#Definitely not the worst part of the thing but...

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly (Part 3/Ending)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldn’t be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.

Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldn’t be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.

You’d asked how he knew.

“Had some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Instantly flustered, you’d looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.

It didn’t matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. You’d be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.

Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.

As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didn’t come off, but you’d definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnny’s mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didn’t realize was so public.

You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasn’t like you’d meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalid’s open damn door.

But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighbor’s boyfriend’s arms and realizing they’d seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer – again for platonic reasons – and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.

You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you weren’t in a position to have either.

When you’d suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.

“We’ll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, you’re still recovering.”

So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didn’t want to be a burden, anyway.

Fuck.

Right.

You were a burden.

When you felt a bit better, you’d handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.

You’d make it right. When you’d put some distance between your waking thoughts and death’s shadow.

Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.

Until he knocked.

“Hey.”

Fucking Johnny.

You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.

“’M so sorry, hen.” Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.

You’d wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, you’d bet anything Ghost was, too.

“I almost died,” you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. “I would’ve helped with whatever you needed if you’d fucking asked.”

His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.

Good. That made two of you.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Aye.”

“You almost got me killed.”

“Aye.” Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.”

He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.

If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.

“I thought we were friends.” Half confession, half accusation.

“We are, bonnie, I swear –”

“No, we’re not.”

He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.

“Bonnie –”

“Stand down, Soap.”

You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadn’t quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.

He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.

“Brought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. I’ll set out some towels for you.”

“Thanks.” You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll get things sorted, then.”

He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. You’d address your hair later. And… everything else, really. You weren’t ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighbors’ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.

Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels he’d prepared. “Assume your shower’s like ours.”

“Probably. Thanks.” Again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

A nice sentiment, but you really couldn’t. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.

Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your host’s. He hadn’t gotten frisky. He’d been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a little…

Or a lot.

Shit. Fuck. No.

You could not get off in your neighbors’ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didn’t hear you, it was… rude.

Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.

Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.

So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.

Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.

“Uh…” Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You should’ve…

“Thought it was about time you got that apology,” Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. “You’re cold again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, aye.” Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. “Really am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?”

He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tea? A year’s subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Thought I could warm you up.”

Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do.”

He wasn’t touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.

His partner was in the fucking room. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Already discussed it.”

You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.

“We both like ya, bonnie,” Johnny whispered in your ear.

You shivered.

It sounded like such a bad idea.

But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.

“How about it?” Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. “Let us make you feel good?”

One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.

With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.

A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.

Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.

“The best apologies are given on your knees, don’t you think Johnny?”

A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.” He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robe’s knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.

One more peck, and a whispered, “Lie back, bonnie.” And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. “Gonnae give you an apology you never forget.”

The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the O’s path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.

He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.

The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.

It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. You’d had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like he’d promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.

Your whining plea didn’t sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.

Solid heat you’d learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.

“Be good, Johnny,” he rumbled. “Stop teasing.”

Eyes glinting, your tormentor’s face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolf’s fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghost’s.

“Yes, sir.” His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. “Mind givin’ me a hand, LT?”

Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.

“You doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble he’s caused, yeah?”

One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghost’s balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Please.”

“You heard the woman.”

“Happy to serve.” Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.

Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess he’d made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.

Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnny’s face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.

“Good girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.”

A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.

He’d tormented you so long. You didn’t have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldn’t even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghost’s words to penetrate.

“How you feelin’? Rung out or ready for more?”

What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. You’d ask for more until your voice gave out.

You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnny’s face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.

“More.”

Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldn’t quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.

“Tell her, Johnny,” Ghost prompted. “Give her everything you’ve been thinking since you moved in here.”

“Fuck.” The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LT’s commanding gaze. “Heard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected – doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Showin’ up with biscuits and makin’ friendly.” The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. “Had me graspin’ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchin’ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.” He popped his button free. The zipper went down. “Wanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let ‘im see ya. Let him understand.” His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.

“Should’a heard him on the phone,” Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. “Thought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.”

Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. “Wanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had. Please?”

Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.

You were going to combust, and you’d enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.

“Yes.” He’d dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. “Please.”

He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.

He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter – not that you wanted any – and you once again seized Ghost’s arms because they were the only fucking thing he’d let you reach. They would take care of you. You weren’t allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.

Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.

But not enough.

His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.

“Fuck.” Blushing from exertion – and probably something else – he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. “I swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didn’t get you there in time, did I?”

He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghost’s shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.

When you didn’t fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.

“May I?”

Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. “I said I trusted you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.

One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.

“Minute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,” he said. “Knew it’d been so long since someone took care of you that you’d forgotten how a good neighbor should act.” The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. “Wanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasn’t fit company.” The full implications of that didn’t quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.

A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnny’s cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. “Had to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.” He pulled his hand free, denying you release.

“You said you’d take care of me.”

“We will, sweatheeart. Easy now.” His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. You’d need to relax. You’d need to trust him.

Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.

When he’d sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.

“Think you’ve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.

Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.

A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.

“Fuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.”

After Johnny’s performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that he’d ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third you’d entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (I’m okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnny’s attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.

But you were tapped.

“Can’t. Too much.”

Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.

You didn’t even realize as you slept that you’d found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.

[buckynats]

I asked @greseadraws to draw Harding ranting about the bookclub pick while Fel listens affectionately. Why go to bookclub when you can just have your girlfriend summarize the story in angry bursts of emotion instead?

Less chance of catching a stray arrow to the heart that way too

[mixingandmelting]

hey so how do you think Batboys would deal with a s/o who listens to them at the start of the relationship when they say don’t go to that area. S/o offers them help sometimes with things. (In reality, s/o just didn’t have a reason to go yet). But what they do when they find out s/o is Going to the place for a change cuz they felt they had to go do something important (the boys weren’t around when something came up) and if either get argumentative when this first happens, s/o points out They’re both a couple who aren’t gonna agree with each other’s decisions all the time, but s/o’s glad their boyfriends there, at the same time, annoyed they followed cuz doesn’t want them getting shot at cuz of s/o. then how do they deal with this being a thing that sometimes happens between them far into the relationship still??

A/N: sorry about the short format. it kept turning into a character analysis of the boys rather than a request despite rewriting so many times😂

Dick:

Everyone says he’s the nice one. Not tonight and most definitely not for you

You placed yourself in danger. Disregarding your safety and how tonight could've been the last night for both you and him

He told you how dangerous that place was because he loves you and never wants to see or hear that you’re wounded. That the person that holds his heart was injured in any shape or form especially in an area even he has to be cautious when entering its vicinity. But you still chose to go there.

He wonders if he did something to not make you trust him. To rather not tell him and risk going to that area behind his back when you could’ve asked him to go with you

It’s him. He’s the one that gets his tongue tied up after starting the argument when you bring up how couple’s aren’t going to agree with each other's decisions since he had done it one too many times to you. (Cough jumping into a street full of fear gas without any protection cough) Still argues that this is different as it’s your life that was at stake

The nail to the coffin is you telling him your relief of him being here and your desire not see him get hurt because of you. Not only are you throwing his words back at him, you’re sincere about it and how is he supposed to stay mad when he’s listening to how he’s loved just as much as he loves you? 

Jason:

You did not just that. You did not go to the place he warned you not to. You can’t be serious-

It’s this type of stuff that gets him mad at you. Not the disgruntlement or him agreeing to disagree, he’s actually mad mad

You are precious. You are special. Maybe not to all but to him, you are. He’s been through death and revival in the worst ways- he will never let you go through that. He won’t allow it. Ever

Except you’re about to by heading to the one area he told you not to go when even him, the guy who survived the Lazarus Pit, considers it dangerous. And he swears if anything were to happen to you, he won’t be holding anything back

He uno reverse your argument you started, asking you how you would feel if he had done the same thing you did to him. Emphasis on the not telling part as that’s his biggest issue 

It’s not as if he was going to stomp his foot down and end with saying no. He would’ve gone with you so he could help you out. But to do it and suffer through it alone? When he’s right next to you? No way is he going to let you do that

Much of his anger sizzles out when revealing you didn’t want to drag him into your problems when he already has his hands full and confessing you’re actually glad that he’s here with you. Most likely to gloat about the last part afterwards as his heart throb from how much you cherish him 

Tim:

It’s either he gets a stroke, an aneurysm, hyperventilate, or all three

There was a reason why he gave you the whole talk of why you shouldn’t go, listing all the reasons and probability of anyone surviving- all for you to simply not go and not get yourself killed 

There’s no anger or irritation; he’s pure anxiety, close to having a mental breakdown from almost losing you had anything gone wrong 

He goes from going off how dangerous it was for you to go there in the first place to him practically confessing his love for you again with how he doesn’t know how to live his life if you aren’t there with him 

Ended up causing an argument about how he needs to treat himself better and know he’s the best thing ever vs. you needing to treat yourself better and you’re the best thing ever when he tells you it’s not his life that’s important right now, it’s yours 

Still mentions how you could’ve asked him for help. He’s the best detective after the man in black himself so why didn’t you? 

