#1/4 drop in anchors

[ba9go]

it's not winning (if it's not with you)

fluff 🐑🐑🐑 sfw

prohero!bakugou katsuki x prohero!reader, fem!reader (bkg calls u his wife), established relationship

"we’re joined by none other than the pro-hero dynamight, who has recently climbed the ranks to secure the coveted number 2 spot in the hero rankings! known for his explosive quirk and even more explosive personality, bakugou katsuki has—"

"they know who i am," pro-hero dynamight, your husband, grumbles. he's grumpy as ever, arms crossed and glaring at the news anchor, who shrinks away slightly in fear. "keep it short, i've got places to be."

you want to be mad at him for giving his pr team a hard time yet again, but your heart warms at his words. when he says he's got places to be, you know he means coming home to you.

"r- right! so sorry about that! dynamight, you must be ecstatic about climbing the ranks! how does it feel to—"

"always feels good to beat icyhot," he interrupts just as an image of pro-hero shoto pops up on-screen. katsuki flashes a smirk at the camera, and you can't help but grin. "can't say i'm surprised 'bout it, though."

"o- oh! right," the poor news anchor lady laughs nervously. "you must be ecstatic! congratulations on the big win, dyna—"

"nah, i haven't won yet," dynamight shrugs.

"oh. um." the news anchor lady looks like she's about to burst into tears and quit her job on japanese live television. she flashes a worried glance off-camera. you wonder if she's plotting her escape.

you don't blame her, honestly. you're perplexed by katsuki's response too.

katsuki points directly into the camera, and you feel like it's directed at you even before he speaks.

"my wife's gotta catch up to me first."

your grin spreads, and you feel like you're back in u.a., falling in love with katsuki all over again. "challenge accepted, dynamight."

you fling yourself at katsuki when he comes home later that evening.

"number 2!!" you cry happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. "you're the best, 'suki. m'so proud of you."

"thank you, darling," katsuki grins a real toothy grin at you, and you know you're looking at a winner. despite his nonchalant act on tv, katsuki knows he's won. he's dreamt of this for so long. he's ecstatic.

katsuki cups your cheeks and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, before letting his hands fall to your waist. he smirks. "did ya catch my interview earlier?"

katsuki snickers as you roll your eyes and push at his chest playfully. "yeah, yeah. your wife's falling behind on the rankings, got it."

"falling behind?" katsuki's smirk drops as he raises a brow at you. "no, you ain't. you worked hard as always, number 4."

"i'm still behind," you pouted.

katsuki smiles at you as he pats your head affectionately.

"join me in top 3," katsuki says. it sounds like an order, a demand, but despite the challenge in his words, his tone is warm and encouraging, and his eyes are full of love.

you can feel it. he believes in you.

"next time, we'll be number 1 and 2," you grin.

"damn right. izuku can eat our dust."

🐑🐑🐑

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @yoyolovesdaiki @busdriver-move-that-ass

[cloverapple]

how do you induce emotion / feel like your in your dr? maybe inducing isn’t the right word but how do you feel feelings when shifting?

There are so many ways to do this! Like listening to music, a song that sparks a memory from your DR, or even an ambient soundtrack that lets you fanfic your way deep into a scenario, really sinking into the vibe of the scene. There's no right or wrong method here. I promise, something in your life right now connects you to your DR and your DR self—whether it’s a song, a specific scenario you replay in your mind, or just that one thing that makes you feel like you’re already there, pulling out those strong emotions like a magnet.

Now, there’s this visualization I love—a simple, step-by-step process (because, ADHD brain here, I live for structured steps leave me alone). I usually use it to manifest in my CR, but it’s perfect for inducing that feeling of being in your DR, too. It goes like this:

Relax. Take a few deep breaths, let your body soften, melt into your chair, your bed, wherever you are. Let the tension drain away—really let yourself sink in.

Now, pick the scene you want to drop into. Maybe it’s your first morning waking up in your DR, maybe you’re chilling with your friends, maybe you’re wrapped up with your S/O. Whatever feels right.

Once you’ve got your scene, you’re going to count from 1 to 10. But with each number, you’ll visualize something specific in that space—look around, touch your surroundings, feel the textures, the warmth, the coolness. Flex your hands, feel your body in that world. It’s about anchoring yourself in the moment, fully immersing.

Let me give you an example so it’s crystal clear.

Say I want to shift to a DR where I’m waking up in a bedroom with an ocean view and my cat curled up next to me. I’d do it like this:

“One.” *I glance up at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, I notice the little imperfections in the paint, like I’ve seen them a thousand times before*

“Two.” *I sit up, feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin. I look at the clock on my nightstand, it reads 9:03 AM in glowing red numbers*

“Three.” *I turn my head toward the window. The ocean is right there, stretching out into the horizon, the waves crashing, the sunlight beaming through the window*

“Four.” *I stretch my legs under the blanket, my cat shifts displeased beside me, purring, and I reach out to scratch behind their ears, feeling the warmth of their fur beneath my fingertips*

“Five.” *I slide out of bed, my feet touching the cool, wooden floor. I hear the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my weight*

“Six.” *I walk over to the window, press my palm against the glass. It’s warm from the sun*

“Seven.” *I glance around the room: the books stacked messily on the desk, the glow of morning light spilling over everything. I can even see the coffee mug I left out the night before because I'm an idiot*

���Eight.” *I look down and adjust my pajamas, running my hands over my body, flexing my toes*

“Nine.” *I run my fingers along the windowsill, feeling the smooth wood beneath my touch, and I think about what I'm going to do that day*

“Ten.” *I reach for my phone, gripping it in my hand, feeling its weight against my palm, before unlocking it and seeing a dozen messages from my friends*

4. Once you’ve hit ten, just sit with it. Let yourself marinate in that feeling of already being there, of already having it. You’re not reaching, you’re not chasing, it’s yours now. Feel the weight of that reality settle into your chest. How do you feel? Happy? Calm? Relieved? Whatever it is, let it flow through you. Own it. You’re not imagining anymore—you’re experiencing.

And that’s it. That’s the whole process. Simple, but powerful, trust me!

[short-honey-badger]

Miss Twilight 4

You arrive at Buggy Town and catch up with Crocodile

*things get even more steamy! The next chapter will be the final one to this mini story!*

Part 1 -> HERE Part 2 -> HERE Part 3 -> HERE Finale -> HERE

Crocodile stands on the docks outside of Buggy Town. There is movement all around him, the men under the Cross Guild working to get the latest navy ship repainted and refitted for their own purposes. They would have even more work in the coming hours. You’d rang Crocodile again and told him that you were around two hours out from the island and that you expected him to be there waiting for you. He’d snickered at your order but had easily agreed.

Now he stood at the edge, watching as a navy vessel drifted closer and closer to the docks. If he squinted, he could see several figures at the bow of the ship, and he couldn’t help but shift his weight in anticipation. You were almost here, and then he could sweep you away.

Finally, the ship slides up to the docks and weighs anchor, the ramp coming down to bang against the wood. He waits impatiently for you to disembark, and his lips curl up in a welcoming smirk when he sees you waltz down the plank like you owned the place. Miss Goldenweek and several other pirates follow you down, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. His focus is on you and you alone.

Your face hurts even as you grin up at your boss, coming to a stop in front of the devil fruit user. Buggy is already welcoming in the other pirates, his crew directing them on where to go. Mihawk is nowhere to be seen, though Crocodile knows that the other man is probably waiting in his office already. He frowns as he takes you in, hook coming up to rest under your chin and tilt your face this way and that.

“Who did this to you?” He demands quietly. Never had Crocodile seen you so injured before, and it makes rage swell up in his chest at the sight of your bruised and swollen face.

“A pair of marines. It was necessary to my plan, though. It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore,” you say with a shrug, and then give him a mean little grin, “I tossed them overboard after we took over the ship.”

“Mhm, I would have liked to see that,” Crocodile murmurs, and you shrug a shoulder, the smile on your face turning teasing.

“I’m sure you would have, Wani,” you say, and he drops his hook and instead offers his arm to your delight.

“Come along, Miss Twilight. I’ll show you the beginnings of our Utopia.”

After Crocodile leads you through the tent city, he cuts off to the building that housed his office and personal rooms, showing you your own room that was just down the hall from his. He leaves you, and you gladly take the time to take a much needed nap and then freshen up after. As much as you’d wanted to stay with him, it’d been a long couple of days of travel, and you were exhausted by the time he stopped at your room. You feel far better now that you’ve had time to take a shower and change into something a bit more your style. You can’t help but grin madly when you open the closet and see a selection of expensive fabrics in all different colors. You knew that Crocodile had chosen each one of them specifically for you, and it made your heart thump in affection for your boss.

Now dressed in something better than the rags and oversized clothes you’d stolen from the navy, you felt more like yourself. You tame your hair into something decent and slap on a little makeup that you find inside the drawers of your vanity before you leave your room, stomach rumbling in hunger.

You find his office with ease and knock on the door, entering when you hear his deep voice bid you inside. You’re surprised to see Dracule Mihawk in the office, standing to the side of Crocodile’s desk with an unopened bottle of wine tucked under his arm. You step further inside the office and take a seat when your boss bids you to.

“So you’re Miss Twilight,” Mihawk drawls, and you meet his golden eyes, trying not to squirm under the examining gaze that he is looking at you with. The swordsman must not find anything wrong, for he smirks and walks closer to hand you the bottle of wine, “Welcome to the Guild.”

You take the bottle and look at it, curious despite yourself, and find that it’s one of those expensive wines that you would see stocked behind the counter at the bar in Rain Dinner’s. You give him a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

The former warlord hums and steps past you, “You’re welcome. I’ll leave the two of you to enjoy it.”

You watch him walk out the door and then share a look with Crocodile, a smirk on your face as you tilt your head to the side, “I see that you’ve made a friend.”

The big man scoffs and rolls his eyes, “We have mutual interests,”

“I’m sure that’s all it is,” you tease, and then soften when your boss just puffs on his cigar, the look on his face vaguely unimpressed. You shift a little awkwardly. It’s been a little over a year since the last time you’d seen him, and that was before he’d been cuffed and carted away to Impel Down. He hadn’t changed, not much anyway, but it was enough to leave you doubting yourself.

Crocodile eyes you from across his desk. He doesn’t like that you look so nervous, but he understands why. He stands from his chair and you track him, eyes never leaving his face as he rounds the desk and stops beside you, the back of his golden hook coming up to rest under your chin like earlier. He meets your eyes, searching your face before he kneels down at your side. Your eyes go wide, and you lick your lips, stomach flipping in nerves.

“You don’t have to look so frightened, my dear,” Crocodile rumbles, and his flesh hand rises to cup the side of your face, holding you in a way that you hadn’t thought him capable of. You give him a small smile, turning your face more into his hold.

“I know, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen you. I feel like I don’t know how to act,” you admit quietly, and the devil fruit user huffs at you. His thumb drags along your jaw and then up to gently tug at your lips. You can’t help but wince a bit. They are still healing from the hit you’d taken to the face.

Crocodile’s brow furrows, and that same rage from earlier feels thick in his chest, “You should have given them to me. I would have made them suffer for this.”

He had planned on sweeping you off your feet and taking you straight to his rooms where he would spend the next several days worshiping you like you deserved. Learning your body piece by piece as he took you apart, but with you injured, Crocodile didn’t want to harm you further.

“I know you would have, Wani,” you murmur, and feeling bold, you turn and press your lips against the palm of his hand, lingering there and watching his purple eyes soften at your affection, “But watching them be eaten by the seakings was just as enjoyable.”

Crocodile hums, lips tugging into a smirk. His long fingers curl under your jaw. He adores your ruthless behavior, and it makes arousal curl hot in his stomach. He is desperate for you but holds himself back for now. He would give you time to heal. Slowly, he pulls away, fingertips trailing along your flesh as he stands and picks up the bottle of wine that Mihawk left behind.

“Come with me. I’ve had the cooks make your favorite,” He says, and you stand to follow him out of his office and to the private dining room on the floor below this one. You can’t help but feel all gooey and soft inside, cheek flushing darker at the thought of Crocodile knowing what you like.

That feeling intensifies when your boss pulls out your chair for you and pops the bottle of wine, pouring the both of you a generous glass before he sits in the spot across from you. Food is already laid out on the table, and you have a hard time not immediately digging in. You politely wait for Crocodile to begin before you take up your fork and start eating.

Before you know it, conversation is flowing like the two of you had never been apart for over a year. Crocodile regales you with his tale of escaping Impel Down and the fight with the navy afterward. You congratulate him on the creation of the Cross Guild, for you knew that Buggy the Clown wouldn’t be innovative enough to pull something like this even if he is the face of the organization. He asks about your capture, and you roll your eyes at yourself.

“After I heard about the Cross Guild, I knew that then would be a good time to show back up. That I could be useful to you, but I slipped up. I snuck on board dressed as a marine, and the Vice-Admiral didn’t recognize me. I didn’t know that he’d never had any transfers inside of his unit, so I stuck out. He dropped me off at the ship I brought to you for transport to Impel Down a few weeks ago, but that obviously didn’t happen.”

Crocodile huffs and shares a smirk with you, “Obviously not.”

He then frowns and sets down his fork to reach across the table, taking your free hand in his and meeting your eyes, “You could have come back before this. I would have gladly taken you at my side, my dear.”

You squeeze his hand softly, a shy smile tugging at your lips, and you flick your eyes away in embarrassment, “I didn’t want to be a burden, Crocodile.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes at you, “You have proven yourself to me for years, darling. You don’t have to do so any longer, if you wish.”

He didn’t care if you wanted to retire from working for him. Crocodile simply wanted you by his side, so if that meant losing your capabilities in the field, then so be it. It sounded corny and disgustingly domestic, but all he wanted now was to wake up to you next to him. To be able to touch and kiss you whenever he wished, to have you at his side when all of his plans finally came to fruition.

“I want you to do what you want, but I want you to be at my side when you do.”

Your heart thunders in your chest. You’d always known that there was a tension between the two of you, a mutual attraction that you’d always been too afraid to act on, fearing that Crocodile would send you away. But now? Now you want to act on it.

You stand before you can lose any courage, keeping his hand in your own as you walk around the table. Crocodile follows you, scooting his chair back away from the table when you are by his side. Without missing a beat, you reach out with your free hand, your fingers sliding along his throat and then up to smooth against his strong jaw. Your thumb drags up his cheek, and then you are leaning down to seal your lips against his.

At first, it’s a simple press of lips, the two of you mapping one another out with careful tugs and gentle pulls of your lips, but it doesn’t take long for it to turn heated. Crocodile has waited years to finally have you, and he would be damned if he didn’t get to taste you properly.

Crocodile tugs you by the hand, sending you forward and into his chest, one of your knees landing in the chair, but it still isn’t close enough for him. He manhandles you into his lap, his arm wrapping around your waist as he drags you flush against his chest. You groan into the kiss, mouth dropping open when his tongue prods forward, hissing when it rubs against the still healing cuts.

You want more, and whine softly in the back of your throat when Crocodile breaks the kiss, leaning back so that he can gaze upon your flushed face and heavy lidded eyes. He smirks and leans back in to peck your lips, making you chase after him.

“As much as I would like to continue,” he rumbles and shifts under you, his cock already hard and aching in his pants just from a simple kiss, “I would much prefer to have you in full health. I do not want to hurt you, my dear.”

You snort and drop your head into the crook of his shoulder, scooting forward so that your knees touched the back of the chair, a pout on your lips, “You could never hurt me, Wani, but okay.”

Crocodile holds you close, dropping to press his lips to the top of your head. They would have plenty of time to explore one another in the coming days. The two of you would just have to wait.

[deerspherestudios]

I hope you have a wonderful break! I really enjoyed the new update of the game and I can't wait for more aaa !! <33

And I agree about Mychael having different sides to him, the story feels more authentic and especially combined with the action/motion scenes, the game feels so immersive! I really, really love your work on it! The writing, the coding, the visuals, everything!! Even the bad endings is so heartwrenching </3 (ending 4 is my top fav bad ending hehe)

I also wanna ask how you did the moving scenes with the sprites? Like with Mychael falling off the bed because MC punched him (my fav scene, its so funny) and the one with him snatching MC's wrist to avoid touching the mushrooms. Was it hard to figure it out how to do it?

Aaa sorry for the ramble! >< I really love the game :'D and Mychael! Heres a tight hug for him🫂 <33

I've explained the snatching MC's hand animation here!

As for the punch and some other motions, that's actually Ren'Py's transformations.

Ren'Py Ramblings below:

I'm gonna be 100% honest, a lot of these I took from the Lemma Soft and Reddit forums of people providing codes for various movements. It's incredibly helpful and I'm lucky to have found these and being able to implement them into my game!

I can credit them if people ask me to, but I usually google "hit animation renpy/ drop animation renpy/ tremble animation renpy" and got these!

For the 'slap' at the start of Day 3:

transform drop: zoom 6 xalign 0.5 yalign 0.2 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0 easeout_cubic 1 yoffset 1200

For the 'slap' in Ending 4:

transform slap: zoom 6 xalign 0.4 yalign 0.5 pause.1 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0

For the 'trembling' in Ending 4:

transform shake: linear 0.090 xoffset -2 linear 0.090 xoffset +0 linear 0.090 yoffset -2 linear 0.090 yoffset +0 repeat

Afterwards I adjust them to my liking. For example, drop and slap are the exact same, with changes in the position and slight timing, since in drop the beginning anchor point is the center of Mychael's face in the sprite image:

And then implement them afterwards as usual:

show [sprite] at [drop/slap/shake]

Hope that helps!

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay here's part 6! this literally was not meant to be as long as it is, but i got carried away while doing some archery research... and here we are.

hope you guys enjoy! part 7 will be uploaded tomorrow!

(p.s if you're an archer/know archery and i get stuff wrong please don't yell at me, google can only give me so much info hdshdshdh)

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 7 | part 8

there's a masterlist now!

*athena had left not long after midday, but not before saying she’d see them all later at dinner*

*telemachus, odysseus & penelope are all together in the palace gardens*

*penelope is sitting on a bench, with odysseus also laying on it & his head in her lap as they watch telemachus practice using a bow and arrow* 

telemachus: *trying to aim for the centre of the target in front of him*

telemachus: *struggling but wants to show his parents what his training with athena is doing for him*

telemachus: *lets the bowstring go*

*the arrow flies through the air, but misses the centre of the target completely and hits the edge of the target*

telemachus: *drops the arm holding his bow to his side and sighs in disappointment*

penelope: *looks at her son and then looks down at odysseus*

odysseus: *looks up from his son to meet penelope’s eyes*

*both seem to have a conversation through their eyes*

odysseus: *smiles and nods at penelope*

odysseus: *gets up from penelope’s lap and walks over to telemachus*

penelope: *smiles while watching odysseus head over to their son*

odysseus: don’t be disappointed son, go ahead and nock another arrow

telemachus: *does as his father says*

odysseus: now draw and anchor, as you normally would

telemachus: *again does what odysseus asks*

odysseus: *looks at his son’s pose* ah i see some of the problem

odysseus: *gently takes hold of telemachus’ drawn back elbow* 

odysseus: ok your elbow needs to be a bit higher, and just straighten your back a little…

telemachus: *follows odysseus’ instructions*

odysseus: *stepping back so he’s not in the way* that's perfect! now breathe in as you would, but not to the point it hurts! 

odysseus: and then as you go to let the string go breathe out but not all the way, about only half way

telemachus: *breathes in as he aims for the centre of the target again*

telemachus: *steadily breathes out and releases the string*

*the arrow flies through the air again… and hits just slightly off the centre of of the target*

telemachus: *looks at the target in disbelief but in also joy*

odysseus: *cheers in happiness for his son* you did it!

penelope: *clapping and calling out to her son* well done telemachus! 

telemachus: *drops his bow and turns to his father*

telemachus: *gives odysseus a hug* thank you father!

odysseus: *hugging his son back* no need to thank me, i’m happy to be able to help teach you!

telemachus: *lets odysseus go while smiling*

odysseus: *looks down at telemachus’ bow then picks up it up and grabs an arrow*

odysseus: *nocks it with ease and shoots it in the blink of an eye*

*the arrow hits the dead centre of the target* 

odysseus: *turns and hands the bow back to telemachus*

odysseus: now, how about you keep practising? once you have this completely down i’ll teach you other things you can do with a bow

odysseus: *hand under his chin in thought* i’ll have to get an archer’s ring commissioned for you

telemachus: *stares at his father in shock at how easy he made that look* i didn't know you knew so much about archery- i mean…

telemachus: *thinks back to when odysseus shot an arrow through 12 axe heads*

penelope: *giggles to herself as she realises even their son doesn’t know about his father’s mastery & skill with a bow*

odysseus: *looks over at penelope, and then he understands just why she's giggling*

odysseus: *now looks at telemachus with an amused expression*

telemachus: *sees his father’s expression*

telemachus: *holds his hands (with the bow still in one of them) up hoping he hasn’t offended his father*

telemachus: not saying you didn’t know how to use one! 

telemachus: i thought you just knew the basics and that ‘trick’ you did to prove yourself, was originally just to impress mother?

telemachus: *puts his arms down and then looks down towards his father’s hands* besides, that ring you wear on your thumb is just a normal one like the other’s you wear isn’t it? 

telemachus: it certainly doesn’t look like any archer ring i've seen before at the markets…

odysseus: *laughs to himself and holds up his hand* oh this? you’re right it doesn’t look like an archer ring.

odysseus: *rubs his thumb along his index finger* that's because it isn’t a normal one

telemachus: *looks again at his father’s ring to see it now has a point to it like any standard archer ring*

telemachus: *looks up at odysseus’ face, then back down to his hand and then back up to his face again* 

telemachus: but- you- it- hOW?

odysseus: *rubs his thumb against his index finger again and the ring is back to looking like any standard ring* 

odysseus: *looks from telemachus to penelope* ask your mother, it was a gift from her

telemachus: *immediately swivels to face her*

penelope: well, as you’ve now found out…your father isn't one to let people know he’s a skilled archer, so i ‘commissioned’ an archer ring to be made for him that could hide as a normal ring when not needed. 

telemachus: wow! the jeweller who made this certainly is skilled then

penelope: *thinks back to asking athena if she could try to get hephaestus to make one*

penelope: yeah skilled indeed 

telemachus: *turns back to odysseus* so why didn’t you want people to know? about your skills as an archer i mean.

odysseus: sometimes it's best to not reveal all your strengths

odysseus: *grins while shrugging* keeping people guessing is also fun

odysseus: *walks to telemachus and ruffles his hair* anyway, back to practising! i’m going to head back over to your mother, but call me if you want me to assist with anything ok?

telemachus: ok!

