imagine him burying the body, all alone, only taking Martyn's headband from the grave before shoveling the dirt back on top.

If we continue down this branch and say everything Martyn did, Jimmy did as well, that answers a lot of questions behind the actions themselves. He promises revenge, but can't bring himself to, because he's never killed someone purposefully (and he doesn't want anyone else to feel this pain.) He wanders around in a daze, unsure of what to do, almost wanting to die so he can at least feel something familiar.

Oh, and imagine Session 8- Martyn would be Grian's ghost. What else would happen? Would he make Grian join Jimmy? And don't even get me started on how the ghost became visible after the end of the session, and all the stuff that happened with Bdubs.

#life series #life smp #trafficblr #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #secret life #life series smp #alternate universe #Possible alternate universe #Look it would just be really interesting to see Jimmy finally understand #And to see him beat the curse but wish he hadn't #I'm very feral about this #Been spinning it in my head for a while #Sinsnailposts #Big Dogs #BigDogs!SL

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smalls-words · 2 years

Text

Pushover

Summary: You work with SHIELD, but sometimes, it feels like working with children.

Pairing: WandaNat x Fem!Spider!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: depressing thoughts, self-doubt, confrontation. Please read carefully.

A/N - I need a vent about a work shift. I fucking hate children sometimes.

*not my gifs*

The night was young, but yet you were still so tired. Everything had blown up at work today - as a SHIELD agent, you were tasked with helping young SHIELD recruits train in basic espionage, such as hacking and simple self-defence.

However, with that came a lot of complaints. Your teaching methods were ‘old’, and they didn’t want to be taught by you, they wanted to be taught by Natasha but she was on a mission with Wanda. The good half thanked you for your time and your patience, especially with the shier ones who weren’t sure how to solve their code or do certain moves.

The others were needy little brats who wanted Natasha to be right up against them whilst teaching a move, not you. They wanted her breathing down their shoulder, her sweet scent of cinnamon and lavender, not your sweaty BO.

There was one recruit who specifically asked when Natasha was coming to take over your teachings. That simply pushed you over the edge and you finished training early.

Now, you were in a heap of blankets with a third-full pint of ice-cream to your left, the spoon sticking out of it like a gravestone in the ground. You were sniffling uncontrollably and every thought about that training session brought another tear, only for you to wipe it away.

You looked down at your phone as it buzzed, bringing it to you with a web out of your wrist. You brushed off the substance before reading the messages on your lock screen, a small spark of happiness illuminating the dark depths of your crushed soul.

-We’ll be home soon, Iubirea mea-

-No more than fifteen minutes-

-Do you want anything for dinner? FRIDAY told us you haven’t had yet-

Wanda was always the one to text you, since Natasha was often making a speech, manning a Quinjet or driving. The text became blurry as tears filled your eyes, tears of love and sadness clashing together to make your eyes burn.

“FRIDAY, I told you not to tell them.” You growled softly.

“I meant no disrespect, Ms Parker. But you haven’t been eating properly since you took over Ms Romanoff’s newest recruits.”

You sighed. “Tell her to get whatever she wants. I’m not fussed.”

“Right away.” FRIDAY disappeared and you were alone in the silence of the night.

Time wasted away as you stared at the black screen of the TV. How could you ever think that you could handle Natasha’s recruits? She had the most rigorous training schedule and without her being there to pressure them, you should have known they would take advantage of you.

You really were a pushover.

It was a comment made a lot about you. You were always happy to take on other people’s projects if they were in a rush to make a deadline or had to go do something. Maria would always scold you and then eventually reprimand the people taking advantage, but you would never find out because she kept it discreet.

Your mind drifted back to the recruits. The harsh ones hadn’t even addressed you as Agent Parker - it was just Y/N. You were an equal to them; the higher ranking on your shoulder meant nothing, and if anything, they wondered if you had taken Natasha’s spare suit to use when training, given that they never would have thought you would be a Level 9.

A knock at the door didn’t even pull you out of your dazed state.