Gives you the stink eye once you express your relief he’s here and you only wanted to keep him safe from getting hurt from your problems because he knows you were trying to get away with it and it’s not working. Okay, maybe it is but not completely

Duke: 

Flabbergasted. Dumbfound. Mentally broken

Where were you? The place he told you not to go? The area that was deemed as JLA level danger? What the actual fuck-

Between the two of you, you’re usually the smarter one but at the moment, not so much as he’s desperately hoping you’re okay, safe, alive, and nothing happened to you

Rather than an argument, it’s you trying to calm down a very worked up Duke as he goes off a tangent from how worried he was for you to asking what you were thinking going to a dangerous area alone

Like seriously, do you understand what could’ve happened and how heartbroken he would be if he lost you? You’re the one who helps him remember who he is as a person and remind him what he does is worth it if he could see your smiles and spend more time with you. What is he supposed to do without you?

Tries to continue being angry but finds it unfair how you manage to get him to have his heart skip a beat when you tell him you’re glad he’s here and you didn’t want him to get hurt because of you. He’s supposed to be lecturing you. Not feel fuzzy, come on

Damian:

You’re an idiot. And not in the “you’re my idiot” affectionate way

Did it seem he was kidding when he told you why not to go? Was it a joke to you? Just where in the world did you even get the idea that it was going to be okay for you to go there?

In short, he’s pissed. Pissed that you were brushing off his concerns for you because he cares and doesn’t ever want to see you hurt or worse. Pissed that you weren’t caring for yourself when you, yourself, are the only treasure he would ever desire

Yes, he’s going to argue with you because he’s right and you know he’s right. Or should but obviously you don’t when you argue back about couple’s respecting each other’s decision when, for him, it’s about you potentially close to losing your life 

In which he brings it up as well as how you could’ve asked him for help. Would he have said no if you asked him to take you to the area? Yeah, at first. If you continued pushing, he would’ve gone with you. If not, he would’ve done everything to get to the bottom of it because he’d do anything to make sure your safe and he won’t lose you

Scoffs  from you being glad he’s here but annoyed from the chance he could get hurt because of you but it takes the edge off him and he softens from how you told him how much you think about him

[blorbologist]

I wish you would write a fic where Percy and Vex need to get warm.

Do with that what you will. (It is effing cold here so it’s on my mind) lol

This welcome has been, so nice and warm

900+ words | Gen | Perc'ahlia | TLOVM s3 and C1 compliant, set in the 1-year timeskip.

I wish you would write a fic where... prompt game

EDIT: Now cleaned up and on AO3!

--

Vex loves Percy. I mean, it’s a simple, straightforward fact. So much of him is reflected in Whitestone that it’s impossible not to love the city too. 

She might just love it a bit less right now, though. Apparently something about turning Whitestone into a necromancer's paradise impacted weather patterns (guess it’s hard to raise undead in frozen ground?) - because Percy remarked, during Winter’s Crest last year, that it was an unusually balmy winter.

This one is not unusually balmy. It’s cold. It’s skin-prickling, hair-frosting, finger-tingling fucking oppressively cold. 

Vex never knew it was even possible to be too cold for snow. But she’s definitely fucking familiar with the concept now!

It sure doesn’t feel like the Dawnfather smiles on her when the dawn was several hours late, and she woke up to several feet of snow, and to have any hope of catching anything she had to leave her very cozy bed and even cozier Percy.

Another thing to hate about this weather? Dressing up. Gone are the days of throwing on boots and bounding off for a hunt. She needs not one but two hosen on her legs, and a sweater and a jacket and a cloak on top, and gloves, and big huge boots that make her feel like the clumsiest thing in the whole fucking Alabaster Sierras if the rest of the outfit didn’t already accomplish that.

And a hat. A knit, tight hat that she has to drag over her ears or the points will freeze. It feels like she’s going deaf when she wears the thing.

After several hours of vigil in a tree - a third of them taken before sunrise when even that couldn’t warm her - Vex finally just gave up and trekked home. Because even for the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt there was only so long she could fight off shivers to stay still. And feel every breath sharply. And watch her scarf and fur collar and stray strands of her own fucking hair slowly prickle with frost. 

She must have frostbite. Even if her magic doesn’t seem to catch on any damage. She’ll get inside, take off her gloves, and see that her fingers are black and falling off and Pike will have to leave the bakery to put them back on.