*time passes as telemachus keeps on practising, odysseus is back to laying in penelope’s lap while she caresses his hair*

*odysseus wants to keep watching his son but is struggling to not fall asleep from penelope's motions*

*telemachus notices so decides to discuss some final dinner plans with his mother*

telemachus: so the cooks have everything they need for tonight, right? are you sure you don’t need me to quickly run down to the market for anything? 

penelope: *smiles reassuringly at telemachus* they do, and if on the off chance they don’t i'm sure one of them will go to the market themselves. no need to worry yourself my son.

telemachus: *nods while getting another arrow ready* 

telemachus: *starts pulling the string back when he has another thought*

telemachus: oh what about the seating plan? i should probably tell fathe-

penelope: *who knows about athena’s seating plan, and also knows that odysseus doesn’t (hey she wants to have some fun too ok?)*

penelope: *forgetting about her husband peacefully half-asleep in her lap*

penelope: *jumping up from the bench* NO-

telemachus: *not expecting his mother’s outburst*

telemachus: *lets the string go accidentally and also having lost his aim*

odysseus: *falls off penelope’s lap and the bench with a startled yelp*

*meanwhile the loose arrow now wizzes straight past the target, through the garden trees and over the palace cliffs, heading into what looks to be its final destination of…. the sea*

telemachus: *turns to face his parents* mother, are you ok? why did you yell no?

penelope: oh um… i’m sorry for shouting telemachus 

penelope: what i meant to say was, there's no need to spoil anything. we’ll keep it as a surprise!

telemachus: uh ok…

odysseus: *face down on the ground and groaning from the sudden series of events*

odysseus: *pushes himself up and looks at his wife*

odysseus: penelope why?

penelope: *laughs a little at odysseus’ rumpled state* 

penelope: *helps him up* 

penelope: i’m sorry my love *kisses him on the cheek*

odysseus: *smiles at the kiss and then brushes his clothing free of dust*

odysseus: what were you two talking about anyway?

telemachus: uhh-

penelope: -the final bits for dinner! speaking of which, we should all go and start getting ready!

penelope: *points at the sun starting to set* helios is not long from being done for the day, and i'm sure when selene takes to the skies, our dinner guests won't be long!

penelope: *starts to head inside* come along you two!

telemachus: *to odysseus* what about the archery equipment?

odysseus: *shrugs* we’ll deal with it later

*telemachus & odysseus follow penelope back into the palace*

[wiltedflowerpetals]

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Captain John Price's wife, a trained assassin, is about to go on a mission, but she has only one thing on her mind. Her husband. The man who didn't know about her secret job…

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Words: 2850

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty, death (target got killed)

Part 1: Wife Meets Friend | Part 2: (you are reading it) | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: Husband Saves Wife | Part 5: Husband And Wife

The next morning, you turned in your bed, arm moving towards John’s side, only to find out that he was not in bed. No. By the smell of coffee that lingered in the air, you knew that he was in the kitchen. You dressed quickly and headed downstairs, finding him at the table with a steaming mug in hand, flipping through a newspaper.

“Morning.” He greeted with a warm smile as you entered the kitchen. His eyes brightened as he saw you, and he set the newspaper down to focus on you.

“Morning.” You replied, returning his smile and walking over to pour yourself a cup of your favorite drink. The aroma was comforting, like a small anchor to normalcy after the day you'd had. “You’re up early.”

“Old habits.” John said with a shrug, taking another sip from his mug. “Couldn't sleep much, so I figured I'd get a head start on the day.”

You nodded, though you wondered if his restlessness had anything to do with you. Did he sense that something was off? You tried to push the thought aside. “Any plans today?”

“Nothing much. Thought I’d get some work done, maybe catch up on a bit of paperwork.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “What about you?”

You sipped your hot drink, carefully considering your words. “Just some errands around town, then I might drop by the office for a bit. We’ve got a few deadlines coming up.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Always working. You should take a day off sometime, you know? Relax a little.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his concern. “I’ll try to remember that.”

As the day wore on, you found yourself reflecting on the life you’d built with John. Your marriage was strong, built on love and trust… Trust that you were constantly betraying by keeping your true self hidden. Only because you wanted to protect him from your job. The world you operated in was dangerous, filled with secrets and lies, and the less John knew, the safer he would be.

In the afternoon, you decided to step out to run the errands you’d mentioned earlier. You kissed John’s and left, promising to be back soon. As you drove through the streets of your neighborhood, your thoughts drifted back to Kate’s visit. It had gone well, but the pressure was building. How much longer could you keep this up?

You stopped at a small park on your way back home, needing a moment to clear your head. Sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, you watched as families played with their children, couples walked hand in hand, and joggers passed by with their headphones in. It was a picture of a peaceful and normal life… A life you never had.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You grabbed it and glanced at the screen, seeing a message from an unknown number. You read the brief text: We need to talk. Usual place. 1900.

You frowned, recognizing the message. It was from one of your CIA contacts. You took a deep breath, quickly typing out a response. You were used to it by now, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. You needed to find a way to slip out tonight without raising John’s suspicions.

When you returned home, John was still in his study. You paused at the doorway, watching him for a moment. He looked so peaceful, so content in his element.

“You’re back.” John said, looking up with a smile as he noticed you standing there.

“Yeah, just finished up.” You replied, stepping into the room. “How’s your day going?”

“Not bad.” He said, leaning back in his chair. “Got a lot done. I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner tonight, you know, to unwind a bit. What do you think?”

Your heart sank. John rarely suggested going out. But tonight, of all nights, he’d chosen to go on a small little date with you. Great… You couldn’t refuse without arousing suspicion, but you also couldn’t afford to miss the meeting.

“That sounds nice.” You said carefully, already trying to figure out a way to work around it. “But how about we raincheck for tomorrow? I’m a little tired from running around all day.”

John studied you for a moment, eyes filled with concern. “You sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed a bit off since yesterday.”

You stepped closer to him. “I’m fine, really. Just a little worn out. Tomorrow would be better, I think. We could make it a proper date night.”

He reached out, taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap. “Alright, if you’re sure. Tomorrow it is.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Of course you felt guilty, but you had no other choice. “Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his neck softly. “For understanding.”

“Always.” John murmured, holding you close. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You closed your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could tell him the truth, that you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself from the man you loved. But you couldn’t - you wouldn’t - risk his safety for your own peace of mind.

Later that evening, after you’d shared a quiet dinner at home, you waited until John had settled into the living room with a book before making your move. You casually mentioned needing to check on something at the office, using one of your excuses. John offered to come with you, but you gently declined, insisting it wouldn’t take long.

He kissed you goodbye, watching as you left with a small smile, completely unaware of the true nature of your errand.

You drove through the city. The usual place was a parking garage downtown, one of the many locations you used for these kinds of meetings. You arrived a few minutes early, parking in a shadowy corner and waiting.

A black SUV pulled up next to your car shortly after, and a man in a dark suit stepped out, his expression serious. You recognized him immediately - Agent Daniels, one of your primary contacts at the CIA.

“Evening, Mrs. Price.” He greeted you with a curt nod.

“Daniels.” You replied. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation.” He said, handing you a slim folder. “A high-value target is back on the grid. We need you to handle it.”

You opened the folder, scanning the information quickly. The target was a known arms dealer with ties to several terrorist organizations - a dangerous man with a long list of enemies. “This is a priority?”

“Top priority.” Daniels confirmed. “He’s planning to move a shipment in the next 48 hours. We need to shut it down before it reaches its destination.”

You nodded, already planning your approach. “What’s the location?”

“He’s holed up in a compound outside of the city. We’ve got a team on standby, but you’ll be leading the operation.”

You closed the folder, meeting his gaze. You sighed, not wanting to lead the operation as it meant that you also had to lead a team. You preferred to work alone, but apparently you had no other choice. “… Understood. I’ll take care of it.”

Daniels gave you a brief, approving nod. “Good. You’ll be briefed on the full details tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

With that, he got back into the SUV and drove off, leaving you alone in the garage. You took a deep breath. This was just another mission, another job to complete. But as you started your car and headed home, you had one thought. Balancing your secret life was becoming harder by the day, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep the two worlds from colliding.

When you returned home, John was still in the living room, dozing lightly with the book resting on his chest. You paused in the doorway, watching him sleep, heart heavy.

You approached quietly, taking the book from his hands and setting it on the table. He stirred, opening his eyes slightly. “You’re back.” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Yeah.” You whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “Go to bed, honey.”

He nodded groggily, allowing you to help him up. As you made your way upstairs, you felt the familiar pang of guilt, stronger than ever. You loved him more than anything, and yet, every day you deceived him, kept him in the dark about who you really were.

You two crawled into bed, and John pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he could protect you from the world. But he didn’t know the truth - that it was you who was protecting him, shielding him from the bad guys during his missions.

The next morning, you were up before dawn. You moved quietly through the house, careful not to wake John as you gathered your gear. Today’s mission was critical, and you couldn’t afford any mistakes. As you pulled on your tactical suit, your mind focused on the task ahead. There was no room for doubt or hesitation.

Before leaving, you slipped back into the bedroom, where John was still fast asleep. You stood by the bed for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the dangerous things you were doing and going to do. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering, “I love you” before turning to leave.

The drive to the briefing location was uneventful. The compound outside the city was heavily guarded, and the target was known for being ruthless. But you’d faced worse.

When you arrived at the location, Daniels and the rest of the team were already there. They were gathered around a large table covered in maps and surveillance photos. You walked in, nodding to them.

“Glad you could make it.” Daniels said as you approached. “We’re ready to go over the plan.”

You nodded again, stepping up to the table. “Let’s get started.”

The briefing was quick and to the point. The target was using the compound as a staging area for an arms deal that could supply a dangerous faction with enough firepower to destabilize an entire region. The mission was simple in theory: infiltrate, neutralize the target, and destroy the shipment before it could be moved.

But as with all things in your line of work, the reality would be far more complex. The compound was well-fortified, with multiple layers of security and heavily armed guards. The risk was high, but so were the stakes.

“I’ll lead the assault team.” You said as you went through the details. “We’ll go in at night, under the cover of darkness. We’ll need to move quickly and quietly.”

Daniels nodded. “Agreed. We can’t afford to tip them off before we’re in position.”

The team spent the rest of the day preparing, double-checking equipment, and going over the plan until everyone knew their roles by heart. You kept your mind focused on the mission, pushing aside any thoughts of John and the life you’d have to return to after this was over. Now was not the time to think about it. You couldn't afford distractions. The mission required your full attention.

As night fell, the team geared up and prepared to move out. You stood with your team, your expression calm and composed. This was the part of your life you had to keep separate from John, the part he could never know about.

“Alright, everyone.” You said. “We go in fast and quiet. Stick to your roles, and we’ll get this done. Let’s move.”

The team moved out in silence; their vehicles drove them towards the compound. The tension in the air was palpable. This was what you were trained for, what you were good at. Every detail of the mission played out in your head as you approached your target.

When you arrived at the outskirts of the compound, the team disembarked, moving swiftly into position. You led the way, your movements precise. You reached the perimeter, where you signaled for the team to hold. From their vantage point, you could see the guards patrolling the area, their weapons at the ready.

“Snipers, take out the perimeter guards on my mark.” You whispered into your comm. “We move in as soon as they’re down.”

There was a tense silence as you waited for the right moment. You counted the seconds in your head, timing their approach perfectly. Then, with a single command, the silence was shattered by the sound of sniper rifles. The guards dropped one by one.

“Move.” You ordered, and the team advanced, slipping through the shadows as you made your way deeper into the compound.

The mission unfolded with ruthless efficiency. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, each member playing their part flawlessly. You encountered resistance as you closed in on the target, but you were relentless.

As you breached the main building, you found the target in a makeshift command center, surrounded by his most trusted men. The firefight that ensued was intense, but you were unstoppable. In a matter of minutes, the room was cleared, and the target lay dead at your feet.

“Target neutralized.” You reported, your voice steady as you stood over the body.

“Good work.” Daniels replied over the comms. “Proceed with the secondary objective.”

You and your team quickly moved to the storage area, where you found the shipment of weapons. It was an impressive cache, enough to equip a small army. You planted the charges, setting the timer to ensure you had enough time to get clear.

“Charges set.” You confirmed. “We’re heading out.”

The team made their way back to the extraction point, the sound of distant explosions rumbling behind them as the charges detonated. The mission had been a success, but there was no time for celebration. You had to get out of the area before any reinforcements arrived.

As you reached the extraction point, sighed in relief. The mission was over, and soon you would be back home with John, back to the life you were desperately trying to protect.

The ride back was quiet, the team too exhausted to talk. You leaned your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment. You thought of John, wondering if he was still up, if he was waiting for you. You couldn’t wait to see him, to feel his arms around you, after this mission.

When you finally returned to the base, you debriefed with Daniels and the rest of the team. As soon as the formalities were over, you took a shower fast and changed your clothes, before you headed straight for your car.

The drive home was a fast. All you could think about was John and your bed. As you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the lights were still on in the house. John was still up, waiting for you. Your heart swelled with emotion as you stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door.

When you walked inside, you found John in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up as you entered, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

“You’re back.” He said, standing up to greet you.

You smiled, feeling the weight of the day’s events start to lift as she crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him. “I’m back.”

John held you close, his embrace warm and comforting. “I was starting to worry. Everything alright at the office?”

“Yeah.” You lied smoothly, pulling back to look at him. “Just some last-minute issues, but it’s all sorted now.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “You sure you’re okay? You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine.” You tried to assure him. “Just tired, that’s all.”

John nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You need to rest.”

He kissed your forehead and smelled your hair for a second. “Did you shower?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, there was a small smoothie incident at work. It was everywhere.” You lied at him, walking with him upstairs as he chuckled.

You changed into your pajamas and crawled into bed beside him. John pulled you close, his presence reminding you of what you were fighting for.

As you lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing. The mission was over, and you were lucky that he wasn’t suspicious of any of your lies. But the fear still lingered in the back of your mind. The fear, that one day, John would find out the truth, and everything you’d worked so hard to protect would come crashing down.

But for tonight, you allowed to savor the warmth of John’s embrace and the quiet peace of your home. Tomorrow, you would face whatever challenges came your way. But tonight, you were just (Y/N) Price, the woman who loved her husband more than anything in the world.

And that was enough.

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Reblogs and comments are appreciated.( ‘ω’ )

© nanamisflowerfield/wiltedflowerpetals. Do not repost, rewrite, plagiarize my work.

[avonnimimi]

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Plugged

The Series. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

☥| a/n: Hi my babies, i know you’ve been waiting for this so you shall receive, i hope you all are well and i’m open to talking if you’re feeling down <3 @wannabe-fic-reader @hcneymooners @halle5s @ashketchumzz46 i hope you all enjoy. MEN AND MINORS DNI

☥| content: drug dealer!vi x black reader, angst, abandonment? crying, mentions of murder, starving (ed)? kinda sad. lmk if i missed anything

As you left Donte’s spot, your stomach churned, a mix of anger and self-loathing riding shotgun. You hated yourself for being here again, for dragging Vi into your mess. You couldn’t shake the feeling that she deserved better.

You pulled up to her building, eyes scanning for her car like clockwork. Nothing. Her usual spot was empty, but you still got out. Still went inside.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor ticking by slower than the last. By the time you got to her door, your chest was tight. You knocked once, light, almost timid, then again, harder this time. Nothing.

“Vi!” you shouted, voice cracking with desperation.

No answer.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, and it twisted too easily. Unlocked.

Stepping inside, her scent hit you like a wave, soft, warm, familiar. It wrapped around you, almost suffocating. Your chest heaved as the thought hit you: Why the hell is her door unlocked?

Heart pounding, you fumbled for your phone, dialing her number like muscle memory. It rang, and rang, and rang, each tone stabbing at your nerves. On the fourth ring, you almost gave up, thumb hovering over “end call,” when she finally answered.

“Precious,” Vi’s voice came through low, tired, and heavy, like she didn’t even want to speak. That pang hit your chest again, sharper this time.

“Where are you?” you asked, trying to sound steady, ignoring the way her tone twisted the knife.

“I’m not home,” she said flatly. “Not gonna be for a while.”

You frowned, the words knotting in your throat. “Why—”

Vi didn’t even let you finish. Her voice cut through, sharp but breaking, like she’d been holding it back for too long.

“I can’t just forget that you went back to Donte, bruh,”

And just like that, the line went dead. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t quiet. It roared in your ears, that last sentence looping over and over, tearing through whatever was left of you.

Your eyes burned, blurring your vision as you hit redial, your hand shaking. The line rang out. No answer. You swallowed hard, throat dry and raw, before stepping deeper into her apartment, your legs feeling like lead. Something felt…wrong.

You looked around; little things were gone. A jacket missing from the hook by the door. The stack of books she always left on the counter? Gone. Your lip quivered as you walked into her room, your chest tightening with every step.

Her closet? Empty. Just a couple of stray hangers swinging like a cruel joke. The bed was perfectly made; too perfect, like she hadn’t slept in it for days. That’s when you saw it: a folded piece of paper sitting on the pillow.

Your hands shook as you picked it up, the words scrawled in her familiar handwriting:

“Don’t cry. Imma be back soon. Jus need time.”

She knew you were going to cry. She knew you too damn well. And she was right. The tears spilled over, hot and fast, as your legs buckled beneath you. You sat on her bed, clutching the note like it was the last piece of her you had.

The sobs came in waves, wracking your body as you pressed your phone to your ear, calling her again. And again. And again. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.

“Vi, please,” you whispered hoarsely into the receiver. “Just pick up. Please.”

Nothing.

You dropped your phone onto the bed, staring at the empty room through blurry eyes. It didn’t feel real. None of this felt real. She was your anchor, and now it felt like you were free-falling with no end in sight.

You wiped at your face with shaky hands, but it didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t even know how long you sat there, surrounded by her absence, trying to figure out how to fix what felt unfixable.

And then, like some cruel twist of fate, your phone buzzed. A message. From her.