Natasha walked in first, her gun out since you hadn’t responded to her call, but she simply saw you curled up in blankets on the couch. She pocketed her gun and guided Wanda in with the single bag of groceries, that almost fell when Wanda saw your mind.

They both sank down next to you, with Natasha pulling at the blanket seam by your head to reveal your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Oh, lyubov (love)...” She cooed.

“What happened to our dragă (darling)?” Wanda murmured as she tucked your hair behind your ear.

You didn’t answer them at first, still wrapped in your blanket. But you slowly moved out of them, the two of them surprised to still see you in your uniform, and you leaned your head against Wanda.

“Please… I can’t…”

Wanda’s heart cracked at the soft beg of your voice, a sound she had never heard before. She looked up at Natasha, who was just as lost as her, before red wisps surrounded the three of you.

Natasha’s heart began to race at the words thrown at you by her recruits, recruits she was sure would behave for you. She looked down at your exhausted form, tears still running down your cheeks even though you thought you had nothing left.

“I’m going to beat them to a pulp.” She snarled.

“No!” You yelped, grabbing her arm as she reached for her phone.

“Y/N, honey, Natasha has to do this.” Wanda took your hand away from the redhead as she stepped out of the room.

“No, Wands, they can’t know I complained! I’ll just sound like a big baby…” You muttered, shaking your head softly since you were slightly dizzy.

Her fingers slid into place upon your chin, tilting your eyes to look into her dark emeralds you were always mesmerised by. “You are not a big baby. This is disrespect, my Y/N, and disrespect does not fly in SHIELD. It most certainly does not fly with us, either.”

“But… I don’t want to be asked to give a statement. What if I remember something that didn’t happen?” You stumbled along your words, your anxious mind finding more reasons to add to your pushover-ness.

“If something didn’t happen, Maria will just excuse it.” Natasha stated, watching the both of you look up at her.

“You called her?” You questioned weakly.

She nodded as she sat down beside you. “I did, sweets. Maria says she’ll review CCTV footage and call up the agents for me tomorrow. The others, the kind ones I trust, will be given the day off.”

You nodded, relieved that there was now a plan in place. Exhaustion filled your muscles and you slumped into the couch, a long sigh leaving your lungs.

“I think we should all call it a night.” Natasha chuckled softly, picking you up whilst Wanda stood too.

All the way to the bathroom, which felt like a year to you, Wanda held your loose hand whilst Natasha hummed a soft Russian lullaby. You didn’t even notice how they stripped you and themselves to lie within the bathtub, washing your skin and taking note of certain bruises.

You only realised that your surroundings had changed when you felt cold sheets cover you and warm heaters lay beside you, one brushing their fingers through your hair whilst the other caressed your stomach gently.

“Goodnight, our love.” They whispered in unison before sleep consumed you.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖🜃🜂🜁🜄⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

When the morning greeted you with 11 am overcast clouds, you groggily sat up to an empty bed. Last night was the worst night you’d slept in a long time, your dreams plagued with anxiety and fear.

“FRI’AY, where’s Tasha an’ Wan’a?” You asked through your ripping yawn.

You didn’t need an answer, however, as the bedroom door opened to reveal the warm lights of the hallway and two of your most favourite silhouettes. They came over to you, gentle and nurturing smiles on their faces, before they each gave you a good morning kiss.

“The Quinjet will be here in half an hour. Do you want some help getting ready?” Natasha asked softly.

You shook your head, standing up with shaky legs before they stilled. You looked up at them both and they stepped out of the room, giving you privacy.

When you were done, you walked down to the kitchen to see some breakfast already made, waiting for you with a red dome over the top. You grinned childishly as Wanda removed the dome, the steam rising like a mushroom cloud to hit your face.

They both showered you in affection and love as you ate, stealing only one bite each before kissing your shoulder, cheek, temple; any area they could get their lips on.

Eventually, the Quinjet arrived, and Wanda finished your water bottle as it landed. Natasha took you by your hand and led you onto the jet, sitting you down in her lap as she dismissed the agent to sit in the back.