Not like she has any use for those stupid fingers; they’re stiff with cold, and she doesn’t have any game to haul back.

Everything sucks even more knowing she - don’t forget, the Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt - didn’t even hunt anything. Not even a rabbit, or a turkey, or a glimpse of that Grey Render. Funny thing: the wildlife has the sense not to be out in this weather, even if she doesn’t.

(The worst part is that Trinket, for the first time in his whole life, has decided to hibernate. Because the Parchwood is the sort of place bears want nothing to do with when the days start to shorten. And it means that Vax is in Zephrah, where it never snows, and Trinket is soundly sleeping in the warmest part of her mansion, and Vex is out here alone.)

(It means there’s less body heat to keep her warm out here. Of course.)

Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt who sucks at hunting in the Parchwood for a third of the year. It’s times like these where she’s really giddy the mansion was completed not long after the first frost; she can avoid the (surely super judgemental) stares of the townsfolk.

She just… has to fight through knee-high snow to get back. Or awkwardly step through the tracks she left in the morning. Or test the thin sheet of ice on the top of the snow, make it a few strides before crashing through. And no matter what she does her socks end up cold and wet!

By the time the lights are in sight she’s exhausted, and sweaty, and pissed, and really itching to kill something. And above all else, freezing. It’s almost enough to dull the ire - almost.

A petty part of her heart hisses that she never, ever should have fallen in love with a clever, thoughtful, nerdy, proud, cynical, and extremely sexy man who happens to live where it gets fuckoff cold for a solid third of the year.

Except as she trudges closer, she can see his silhouette in the window. And the moment that interruption in the light jerk upright because he’s seen her, too.

Except he leaves that warm, cozy home they’ve made to meet her outside with his coat and slippers. And he kisses her burning cheek and steals her hunting gear and rambles about some idle nothing - and notes he’s got hot chocolate on the stove. 

Except once they’re in the mudroom, and her cold skin prickles at how balmy it is in here, he’s taking her hands and warming them in his. And he’s taking off her boots and grimacing in sympathy at the packed snow and agreeing it’s awful out there, she’s entirely correct, and he’ll be sure to have those poor cold feet in his lap as soon as possible. Yes, by the fire, of course, he’s not a madman.

Except he’s so delighted to have her back, so happy to have an excuse to pamper her. And Percy, with an impish delight, cocoons her in thick blankets and tugs her along to the little nest he’s made by the hearth. And Vex, impossibly, falls a little more in love with him every time he leads her through this dance.

Because Percy, as a man of fuckoff-cold Whitestone, has getting warm down to a science, and Vex can almost forget she was ever cold in the first place.

(She has her own thoughts on how two lovers could warm eachother up, of course - but she did fall in love with a clever man.)

[the-fab-fox]

The reason I love this show is because it's the only show where a normal every day guy becomes the bad guy but it's done in a way that actually pretty realistic when it comes down to it.

You are not supposed to like Walt. By the end, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to hate and despise him. But at the same time, you can also see where he is coming from. You can also see where all the characters are coming from.

The thing I was most surprised about was that I was rooting for Hank, Walter's brother-in-law the whole time. And I don't like cops. At all. But I like Hank as a person and he is a good cop. Like I feel like he would not see a poc and immediately think 'he must be the culprit'. Y'know. But regardless of that, Hank the cop, is the GOOD guy. (Jessie I would say started as kinda an anti-hero but his guy at the end. Like he's always been good but Walter definitely messed with his head.)

And it's wild to come at it from this angle which is why I think the show did so well aside from the writing and the amazing cast of actors.

The worst thing is, while I felt bad for Skyler, I didn't like her. I didn't like her at all. But that's personality and that's only because we only see her at her worst because of Walt. Far too many people hate on her when really, we shouldn't be. Like yes she took advantage of the situation but really, who wouldn't, especially in this economy. That does make her an accomplice, but she is not the evil. Walter is. He even says it. "I'm the one who knocks." Skyler has no power. Walt holds power over her honestly.

And it also has one of the best written and most charismatic big villains I've ever seen in any media. Giancarlo Esposito is absolutely show-stopping and scene-stealing as the sociopathic (I cannot see him not being sociopathic with everything he's done) Gus Fring.

So yeah. Just do fascinating to watch the real time (for the most part) collapse of a man into madness and evil.

It's so crazy. If you haven't watched it, and can stomach some level of blood and gore (mostly not the really gruesome stuff except an explosion at one point is off screen and we at most see the aftermath), then I strongly urge y'all to give it a try.