“Stop calling. I just need space. I can’t do this right now.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer. You read them over and over, your mind screaming at you to respond, to say something. But what could you even say? Your hands hovered over the screen, typing and deleting a dozen times, before you finally just typed:

“I’m sorry.”

You hit send. And then you waited. Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. But there was no reply. Just silence, loud enough to crush you.

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

It had been a month since Vi walked out, and every day since had been its own personal hell. People, strangers, kept showing up at her door, pounding and demanding answers you didn’t have. Each time, you stood there blank-faced, repeating the same lie: I don’t know where she is. Even if you wanted to tell them, you couldn’t.

Every night, you called her. Every single night. Sometimes she answered, sometimes she didn’t. When she did, her voice was always the same; soft, distant, like she was right there but galaxies away. You figured she knew you were still here, holding it down. She was paying the rent, after all.

But what really messed with you? The whispers on the street. Two of Donte’s guys were dead. One missing. The kind of missing that meant they weren’t coming back. Donte was losing it, and it showed. He started blowing up your phone, sending vile, threatening messages that made your skin crawl. You deleted them as fast as they came, but his words stuck, lingering like smoke in your chest.

It was around 9 p.m. when you called Vi that night, sitting in the dark of her apartment like you did most nights now. She picked up after the third ring. You didn’t say anything at first, just listened to the sound of her breathing on the other end.

“When are you coming home?” The words slipped out, your voice barely above a whisper. You almost thought she didn’t hear you.

“Soon.” Her response was clipped, emotionless.

“When is soon?” you pushed, your chest heavy with the weight of everything you weren’t saying.

She ignored the question entirely. “Did you eat?”

You blinked at the shift, caught off guard. “Yeah,” you lied, though you couldn’t remember the last real meal you’d had. Then you started rambling, about your day, about how you cleaned the apartment, about the random person who came by earlier. Anything to keep her on the line just a little longer.

“That’s good, mama,” she murmured, her tone softening for the first time in weeks. It was the kind of warmth that made your heart ache, like a flicker of hope you didn’t know how to hold onto.

And then, without even thinking, you asked the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind.

“Are you going to kill Donte?”

The silence that followed was deafening, louder than anything she could have said. You gripped the phone tighter, your breath hitching as you waited for her to respond.

“Precious,” she said finally, her voice low and calm, like she was treading carefully. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Your stomach dropped. “Vi—”

“Stop.” Her tone shifted, harder now, cutting you off before you could press further. “I’ll come home when it’s safe. Don’t call me again tonight.”

And just like that, the line went dead. You stared at the screen, her name burning into your retinas, but the cold emptiness of her words lingered longer than the call itself.

You set the phone down, the room somehow feeling even smaller, even darker. That flicker of hope you’d felt earlier? It was gone now, snuffed out by the growing weight in your chest. The pieces of Vi’s world that you were holding onto were slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You tried to sleep. You really did. But your mind wouldn’t shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, it was her voice, her face, her words echoing back at you. The weight of it all pressed down on your chest like a stone, making it impossible to breathe, let alone rest.

By the time 11 p.m. rolled around, you were still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, your heart pounding in the quiet. And then you heard it, a soft knock, almost unnoticed.

You froze for a moment, fear and hope crashing into each other. Sliding off the bed, you padded to the door cautiously, the air cold against your skin. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked it, slowly pulling it open.

No one was there.

But your eyes dropped, catching sight of a bag of Chinese takeout sitting on the floor. A folded piece of paper was taped to it, the sight of her handwriting punching the air right out of your lungs.

“We’re gonna have to deal with that lyin’ shit.”

A sob ripped out of you before you could stop it, the sound breaking the silence of the empty apartment. Your hand clutched the note tightly as you bent down, grabbing the bag and pulling it inside.

The smell of food hit you as you set it on the counter, but that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. Tucked neatly inside, next to the containers of still warm lo mein and dumplings, was a perfectly rolled blunt.

Your fingers hovered over it for a moment, your mind racing. This was so her. A peace offering that wasn’t really peaceful. A way of saying she was still watching, still thinking of you, even if she wasn’t here.

You let out another shaky breath, your tears dripping onto the countertop as you sat down, staring at the bag. The note. The food. The blunt. It was all so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like a lifeline.

She was out there. Somewhere. And even though you were breaking apart inside, this tiny, messy gesture reminded you that she hadn’t completely let go.

You didn’t think twice. You grabbed the blunt, lit it, and took a deep pull, not caring that you were inside or that you hadn’t even cracked a window. The smoke filled your lungs, heavy and bitter, but it was better than the suffocating silence.

It didn’t take long for you to finish, the ash tray already sitting there like it had been waiting for this exact moment. But the buzz didn’t do much, it only slowed your thoughts, making the ache in your chest feel heavier, harder to carry.

And then the tears came again. Hot and relentless, streaming down your face as you sat slumped on the couch. The food was untouched, sitting cold on the counter, but you didn’t care. Time blurred into a haze of sobs and quiet hiccups, dragging until the clock hit 1 a.m.

The vibration of your phone jolted you, cutting through the fog. A FaceTime call. From her.

Your heart stuttered as you grabbed the phone, wiping at your tear-streaked face with trembling hands before answering. “V-Vi?” Your voice cracked, raw from all the crying, your eyes red and puffy as you stared at the screen.

She was in her SRT, the phone propped up on her dash. Her face was lit by the dim glow of the interior lights, and she did not look happy. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp, cutting through you like a blade.

“Set that phone up,” she said, her tone strict, no room for argument. “Lemme watch you eat that food.”

Her voice sent a jolt through you, sharp and commanding, and before you even realized it, your thighs clenched together, a warmth pooling between them. You swallowed hard, shame mixing with the spark of heat in your stomach, but you didn’t question her. You couldn’t.

You did as she said, propping your phone up on the counter with shaky hands. Her eyes were on you the whole time, unyielding, waiting.

“Eat,” she ordered.

You nodded, your movements stiff as you opened the takeout containers, the smell of the food hitting you again. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but under her gaze, you forced yourself to pick up the chopsticks, taking a small bite. Then another.

“That’s good, mama,” she murmured, her tone softening just enough to make your chest ache.

You didn’t say anything, just focused on chewing, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. But you couldn’t look away from the screen, from her, the way her presence felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you.

You knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But for now, she was here. Watching. Keeping you grounded in the only way she knew how.

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2025

[i-wanna-write]

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fanfic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Chapter Warnings: Violence, cutting, mentions of sex but no smut, ANGST, brief mention of rape but no details/descriptions

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: We’ve finally reached a movie!!!! This chapter doesn’t have much dialogue but moves the plot along!

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It’s been years since your intimate night with James. You recall it having been 1965 or ‘66 when you two finally gave into your instincts, sharing that night together.

He left a few days later, leaving to join the Vietnam war with Victor. It made you feel weird. You felt different knowing you wouldn’t run in to him. That you wouldn’t move and see him randomly in the woods, or at a gas station, or a bar.

Rather than dwelling on that thought for long, you fell back into a your old routine. Moving every 3 months, hunting for food, and reading. Only this time, you had soemthing to look forward to - the end of the war.

And It finally did end - in 1975. So your focus shifted to waiting for James to return. To looking forward to where your life would take you next, maybe James by your side.

Months though turned into years, and years turned into five. Now it’s 1980 and you haven’t seen James. It’s been about fifteen years and at this point, your night with James and all past run ins seem like a dream.

A year or two ago you found a cabin in Canada, secluded just how you like it. You were in town to stock up on food when you visited the library with the intent to steal some books. However, you somehow ended up with a job there.

The job allows you to be around the thing you love, and not interact with most people. You simply organize the books and put them away once they’ve been returned. You may have to answer the occasional question, but for the most part, you’re alone.

Just how you like it.

The library is quiet so you have no overwhelming sound. Not many people visit so you don’t have to fight your instincts. You can just be around what you love in silence.

Your days consist of work, reading, and watching the moon at night. Your cabin is secluded enough you are able to enjoy the silence of nature, no sounds of the city to bother you.

All that led you to now, partaking in your usual nightly routine. You’re currently sitting on the porch, whiskey in hand as you watch the moon rise into the sky. If you had to guess, it’s almost a full moon and you like thinking the animals will soon be noisier.

You take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. With your mutation you’ve come to understand through the years that another reason you love solitude is the smell. Being in cities and around others was never a pleasant aroma.

You take another breath when you catch a familiar scent. You immediately tense, feeling your heartrate begin to increase. Your mind has to be playing tricks on you.

It can’t be.

You haven’t smelt the familiar whiskey and cigar in so many years.

Your gaze moves from the moon to the tree line to the first floor when you see a familiar build. There standing, flannel donned with a bag slung over his shoulder, is James.

You rise, forgetting your whiskey and immediately running off the steps and towards him. He seemed to have the same thought as you meet in the middle. His bag dropping as you jump into his arms, legs hugging around his waist.

Your own arms are around his neck while his own hold you up by your ass. Your lips immediately find his and you moan on the contact.

They’re soft, tasting of tobacco and solely James. Your mouths move hastily against each other, neither of you able to get enough of the other. He presses his tongue into your mouth and you let him take over the kiss, content to just be in his presence.

The kiss ends all too soon but James doesn’t let you go. He allows your legs to drop form his waist but keeps his hands on your ass, keeping you close. Your head is tucked into his chest, his own resting on your head.

You’re both silent a moment, just relishing in being together again. His heart pounds strongly beneath your ear and you have to stop tears from falling. He’s finally here.

“Fuck I missed you sweetheart.” He whispers against you before placing a kiss on your head.

“Fifteen years James.” You mumble against his chest.

“I go by Logan now.” You pull away at that, looking into his brown eyes, eyes you missed so much l, as you arch an eyebrow.

You’re able to take him in. Though fifteen years has passed he still looks the same. His hairs is longer than before, tufts still on either side but more prominent. He has a few wrinkles and there seems to be bags under his eyes.

You frown at that, not knowing what he’s been through. You lower your hands from his neck, grabbing his to take them off you. You grab his right hand in your left.

“Come, I’ll make dinner and you can tell me anything you want.”

…

That night, after dinner and many moments together to try to make up for the past years, the two of you lay in bed, sweaty and naked. He shared with you how Victor and he fought in the war for a few years before Victor fucked it up.

Ever the narcisstic masgonist he is, he attempted to rape a vietnamese woman and killed a Senior officer who tried to stop him. This led to himself and Jam- Logan, being brought in front of a firing squad.

He shared how he and Victor were than imprisoned because the bullets obviously didn’t work. How they were approached by a man named William Stryker to join a team of mutants.

They took him up on the offer.

James decided to go by his biological father’s surname - Logan. You finally learned how Victor and James were half brothers - that they shared the same father. It was only revealed when Logan went through puberty, as his mutation showed itself and Victor, being older, already had the mutation.

He shared how, throughout his time with weapon X - the mutants team - it turned into something he didn’twant to be a part of. The other mutants on the team and Stryker himself were brutal. Viscous. They couldn’t control themselves and had no empathy for those they were after or can across. All this was what James was against.

So he left.

He finally left Victor.

In turn, you shared with him your time apart. Your job at the library and how you’ve lived in this cabin awhile now. You live a quiet life, not worrying about being found out or running to the next cabin.

You were almost happy there.

He of course teased you about ‘becoming domesticated’. How he was off using his instincts while you were the one who ignored them. How the two of you seemed to have switched.

But you tell Logan how he was always the piece missing. How you missed not hiding your true self and instincts like you did with him. How being with him, you didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel lonely.

So Logan settled in with you, getting a job as a local lumberjack, putting his flannels to use. You lived a quiet life together for six years. You both left each morning to go to work, returning for a quiet night of dinner, whiskey, and sex.

Until everything changed again.

…

Tonight you and Logan lay in bed naked, tangled in your sheets and drenched in sweat. You’re laying with your head on his chest, right arm playing with his chest ahir. One of his arms is around your waist, the other smoothing your hair back and forth, a cigar hanging from his lips.

You tried to stop him from smoking in bed but it was a losing battle. Besides, the scent of them became soothing to you and now helps you fall asleep everynight. That, and just knowing he’s here, safe and with you.

The only lights in the room are his cigar and the moon. The embers alight Logan’s face, showing his stubble that lines his jaw and his deep brown eyes. To you, he looks the most peaceful in moments like this.

Like he hasn’t fought in numerous wars, seen terrible things, done terrible things. It’s moments like this you cherish the most. You can both be yourself and not care about all the factors of the outside world.

Logan catches your eyes and gives you a quizzical look. “What?” He asks, cigar between his teeth.

“Nothing.” You say to him, continuing to just stare.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Just admiring your beauty.” You say, smiling brightly.

Logan chickles. “Smartass.” He says before taking the cigar from his mouth to place a kiss on your forehead.

You smile at the feeling, always feeling safe with him.

“Want to hear a story I read today.” You ask him.

He places the cigar back in his mouth, taking another drag. You watch as the smoke leaves his mouth, always amazed at how cool he makes it look. It’s funny that nothing can really kill him. So he may as well relish in the things the average human cannot do so often without the risk of cancer.

“What’d you read about today, sweetheat?” He places his hand back onto your hip, pulling you closer if possible.

“It’s about why the moon is so lonely.” You start, your voice soft. “It used to have a lover named Kuekuastheu and they walked the skies together. Everyone was jealous of the relationship but a spirit, Trickster was the most envious and planned to break the relationship.

He told Kuekuastheu that the moon wanted some wild roses from the normal world. So he went to get them, not knowing that once you leave the spirit world, you can never come back.

When Kuekuastheu returned he found out he couldnt re-enter. The moon was so sad so she got help from the sun to give her light power to her love. Keukuastheu asked the Master to turn into a wolf because when he went into the forest, he saw how harsh men were.

He saw how they cut a wolf to get its fur and eat it, so he chose a wolf to help them. He made people fear them and good came out of it, for whenever a wolf barred its teeth, it was a better option to run rather then hit or kill it.

But Keukuastheus still loves the moon so much that at night he goes to the cliff top and howls her name. For she can never be with him again.” You finish, a tear leaving your eye as you can’t imagine that kind of loss.

“You know what Keukuastheus means in the Native American language?” Logan whispers, looking you in your eye.

You shake your head. The sad fable did not reveal that.

“Wolverine.” Logan says.

You frown at that, suddenly not liking the symbolism. You don’t want to be his moon. He your Keukuastheus.

“Well, now it’s creepy and sad rather then romantic and sad.” You point out, a pout forming on your lips.

Logan snorts, shaking his head. He discards his cigar with his hand on your waist, stuffing it into the ashtray on his night stand. He then re-grabs your hip, pulling you half on top of him before lowering his head into your hair, giving your head one more kiss.

“It’s just a fable sweetheart, go to sleep.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe, happy, and not alone.

…

You're standing in your kitchen, making dinner for you and Logan. Another bright side of settling down near a town is frequent grocery shopping. You’d be lying if you said you missed hunting rabbit and deer as your source of daily protein.

You’re in the middle of seasoning some steaks, prepared to peal potatoes when the front door opens. A smile graces your face, surprised but happy Logan is home early.

“You’re home early.” You say, turning to face him.

Only it’s not Logan. Instead, it’s someone you havent seen in twenty years.

Victor.

“Sorry frail, figured you and I have some catchin’ up to do.” He says, walking closer to you.

You take in the man you loathed from the moment you met him. He still looks the same. Short hair on the top of his head with stubble lining his jaw. His canines are on full display, his claws grown on his hands which are at his side.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” You say, watching his every move, ready to fight if needed.

He continues to walk closer to you, looking around the place you’ve grown to call home. He slides his nails over the top of the couch, ripping it and you watch as the stuffing falls out. He moves closer to you and you take a step from the counter, knowing not to get yourself backed into a corner.

You watch as Victor leans his head up, nose flaring as he takes in the scent around him. He flashes you a smile. “Seems you and the runt might end up with some runts of your own based on the smell of this place.”

“What do you want Victor.” You say, arms crossed over your chest.

You know he’s not here for chit-chat. But you’ve ripped his throat out twice and you wont hesitate to do it a third.

Victor shrugs. “I mean, we’re practically family. Just wanna see how my little bro is treating his misses.”

“Cut the shit.” You snap, anger rising and teeth threatening to elongate. “I know what you’ve done the past years and I know sure as shit you’re not here to ‘catch up’.”

Victor smiles again, shaking his head. “Knew he didn’t like you just for your looks.” He crosses his own arms across his chest, mirroring you. “My… Colleague, has an interest in you. He wants a little meeting.”

You let out a laugh. “Not a chance in hell. And i suggest you fuck off before I make you.”

“I’m not sure, domestication seems to have made you soft.”

You growl at that, teeth elongated and claws growing. You know he’s bating you into a fight. You know he is. But your instincts are telling you to attack. To go for the throat. To finally make his heart stop beating.

Your instincts win out.

With a growl, you go to attack. Victor is just as ready. The two of you meet in the middle, his claws slicing into your shoulders while your own enter his stomach.

You grunt, pulling away and turning back to look at the man. He moves to attack again and you take the defensive, blocking the hit. You quickly turn, claws out and manage to slice his arm. He looks down at it, rage in his eyes before coming at you again, teeth bared.

He goes for your throat but you manage to get your own hand up, him taking a chunk out of your arm. You groan at the pain and grab the nearest thing, your potatoes peeler, and shred it down his face so he lets go.

You go to attack again as he’s momentarily distracted, swiping at his throat and managing to scratch him but not missing the jugular. Blood sprays your kitchen and you grab a chair, aiming to hit him. He quickly rips it out of your hands and growls.

He lands a punch to your face, your head going to the side and body flying back as you land on your on your ass and elbows. He rushes over to you but you move your legs, swiping his out from under him. This time he’s the one to land on his back and you quickly straddle him.

“Want to be with a real man?” He grunts to you, bucking up his hips.

You grimace in disgust and lean down, teeth aiming for his neck. They never get to make contact as he bucks again, this time with his hands on your hips and flip your position. His hands immediately find your neck and they enclose around them.

You feel your breathing cease and throat start to crush. You try to move you head up towards him, teeth bared to snap at his arms. Your hands are on his face, scratch any surface you can get but to no avail. He’s older, stronger, quicker, and more feral.

“Thanks for the rematch frail.” Victor says before you feel a pinch in your neck and everything goes dark.

…

“It’s amazing she isn’t already with child.” A voice calls you out of your unconsciousness.

You slowly open your eyes, the vision blurry before coming into view. You’re met with a room that looks like a hospital operation room, the scent of saline and disinfectant meeting your nose.

You look down to see you're in only a hospital gown. Your legs are spread open, knees and ankles strapped down. You let out a low growl, teeth and claws growing as you try to free your hands.

You hear a loud, fast beeping and hear someone speak. “She’s awake, sir.”

You try to look around for the noise but cannot see who spoke it.

“Fuckign Mutants, can’t do anything right. Give her another dose, I’m not done extracting yet.”

You have no idea what that means but know it’s not good. You immediately start to pull on the restraints, trying to free yourself. Soon though, you feel another prick in your neck and the world turns dark again.

…

The next time you awake the smell is the exact opposite of the first time. It's the stench of body odor, feces, and blood. You slowly open your eyes to see you’re in a cell laying on a dirty cot.

You immediately rise to your feet only for them to collapse, not able to hold your weight. You slowly stand back up, moving to sit on the edge of the cot.

You look around to notice the room is dark, only one window outside of the cell and in the hall. The cell itself having no window of its own. It consists of only the cot and a bucket in the corner.

Next you move back to your sense of smell, already covering the stenches. You can make out two unfamiliar scents and nothing else. You allow your ears to strain, hearing two separate heartbeats and breaths.

“Hello?” You call out, noticing your voice is hoarse.

“New girl, that you?” A voice calls from your right.

“I guess.” You reply, hand reaching out to rub along your throat as if to soothe the hoarseness.

“They’ve had you sedated for a month. Never saw someone fight as hard.” The voice from your left calls.

Your mind swirls You have no idea where you are. You don’t remember anything that has been done to you. Moments like this you’re grateful but also upset that you have your regenerative ability. You have no idea what has been done to you.

That thought scares you.

“Where are we?” You question.

“A facility they experiment on mutants.” the voice says angrily.

Great. Of course fucking Victor would drop you off here. Your mind thinks to Logan, wondering where he is. If he’s looking for you. If he thinks you’re dead.