Wanda came to her co-pilot seat and would often steal you for cuddles, admiring the scent of her shampoo in your hair and Natasha’s lotion on your body. The journey itself didn’t take long and the agent was thankful to have an hour’s rest.

Natasha and Wanda walked you through the halls to the gymnasium, where the misbehaved recruits were lined up against the wall. Wanda’s eyes instantly glowed at the sight of some of them, her stare falling onto one man in particular.

Leo Salidio.

You followed her gaze and remembered his question of Natasha’s return, your hands beginning to shake slightly in your girls’ grip.

“Each of you is to be suspended for six weeks.” Natasha declared, shock on all of their faces.

“But we didn’t do anything-”

Wanda’s grip around Leo’s throat lifted him into the air slightly, just enough so his feet weren’t touching the ground. She looked at the other agents and they all stepped back against the wall, fear in their eyes as Natasha spoke again.

“Disrespecting an officer higher than your ranking is prohibited in SHIELD. Rankings are there for reasons - security, safety, and most of all, communication. So, let’s all take a moment to practice that last part, shall we?”

Natasha’s stare pierced all of their souls. “Who is Agent Parker to you?”

“Our superior.” They chorused.

“And what do you do when she asks you to do something?”

“Follow the order.”

“What happens when you disrespect Agent Parker?”

“Suspension.”

Natasha smiled, but you knew that it wasn’t a true smile. “Good. Now, all of you leave except for Salidio.”

They all scurried away to get out of the stuffy room, filled with tension and fear of the Black Widow. At a simple gesture, Leo stepped forward and faced you.

“Apologise.” Natasha ordered.

“I’m sorry for disrespecting you, Agent Parker. It will not happen again.” He looked at you, waiting for your answer.

You did not give him one immediately.

“Agent Parker?”

“You may leave.” You muttered.

He walked calmly out of the door before you sat down on the gym mat, trying to process the encounter. Had it gone too far? Were Natasha and Wanda being too strict? Were you being selfish if this didn’t feel like enough?

Wanda knelt down beside you, your thoughts not even blocked by your mental wall she’d practised with you. “Just because he apologised, my darling, it does not mean you have to forgive him.”

“Forgiveness comes with time, but it may never come at all and that's completely okay” Natasha added.

“Can we just… sit here?” You asked, to which they both nodded.

You weren’t sure what you were going to do moving forward. But you did know that you had Natasha and Wanda by your side for it all.

#smalls words #wandanat imagine #wandanat hurt/comfort #wandanat angst #wandanat x reader #wandanat x fem!reader #wandanat x female reader #spider!reader #fem!spider!reader

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glxyqst · 4 months

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Guilt

Part 6 of RK1K Prompt Week.

Guilt was a useless emotion. All it did was let you feel bad, without actually doing anything about it except wallow in self-pity. Markus had determined that guilt was an indicator only—to tell you to take action, to admit wrongdoing and face the consequences. He had felt immense guilt at Carl’s death, and as he wept at his father’s gravestone, Markus realized that this feeling would never go away while he left things unfinished with Leo. Whether Leo agreed to make amends or not, as long as Markus knew that he had done everything in his power to resolve the anger and hurt, he could be at peace with himself.

Markus felt Connor could definitely take this lesson to heart. Rarely leaving his quarters other than to leave Jericho’s jurisdiction, Connor shrank back as he passed other androids, his LED a crimson target in the cloak of shadows with which he hid himself. There were some, it was true, who still viewed the ex-Deviant Hunter with suspicion or even disdain, but for the most part the Deviant community gazed upon Connor with only pity. Pity which also wasn’t the morale booster Connor needed. What Connor did need, Markus decided, was an outlet—a way to express his negative emotions in a way that was conducive to healing.

Though not specifically an android whose original purpose was psychiatry, as Carl’s original caregiver, the RK200’s programming did include basic counseling knowledge and practices. This, combined with Markus’ own interests, culminated in the beginning of art therapy sessions with Connor.

As he nodded encouragingly, looking from the bleeding roses withering twisted on the canvas to the tentative smile blossoming on Connor’s face, Markus decided that guilt was definitely out, and art therapy definitely in.