[murasaki-cha]

One thing that has always pissed me off is when people call the Enemies to Lovers troupe toxic romance and say it's abusive. Like I don't know what was advertised to you as enemies to lovers but babe that is so not what this trope it's about.

Now listen I'm a fantasy reader, so my normal level of enemies to lovers is "they have tried to kill each other at least once" or "they have definitely physically fist fought" at like the minimum. Anything below that is rivals to lovers to me. Just wanted to make it clear I'm not sugar coating anything here when it comes to my ships.

Enemies to lovers was never about the abuse or the fighting and the attempted murder, that's not what makes the trope.

Enemies to lovers was always about seeing the worst in each other first, being unafraid to show someone the ugliest part of yourselves and them still managing to fall in love with you. It's about realizing that the only person who has ever truly known you is the one person you cannot stand, it's about them being an outlet to each other the one person they are not afraid to be negative towards because that's your dynamic all the time.

This is also why people enjoy the fighting and the bickering between the enemies, because it's the one time when these characters are not holding anything back, they are unafraid of showing each other cruelty because why fear being disliked by someone who you already hate, that also hates you back?

It's about this chemistry these characters have, how they are somehow always pulled towards each other, how they can recognize each other in a crowded room immediately because they are annoyed by each other's presence obviously. It's about them always somehow ending up in a situation together even though the last thing they want is to be near each other.

They start noticing more about each other, they realize their habits, they know little stuff about them that almost no one else has ever noticed and maybe along the way they realize that maybe they're kind of different from what they thought at first and maybe they're not so different from each other.

It's about name calling turning into pet names, verbal sparing turning into old married couple type of bickering, going from dreading each others presence to searching for each other in a room, sneers turning into smirks, it's about keeping the same dynamic you had but making it more lighthearted, warmer.

And this is my personal opinion, but I truly believe there is no way to make a good enemies to lovers story without it also being a slowburn. It makes absolutely no sense why these characters that hated each other until now are suddenly falling in love so quickly. Enemies to lovers was never just Enemies -> Lovers, There needs to be some forced proximity thrown in there, a begrudgingly friendship, actual friendship, unexplained feelings, realization of feelings, secret pining because we barely became friends there is no way they would ever feel the same way, confession and by the end lovers. It just makes sense since they have a very complicated relationship and they need to grow as people and need to get used to familiar feelings first before actually getting together.

And this is what enemies to lovers is all about, these characters knowing every part of themselves, from the worst to the best, hiding nothing and being free around each other. It's about truly knowing every single piece of your partner's heart and soul, from their anger to their joy and loving them not just despite it, but especially for it.

[nameless-ken]

The Things Better Left Unsaid - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Just an idea that came into my head that I wanted to get out. Debating on if I should do a part two to this. Let me know if I should!

words: 4.2k

warnings: mostly angst and fluff, best friends pining after each other

masterlist

You and Bucky had always been a team, growing up on the same street, your bedroom windows perfectly aligned across from one another. It started with the two of you tapping on the glass with tiny fists, trying to get each other’s attention. Later, it became the flicker of flashlights and shadow puppets against your curtains during late-night talks. By the time you met Steve Rogers in first grade, your trio was inseparable. Steve, small and scrappy, needed the kind of loyalty only you and Bucky could provide. Together, the two of you made sure no one would to mess with him.

Rumors were inevitable. By the time middle school rolled around, your moms were already joking about how you and Bucky were “destined” for each other. “One day, you’ll be Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky’s mom would tease, making you roll your eyes while your cheeks burned. In high school, the rumors took a life of their own. Some kids whispered about you and Bucky being secretly together; others claimed it was Steve. Some even spun stories about the three of you.

Whenever Bucky caught wind of it, he was quick to shut it down. “Platonic soulmates exist, you know,” he’d say, grinning in a way that dared anyone to argue. But it stung more than you’d admit, hearing him say it so definitively, as if he could never think of you as anything but a friend.

Then came sophomore year, when Bucky got into his first real relationship. The rumors died almost instantly, replaced by whispers of envied girls who wished they were in her shoes. For you, it was harder. Bucky, who had always been your partner for Friday night movie marathons and Sunday bike rides into town with Steve, suddenly wasn’t there anymore. He started skipping out on your traditions, forgetting dates and moments that had once felt sacred. Even Steve’s sixteenth birthday—a day you both had planned together since middle school—slipped through Bucky’s fingers. Steve didn’t forgive him easily for that, and neither did you.