You know that when he returned home he saw a blood massacre in the cabin. He probably would have smelt Victor as well as yourself, knowing the two of you fought. The question is, what did Victor do to him once Logan found him?

You don’t have time to think more on that, as an alarm is sounded throughout the hall. You rise, your legs cooperating this time and watch as your cell opens. You rush out, seeing that the two on either side of you are just kids, no older then the age of fifteen.

“Damn!” the boy on your left shouts. “You look like shit.”

You glance down, noticing that you’re in a half ripped shirt and dirty sweatpants. You see that you cell neighbors, the other a girl, are dressed in clean white t-shirts and sweats. Looks like you didn’t get any special treatment.

You lift your head, listening for any sound or smell of someone else. You hear feet moving from outside your hall, following them and smelling they’re all the same as the children next to you. Mutants running towards freedom.

“Come on,” you tell them, turning to your right. “Outside is this way.”

“How do you know?” the girl questions, looking scared.

You tap your nose with your finger, then repeat it to one of you ears. “My mutation.”

You then start running towards the hallway exit, knowing they’ll follow you. You open the locked door easily with your strength, looking out to see more teenagers running in the direction you suspected.

You allow your neighbors to go first before following, running along with the kids. You look around and notice this hallway is just a stretch with doors on either side, you’re assuming housing cells like the one you were just in.

You continue to run, noticing how there are staff on the floor, dead. You hold no ill feelings towards that, happy to just be out of this hell hole where you don’t even remember what you went through.

Soon, sunlight reaches your eyes and you soon exit the facility, grass under your bearfeet. You watch as the children are guided on to a jet, a woman dressed in black ushering them in.

You want answers. You want to know where Logan is, what happened to him. Where Victor is. You wouldn’t mind tearing out his throat, for good this time.

Deciding to not follow the others, you turn to walk towards the tree line. You’ve survived in the woods numerous of times and you know you can do it again. Your plan of action is to find out where you are, get home, then find Logan if he’s not there.

A hand suddenly stops you, causing you to turn and ready to fight. Having grabbed you is a man also dressed in black, similar to that of the woman. He’s wearing sunglasses and is tall, probably six feet with broad shoulders.

“Where are you going, jet’s this way.” The man says, his hand now on your own.

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. “To get answers.” you say, not owing this man anything.

“Revenge wont get you anything.” The man says, trying to persuade you to come with him.

You shoot him a smile, all teeth elonged and claws grown.

“I’m the Jackal. I can get anything.”

You then turn your back to the man, continuing to walk to the treeline.

…

After escaping the facility, you found out you were still in Canada and only about two hundred miles from your home. You stayed moving in the woods for a week, hunting and gathering your strength.

Afterwards, you found a nearby cabin that was empty but lived in. You broke in, helped yourself to a shower and change of clothes before packing a bag of food and leaving. You trekked through the woods for another week, allowing your scent of smell to guide you back home.

Finally you reached it, noticing how it looked run down. You immediately ran in to see the aftermath of your fight with Victor from a month ago. Blood was all over the kitchen cabinets, piles on the floor. The couch was torn apart, the kitchen table broken.

You walked into your bedroom, seeing the room the same as when you were last there. You sat down on the bed, the scent of Logan lingering.

Tears suddenly gathered in your eyes and you let out a sob as they continued to fell. You were angry. So angry. How Victor could come in and take you. How you were able to let yourself be taken and experimented on.

You were frustrated. Confused. You had no idea what has happened to you the past month and frustrated you couldn’t remember. One of the kids said you were sedated for a month and you cannot imagine what happened during that time.

You were sad. Sad for all those kids that undergone something that you might’ve. That they were just different and that meant they could be taken and experimented on.

But most of all you were sad cause you lost Logan again. You had Logan for six years, you were finally normal, not different. But it all had to go and change. And you have no idea where he is or what happened to him.

It seemed you really were the moon, and Logan Kuekuastheu.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa

A/N: I cannot find where I found a fuller version of the Moon and the Wolverine story. I hope I did it justice.

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: I decided to post another Austin fic I've been playing with for a little while. This is a set up chapter for the story and hopefully you guys enjoy it. The romance will begin soon :)

Chapter 1: Anchors and Aspirations

The icy wind bit through Violet's thin shawl as she maneuvered through the bustling market square, her gray eyes flitting from stall to stall. With the stealth of a seasoned thief, she slipped a hand into a basket, withdrawing a bruised apple before anyone noticed. At her heart, there was no love for thievery, but survival in the grim alleys of Victorian England left little room for scruples. As she tucked the stolen fruit into the folds of her dress, a shadow loomed over her. Her heart caught in her throat. She turned slowly, only to see Mr. Clarence Johnson, a local shopkeeper known for his scrupulous eye and unforgiving nature.

“Miss Everly,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft, his gaze not on the stolen apple but on her face. “You look more worn than usual. Are you unwell?”

Violet tensed. Clarence Johnson was an uncommon figure in their decrepit part of town; his presence alone suggested he was either lost or up to something far beyond her understanding.

“I am just fine, sir,” Violet replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “Just tending to some errands for my father.”

“Aye,” he nodded slowly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“But you needn’t resort to pilfering for your sustenance,” he continued, glancing at where the apple had disappeared into her dress. “There are other ways, Miss Everly, ways that do not risk your slender neck at the gallows.”

Violet stiffened, her hand instinctively clutching the fabric over the apple. The threat of the law was always a ghost that haunted her every step in these streets. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson, but I assure you, I manage as best I can.”

Clarence surveyed her with those discerning eyes that missed little. “Your father,” he began, his voice dropping to a softer timbre, “he does little to provide, am I right?”

The accusation stung because it was true, yet Violet felt a surge of defiance. “He is my father still,” she said coldly, daring him with her gaze to speak ill of the man despite his failures.

Clarence sighed digging into one of his pockets and pulling out a few coins. He handed it to Violet. “Go buy the apple, girl. It would be a shame to see you hang for a fruit.” A trace of regret flitted across his features. “Miss Everly, I—” He paused, seeming to choose his next words with care. “I find myself in need of a reliable assistant at my shop. Someone keen and observant. Your... talents could be put to better use than thievery.”

Violet's heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage at the offer. Employment from Mr. Clarence Johnson was an unexpected lifeline, a beacon in her relentless sea of struggles. Yet, mistrust curled inside her like a dormant snake. Why would a man of his standing offer her, a known petty thief, an opportunity?

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Johnson," Violet started cautiously, her voice a low murmur as she glanced around the bustling market to ensure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. "But why would you trust someone like me in your establishment? You know very well my... activities."

Clarence's eyes softened, hinting at a depth that Violet hadn't noticed before. “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, Miss Everly. I’ve watched you, not just today but many times. You’re quick, smart, and despite your current... enterprise,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, “you have morals. You steal only what you need and no more.”

He was right—Violet never took more than necessary to survive. Her actions were driven by desperation, not greed. The acknowledgment of that fact from Clarence Johnson stirred something akin to hope within her chest.

"Consider it," he urged gently as he started to turn away, leaving the coins in her palm.

Violet watched Clarence's retreating figure, the coins heavy in her hand like the sudden possibility they represented. In a world that had offered little but hard edges and cold shoulders, the warmth of an unexpected offer ignited a flicker of daring in her spirit. She could almost taste the promise of stability, a stark contrast to the bitter tang of pilfered fruit and the relentless ache of uncertainty. Still, Violet knew better than to leap without looking. Her life had taught her the sharp lessons of betrayal and disappointment too well. As she moved away from the market square, her mind raced with both the perils and prospects of Clarence Johnson's proposal. Could she truly step into the light of legitimate work without the shadows of her past pulling her back? And more pressingly, what did Clarence see in her that others didn't? Was it pity, a calculated gamble, or perhaps something more personal?

As she wandered through the alleys, her route took her instinctively towards home—a term used loosely for the cramped, dingy room she shared with her father. The door creaked ominously as she pushed it open, revealing Edward Everly slumped over a table littered with empty bottles. The stench of stale liquor and despair hung thick in the air. Violet's entrance went unnoticed by her father, his consciousness lost to the depths of another drunken stupor. She stood there a moment, her gaze hardening as she took in the sight of his decrepit form. This was the life she was born into, one suffocated by poverty and neglect, a stark reminder of what awaited her if nothing changed.

With a soft sigh, she stepped over the threshold, her boots echoing softly on the bare wooden floor. The coins still clenched in her hand felt like both a promise and a burden. She walked past her father, careful not to disturb his fitful slumber, and seated herself on the small, worn-out chair near the cold fireplace. Here in the dim light of their one-room abode, Violet allowed herself a moment to think. Mr. Clarence Johnson’s offer was tempting—an escape from this life of constant desperation. Yet doubt gnawed at her; trust was a luxury she could scarcely afford. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden groan from across the room. Edward Everly stirred, his eyelids fluttering open only to squint at his surroundings in befuddled drunkenness.

"Violet?" he slurred, his voice soaked with alcohol and confusion.

"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, steadying her voice to hide the tumult inside.

"What are you doing, sitting there like a lost soul? No food again?" His voice was rough, accusatory, as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her.

Violet's hand tightened around the coins, the metal biting into her palm. She considered telling him about the job offer, about the possibility of change, but the words died on her lips. Her father's unpredictable temper and his disdain for any sign of ambition or hope outside his own distorted view discouraged any such revelations. Instead, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her dress with a practiced motion. "I'll get us something to eat," she said, her tone neutral. "Rest now. You need it."

Edward grunted in response, collapsing back onto the table with a weary thud. Violet turned away, feeling the weight of responsibility press down on her once more. As she stepped out into the waning light of day, the coins still in her grasp represented more than mere currency; they were a test of her courage and resolve.

The streets outside whispered with the voices of dusk—traders packing up their stalls, children playing before they were called in for supper, men heading towards the pubs for their evening respite. Violet moved through them like a shadow, unnoticed yet sharply attentive. She made her way to the tiny store at the corner of the street, its windows dimly lit and shelves sparsely stocked. Mrs. Bauble, the elderly proprietor, looked up from her knitting as Violet entered, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion and then softening as she recognized the young woman.

"Back again, Violet?" Mrs. Bauble asked, setting aside her knitting. Her voice was raspy yet carried a warmth that was often absent in their bleak surroundings.

"Yes, Mrs. Bauble," Violet replied, approaching the counter with the coins still tight in her grip. "A loaf of bread and whatever meat you can spare for this."

Mrs. Bauble eyed the coins and then Violet, a knowing look crossing her features. "Trouble or fortune, my dear? Those coins look heavy with one or the other."

Violet offered a small, weary smile. "Perhaps a bit of both," she confessed softly.

The old woman nodded as if she understood all too well the dual nature of sudden opportunities. She turned to gather the requested items, wrapping them carefully before handing them over to Violet. "Be cautious, child. Fortune's favor is a fickle friend," she advised, her wrinkled hand briefly squeezing Violet's.

Violet nodded, feeling the weight of the old woman's words sink into her heart. "I will, thank you, Mrs. Bauble," she murmured, taking the small parcel with a sense of gratitude mixed with trepidation. As she left the store, the cool evening air brushed against her face, whispering possibilities that both exhilarated and terrified her. The walk back home was a quiet one, filled with the sounds of her own footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and the distant laughter of children not yet called to their suppers. Violet's mind spun with thoughts of Mr. Clarence Johnson’s proposal. It was a chance to step away from the shadowy margins of survival into something resembling a normal life. But at what cost? Could she really leave behind the streets that had taught her everything about resilience and distrust just as easily?

The uncertainty churned inside her as she approached the door of her humble abode once more. Violet paused, hand on the latch, feeling the divide between her current life and the one that might await her with Clarence Johnson. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, soft and encouraging, urging her to take a chance for a better future. Yet, the haunting memories of past betrayals loomed large, making her hesitate. Resolutely, Violet pushed open the door, stepping back into the shadowed confines of the room she shared with her father. Edward Everly was now snoring loudly, lost in an alcoholic haze that seemed to provide him the only peace he knew. Violet set down the small parcel of food on the shaky table and took a moment to look at him. Despite everything, he was still her father, and a pang of compassion tempered her longstanding resentment.

Quietly she unpacked the bread and meat, setting aside a portion for herself before preparing a smaller plate for Edward when he would inevitably awaken. Her actions were mechanical, performed with little thought as her mind wrestled with larger concerns. She knew that accepting Clarence’s offer would mean more than just changing jobs; it would mean stepping into an unknown world, risking exposure and vulnerability in ways she hadn't before.

Later, as darkness enveloped the room and the flickering candle cast long shadows across the peeling walls, Violet sat with her thoughts, tracing the outline of the bread with her fingers. The sense of impending change weighed heavily on her. It wasn't just the prospect of leaving behind the familiar, suffocating squalor that gnawed at her; it was also stepping into a realm so vastly different from anything she had known. What if she was unprepared for the challenges? What if she failed?

As these doubts swirled in her mind, Edward stirred from his stupor, his movements sluggish as he adjusted to the dim light. He squinted at the plate set before him and then up at Violet, a rare flicker of confusion crossing his usually indifferent gaze.

"Did you fetch this, Violet?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," she replied quietly, watching him closely.

He took a piece of meat and chewed slowly. For a moment, there was silence between them—a silence filled with unspoken words and stifled dreams.

"Why do you stay?" Edward's question came unexpectedly. His eyes, clearer now, fixed on her with an intensity that made her flinch slightly.

Violet paused, her breath catching in her throat. It was not like Edward to show interest in her choices or her life. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with implications that Violet had long avoided. She searched for an answer that could appease both her father and her own restless heart. "I stay because this is my home," she replied quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "And because you are here."

Edward snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him as he looked around the decrepit room that barely served as a shelter. "This? This is no home, Violet. It's a prison. You're young still. You shouldn't be shackled by my failures."

His words, so starkly honest, struck Violet with unexpected force. It was rare for Edward to acknowledge his own shortcomings so openly or to express concern for her well-being. This glimpse of the man he might once have been—before grief and vice had reshaped him into the figure he now presented—left her momentarily speechless.

"You could leave, find a better life. Isn't there anyone...?" His voice trailed off, his question unfinished but clear.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest as she considered her father's words. They echoed the very thoughts that haunted her nightly dreams—the possibility of a life beyond these walls, a chance at happiness that seemed so tantalizing yet so remote. But the thought of leaving her father in this state, as wretched as it was, tugged at her conscience. "There might be," she admitted softly, allowing herself to think of Clarence Johnson once more. His offer had been genuine, filled with promises of respect and a new beginning. Yet, the weight of her current reality shackled her ambitions.

"But I fear what leaving would mean for you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edward scoffed, looking away from her piercing gaze. "Don't make an anchor out of me, Violet. I'm already drowning." His voice was gruff, edged with the harsh self-awareness that alcohol sometimes brought to his lips.

Violet swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears she refused to shed. Her father’s usual indifference made his moments of clarity all the more painful for their rarity and raw honesty.

"I need to think on it," she finally said, standing up and moving towards the small window that overlooked the dim alleyway below. There, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to draw strength from the night itself. The tangled streets of London sprawled out before her—so familiar and yet suddenly brimming with the promise of escape. Her heart fluttered at the thought, a wild bird caged by years of oppression and fear.

Inside, Edward shifted uneasily in his chair, watching her silhouette framed against the weak moonlight that dribbled through the grimy window. For a moment, he seemed about to speak again, perhaps to retract his harsh truths or to further encourage her departure. But no words came; instead, he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes of his resignation to life's cruel turns.

Violet remained at the window long after her father's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. Her thoughts were tumultuous waves crashing against the shore of her resolve. Clarence’s proposal was not merely an employment offer; it was an invitation to step into a world where she could perhaps wash away the stains of her past and emerge reborn. It promised safety, respectability, and above all, an identity unchained from the degradation that had colored her life. Yet, her father’s words haunted her: "Don’t make an anchor out of me." Could she really leave him here, adrift in the haze of his vices, or was it her duty to stay and prevent him from sinking deeper into despair? The weight of decision seemed insurmountable, anchoring her to this moment of indecision.

Violet pressed her cheek against the cool pane, the glass fogging slightly with each exhaled breath. Outside, the labyrinthine alleys of London whispered secrets of escape and adventure, but also murmured warnings of betrayal and hardship. Each whisper tugged at her soul, a symphony of opportunity and fear mingling in the night air. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise behind her. Turning slightly, she saw Edward shifting again in his chair, his face etched with lines of discomfort and regret. For a fleeting second, she saw not the man who had failed her but rather the father who had once held dreams and aspirations beyond the confines of their dreary existence. The weight of his words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their shared struggles and the unspoken bond that tied them together.

Drawing in a deep breath, Violet stepped away from the window. The cool air had not offered solace nor had it stiffened her resolve. If anything, it had only deepened her turmoil. Walking over to the flickering candle, she snuffed it out with a quick pinch, plunging the room into darkness. She navigated through the black with practiced ease, her every step whispering against the wooden floor. Reaching her modest bedding in the corner, she lay down without changing, drawing the thin blanket up to her chin. The darkness was not just a physical veil but also a metaphor for the uncertainty that clouded her future. As she lay there, her mind continued to race, replaying her earlier conversation with her father, weighing each word, each pause.

As sleep eventually claimed her in its restless embrace, Violet dreamt of vast oceans and endless horizons—a world away from the cramped confines of their decrepit home. In her dreams, the ocean was a deep blue, not the murky grey of London's foggy mornings. She stood on the deck of a ship, the wind tugging at her hair and billowing her threadbare dress like a sail. This was a freedom she had never known, unshackled from the burdens of her father's failures and the oppressive weight of their squalid existence.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

[leovenuslatina]

Dear you 💖

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

a love letter from your fs 💝

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

psa - this PAC is a little different this is more a channeled message than a tarot reading enjoy!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

* take a deep cleansing breathe

and pick a pile that calls to you *

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 1

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile one, I am absolutely thrilled to express my utter joy and excitement at the mere thought of being in your presence. It feels like an exhilarating adventure filled with endless possibilities. When I am with you, time seems to stand still as we embark on an enchanting journey of love and inspiration. Your warmth and comfort embrace me like a cozy blanket, providing solace to my weary soul. Every moment spent together is cherished, as we create unforgettable memories and share the deepest of conversations. Your companionship brings out the best version of myself, igniting a flame within that cannot be extinguished. In your delightful company, I find solace, encouragement, and a sense of belonging that surpasses all expectations. Pile one, you are my safe haven where happiness thrives and dreams come alive – and for that, I am eternally grateful.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 2

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Oh "Dear Pile Two, You Complete Me" - how you fill my life with joy and clutter! As I gaze upon your haphazardly stacked papers, misplaced knick-knacks, and random odds and ends, I can't help but feel an inexplicable sense of fulfillment. You are like the missing puzzle piece to my organized chaos. Who needs a meticulously tidy workspace when they can have the delightful chaos of a well-curated pile? From bills that need paying (eventually) to notes scribbled on Post-it's, you hold the irreplaceable treasures of my forgetful mind. Sure, some may scoff at your seemingly disorderly nature, but little do they know the hidden wisdom within your disarray. So here's to you, oh magnificent dear pile two - although your tidiness might be questionable, your charm is unmatched.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 3

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile 3, it's only you and me against the world. As I stand here, overlooking the vastness of our existence, I can't help but feel the weight of the universe pressing down upon us. It is in this moment that I realize the magnitude of our relationship, for within your embrace lies all that we hold dear. The world may attempt to tear us apart, but we shall prevail. Our bond is forged through the trials and tribulations we have faced together; a stronghold against adversity. As the tempest rages around us, threatening to consume all that we hold sacred, know that I am steadfast by your side. Our unity imbues me with an unwavering strength; no longer alone in this tumultuous journey through life's torrential storms. Together, pile 3, we defy fate and conquer uncertainty as champions of love and resilience.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 4

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear Pile 4, you are my perfect person. The mere thought of your existence fills me with an indescribable mix of joy and longing. Every fiber of my being yearns for your touch, for the sound of your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear. In this chaotic world, you are the anchor that keeps me grounded, the lighthouse that guides me through stormy waters. Your presence brings clarity to my thoughts and purpose to my existence. From the deepest depths of my soul, I believe that we were destined to be together - two halves of a whole seeking solace in each other's arms. Yet, fate continues to test our resolve, placing seemingly insurmountable obstacles in our path. But fear not, for I shall endure any hardship and surmount every challenge to be by your side. For you, dear Pile 4, are worthy of every sacrifice and every drop of blood spilled in this epic battle against destiny itself.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

[notthefirstfallenangel]

Memories IV

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, amnesia

Summary: You had your memory wiped after a messed-up mission. All that you remember is your childhood and fragmented glimpses of your teenage and adult years. Poor Simon, your would-be hubby, is left to pick up the pieces when you can't even recall his existence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I know the fandom has been going through a tough time lately, and I just wanted to remind you to take care of yourself, especially your mental health. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. Stay strong! ❤️

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

The blood-red sun sank slowly below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the world. The sky was a tapestry of oranges and purples, fading into blue and black as night began to creep in. You stood at the entrance of your home, feeling strange tingles in your chest as you paused on the threshold. Simon was behind you, his tall frame blocking out what little light remained outside and casting a long shadow across the front hall.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You stood there, unable to move. You felt like your limbs were made of lead and rooted to the spot. Your mind was a tempest of emotions; you were grateful to be free from the hospital walls, but deep down, terror lurked. Nervous anticipation rose inside as you feared what truth lay ahead about yourself that could shatter the delicate mirrors of your own reflection.