Working through Connor’s guilt would be neither quick nor easy, but Markus would be there every step of the way.

/to be continued

@rk1k-prompt-week

For @leelany-world <3

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh fanfic #detroit:become human #dbh fic #rk800 #rk200 #dbh markus #conkus #rk1k #rk1kpromptweek

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how-serene · 3 days

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❛ did you miss me ? ❜ for bob taylor ? :3

Baby, you're just harder to see than most

Pairing - Bob Taylor x Neutral!Reader

Summary - Bob brings you flowers, once again.

Word Count - 660

Warnings - heavy angst (im serious), mentions of grief and loss, reader is dead, bob is visiting readers grave, mentions of therapy and trauma, no use of y/n

A/N - Im aware this probably is the last thing you wanted, I'm really sorry. (this one's a lil all over the place.)

His shoes crunched beneath the dead leaves, their various shades of brown and orange littering the hill. The grass was no longer vibrant, as usual during the winter months. Dried patches could be spotted, amongst the once lush greenery. January’s frigid air nipped at his pale cheeks, leaving behind a dust of red across his nose.

Bob licked at his chapped lips, denying the urge to gnaw at them. A gust of wind blew past, brushing back his unkempt dark locks. The trees swayed, as leaves fluttered to the ground around him. Overhead, dark gray clouds threatened to swallow the town.

He tugged at the thin overcoat, wrapping it further around his body. Yet the cold persisted, causing a deep chill to rest in his bones. His hands shook, as they gripped onto a bundle of white Camellia’s wrapped in parchment paper. Last month, he gave you Sunflowers. Something to represent a little warmth. And the month before that, bright Marigolds that stood out like the sun against your gravestone.

His feet stood in front of it now, the sunflowers gone, having become wilted and thrown out. Birds chirped, speaking to one another of the pale one, returning again.

‘Poor boy.’ He could imagine them saying. ‘Visiting in this weather.’

Bob gently laid the flowers by your grave, allowing the tiny critters of the earth to seek refuge amongst the petals.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, lips awkwardly quivering to form a smile.

You, of course, never answered. The one-sided conversations used to hurt, a reminder that the only evidence he had of your voice now was in past memories.

But even those were starting to fade.

“I really missed you, too.” He replied, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

The grief was once unbearable. It burrowed itself into his chest, like a woodland creature seeking shelter in a tree. He was aware there was something living inside of him, taking up its share of space. It would nibble at his heart, grotesque hot mouth lapping at the veins as it thanked him for “providing during its hibernation.’

But he had made a friend of grief long ago, as a young boy. He understood, better than most, grief does not hibernate. It builds tunnels deep within you, hiding in the dark corners.

Your heart is its bed, where it rests its beastly head for slumber.

“I’m getting help.” He mentioned, toying with a piece of pocket string. “I have sessions once a week with a therapist.”

Leaves danced by his feet, being swept away by the wind. He imagined, in some sense, that it was you. Brushing by him, reaching out in acknowledgement.

The corners of his lips twitched, at the thought.

“I’m sorry for taking so long to get around to it.” He muttered, staring at the ground. “I’m ready to get better, though.” The grass curled around his shoes, trying to keep him steady.

The confession felt almost dirty, having admitted it out loud. But it was the truth, dear god, it was the honest truth.

He wanted to get better, and live, it was almost painful how much he desired it. It was a deep ache, one given to him at birth. Something he knew before grief, before god, before the hell that had swallowed him for years.

Bob wanted to get better, and live so he could bring you a bundle of Carnations next month. And Dahlias the month after. And Peonies, Orchids, Daffodils.

A garden would begin to grow around your grave, life cradling death. And when that garden grew, maybe the visits would slow as he would finally find himself at ease.

Maybe grief would sprout into a beautiful reminder that he had shared a life with you, at one point.

Until then, he would bring you flowers. The memories would still be painful, but you were in them nonetheless.

And some small part of him thanked the world for that.

#david dastmalchian #bob taylor #bob taylor x reader #prisoners 2013 #heavy angst

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darkaviarymc · 2 months

Text

Level Life

A Y/N Chose Your Own Adventure Life Series Fanfiction.