Simon seemed to sense your hesitation and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright, love?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded slowly, staring into his dark eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him. Simon had been by your side every step of the way, watching as you slowly pieced your life back together. He had been there for every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every setback and triumph.

He had remained a constant in your life, a source of strength and support when you needed it most.

You slowly turned to face him as Simon’s hand remained on your shoulder. You looked up at his face, illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room, and took in his sharp features. His jawline was chiselled, and his eyes were piercing, exuding a sense of confidence and ease that you found reassuring. You felt a sudden urge to lean in and kiss him, to feel his lips on yours and forget about the world outside. But instead, you stepped back and shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I’m okay, thank you. It’s just strange... being back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon nodded in understanding, his hand still on your shoulder, and gestured for you to follow him into the living room. You walked past him, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own, and took in your surroundings.

After months in the sterile hospital room, everything felt surreal now that you finally got to come home. The world outside looked different as if it had changed in some way while you were confined to the hospital bed. You felt a sense of trepidation as you took in the sights and sounds of the city around you. It was all so overwhelming, so unfamiliar. You didn’t know how to navigate this new world without your memories. But as you stepped inside the house, a sense of comfort washed over you. The scent of lavender furniture polish wafted from within the house, helping to ease the tension in your body.

Simon placed your bags down with a thud like an anchor being dropped from his shoulders. He seemed to sense your unease and gently steered you towards the living room. The familiar surroundings filled you with warmth and peace, and for a brief moment, everything felt just right.

The living room was bathed in soft light, its walls lined with framed photos and paintings, some of which seemed vaguely familiar. You began to explore them, feeling an odd mixture of surprise and recognition as your gaze swept across each face in turn. Some were of Simon and you together, others were friends you had no recollection of. Yet still, something about them made your heart feel warm.

As you studied the photographs, Simon watched quietly as if waiting for you to come to some realisation. But the memories remained just beyond your reach. You could almost taste the bittersweet nostalgia on your lips, yet nothing solid materialised.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you let your fingers brush over the frames, tracing the outlines of the people in the photographs as if trying to remember them.

You stopped at one picture, a group photo of Simon, you, and several others at what appeared to be a night of celebrations. Everyone was smiling and laughing, their faces filled with joy. You looked at each person in the photo, trying to place them in your memory, but nothing came to mind.

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing to the group in the photograph.

Simon came over to stand beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “These are your teammates— our teammates. The ones who’ve got your back in the field and in the mess. They’re family.”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember them,” you said with a hint of frustration. 

Simon placed a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. “It’s, uh, it’s alright, love. You’ll remember soon enough. Take your time. It’ll come to you, alright? So no need to be too anxious.”

But will I really? You wondered silently to yourself.

With a sigh, you turned away from the wall and towards Simon with an uncertain smile.

You noticed that he had changed out of his usual hoodie and was wearing a black leather jacket with a white shirt, looking more put-together than usual, as if he was trying to impress you. The tattoos on his forearm peeked out from under the sleeves of his jacket, adding to his edgy persona.

He frantically spent the day before scrubbing and scouring the house until it shone in perfect preparation for your long-awaited arrival. He felt like a nervous teenager on his first date, desperate to make a good impression. But he knew that this was different. This was about making you feel at home, helping you regain a sense of familiarity in a world that had become so foreign.

You turned to look at another photo, this time of Simon and you with a dog. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and your eyes lit up as you remembered the dog’s name.

“That’s Riley!” you exclaimed, feeling a slight sense of victory in finally remembering something.

“Riley! Here, boy!” you called.

But there was no barking, no sound of paws running across the floor. The house was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own breathing.

Simon’s expression turned grave as he looked at you, his hand still resting on your back.

“No, that, uh...Love,” Simon he said softly.” He... He passed, somethin’ like years ago.”

Your heart sank at Simon’s words, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt a sense of overwhelming loss, as if a part of you had died with the dog. You tried to remember the last time you had seen Riley. Still, the memory was elusive, like a dream that faded upon waking.

Simon saw the tears in your eyes and stepped forward to wrap you in a tight hug. You breathed him in, the smell of his cologne mixed with something else, something comforting like home.

You attempt to grasp at Riley’s memory, but your mind is foggy, and all you can recall is a faint trace of his affection. The anguish seizes you as you try to imagine the days spent together, playing fetch in the park and snuggling up on the couch, but all that remains are empty spots in your heart and mind. Burying your face in Simon’s chest, a harsh truth crashed down on you: You couldn’t even grieve properly because you didn’t remember the moments that connected you and Riley.

Simon’s stomach churned with guilt as he watched you suffer the same agony of Riley’s loss all over again. He had been so busy trying to make everything perfect for your return that he failed to factor in how hard it would be for you to come to terms with what had been taken away. Yet, despite the sorrow and regret, a glimmer of optimism flickered in his chest that perhaps you’d find the strength to remember even more. But for now, Simon knew you needed space and time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

As the two of you stood there in silence, lost in your thoughts, Simon’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it calmed the storm raging inside you.

When Simon finally pulled away, he gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna spring that on you.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the loss. “It’s okay,” you said. It wasn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No, not now,”

Simon nodded, his gaze softening. “Alright... listen ‘ere, love. You have been eatin’ those crappy hospital meals. You wanna get something new in your body and your system, yeah?” he said gently as his fingers brushed against yours in a comforting gesture.” I’ll cook somethin’ proper. You’re gonna love it.”

You nodded in agreement, not having the energy to argue. It had been a while since you’d had a home-cooked meal, and the hospital food left a lot to be desired. You followed Simon into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cozy space. It was small but had everything you needed, including a small dining table and chairs. The countertops were cluttered with various kitchen appliances and utensils, but everything was clean and tidy.

Simon rummaged through the fridge and pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves for something to cook.

As he gathered the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, you watched him move around the kitchen with ease. There was something about the way he moved, with such grace and purpose, that made you feel drawn to him. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he wanted.

You noticed how his muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he chopped vegetables, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of attraction in your chest. You almost felt guilty for feeling this way about a man you didn’t remember. You knew you two were engaged, but it felt strange to be drawn to someone you had no recollection of. Being with Simon felt familiar, like coming home even though you couldn’t remember why. It was as if your body recognised him before your mind did.

The hospital breakdown was a pivotal moment in your relationship, and it seemed you two had struck a deal.

And yet, even though your memory didn’t seem any clearer, there was still a sense that your outlook had changed.

You seemed more vulnerable, more reliant on him for comfort and guidance. The barriers and walls you used to keep him away with were crumbling, and the two of you were starting to form a real connection.

This is progress, Simon told himself, hopefully. This is an improvement.

Simon felt both terrified and excited by this newfound closeness. He was scared to get too close too soon, scared of the pain of rejection if your memory did return and you chose not to stay with him. But at the same time, he could feel himself falling even deeper in love with every passing moment.

He wanted to give you some space, but his heart ached for yours.

You wished there was some way to go back in time and remember who you used to be together—but there just wasn’t. You didn’t know how to be the person Simon remembered, and that scared you. You wanted more than anything to make him happy, but it felt like no matter what you did or said, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

After dinner, he showed you the bedroom. The room was simple but elegant, with a queen-sized bed in the centre and a large window overlooking the backyard. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bedding was white and fluffy, inviting you to sink in and drift off to sleep.

“I...I don’t want to take your bed.”

Simon smiled warmly at you. “It’s our bed, alright?” he said, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I ain’t gonna fight you over who needs to sleep where. I have a couch; lemme sleep on it.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping on the couch?”

Simon shook his head, his hand still holding yours. “Look, love. We’re both tired here. I want to take care of ya and make sure you’re comfortable. So, you don’t gotta fight, and I ain’t gonna be arguing, or I’m gonna have to tie you down, and force a sleep mask over your eyes, yeah?”

“Okay, Okay,” you laughed. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Simon leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Alright, you rest up. I’ll see ya in the morning,” he said before turning to leave the room. 

You watched him go, feeling a sense of longing wash over you. You wished you could remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his touch and his love.

Laying in bed, the day’s events replayed in your mind like a movie reel. The memory of Riley’s passing still weighed heavily on your heart. Still, there was something else tugging at the edges of your consciousness. It was like watching a horror movie with the sound turned down low; you could sense fear and trepidation from the dimly lit scenes playing out before you, but you couldn’t make out any details.

Your heart raced as you tried to piece together the fragments of this unknown memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving you even more frightened than before.

You tried to sleep, but deep in your chest, you felt the beginnings of fear build. You turned over and over again in bed, growing more agitated by the minute. The shadows on the wall from the lamp beside it stretched out like malevolent spirits that wanted nothing more than for you to be afraid. Nothing to see here, they would say as they writhed and clawed at you with their formless hands, almost touching you before receding back into the darkness. Your feet move slowly through the darkness. The floor is cold under your feet as you step lightly through this unfamiliar place that once was your house.

“Damn it,” you said, the fear in your voice palpable in the silent room. You reached for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and flooding the room with light. The shadows scattered, leaving nothing but the familiar sight of the bedroom. You took deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart.

It was just a nightmare, you told yourself. It’s just a silly, irrational fear.

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Something was lurking in your subconscious that you couldn’t quite grasp but knew was there. Something that made your skin crawl and your heart race.

You got out of bed, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor.

Your feet move slowly through the darkness, the floor creaking beneath your weight. You move towards the door, your hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. As you turn it, the door swings open with a low groan, revealing the dark hallway beyond.

Your heart thunders as you take the first step into the hallway. The darkness seems to encroach on you, swallowing up the light from the bedroom. You take another step forward, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. You could hear the light snoring coming from Simon on the couch, but it didn’t bring you any comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking in the darkness waiting for you.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the darkness consuming everything in its path. You felt like you were walking through a nightmare, one that you couldn’t escape from. You tried to call out for Simon, but your voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Suddenly, you heard a sound from down the hallway. It was faint, but it was there. A soft whisper, calling out your name.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t see anything, but you could feel a presence in the darkness. You could feel its breath on your neck, its fingers brushing against your skin.

You turned around and ran towards the couch where Simon was sleeping when you saw a figure emerge from the shadows. It was a woman, her face twisted in a grotesque grin.

You could feel your feet sinking into the ground as if the floor was swallowing you whole.

You tried to scream, but the darkness choked your voice. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were sure it would burst out of your ribcage. And then, suddenly, the darkness lifted, like a veil being lifted from your eyes.

Just a dream, a nightmare that left you gasping for breath as you sat in bed. Your heart still raced, and your skin was slick with sweat.

You looked around the room, relieved to see that it was just a dream. But the feeling of terror lingered, its tendrils wrapping around your heart and refusing to let go.

You slid out of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and you needed to shake it off.

You moved quietly to the living room, past the vase of flowers on the table, their petals soft and pliable beneath your fingers.

Simon lay asleep on the couch near the window, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the blinds. You approached him, hovering over his still form like a guardian angel. The outline of his face was sharp yet softened by shadows; you could see the rise and fall of his chest under the comforter he had kicked off while sleeping. As you considered waking him, his eyes fluttered open.

“you good?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

You jumped, startled by his sudden awakening.

“Oh, I’m... nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to come out here for a bit.”

Simon frowned, his eyes dark with concern.

“C’mere,” he said, lifting the edge of the comforter. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea, but the weight of loneliness was too much to bear. As you nestled closer, his arms wound around you, and the press of his chest at your back reassured you that everything would be alright. His breath on the nape of your neck mingled with the scent of lavender fabric softener, and his heartbeat against your spine slowed to match your own. His touch calmed your racing mind until all that remained were the gentle brushstrokes of his fingertips along your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle in the darkened room.

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears, but then decided to tell him. “I had a nightmare,” you said softly, feeling embarrassed.

“You want to-?”

“No,” you stopped him. You didn’t want to talk about it, not wanting to relive the terror of the nightmare.

He didn’t push it. “Okay... If you have that nightmare again, I’ll kick that thing’s arse, I will. Now, close your eyes. You need your sleep, darlin’.” his voice was low and soothing.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his protectiveness and felt a sense of security as he pulled you closer to him.

“Sweet dreams, okay? And close those eyes of yours, dear,” he murmured, kissing your head.

You smiled, and soon, with the warmth of his body next to yours, you fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of a shushed argument coming from the front door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented.

You got up from the couch and walked towards the front door, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. As you got closer, you could hear the muffled voices growing louder.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should interfere, but curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you pushed the door open, and sunlight streamed through the opening, flooding the dark living room.

“Go away. Now.” Simon said, his voice ringing with anger, “I swear to bloody god, I’ll break your fakin’ nose.”

He was a silhouette in the murky morning light, feet planted firmly as he stood before an unfamiliar figure. His shoulders were tense, and a single bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His face was concealed by the usual black balaclava that melded seamlessly into his dark clothing.

The other man seemed taken aback by Simon’s outburst. Still, he quickly regained his composure and stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim light.

“C’mon, I just want to see ‘er”.

The Scottish lilt pierced through the thick silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine.

Like an electric shock, you felt a sudden jolt of energy as images of the past suddenly emerged from the fog of amnesia. Images, sounds, and conversations flooded your mind as fragments of memories all clicked into place, and you remembered him.

“Soap?”

Tags: @8sy-errah8 @yyiikes @spencerreidisbae123 @oranoyaora @sae1kie @originaldeerhottub @cr4shposts @caramlizedtomatoes  @ilovehyperfixating @ghostlythots  @dotcie

[innorogers]

Awakening

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

Warning: Angst / Hydra Past / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / This one is very emotional /He is very sad very angry / Hurt & Comfort

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare

Hydra’s brainwashing mechanism operates like a code embedded in a computer system. Implanted deep within the nervous system of each asset, it’s triggered by a command—a specific sequence of words, like a complex password. It only takes effect once the entire sequence is spoken. However, each word acts as a layer, tightening control over the asset with every syllable. It gradually overrides the brain's natural functions, until complete control is achieved over both mind and body.

You knew this. You also knew that fighting it only made the effect stronger, accelerating the process. Resisting was like trying to stop venom already spreading through your veins—inevitable and deadly. So, your only option was to buy time.

Time against whatever you were about to become.

“Мечта.”

Four triggered the first word unexpectedly, and you saw it in his eyes—he was going to finish the sequence fast.

But you were faster.

Your fist slammed against the wall, hitting the hidden button you’d been shielding.

"NO!!" Steve’s roar echoed through the room as a thick, crystallized wall dropped from the ceiling, sealing him and Maria on the other side. He pounded against it with all his strength, his fists useless against the reinforced barrier. "Open this!" he was desperate: “Open this fucking thing!!”

But it was useless. This was The Crib, the place where you, Tony, and Bruce pushed the limits of crazy ideas. Naturally, it was equipped with a “Hulk Containment” feature, just in case one of those experiments went too far.

“Jarvis, override!” Maria commanded immediately, pressing her comms. “Stark, 116, 116, in The Crib! Now!” She stepped back and shot the wall, only to leave soft marks but unable to break it at all.

Four smiled, pleased. 

“Шкаф”

A sharp pain crossed your mind, like a thunderstruck that cut you as a knife. For some seconds you think you lost control. You stumbled forward, losing completely balance. And stretched an arm for a glass somewhere over a desk nearby knocking everything off. The glass went flying and smashed to pieces on the floor. You tried to reach it blindly, you were loosing your sight, with trembles and the last thread of senses you handled to grab it, so you squeezed with all your remaining strength.

The glass pierced your skin and palm, leaving a long trail of blood down your arm. You could hear Steve's frantic pounding echoing through the walls, his voice a raw, anguished, shouting your name, but pain is dominating your senses.

But this is good, pain is good. Pain meant you were still here.

"Тетрадь." Four stepped back. He was enjoying this. All this show was worth it, even though he failed and had to face the rage of all the Avengers together later.

Nononono. You pressed harder your fists, the glass embedded left out more blood. Feel the pain, feel the senses. You're good. You're good. You are not this. You are not Hydra. You did not survive up to this day to be used again as something disposable. 

On your knees, you pressed your other hand into the shattered glass, hoping the sharpness would anchor you.

"Open this!" Steve was almost unrecognizable in his panic when Tony and Bruce entered the room. “Get this thing open!” His voice was a mix of rage and fear.

“Shit…” Bruce rushed to the nearest console, typing furiously. “The code’s simple but old—it’s uncrackable. We’ve got 15 seconds before it overrides.”

“What?!” Steve was outraged: “You’ve got to open it! Open it! Tony! Get my girl the fuck out of there!” 

“Oh shit, this is good.” Four’s laughter filled the room. This was a feast for him.

“Радуга.“

“No…” You whispered, holding onto the pain as if it were your lifeline.

You are not this. 

You are good. 

You are…

You are an oak tree, hidden deep in the forest. Sitting around the fire with your siblings, their faces bathed in a golden glow. The words that hung in the peaceful silence on that night. 

Starlight on the Siberian peaks, a full moon overhead. Natasha’s hand pulling you out, the scent of her leather jacket against your frozen skin. 

The first time you saw the ocean. The sensation of sand beneath your feet, waves tickling your toes. 

Christmas lights twinkling on a giant tree, champagne in the compound and Dr. Lin’s drunk laugh. 

The first time Tony led you into the abandoned lab, that door opened to what you thought was perfection. The bad jokes you shared with him and Bruce here in The Crib. The coffee you made for Sam and Nat at your lab.

And Steve. The first time he smiled at you. The way he laughed at your childish bedtime story. The first time he kissed you. His lashes brushing your cheek. The sound of his heartbeat at night, the strength in his embrace.

No. You were not this monster they were trying to turn you into. 

You were the life your brothers and sisters never got to have. 

The sunlight, the breeze, the snowflakes, the spring rain in your garden, and the summer air in you hair they never felt. You were living the memories they couldn’t.

You weren’t this. A puppet someone could easily manipulate over some ridiculous words. 

“No…” You felt your tears crashing in your hand full of shattered glasses. “I’m not…that.” 

You are not Hydra’s Frankestein. 

You are the faith you still hold for humanity—the goodness, the kindness you’ve seen. You are the broken fairy tales One and Two told you and your siblings to soothe your sorrowful nights

You are this precious jewel Steve treasured every time he hugged you, kissed you, or looked at you.

“Конфета,” Four sneered, delivering the next word.

But you fought back.

“No.”

Your eyes locked with his, burning with defiance.

“You wanna play, huh?” Frazer chuckled. 

“стена.”

Another shock hit your mind, but this time it didn’t knock you down. You stumbled but stayed standing, hearing Tony override the code. The wall would be down soon. You had to act before anyone else got hurt because of you.

Four stared in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how you were even resisting. 

So he rushed into it.

“Облако.”

You felt your body betray you, limbs refusing to respond. 

C’mon, focus. Stay focused. Everyone you love is on the other side of the wall, you couldn’t let them get hurt.

You lunged at the desk and ripped open the top drawer. God, what's all that noise? Stop the drums, stop that noise… please… You couldn't stay awake much longer. Damn it, where is it…Your hands desperately looking for something.

‘Зеленый.'

Four said again. And that command felt like a hammer that struck your head. You collapsed to your knees, your bloody hands finally finding it. An injection. Fuck, your vision was blurred; you couldn’t see the dosage.

'лес '. 

Nononono you couldn't wait, it was almost at the last word. So you didn't measure it, and you plunged the injection into your neck. God…! That hurts. You pressed all the content in you. 

Ok now…now we should be good. You were panting and sweating as you dropped the injection and came over your knees. Shit that was closed. Too closed.

Four looked stunned. He didn’t know what you’d done, but before he could react, Steve burst through the room like a storm and crashed his face with all the strength Captain America would have in a battlefield. You even heard the crack sound of their bones crashing. 

“Stop!” Maria shouted before Steve in all his fury, outraged and unstoppable, would kill the guy with his bare hands. “We need to track that retina layer! Stop!” She lunged and seized his arm, preventing him from striking further. 

Your mind recovered some senses as the words stopped, now all you felt was pain, but you managed to let out what you’d been holding in all day.

“Steve…”

That worked as a Hydra’s password to him, Steve felt he was woken up from a dream, and before you knew it, you were pressed into his embrace, his arms holding you tight yet gentle and with care, as if you were fragile as the most precious thing in the world. 

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, trembling as you tried to hold onto him. “I wanted to tell you…I…” God, his skin is so warm. You missed that the entire day. 

Steve froze. The ache on his chest made him paralyzed, he could barely speak. You were worried about him? Now? 

“It's ok…” He was feeling a lump form in his throat, his hand weaving through your hair, pressing you against him and kissing you on the forehead. 

“I’m here baby, it’s ok, you are ok…” He barely could put himself together. You were a mess—bloody, battered— and he was scared, so scared he can’t remember when was the last time he was falling apart like this. 

You were panting as your consciousness was losing it, giving in finally to the injection you put into yourself to paralyze you and prevent you from doing something you can’t manage. 

“Did you…get hurt?” You raised a hand and touched his face. You were fading, the injection taking its toll, dragging you into unconsciousness.

“Shit baby…” Steve pressed his forehead against yours, barely holding himself together. He couldn’t believe what you were saying: “That’s the last of my concerns.” 

But you were already slipping away.

Steve’s heart froze in his chest when he looked down and saw your eyes closed, your body limp against his. A cold wave of terror surged through him, threatening to pull him under. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, it was like the world had stopped spinning. He couldn't hear anything, not Tony, not Bruce, not even his own heartbeat. 

His entire focus narrowed to the sight of you—still, lifeless—like all the color had drained from you. His hand hovered over your face, trembling, afraid to touch you, afraid you wouldn’t respond.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, hoarse and broken. “Babe...?” 

Panic gripped him in a way he hadn’t felt since the war, since waking up alone in a world that had moved on without him. But this was worse, infinitely worse. His fingers found the pulse at your neck, but his heart refused to calm. What if it was fading? What if you were slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it?

"What...What's happening?" He could hear his own voice, vulnerable as ever. 

“What the f…?” Tony knelt next to Steve, grabbing the discarded syringe. 

Relief washed over him as he read the label.

“Oh, for god’s fucking sake…!” He passed it to Bruce, sinking to the floor. “It’s just a tranquilizer. She’s asleep. Damn, that was close.” He rubbed his face, still shaken. “That was the scariest thing ever. Shit.”

"Holy shit." Bruce and Maria leaned back too, releasing the breath they had been holding.

"Okay..." Commander Hill, always the first to pull herself together, stood up and exhaled in relief as she began to make sense of the chaos. 

"Let’s get her to the med bay. Now." Her voice was determined, but her movements were gentle. She patted a still-in-shock Steve softly on the shoulder. "Come on, Cap. We need to get her out of here. And there’s work to do." She tilted her head toward the unconscious Four on the floor.

Steve didn’t respond. He was panting, his body covered in cold sweat as Tony’s words sank in. It was...tranquilizer? You were ok? He was still holding you close, feeling the warmth of your skin, the quiet and steady rhythm of your breathing. And he could hear your heartbeat. 

He never really believed in God, but in that moment, he wanted to thank every deity in this world or beyond that you were still in his arms. Alive. Safe. 

And, God…he swore right then, he would never let this happen again. Whatever the hell had gone down tonight, he was so fucking sure that was never, EVER, happening again.

"Steve." Tony placed a hand on his shoulder as Sam and Natasha entered the room with the elite team to deal with Four. 

"Come on, buddy, let’s go. Look at her hands—she’s a mess. We’ve got to get her wounds treated." And make sure that brainwash thing is gone, Tony thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. With Steve still so on edge, he didn't want to end like Four on the floor.

Steve closed his eyes for a long moment, then tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer. He lifted you carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead and inhaling your scent. You smelled like blood, and he felt a deep, crushing guilt. 

"Alright, let’s go." He finally spoke, his voice steady, though full of pain. "But I’m staying close." There was no way he was letting you out of his sight.

You inhaled sharply, and your eyes flew open, heart pounding in your chest. 

The room was bright, sterile, and the soft hum of Stark technology filled the air. 

Disoriented, you stared at the blinking machines and glowing monitors around you. Tubes and wires were connected to your arms, and a soft beep from the heart monitor echoed in the quiet space.

Flashbacks hit you hard. Four. The keywords. You injected yourself to prevent anyone from getting hurt. And you succeeded, didn’t you? Did anyone get hurt?

You remembered Steve being the first to approach you. Four was beaten down, wasn’t he? Is Steve okay? Is everyone ok?

“What the hell is this…” You muttered, frowning as you glanced at the data on the monitors. Then quickly decided you didn’t need any of it. You reached for the tubes, yanking them out one by one. The pain was sharp, but adrenaline dulled it. You didn’t care. You hated anything related to medical clinics, anything that reminded you of being in a lab, a subject of experimentation.

You pulled off the monitors, ignoring the rapid beeping as alarms blared. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood shakily, your legs weak, your vision blurry.

“Damn…” you muttered, walking in a dizzy haze, trying to balance. You must have injected quite a dose of tranquilizer. How long had you been out? There were no windows, and the room’s enclosed space only heightened your panic. 

Barefoot, you rushed out and collided with Steve, who was rushing in, pale and shaken.

“What...What are you doing?!” His voice was agitated. Pulling out the tubes must’ve triggered an alarm. He immediately scooped you off the cold floor. “Are you okay?” He set you back on the bed and inspected your bruised and bleeding arms. “You’re freezing. You ok? You’re hurt? Do you want me to call the docs?”

“I…I…” You didn’t know what to say, so you just stretched out your arms and pulled him close, holding yourself to him and hugged him as tight as your weak strength allowed. 

“I missed you.”

You said in a low voice, closing your eyes, inhaling his skin, arms around his neck and feeling him. “I woke up and I wanted to see you…I was scared…” 

You felt a strange wave of vulnerability, the kind that made you feel like a child seeking comfort.

Steve stood rigid, his heart and soul settling back into place now that you were awake and in his arms. But he was also…furious. You had no idea how angry he had been, how the team had barely managed to contain his rage. He wanted to stay quiet, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“You were scared…now? You didn’t seem scared when you used yourself as bait and stood up against this guy alone…!” 

He wanted to shout it out, his voice was thick with frustration, fear, and anger, but he stopped. 

His arms remained gentle, holding you tightly. 

“What were you thinking? I was…You scared the shit out of me…I thought…” 

He cut himself off, tightening his grip around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips brushed against your hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He clenched his arms, flashing back to that moment when he was breathless, but now you were there. 

Thank God you are here.

Your arms around his neck, body against his, his arms holding onto your waist, He could smell your hair, could feel your warmth against his lips, and he didn’t want this moment to end. 

“I’m sorry… I wanted to tell you… And I knew you were looking for me, but I couldn’t look back. It would’ve given me away.” You looked up, cupping his face with a soft smile. 

Steve exhaled, his heart twisting in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his voice thick with emotion, still fighting to keep composure, he pulled you impossibly closer, holding you against him, his voice a shaky whisper.

 “Just promise me…promise me you won’t do such reckless…dangerous things again…ever.” 

Your fingers softly moved around his face, and gently kissed him, you pressed your forehead to his, calming and soothing his pain. 

You could hear his breath becoming softer and lower with your touch, you stood still, hugging and feeling him as you were comforted too. 

“Were you hurt?” you asked suddenly, remembering Steve knocking out Agent Frazer, unsure of how the events had played out. Breaking the hug, you looked him over. “You’re hurt!” You exclaimed, noticing his swollen, bleeding knuckles. “Steve, let me see. Is this bad? Are you in pain?”

“This?” He opened and closed his fist, showing you it was fine. “This is nothing… it hurt less than hitting a punching bag.”

“The Hulk container IS NOT a punching bag.” You carefully caressed his injured hand, your eyes welling up with tears. “Can you get it checked later? Does it hurt?”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He tightened his other arm around your waist, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

You hadn’t cried when you found out about your brother being alive, or later when you learned he was a fake. You hadn’t cried when you clenched your fist around glass to fight back the brainwashing. You hadn’t even hesitated when you injected yourself to save everyone.

But now, you were tearing up because of his bruised knuckles.

“I’m ok.” He said after a long pause. And it felt so clumsy. But he didn’t know how to describe the feeling he had right now. He couldn’t find the words. He wished there were some way to predict the future, to shield you from every upcoming danger, every pain, for the rest of your life.

“When can we go home?” You rubbed your eyes, you were exhausted, but you didn’t want to sleep here. 

Steve smiled at your mention of “home”, and thought about your secluded, private, little lab, full of sunshine and plants. Your home. Our home. That’s such a wonderful word. His voice softened as he helped you lie down.

“Soon, baby. Just rest, ok? You’ve been through too much today.” He adjusted the pillows and pulled a blanket over you. “Are you okay? Are you cold?”

“Yes.” You frowned and looked up at him. “I’m cold. I want you to hold me.” You moved aside, making room in the bed. “Now.”

You had never used that childish tone before, and it made Steve chuckle. Shaking his head, he climbed into bed beside you, holding you in his arms, your head resting on his chest. “Spoiled little brat.” He teased with a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “My spoiled little brat.”

You inhaled deeply, resting your head against his chest, your favorite spot in the world where you could hear his heartbeat—the sound that made everything in the universe make sense. And when he thought you were asleep, you spoke, your voice clear.

“Do you want to hear a bedtime story?”

Your voice carried a sense of determination, and Steve sighed. He had it coming. Just not this soon. 

But then, he thought back to everything, and realized you were one of the bravest people he'd ever met. It didn’t surprise him that you were ready to talk.

“Only if you're sure.”

“Yes.” You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbow to meet his eyes. “I should’ve told you from the beginning.” You exhaled deeply. “I was just scared of becoming a disappointment.”

“What?” He turned to you, incredulous. “No… don’t say that. You could never be a disappointment. Ever.” His gaze was steady and unyielding. “Don’t ever think that.”

You kissed his fingers, pausing for a long moment before beginning.

“Once upon a time…” You stopped as he chuckled. “I’m kidding. Bedtime stories are supposed to be soothing. This one would give nightmares.”

Steve held your hand as he looked at you: “I’m here. And…no nightmare could ever keep me away from you.”

You smiled but stayed quiet for a long while, gathering your thoughts. Steve remained silent, wrapping his arm around you, gently twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We were twelve, as you might have guessed. I'm the last one.” Your voice was distant, soft, like whispering a dream from another lifetime.

“It started with One and Two. They were perfect, like gods—healthy, strong, fast, fierce. They had rapid healing, heightened reflexes, tolerance to extreme temperatures, and incredible immune systems. Like you. Or Apollo and Artemis. And of course, they weren’t enough. Hydra wanted more. They’ve always wanted more.”

You made a pause, those memories felt like thousands years ago.

“By the time they made Three, Four, and Five… One and Two had begun to… fail. They developed flaws.”

The fingers twirling your hair froze. Steve held his breath. He had thought about this ever since Natasha handed him your file, asking, ‘What do you think happened to the other eleven?’ He hadn’t answered, a terrible feeling gnawing at him that the others’ fates might have been far worse than yours.

“What kind of flaws?” You could hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Just…they weren’t flaws for me. But they stopped being perfect. Their immune system presented infections, something never happened before. Their recovery speed was not as fast as before, or they weren’t healing 100%. Or…speed decrease, lack of strength. And of course their minds started to … be uncontrollable or not manageable at all.” You sighed. 

Steve’s hand tightened slightly, a ripple of horror passing through him.

“Three, Four and Five presented earlier symptoms. Three was fast, but he lacked strength. Four was strong, but he wasn’t able to heal as fast as the rest. And Five was super smart but she was…weak. Well, not weak, normal.”

You paused, and smiled: “It was true, you know? The story Agent Frazer told. I was a great tree climber, and we used to have fun in that oak tree. But…” 

You felt Steve’s hand holding you tighter, and you hugged him back, your tone turned low.

“Four did that tricky thing of putting a rock on a pile of leaves. Seven hit against it so hard, and that’s right… he won’t stop bleeding, we headed to the base, and of course, got grounded as hell.” You inhaled: “Four died because of that. They sacrificed him, they were planning on doing so anyway, but it was used as a warning. They’ve put everything that ‘worked’ in Four, to ‘fix’ Seven.”

“What?” 

Steve felt every fiber on his body tensed, his chest growing tighter and tighter as you spoke, horrified at the realization of what Hydra had done.

“And of course, Seven didn’t last long either. He died about a year later. I think… he just couldn’t live with what was left of Four.” 

Your smile was thin, sad. “I saw the autopsy report. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He just…shriveled, or…died from a broken heart.”

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the next revelation.

“And today…I didn’t stop Frazer right away because… I was curious.” 

You buried your face in Steve’s chest, as you were ashamed of this little wish.

“I wanted to know…I’ve always wanted to know, how my brothers and sisters would be like…if they’d grown up. I knew Frazer was a fraud, but I couldn’t help it. He was identical to Four…and Four…he was just a kid, a bright, playful, funny kid.”

Steve clenched his arms and held you tightly as you were shivering uncontrollably. He was shaking too, his teeth chattering, it was beyond anger, he felt his heart filled with sadness and despair. 

He tried to speak several times before his voice finally steadied. 

“You were a kid too.”

“I was not a kid.” You responded, surprisingly quiet. “I was the kid. I was…the final version.” You looked at his horrified eyes as his expression shifted. 

You lowered your eyes at his sight, and calmly continued the story: “One and Two passed away when I was young, very young, I still don’t know what happened to them. But Hydra…just continued experimenting, Seven was good, but then he … turned off when Four died, Eight died as a toddler I think. So they just kept going, taking things out of this one, adding to the other… until they got it to the right perfect model… or at least… to one that wasn’t deteriorating with time and maintained a regularity.”

You curved your lip as you looked at Steve.

“The last number of the great Hydra’s Dynasty. Frankenstein number Twelve.”

“I’m alive. Because my brothers and sisters died.” 

Steve was in horror.

This pang in his chest, he didn’t know if he wanted to destroy something, vomit, or just…take the time stone, go back in time, and burn all Hydra’s bases he’d known down to the ground until they were ashes and dust. Until the very last of them were fucking burning and screaming in hell.

“They died so Hydra could have a perfect soldier?” His voice was barely more than a growl. “They were…torn apart so you could exist?”

“Well, it’s not like I have Eight’s eyes or Ten’s arms.” You looked at your hands. “It’s like…their DNA, their…existence, were transmitted to me. A prototype that succeeded, but the original versions…just didn’t make it.”

Your voice was like a faint ghost as you observed yourself.

“You know my powers, right? I can see…the components or layers of solid things when I want to. Not all the time, but it gives me a great advantage with stuff like machinery, weapons, gear, construction…I think I have Five’s intelligence too, and some of Three’s speed, or even a shadow of One and Two’s strength. And Eleven’s sense of humor—I’ve always thought we were twins…but this power…It’s only in me.”

“And it used to work on humans too, if I wanted it to.” You sighed in sadness and sorrow. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone, no one knows…not even Tony.” 

You intertwined your fingers with Steve’s, confessing in a calm voice.

“There’s something…in every living being, within their layers and layers of components, something impossible to explain—something divine, and impossible to replicate. And that’s like a golden thread.”

You traced a line in the air as Steve held his breath. 

“I see it as a line of golden glitter. Some shine more than others, like yours…yours is like a strong ray of sunshine, like all the stars in the sky unified within your being. That’s life. Or…the divine power of life.”

Steve held his breath in awe. There was something incredibly beautiful within the horrors you had to endure. He suddenly remembered all the plants in your lab and home, the leaves cascading from the ceiling, growing strong everywhere. He could picture it—the stunning view you’d have, all those waterfalls and cascades of golden strings, of living life.

He hesitated before speaking, his voice as gentle as he could make it: “And…you don’t use your powers on humans anymore?”

“No. I shut it down. Or it shut itself down…” You shook your head. “Hydra used my powers to make their experiments more…efficient. But my brain, or my powers, were too important. They didn’t dare experiment on me with something that might go wrong. I only had one brain procedure—the one that implanted all these keywords.”

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes. 

“They didn’t brainwash me…So I remember everything. I was forced to participate in the experiments on my siblings. I didn’t know…I thought I was helping them heal, but they lied. I was part of it…!” 

Your breath quickened as the memories flooded back.

“I could see them. I could see how their life threads faded, losing their shine little by little. Strong, sparkling golden glitter slowly fading, disappearing. Like a spark extinguished…absorbed by nothingness. And after my last sister, Nine, passed away, I just…this power of seeing layers on human, it went off. I can only see threads in living beings now, nothing else.”

A terrible silence fell across the room. Only the soft beeps of the medical machines echoed through.

Steve sat up straight. He didn’t want to let go of your hand, your touch, but his body just reacted. It was too much, even for him. Your words were calm and serene, but the horrors and the cruelty behind them cut through him like a knife, piercing his soul and breaking him down.

He didn’t know what to say because…what was left to say? There was no comfort, no kindness, nothing that could soothe what you’d been through.

The fact that you remembered everything, that you saw brainwashing as a gift because you had witnessed every death, with genuine hope and devotion that you were helping, only to find out the goal was for you to be the perfect prototype. The guilt you must’ve felt, the despair of watching those threads try to hold on to life before they faded…

The image of you standing alone in this world after your last sibling was gone, facing all that darkness by yourself…he couldn’t imagine it.

“And then, everything is history.” Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“The project ended when Dr. Erskine actually succeeded in creating something…combined. I went into a cryostasis pod that eventually shut down. I don’t know for how long. Then one day, I just woke up in an empty facility, in the dark, and escaped. Natasha found me in the mountains. I think the lab sent out some kind of signal Tony detected, and she was sent to scan the place.”

You were relieved that your story had finally ended, or at least, the nightmare part. 

But Steve was stiff. 

He felt…waves of guilt crashing over him.

What year was that? When did all of that happen to you? Where was he? Could he have changed anything? If he had tried harder…if he had discovered Hydra's remnants in SHIELD earlier…could he have saved you?

“And I was…where?” He murmured to himself, trying to remember. “Wakanda…and then…it was the Blip…and I…I never knew…that you were here…until the night we met.”

“Steve…” You frowned, sitting up and placing a hand on his back. “I’ve told you already, what happened to me is not a weight for you to carry. I’m here now. And I’m with you. I’m safe.”

“Safe?” He could hardly bear the guilt and pain he felt. “Safe how? Look at you…you’re…” He took your hand, bandaged and scarred from all the glass and needles you’d endured. “How can you say you are safe…with me?”

He exhaled, his voice low as he suddenly tightened, his stomach twisting in pain. He didn’t know where to begin expressing the emotions, the guilt, the responsibility he felt for all of this.

“I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this. If I had tried harder, been faster, I should have protected you, saved you…if I’d just been there…”

“You did.” You put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around to face you. You could see all the emotions swirling inside him. “You did.” You spoke softly but firmly. 

“You ended Hydra, twice. I wasn’t used during the War, or after. And when you ended them for good, I was free. You set me free.”

Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. There was a huge lump in his chest and throat that intensified when you said that. The word you used—“used”—how could anyone in the world apply that verb to you? His heart ached so deeply that it took all his willpower not to break something.

You could see him suffering, so you caressed his cheek.

“And…” You cupped his face, your voice gentle. 

“And I had this new identity. I met Natasha, Tony…all these new friends, all this good in the world. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can live under the sunshine, see the sunrise, feel the wind, touch the grass. I even saw the sea for the first time, I had ice cream… And…” 

You inhaled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I got to meet the love of my life.”

“God…!”

The word escaped Steve like a desperate prayer.

Steve pulled you in, holding you so tightly that it felt like he wanted you to melt into his body. 