Part 1: The Skeleton Choice

Week 1, day 1

"Welcome to Level Life," Grian begins as you and 19 other people stand around a campfire. You don't actually know how you got here. You know these people somehow, but where exactly you know them from you don't remember.

"We all begin with three lives as usual. However, we all have the opportunity to purchase additional lives from the Life Bringer."

Just North, about 20 blocks from the huddle, is a massive stone statue of what might be an angel. It stands what you'd guess to be 50 or so blocks tall. It has a wingspan almost as wide. It has no face, only a strange symbol: a vertical rectangle with dots where the top left and bottom right corners should connect but don't. In its outstretched hands is a heart of solid crying obsidian. At its feet is a bedrock block with a button on top. This, you reason, must be the Life Bringer.

"The currency for purchasing lives is experience levels. The first life you purchase costs 30 levels, and each life after that costs an additional 10. So the second life is 40, the third is 50, and so on. Now, you might think you can farm lives by farming levels, but in this world, there are no spawners, no villages, no Deep Dark, and no stronghold."

You notice different reactions from your fellow players in this game. Some laugh, others groan, and a few nod thoughtfully.

"When you die, you leave behind a gravestone that anyone can loot for your items, but you still keep all of your levels, with two exceptions. The boogeyman returns this season, and if the boogyman kills you, you lose your levels, and the boogyman gets half of your experience. If the boogyman fails to get a kill by the end of the session, they lose all of their levels AND all but their last life.

"The other exception is if you are killed by a red name, but we'll talk more about red name rules when it becomes relevant. There are more secrets that will be revealed in time, but for now, let's begin the game. Any questions?"

The man directly to your left raises his hand.

Grian rolls his eyes and smiles. "Yes, Scar?"

"Where's the enchanter?"

"Ah, yes. The ultimate macguffin of the Life Series. We'll find out about that as we go, won't we?"

Scar pouts. The enchanting table must be one of those other secrets Grian mentioned.

The huddle breaks, and everyone spreads out into different directions.

You find a tree as you would in any other world, and with your first logs, you create a crafting table, a sword, an axe, and a pickaxe.

You look around as you walk, and you see a mountain in the distance to one direction and a wide river with a dark oak forest on the other side in the opposite direction.

You see Scar and BigB in a boat together, Scar rowing slowly while BigB fishes from back. How they'd already found string you don't know, but before you can really question it, you hear the clanking of bones too close to be safe.

You turn to see a small cave opening, and standing just inside is a skeleton. You draw your sword, but before you can take action, it fires a shot from its bow. You dodge just in time to avoid being struck by the arrow.

#trafficblr #traffic fic #y/n #life series #life series fanfic

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wyntereyez · 2 years

Text

I really, really love these Streamily signings. Admittedly, I've only done a couple, so I don't know if they're all this fun, but Neil's certainly are.

His sessions are... 'unhinged' would be a good way to describe them. He'll just sign a print if you ask him (usually), but it's more fun to just give him a prompt and let him go nuts.

I managed to get two prints. The first was for his character Elijah Kamski from Detroit: Become Human, which he usually signs with a drawing of the character shooting something. I let him pick what he was shooting and he chose...the British government (which is what's written on the little gravestone).

For those who know the game, it's the Kamski test. And clearly the British government failed because it lacks empathy.

He cracked himself up.

And then he tried to add the lettuce to the grave.

Did I mention my type is "chaotic gremlin"?

And then there's my birthday print, which of course had to be Heisenberg. I requested he draw the transformed machine Heisenberg.

I'm impressed he was able to do it, because look how hard he was laughing at what a friend of his was saying.

(One of the fun things about the signing streams is that he always has a friend on the mic, and they try to 'break' him. We make predictions on how long it will take. This time around, he broke at the second print he signed).

But yeah, here's how it turned out.

Can't wait to see how tomorrow goes!