He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

You had suffered so much—more than he could bear to imagine—and yet you were here: Kind. Good. Pure. Selfless. All those beautiful words Natasha and Tony used to describe you and yet he thought they weren’t enough. 

He pressed his face into your hair, his breath ragged, trying to fight back the tears that stung his eyes. Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t he saved you sooner? He could have spared you so much pain, so much suffering, if only he had known, if only he had been there before the scars ever formed.

He clutched you tighter, as if holding you close enough might erase the past, might undo all the hurt. But he knew it wouldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take it away. And all he could do was hold you, trying desperately to protect you from any more harm, even as the weight of his guilt bore down on him, suffocating and relentless.

You held him back. You could feel his heart trembling and his soul aching. So you pressed a deep kiss to his cheek.

“It’s in the past,” you said softly. “I’m here now… hey, hey, look at me.” 

You cupped his face, and your vision blurred as tears fell. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to upset you, but I’m here now, and I’m just… so grateful, so happy… I’ve never felt this way until I met you, so… fearless, like… like the universe has rewarded me with this… rebirth, with meeting you, and loving you, and…”

“Stop.” It was more than Steve could take.

His voice was broken. 

“Stop. I…” He inhaled deeply and gently wiped away your tears. He needed to say something before your selfless, pure words continued to break his heart.

“I love you.” He breathed. 

The words came out like a sacred vow, a promise sealed with every heartbeat. He’d been holding them back for too long—since this morning, no, since the first day, since the moment he held his breath when he saw you for the first time. 

He spoke it like a promise written in the stars, one he would carry until the end of all things. Until his blood thickens into frozen ice, his bones crumble to ashes, and his soul dissolves into starlight, fading into cosmic dust at the very edge of time and the farthest reaches of eternity—he will love you.

You gazed into his eyes, a smile breaking through the tears. “I love you too.” 

You wiped away the tear that traced down his cheek. 

“And we’ll have new memories. We’ll make a new life. And we’ll be together. And we’ll be happy.”

“Yes.” He smiled through the pain and heartbreak, swearing as a sacred vow, his voice a little choked as he clung to you just as tightly.

“Yes. We will. I promise. We’re gonna be so damn happy…”

Steve waited until you had fallen asleep. 

After everything—the confessions, the heart-wrenching words—you had been exhausted. He’d made sure you rested, gently insisting until your breathing slowed into sleep.

In the silence of the night, he walked quietly to the command room. It was empty now, the weight of the day still hanging in the air. He pulled up the files—yours, and your eleven siblings’—onto the big screen.

A deep sigh slipped from his lips.

There you were. Blurred, black-and-white images of childhoods interrupted, dreams shattered, lives stolen far too soon.

“Jarvis.” His voice broke the stillness, steady yet heavy. “Do I have overwrite authorization to change the ID names?”

“Yes, Captain.” Jarvis replied, his tone as polite as ever. “Would you like to change the names of these files and subjects?”

“Yes.” Steve’s gaze lingered on your face, captured in that haunting picture. “Change them all. M and the ID number.” He said with resolve, his words carrying the weight of a decision long made.

“In an instant, Captain.” came Jarvis’s response. The screen flickers briefly as the files change, HE00X to M00X, twelve names, twelve identities, rewritten in seconds.

Steve stared at the screen, his expression grave, but something deeper stirred inside him. 

This was it—the meaning he wanted to give your siblings, like an unspoken monument on their unseen graves. 

Something none of you knew, because the world hadn’t been kind, or good, or fair enough to tell you. But he had known it right away, the moment you spoke about that beautiful golden thread that was within every living being.

You weren’t experiments. 

You were this new name, and he couldn’t thank the universe enough for that.

The twelve of you were this name.

M.

For Miracle.

The End

Continue to:

6: Dusk |

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Woohoo...OMG I cried so much writing this ;_; thank you for reading thus far, hope you enjoyed the...intensity and the angst? xD

So I've been struggling with the name of the series, I was going to call it something like 'the golden thread', but then this image of Steve changing their ID names with this conviction and seriousness appeared in my mind as I was wrapping up Chapter 5, and it was something that's...so him, that's definitenly something he would do. So the name just popped up itself, I think I'll call it 'Miracle Nr. 12'. What do you think?

Ok so Chapters 6 & 7 are wrapped up already, I'll see you next Friday! Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist ;)

Taglist: @steviebbboi / @jamneuromain / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[animalistic0]

Just One More Moment (Part 2)

Part 1: Here Part 2.5: Here

Plot: As the hunt for the crown narrows down, one more moment is all that is needed. The Pogues and Rafe end up separated and fighting for their lives once again, except this is all or nothing. Life or Death.

*Season Four spoilers!*

OC Maybank twin + platonic Pogues x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: OuterBanks, Season 4, Death, mentions of murder and murdering, violence, homicidal tendencies, blood, angst, a bit of fluff, guilt, anger, allusions to abuse, mention of kidnapping.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Note: This is getting split into two parts itself before the heavy angst is posted because I keep getting carried away. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something in JC told her everything was going to change. A voice that screamed louder and louder the closer they got to Agapenta. However, she pushed it down and ignored it. Her family was safe and alive, albeit a little run down but still stronger than ever. There had been times when that little voice was wrong, and she refused to allow herself to fall into the darkness that was slowly rising within her. She had watched JJ dance with death before, hell she had danced with death before. There was just something about his recent death dances that raised warning bells, make her skin crawl, and made her panic. She was going to keep him safe, protect him above all costs, that JC vowed.

JC sat next to JJ in the back of jeep, Kiara sitting on her brother’s lap. She was happen for them. She loved their love and was their number one supporter. Kiara brought a type of peace to JJ that he had never had, a peace that he needed and deserved. Not to mention the love she brought, the love JC knew her brother was worthy of even if he struggled to come to that conclusion himself. JC smiled as she watched her family, these were the individuals that mattered the most. Pogues for life and her family. Wherever they went, it was them that was Poguelandia, it was not a place but them as a whole.

As John B pulled the jeep to a stop in front of a well, JC hoped out of the back stretching her legs. She walked over to JJ as she saw him eyeing something and as she saw the bag she felt her stomach drop. It was Groff’s bag. She could feel the anger and hatred bubbling free from the cage she had stuffed it down into, her eyes darkening as she looked around before her ears registered a voice. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as she marched over to the well, ignoring how the Pogues backed up after they heard JJ say it was Groff. As JC peered down the dry well she felt her hands clench into fists. With no hesitation or remorse she wanted to leave him down there with nothing. Even if she knew he would die, it was almost poetic. He had killed their mother and said she drowned, and then attempted to kill her brother in the water, it only made sense that he would die of dehydration and of heat.

As she felt a hand land on her shoulder she met the eyes of her twin, and she could see the hesitation in him. Taking a breath she intertwined their hands, squeezing his hand as an anchor for the both of them. She nodded her head her eyes softening as she looked at her twin, “Whatever you chose baby brother I got you. I’m not going no where.” JC felt like this was his decision, because he had spent more time with the older male and had quickly bonded with Groff in a short time. While JC wanted to kill him or let him die, she knew it was her brother’s choice. JC was not angry when JJ threw down water to the man, she knew he wouldn’t be able to live if he had proved to be exactly like the man.

Their whole lives the twins fought to prove that they were nothing like Luke and now it seemed they needed to prove they were nothing like Groff either. Two fathers, both shitty, and a constant fight to prove to others and themselves that blood or not they weren’t like their fathers. JC was proud of JJ, because he was better than her and would always be better. However, JJ would tell anyone that JC was the better twin. That she was better in every way, and he knew she wasn’t above becoming a villain to others for her family. There was something about the loyalty she had that he wished he had. Not to mention how she always seemed to have a sixth sense about people and situations. JJ thought she was the best, that JC deserved everything and nothing less. That when he looked at her and she held his hand, he couldn’t give Groff the rope.

He couldn’t give Groff the rope not because the older man hurt him, but because Groff hurt both his girls. He knocked Kiara out and locked her up in the ice bucket. Something JJ wish he had known earlier so he could have beat the shit out of Groff. Then when JJ had seen his twins face after they pulled him from the ocean it broke his heart. He had never seen her as distraught as he had in that moment. How appalling she looked. When JJ and Kiara got the bends, JC had been so calm and put together. His sister had soothed and coddled him like a baby the whole way to the hospital, never once crying or showing distress. He had even been told by John B that when he had gotten hit by the machete and was unconscious that JC never lost her cool then either. In fact JJ had always seen JC as unbreakable and tough, having rarely seen his twin ever break down. She was a rock, his rock and the rock of the Pogues. When John B had presumably died, she had cried but held him as he broke down. When nights with Luke were terrible and the twins had to flee for their own safety JC would shed a few tears but check up on him. His sister was the epitome of strength and JJ didn’t like seeing her so hurt. Groff did that and JJ couldn’t let that slide.

JC watched in awe of her brother as he turned his back to the well after throwing down the jug of water to Groff. Her kind and amazing brother, she was proud of him. Always. However, as she heard Groff throw threats towards them, towards JJ she snapped. “Say another word Groff and I’ll kill you right fucking now.” The murder in her tone was promising and she was glad when the evil man shut up. Turning on her heel she walked over to JJ who already had his hand held out. The other Pogues were staring at her but the silence was broken by Pope. “Glad he’s shut up. Was ready to catch another felony for you Maybank’s.” Laughs filled the desert area as JC stepped forward letting go of her twins hand to pull Pope into a tight hug. “Nah, I would have acted first.” JC pulled away and smiled at Cleo before pulling the girl into her hug with Pope. Hugging Cleo and Pope as tight as she could. Before the rest of the group joined in and it was the best but hottest group hug ever.

“Alright, you crazy killers let’s go get our crown!” A bunch of whoops left the groups mouths at John B’s words, and like obedient children they found themselves back in the jeep driving towards Agapenta. Away from the well, and probably one of the most evil individuals they have ever met, Groff. No remorse or hesitation within any of them as they did so. For one doesn’t hurt a Pogue and get away with it, not their family.

JC couldn’t help the gasp of awe as she saw the city beyond the cliff. It was massive and without the map she didn’t know how they’d find the crown. However, as she looked at her friends she knew they would. After everything they’ve been through and done? It would be unlikely for them to not find the treasure, they had a great track record of finding treasure. Keeping the said treasure was another story though. Her eyes met JJ’s and the twins fist bumped each other as they smiled like maniacs. “Let’s get our crown, Pogues for Life!” Cheers left the friends as they repeated their mantra before John B continued driving.

JC hoped out of the back of the vehicle once John B pulled to a stop and turned it off. Announcing that they would do the rest by foot. The group quickly walked along the bushes before JC jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her eyes narrowed through the bush as she stood next to Sarah. Rafe Cameron stood with the map and the key to read it, in front of the Lupine Corsairs guns pointed at him. Part of JC wanted to leave Rafe, but another part knew they needed him, that she needed to save him. Not just because of the map he held, it was apart of it but because he had saved her life and kept her safe. A debt and loyalty she owed to him. JC turned and looked at Sarah and knew her friend felt just as conflicted, however at the end of the day that was her brother, her blood.

JC slowly connected their hands, smiling supportive at her friend knowing Sarah needed it. Sarah gave a faint smile back and clutched JC’s hand needing the comfort of the other girl. “They’re gonna kill him.” JC turned her head to stare at Cleo with an are you serious look, only to snap her head and glare at Pope as he spoke; “Do we care?” At the same time JJ and JC spoke; “Yeah, that's a good question, Pope.” and “Yes, of course we care Pope.” The twins glared at each other as if silently battling and communicating with each other.

JC rolled her eyes and looked back at Sarah, moving her hands to gently rub her shoulders trying to further soothe the growing distraught girl. Ignoring Cleo and the fact she stated about them taking the scroll if they did kill Rafe. JC leaned over and whispered softly to Sarah, “It’s up to you. Say the word or give the signal and we’ll help him. I’ll save him.” JC smiled as Sarah faced her and nodded before turning back and staring at Rafe as she bit her lip in thought.

“There are seven of them. They all have rifles.” JC rolled her eyes at John B’s obvious analysis of the situation. Biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything sarcastic. “I know. That's why we're gonna need to think outside the box.” JC watched as JJ pulled the gun from behind him and checked it for bullets. She left Sarah side and moved over to JJ’s other side, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “What are you doing?” JC agreed with John B’s question, because she didn’t want to believe her little brother would be that reckless but then again the Maybank’s were quite known for being ridiculously stupidly reckless. Placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder she wasn’t going to let him do it alone, and together the twins spoke simultaneously; “Diversion.” They glanced at each other, knowingly smirking as they thought of the chaos they could cause together.

“Dudes, you can't be serious. This isn't Call of Duty.” JC rolled her eyes as she pulled a knife she had swiped from her boot, holding it up in triumph. “No it’s not, but our lives have never been normal Pope.” JJ nodded along with his twin before cocking the gun and placing it back in its position behind his back. “We got four rounds, seven of them.” JC rolled her eyes as the others got involved and JJ began trying to explain the plan. “Look four rounds, and a knife. I’d say our odds our pretty good!” JC laughed as JJ nodded towards her before they caught Sarah grabbing the gun and aiming towards the Corsairs. JC held her hands out towards Sarah before she realized what her friend was doing. JC bit her lip as she fought a smile, her eyes watching Sarah closely as she silently cheered her on.

“That’s my brother.” As Sarah spoke and shot the gun, expertly hitting the gas tank and blowing the vehicle up, JC couldn’t help but quietly cheer rushing forward and placing both hands on Sarah’s shoulder. “Oh my god! Way to go Sharpshooter!” The excitement was short lived as they all had to run for their lives. The Corsairs shooting at Rafe and they all ran. JC laughed at Pope as he spoke, “Let’s alert them to our location. That’s a great idea.” Catching up to him she gently punched his shoulder, a wide grin on her face as adrenaline and excitement pumped through her. “Live a little Pope. Being shot at or running for our lives is old news.”

JC laughed louder as she heard Pope curse, running to move next to her twin and as JJ fell she immediately stopped. Wrapping her arms around his forearm and pulling him up, silently communicating with him before they both started running again. JC kept a hand on JJ as they ran, and once he secured his gun again he held her hand, squeezing it tight. The twins found moments like this were where they felt most alive and most aware of shit. Both of them knew it was because of how they were raised and the chaos they grew to love in a deranged and dangerous way. However, if they had each other then they’d be okay.

JC didn’t realize how far they fell behind or how JJ was holding his gun until Pope was yelling for them to hurry up. As they crossed the threshold JJ, Pope, and herself threw themselves against the door as they moved the plank to lock it. Being aware to try and doge the bullets being fired at them. Her eyes connecting with Rafe’s and she wanted to glare at him, to scream at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Especially with how disheveled and anxious he looked.

Just as quick as they had stopped they were off running once again, pausing as they ran into some farm area with a bunch of sheep. Pope, Kiara, and John B immediately working to barricade the door. JC looked around, her eyes immediately trying to find and exit or even perhaps any weapons they could utilize. JJ grabbed her hand pulling her as he ran deeper into the shelter of a maze. JC following without hesitation. She slowed to a stop as JJ beckoned the others before he held his side and began groaning. She held his side as he told the others to keep going, her eyes wide with worry for her little brother. Before she met the eyes of Cleo, and she knew her best friend was gonna do something. “Give me the gun!”

JJ immediately questioned it, but JC knew why. She could tell Cleo was protecting them, was fighting for them. Was giving the twins a break and forcing themselves to take a break from always risking themselves. Except JC didn’t like it, she didn’t like the idea of anything happening to her friends and she could tell JJ didn’t either. JC felt like she was dissociating she could hear JJ arguing about not wanting to give it up, could hear Cleo telling the others to go, could hear Cleo telling JJ he was injured and then like clarity Pope pulled JJ and her close. His words reaching through the fog like a lighthouse. “We got it. We’ll hold them off. Let me protect you both for once.”

JC felt her lip wobbled as she stared at her best friends. She didn’t want to lose them, didn’t want to leave them but this wasn’t the time to argue. Quickly she pulled Cleo into a bone crushing hug, ordering her to be careful or so help her. Before she pulled Pope into a desperate and tight hug, telling him the same thing before she let JJ pull her away. Pope’s words ringing in her ears, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Together the twins took one last glance at Pope, the look holding everything they wanted to tell each other before they went separate ways.

JC paused as she caught up with the others, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rafe holding a knife to John B. Her own hand itching towards the knife she had shoved back in her boot, sometime ago. She shared a glance with JJ and then Sarah, holding her hands up as she took a step forward. Her voice soothing and calm as she spoke, “Rafe, it’s okay.” She watched as he glanced at her before Sarah spoke and then the knife was held to her throat. Immediately JC was next to Sarah like a protective dog, her eyebrows raised as she watched him, waiting and almost daring him to make a move. Only for him to keep speaking and turn back to John B. JC tilted her head as she studied Rafe, and she could tell he was on edge, from what she didn’t know because almost dying wasn’t new to any of them. But as Sarah spoke saying she saved his life and Rafe faced her again, JC understood. Her face softening as he spoke, “You did it so you could steal it from me. There was something in it for you. All right? Not to actually help me. I know that.”

JC took a breath and stepped forward, feeling all eyes on her and Rafe facing her with the knife. “We don’t want to steal it Rafe, was there something in it for us absolutely. However, when Sarah saved you her main thought was her brother. We agreed days ago when we left home that we’d work together, an even cut for everyone. For you.” JC offered him a weak but kind smile, as John B and Sarah spoke at the same time. “Rafe, we don’t have time.” and “We can read that. You can’t.” JC cringed as Rafe turned back to Sarah, and spoke angrily. “Why would I help you? Huh? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you. Do you understand? Dad trusted you. You remember what happened to him?! Do you remember?!”

JC watched helplessly, her eyes finding JJ as Rafe raised his voice. She knew, they both knew, where their minds had gone to for a second. JC bit her lip as she turned back to watch Rafe her eyes staying on the knife as she kept herself close to Sarah. “Dad died saving my life. And you’re so eager to blame me for everything, you won’t even listen to what happened. Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was gonna die. Dad took those bullets for me. And if he was still around, he’d want us to work together. I know you know that.” JC felt tears well in her eyes as she flashed back to that day, the deep terror she held that they were all gonna die. That she was going to lose her family. Then Ward an unlikely hero who saved them. JC looked back and forth between Rafe and Sarah like a tennis match, watching as tears filled both their eyes and she had hope that maybe one day they could have a good relationship. A true brother sister relationship, like they both deserved.

“No, you’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will.” Rafe’s teary and broken sounding words broke Juniper’s heart. He looked so hurt and betrayed she wanted to pull him into a hug and never let him go. This was the Rafe she had met, had grown to known during their kidnapping. A soft, vulnerable, hurt individual who just wanted someone who was loyal and loved him. It was a constant battle because of his past actions, and then this switched he’d flip and actually be a person. She hoped this was his redemption, this was his will to change and be better, that he could build something new with Sarah and even the Pogues.

“No, no, because I’m all you’ve got. And you’re the only family I have left.” JC moved herself over to JJ and held his hand. Her eyes staring up at him as John B spoke defending Sarah, “She’s telling the truth.” JC watched with bated breath as Rafe nodded before repeating how he’d get his cut before holding out the map. She smiled as Sarah hugged him, as she hugged her own brother both of them smiling at each other before the faint sound of angry voices reached them. “Hey, this is great and all, but we seriously gotta go.” JC stepped away from JJ as they both peered down the hallway. The twins sharing a look as Kiara told them to go.

“Go with them, June. I’ll be fine.” JC shook her head as she stared at JJ. She didn’t want to leave him that was the last thing she wanted to do. But as he pushed her to follow them she relented, pulling him into a tight hug as she kissed his cheek. “Stay safe Bug, please. I’ll see you shortly.” One last hug, and JC turned and ran after Rafe, Sarah, and John B. Leaving behind another friend and her twin. She hated that they were all separated now, but she trusted in them, in that they would see each other again.