#neil newbon #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #elijah kamski

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cursedfortune · 8 months

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[kazeofthemagun]

One of the Witch's dresses, currently placed not on her person yet bearing the residual scent of lavender - so seamlessly interwoven with other smells of the garden, herbs and alchemy. The Hunter lifted it slowly, before bringing it up to his half-covered face.

One of the odd and yet charming aspects of the man of the dark gales - he didn't exactly skulk around. If he wanted to take a deep whiff of something pleasant, he simply did.

...She would find him with his face buried in black fabric, sniffing intently as a scenthound. Guess he did miss her after their recent period of separation.

There was absolutely no shame, nor any noticeable shift to his expression when he finally noticed her (or, at least, refocused his attention). If anything, he seemed rather self-satisfied as he extended his hand, returning the garment.

"Blood and blossoms alike suit you," purred the elder of the Unlimited. "Red and violet dance well together."

@kazeofthemagun

Where she was, no one could truly say but her. Legs curled inwardly; her hands cradled the odd crystal ball within her gentle grasp, seated neatly within her lap as she delved beyond what most knew. In her mental wanderings through old ruins and history, as she studied lost knowledge and pieced together the puzzle of unique spells that haven't been used in ages, she felt an interruption.

Curious spirits of knowledge tapped at her, curled around her conscious shape and whispered of a visitor within her domain. Politely the witch excused herself for this session and shifted away from the ruins; she channeled herself closer to home as she scryed, viewing her own clearing to see a familiar redhead crossing through.

Excitement bubbled up within as she carefully disconnected herself from the ether of all things, brought herself back into the known reality - or the one she chose to acknowledge as her own. Placing the crystal orb within her bag of holding, the witch proceeded to give a lazy stretch of her arms above her head - back arching against the gravestone she had been resting against for hours prior.

Upon her feet once more she cleaned up the space around what was meant to be her grave and padded out of the brush, returning swiftly to the cabin. Pulling open the front door she stepped in and found him there, face buried within one of her dresses. Perhaps some may be put off by such a sight but the witch understood the man before her, there was only a slight squint of amusement shown as she admired the sight. It was far more pleasant to see him in the flesh than not, after-all. She was certainly curious of his adventures away from this place they both could call home, together.

The witch ventured closer, accepting the garment upon him seemingly having his fill of it. Yet it didn't stay within her grasp, not when she could simply toss it onto the dresser nearby. It would seem her focus was only upon him, upon his return and she did not cease walking closer until they were a hair's breadth apart. Here and now black eyes took in her Hunter, assessed his condition and well-being both physically and within the energy that made up his being. Yet they did not stray far from his own gaze, far too much comfort found in the stares they exchanged.

"Oh? Thank you, lovely. I agree with you entirely." Mortem mused as she stood a little taller to wrap her arms around his neck, to draw the two of them closer until the distance was closed finally. Yet in this embrace the witch's gaze gleamed with a familiar playfulness, "That's why I love our dances so very much. Whether it's beneath the moonlight, or one with blades-- or something more carnal." Ashen lips curved into a teasing grin at the latter. "I do so hope you'll be visiting long enough to indulge me in all three... numerous times, preferably."

There was never any denying her interest in him in all ways imaginable. Red and violet mixed well when feet were sweeping across her hardwood floor or out within the grass beneath the moon - though he could be clumsy, he had come far as a dance partner. For dancing was just another form of combat and violence was a language they both knew intimately. It was why she loved to speak it with him, to tear each other down in the guise of building themselves up. Trust to restrain oneself and trust to go harder than others would existed within the same beautiful knot that kept the two of them bound. And speaking of intimacy... her cool fingertips danced along the back of his neck, desire ever evident in some capacity whenever she looked upon him. "I'll let you choose the sort of dance our reunion should consist of first~"

#kaze: *walks in the door* mortem: ah. so you've chosen getting jumped--#the 3 options with mortem: dancing. combat. boning. the secret dance tho with thems: snugging just right on the couch #maximum squish is a go! sdgfdgfhgj #kazeofthemagun #asks #look i was gonna reply to this asap but mortem was 100% “i'm just-- i'm just gonna take him down you honor” and i was like CALM DOWN

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