JC stopped herself short of running into the back of Rafe. Both of them staring at each other for a moment before trailing after John B and Sarah. Rafe held his hand out, helping JC up the steeper steps they were climbing up and it made her heart flutter every time. Every time John B turned and helped Sarah, Rafe would turn and help her. She didn’t know if he was competing or if he noticed that John B helped Sarah up steeper areas and in returned helped her up steeper areas. JC let out an exaggerated breath as they reached the top. Rafe stoping next to JB and JC next to Sarah. The two girls glancing at each other and smiling. Before Sarah spun confused and lost, “What now?” JC shrugged as she looked around before she glanced at the two males and watched as Rafe lifted his hand gently hitting the map against John B’s chest. “I can’t read this shit. Go for it.” JC smiled as she watched him, before it grew wider as he took the lens off from around his neck and held it out. “Here. You need this. Go.”

JC walked over to Rafe, she wasn’t needed to figure out the map. She knew JB and Sarah would get it done. Hesitantly JC laid her hand on Rafe’s shoulder, a warm smile on her lips as he turned to face her, and as she spoke it was soft and filled with gratitude. “You did good Rafe. Thank you.” She watched as he looked at her hand before trailing down her arm, and then he met her eyes. A rare and soft smiling forming on his lips as he looked at her. Sarah and John B discussing the map in the distance. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean it. I trust you, JC.” Furrowing her brows she looked up at the taller male, confused on why he trusted her above all people. Almost like he could see the questions in her mind he gave a small laugh, grabbing her hand from his shoulder and holding it in both of his. “I hated and despised you with everything, but then Singh happened and you were the only normal and only one I could trust. Then shit with my dad, and you were still the only normal in my life. You aren’t afraid to call my bullshit, to say what you think, to protect those you care for JC. Everything, I’ve told you and confined in you has stayed with you. I trust you.”

JC bit her lip as she stared up at Rafe, wishing for a moment that this wasn’t a treasure hunt, that their lives weren’t in peril once again. Because selfishly she wanted just a moment more in this bubble, with Rafe’s sweet words, his finger rubbing circles on her hand, his eyes soft and caring as they stared into her soul and beyond. Letting her lip go, she took a breath before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. Pulling back she brought her other hand over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll admit I hated you Rafe, and a part of me still hates your actions. However, I would never have survived Singh if not for you and I’m forever grateful and thankful for that. I can’t explain it, but that bonded us together Rafe. I trust you, but I need you to be kinder to my friends, my family.” JC giggled as Rafe nodded his head quickly before promising he would, that he would work on it, that he would be better.

And then their bubble was interrupted. JC looked over as John B was calling for them, her eyes widening as she moved over to where he stood with the map in the air. “What the fuck?” It was the best thing she could think to say, as a shadow of a shape appeared on the map. “What the hell is that?” JC shrugged as she turned around her eyes widening as she saw the same outline on the map right behind them, except it was real and a stone statue. “See what I’m seeing?” JC knew JB had also connected it and as Rafe turned around and saw the statue they both spoke simultaneously and the same words “Holy Shit.”

They did it! They found the crown. Of course they would, JC had no doubt because they always found the treasure. She just couldn’t stop the negative thoughts creeping in because something would go wrong, it always did. “The crown has gotta be up there. Come on, let’s go.” JC nodded as she heard Rafe walk a few steps away, her eyes on the statue as she wished the others were here. They all deserved to be here and basking in this glory. It drained from her as Rafe spoke again, trying to get their attention. JC turned around, her mouth opening in shock and disbelief of their luck as Rafe spoke making dread flow through her; “Sandstorm.” JC kicked a rock, anger cursing through her veins as she threw up her hands, “Fuck you universe! Fuck you.” Taking a breath she lowered her goggles and wrapped her scarf around her mouth and nose, protecting herself from the oncoming sand. Just like that, they were off running once again. A race against time, something they were all familiar with.

“Come on. Hurry. We’ve gotta try to get up there before the storm hits.” JC rolled her eyes, once again annoyed with her best friend’s ability to point out the obvious. “No shit Sherlock. I thought we were gonna wait for the storm.” As John B glanced back at her, she mumbled a low apology. Tensions were high and she didn’t need to take it out on her friends, but something was eating away at her. As if a warning was sounding off and something really bad was coming. JC let out a startled gasp as her brother’s voice sounded from behind her; “John B. JC. Hey! Do you see what’s coming?”

JC turned and pulled him into a hug, ignoring everything because she needed him. He was safe, and alive and right there in front of her. Pulling away they instinctively intertwined their hands, the twins rarely liked physical affection or contact but with each other it was one of their main love languages. As JJ asked if they had any idea on where to look for the crown, JC smiled and lifted his chin so he was staring up at the statue. “Right in front of us baby brother.”

Her smile faded as John B said they needed to climb and JJ immediately looked like he was preparing himself. No, she wasn’t going to let him climb up the statue not with his injury. Not when she was there. Before anyone could say or do anything else a strong gust of wind hit and sand was filling the air like fog. The sandstorm had reached them. JC didn’t like the odds of this, didn’t like how it was impossible to see much less breathe even with her scarf protecting her. She felt her stomach drop as Rafe spoke, “Hey, I’m gonna go scope it out, all right? I’ll meet you all up there!” Then just like that he was gone, and she couldn’t see him anymore. Her hand squeezed tighter on JJ, scared she’d lose him too.

Then once again, the group was splitting up. JC knew they couldn’t leave Rafe, not because they couldn’t trust him but because he would need help. Bending down she grabbed her knife from her boot, grabbing John B’s hand and pressing it into his palm. Her hands wrapping around his. “Protect Sarah, and protect yourself. Stay safe, and we’ll see you with the crown.” She watched as they ran off, before she turned and followed after JJ and Kiara. Praying nothing would happen to any of them.

[artisanscribbles]

Some Oathbound Thoughts

There's a larger post regarding the Order that's still percolating in my head but while I was drafting that post, something occurred to me:

We have very little in text proof that the Shadowborn are as big as a problem as the Order makes them out to be- But do you know where they seem to gather and most attacks happen: The 4 Legendborn Chapters.

This made me start made me start to think about what we know about magic in universe, and also what we know about the Shadowborn.

The Order makes the Shadowborn out to be this huge problem, but Valechez, Patricia and every Rootcrafter we meet treat them as a problem and certainly something to be cautious about, but a known factor.

And none of the Rootcrafters spend their lives at battle-ready mode waiting for the next attack. It's just the Order that does that. But everyone else acts like the Order is the much bigger problem and danger of the two.

But Scions and Squires have been being called ever since the Order's inception to handle all these demon attacks? And we see there is truth to this: The Shadowborn are Undeniably Attacking the Legendborn.

Which begs the question: Why the Order and not the other magic users?

And then it hit me.

The Order of the Roundtable has been around for at minimum, per William, at least 60 Generations. Like with Vera, the spell is somehow bound to the bloodlines. But Vera's bargain is tied to The Shadow King - He cast the Mark and as far we can tell he's been maintaining the Magic required for it to Work. With me so far?

So this begs with question: With Merlin (as far as the text informs us) 100% Dead

WHAT'S POWERING THE SPELL OF ETERNITY?

IT CAN'T BE ARTHUR. EVEN IF MERLIN ANCHORED THE SPELL TO HIM ORIGINALLY LIKE THE CHARM BRACELET (AND WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW THIS BTW, EVERYONE IN THE ORDER THINKS ITS THE CASE AND EVERYTHING THE ORDER THINKS IS IMMEDIATELY SUS) CANONICALLY ARTHUR PENDRAGON DOESN'T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MAGIC TO KEEP IT GOING BECAUSE HE CANNOT WORK AETHER (proven by that scene in BloodMarked)

Arthur Pendragon can use the abilities gifted to him by Excalibur and Merlin's original spell, but he can't power it himself. But SOMETHING must be- because as per Sel, aetheric workings can only last so long as the caster can maintain them and live, as as per Valchez and Patricia, all that Power has to be coming from SOMEWHERE EX.1 Bree's whole existence.

Which brings me back to the Shadowborn and the Shadow King's whole deal:

I think Merlin's spell wasn't supposed to last past the OG Table's death. Not originally anyway. Arthur and the Knights were supposed to win decisively and then the portals would be closed forever. And Bree's Bloodwalks seem to support this.

But then, The Table Captures the Shadow King's Crown, and we now Know that is an extremely Powerful Object- but we don't know what happened to it.

Just before Bloodmark's final kicks off, we get the last Arthuriana themed lore drop of the novel- And that is that the last place we saw the Crown was in the OG Table's possession- but not broken and destroyed. IN fact the text seems to support they couldn't destroy it- SO WHERE IS IT? NO ONE IN ORDER HAS EVER HINTED AT SOMETHING LIKE THIS EXISTING- IT'S VALCHEZ THAT FIRST TELLS US ABOUT THE SHADOW COURT TO BEGIN WITH.

And then we remember Morgaine Had A Plan to use the Crown somehow. Now, of course, we don't get to hear exactly what that was because Bree had some shit to work out, but I think its important that we know about that it because it provides a reason for the concentrated Shadowborn attacks on the Legendborn and also a reason for the King to still be kicking around. The Shadowborn harry the Order so hard because the original War never stopped, it just changed.

The King seems to a bit like Sauron - separated from his Crown, he's a shadow of himself (excuse my bad pun), still powerful, but limited in scope. There's no reason for a long game otherwise. But if he were trying to get his Crown back? Because the Order STILL HAD IT?

Well, that would re-contextualize a few things, wouldn't it?

[geddyqueer]

Ok. So. Spoiler alert: we’re all fine.

Now that that’s out of the way, the three rules of ice climbing are: 1. don’t fall 2. know what’s above you 3. if the environment starts changing you might want to gtfo. Today we got really close to breaking all three of them.

(big mountain looking her regular intimidating self from the road)

It was -12 F in the valley, closer to -4 where we parked. What we call the “ice cave” is actually a waterfall at the back of a slot canyon at around 9200’ in elevation, tucked in between a handful of 14,000’ mountains. I got out of the car and peed behind a juniper: a brisk and honestly somewhat unpleasant way to start the morning! From the trailhead it’s not quite a mile to where the creek spits out from the mouth of the cave. We were the only ones there, which was a little ominous, since this is often a major tourist destination (cool waterfall! short hike!) and it’s a holiday weekend. We've climbed this waterfall dozens of times, and we've never been alone up there. But whatever, we thought, -12 degrees, let’s get a move on.

(cave mouth; water ice)

The cave is fully frozen. It is below zero. The ice is like glass: brittle and hard to hit. We set up at the base of the falls and my partner (the only one of us crazy and stupid enough to lead on ice) starts climbing.

Ok, so, the thing about lead climbing on ice is: remember the first rule of climbing? The main difference between ice and rock, other than the fact that you're on ice and not rock, is that there's no way to safely take a fall. You've got knives in your hands, you've got knives strapped to your feet, and between the ice and the nylon rope and the steel of your picks and your crampons and your body, you know which one of those will break first? If you guessed "your body", you're right! So if you're leading on ice, the generally accepted method of protecting against falls is, like, Just Don't.

So my partner starts climbing. He gets about 10' up and goes to put in his first ice screw. The screw teeth do not catch. There's no friction. The ice is too brittle. My partner is mildly insane, so he just shrugs and keeps climbing. He gets about 15' up, which is the point where a fall would start to do some serious damage, and I helpfully suggest that he "place a screw?" He pulls his first screw back off his harness and starts to put it in. This time the teeth catch. "Phew," our friend and I say. Our friend is belaying. I'm standing off to the side taking pictures. The screw is about halfway into the ice - 2 inches, maybe - when we hear what sounds like a fucking gunshot.

We are in a slot canyon. None of us are carrying a gun.

I'm the first to spot the issue. Radiating horizontally from the screw for about 5' is a giant crack in the ice. The entire bulge of ice that my partner has just screwed into is now cracking away from the wall. My partner very gingerly lifts his foot up. The ice stays where it is. "Okay," he says, and he slowly and quietly climbs away from it.

(can you spot the difference?)

At this point, if he tried to lower off that screw, the whole thing would fall off the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). If he tried to downclimb, he would most likely knock it loose from the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). It's at this time that I walk around to our friend's other side, because it seems slightly safer. So my partner keeps climbing. He places three more screws. Two of them lead to more cracking. We're starting to get jumpy. He gets to the top, where there are anchor chains, and clips in. "This is kinda fucked," he says. "Still want to climb?"

Well, we're all stupid, so we say yes.

Quick hydrology lesson: you know how I said this was a slot canyon? The creek comes down from an alpine lake another 2000' higher on the massif, and just before it drops into this canyon it pours over a short 20' drop and forms a very small pond. "It's weird," my partner says as he makes it back down to solid ground. "I would've expected the pond to be frozen over."

"Huh," we all say, and for some reason none of us stop to question this.

Friend climbs second and I switch to belay. His climb is a lot more successful, because he's on top rope and doesn't have to worry about putting screws in. He gets to the top and shouts something at us, but for some reason we can't hear him at all. That's fine, though. I lower him. "What did you say?" we ask as he gets back down to the ground.

"Oh, just that it's weirdly loud up there."

"Weird," we say, and for some reason none of us stop to think about this.

(me, moments before disaster)

I climb third. I start on the center route that everyone else had climbed. I get halfway up before my hands go numb. I call down, ask my partner to lower me, get back on the ground and switch my gloves out for the big gauntlet mittens. Then, as I'm standing there, I think - maybe it would be fun to climb the rockier left side? So I shuffle to the left and start working the left route, get maybe a third of the way up, and as I'm placing one of my tools I knock off a small pillar and it -

it drips on me.

It's still zero degrees F, by the way. There shouldn't be dripping liquid water when it's that far below freezing. "Huh," I say, and I look up, and I get a face full of water. I look back down. "Can anyone see what's peeing on me?" I ask, right before a whole flood of water starts pouring down the route.

I don't think I've ever been lowered faster than that.

(sound on for unsettling wet noises)

The thing is: our gear is still up on the anchor chains. Someone needs to go get it. My partner volunteers, because he's the fastest climber; our friend and I are hustling around the base trying to move our rope and the rest of our gear out of the rapidly-developing pond at our feet; the ice is getting really, really wet. My partner gets to the top and rescues the gear and lowers down and we start hightailing it out of there but when we go to leave the slot canyon, the ice bridge we'd walked in on has fully washed out and we have to slog through ankle-deep freezing water to leave the canyon. Jinkies!

Our best guess is that an ice dam further upstream broke; maybe the sun caught it and melted it out, maybe something fell on it, I dunno. Maybe it was fucking haunted! We weren't going to hike up and find out. Was this related to the fracturing ice inside the cave? Unsure! Unclear! Should any of us climbed after my partner finished the first climb? Probably not! Should I have taken the fact that it took seven tries to get my contacts in this morning as a sign and stayed home? Maybe! Who knows!

All I know is I think 10-25 F is a much more pleasant temperature to climb in and maybe we should climb somewhere else for a while.

[sealrock]

the kids are (not) alright.

full view + commentary under the cut:

from l to r: tristan / cei / percy / kvornan & kiernan

the finished lineup of the wormwood siblings after many hours of manic brainstorming, so here's a short description of each:

tristan wormwood (24):

the eldest of the wormwood brood, tristan was, for a lack of better words, an oops baby. while he was very bright and believed to be on the path of academic success, he was a quiet and unassuming child. tristan was very protective of his younger siblings and was prone to put their needs before his, taking his duty as the older brother and hector's helper seriously. after being traumatically separated from their parents and facing a bleak reality without them, the teenaged tristan couldn't take the pressure of being a caregiver for his siblings, so he coped by withdrawing from everyone. his grades dropped severely, and he eventually stopped going to school, instead staying locked in his room for the next 5 years. now as a young adult, tristan has a tendency to wander around or stay inside his aunt's residence, and his relationship with his siblings continue to be strained, especially with cei and percy, who take their respective anger and frustration out on him. he has an on-again, off-again romantic relationship with a girl named ysolt. tristan took after his mother elaine and her fear of commitment, so it doesn't come to a surprise that he would flake out every now and again. fun facts: 1. at 6'4, tristan is both the tallest sibling and tallest relative of the wormwood clan 2. as the firstborn son, he is the first (but not the last) male descendant of the 300-year-old matrilineal family tree 3. tristan is the Denial stage of the five stages of grief 4. tristan strongly resembles elaine, so he avoids mirrors

cei wormwood (23):

the second son of the wormwood brood, cei (pronounced as 'kay') was born in the same calendar year as tristan with the intention being that tristan wouldn't be alone and have a sibling to play with. the opposite of tristan personality-wise, cei was an energetic, boisterous, and mischievous child who often cried for elaine to come home. because he was so close in age to tristan, the two brothers were thick as thieves for the years before their younger siblings' arrivals. he always followed after tristan and relied on his instructions, even if cei would break them. left adrift after the family was torn apart, cei was lost and confused. with tristan no longer involving himself with the siblings, cei's anchor he relied heavily on was gone. for the 5 years during tristan's self-isolation, cei was no longer a happy-go-lucky boy, but instead he was full of resentment and grief, and so he had to step up to the plate to be his siblings' caregiver. cei grew up angry at the world, and that anger would be misdirected to his siblings. but everyone knew the people he was angry at the most were his parents. now as an adult, cei is a student of the studium's faculty of medicine department on the behest of his aunt, at the same time working his way through school by taking night shifts at the last stand. cei is focused on creating the perfect mix of good food and good nutrition, not just for the betterment of sharlayan society, but also wanting to capture the warm and nostalgic feelings of his mother's home-cooked meals so he and his siblings could come together and enjoy dinners like they used to. fun facts: 1. cei is the only one with brown eyes, a feature he inherited from elaine 2. cei is the only one who can cook among the siblings, based on his years of being raised by their grandmother and her 'terrible' food. he often prepares their meals and takes into account what they like or don't like 3. cei was the most affected by tristan's withdrawal from the siblings, and he likes to throw hurtful comments and insults to his brother whenever he comes around, which tends to lead to arguments between the two 4. cei is the Anger of the five stages of grief

percival wormwood (19):

the only daughter and middle child of the brood, percy was originally believed to be a boy before their birth by elaine, but hector named them percival because he liked the name so much he couldn't imagine calling them anything else. stuck between 4 brothers, percy struggled to fit in, and as a result, became more of a tomboy to not feel left out. percy was extremely close to hector as a child, often being called his shadow for how often they would cling to him, perhaps in a childlike attempt to receive more attention. despite what their brothers may feel, percy carries the most guilt over what they believe caused the fall of the family, with the physical scar to prove it. for most of their teenage years, percy was used as a scapegoat for familial disagreements, their pity, and their brothers' constant fighting, and at 19 years old, percy wants nothing more to do with them, even if it means risking splitting the fractured unit further apart. as of now, percy is at a loss of what to do next. having no love for school, percy seems to be heading in the same direction as their brother tristan, something their great-aunts seem loathe to admit out loud. after being a mediator for their older brothers for most of their young life, percy wants out. fun facts: 1. percy is the only sibling with green eyes, a recessive trait from their mother's side. they resemble hector more than the others 2. percy is the Bargaining of the five stages of grief 3. percy is the only sibling that has an innate ability for magecraft, a talent carried by the wormwood clan for generations, but they never pursued learning more beyond simple parlor tricks 4. percy's nose scar is the result of hector's mental breakdown caused by halmarut's corruption (something the siblings did not know at the time), after he lashed out at them with a knife

kvornan & kiernan wormwood (16):

with their arrival being a bit of a surprise in the midst of hector and elaine's relationship troubles, the twins are the last of the wormwood brood, with kvornan being 4 minutes older than kiernan. while they were too young to remember the troubled times of the family unit, the boys carry some measure of guilt in their own ways. kvornan tries to keep his siblings together as best as he can, while kiernan keeps himself at a distance. regardless, the twins have a decent relationship with cei and percy, the four of them being closer than their eldest brother tristan. they have vague memories of their parents, and while their older siblings envy this fact, the twins envy them in turn for having the opportunity to know their parents better than them, as they usually have nothing to add whenever cei and percy discuss the more happier times. currently, kvornan is excelling in school, but kiernan tends to fall behind his more studious twin in favor of daydreaming. they now live with their brother cei in his apartment in sharlayan, but they don't need any supervision as they learned to be independent early in life. fun facts: 1. elaine wasn't there when the twins were born, so their names are different from their siblings. their names come from the wormwood clan's amdapori heritage 2. kvornan and kiernan's grief stages are flipped: kvornan is Acceptance despite being the 4th child, and kiernan is Depression despite being the last born 3. kiernan is prone to periods of selective mutism, so kvornan often has to talk for him 4. the twins are both 5'6, but are projected to grow taller than tristan in a few years