When the relationship ended, Bucky came back, knocking on your window one Friday night like no time had passed. You and Steve teased him relentlessly about his absence, but deep down, you were just relieved to have him back. It wasn’t long before everything felt normal again—or as normal as it could be when your feelings for him started to shift.

The memories were countless, small and scattered like pieces of a puzzle that made up your childhood. There was the time in seventh grade when Bucky punched Tommy Matthews for stealing your lunch, even though it got him grounded for a week. Or the summer before high school, when you dared him to climb the old oak tree in your backyard, and he fell, breaking his arm. “Don’t tell Mom,” he’d begged through gritted teeth, laughing even as you panicked.

There were lighter memories, too: sneaking into the corner store for candy, getting caught and sweet-talking your way out of trouble; late-night snowball fights that ended with you shivering in Bucky’s too-big coat; and the time you, him and Steve decided to play hooky from school, spending the whole day reading comics on the roof of Steve’s garage.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. Bucky’s smile started to make your stomach flip, and the way he casually threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the school hallways left you buzzing for hours. The worst were the nights when you snuck into his room like you always had, curling up beside him and talking nonsense until the early hours. Those nights, your heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid, knowing it would never be more than this.

Senior year brought it all to the surface. The shared glances that lasted a beat too long, the playful teasing that felt like something more, the way your heart raced every time he called his “doll”. You didn’t mean for it to happen, to fall so deeply for your best friend. But now, as graduation loomed closer, the thought of leaving Brooklyn—of leaving him—was unbearable.

Steve, of course, had known all along. He had a knack for seeing what neither of you could. “You’re both idiots,” he’d scream inside his head, rolling his eyes every time he caught you staring at Bucky like he hung the stars in the sky. He tried everything to get you to confess—little nudges, not-so-subtle hints—but the fear of ruining what you had kept you silent. Bucky, for all his confidence, seemed just as scared.

One evening, as the three of you sat on Bucky’s porch and as the sun set and the street lights flickered on, the weight of the future settled between you. The silence stretched, heavy with words none of you could say.

“I’m gonna miss this,” you said softly, staring at the street you’d known your whole life.

“Me too,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Steve stayed quiet, his head faced the ground as he kicked around a rock. 

You turned and looked at Bucky, searching his face for something—anything—that might give him away. But Bucky, as always, was impossible to read. Instead, he smiled, the same boyish grin that had made you fall for him in the first place.

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering you a hand and patting Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s make one last memory before we grow up.”

And just like that, all three of you were kids again, racing down the street under the glow of the streetlights, holding on to the fleeting magic of everything you couldn’t say.

The night air was crisp as the three of you ran, laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood. It was like stepping back in time—back to a world where nothing mattered except the moment. Steve led the way, his small frame surprisingly quick, while Bucky stayed close by your side, glancing back to make sure you were keeping up.

“Where are we even going?” you called out as your breathed heavily, not being much of a runner. 

Steve turned around, jogging backward with a mischievous grin. “To the park, obviously! Last one there owes the other two milkshakes!”

“You’re already losing, Rogers!” Bucky shouted, picking up speed and tugging your arm. “Come on, doll, we can’t let him win.”

The nickname made your heart stumble, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. Bucky’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady.

When you finally reached the park, Steve was sitting smugly on a swing, his hands gripping the chains as he swayed lazily. “Looks like I’m getting two milkshakes,” he said, his grin wide.

“You cheated,” Bucky accused, bending over with his hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath. “Short legs like yours don’t move that fast without some trickery.”

“Maybe you’re just slow,” Steve shot back with a laugh.

You sat on the other swing, the cool metal chains biting into your palms. The park looked exactly as it had when you were kids—the worn-down merry-go-round, the old slide with a dent at the bottom, the same creaky swings where the three of you had spent so many afternoons.

“Remember when Steve dared you to jump off the swings while it was still moving?” you said, looking at Bucky.

He laughed, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. Mom grounded me for a week.”

“And you still tried to climb the fence two days later,” Steve added, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“Please, I knew what I was doing,” Bucky said, sitting on the swing next to yours. “Mostly.”

You laughed, the memory warm and familiar. “What about the time we tried to build a treehouse in Steve’s backyard? We didn’t even make it past the ladder.”

Steve groaned, covering his face. “Don’t remind me. My mom was so mad when we nailed those boards to the tree. She said we’d kill ourselves before we even got it halfway up.”

“Good times,” Bucky said, leaning back on his swing, his legs stretching out in front of him. His gaze drifted upward, to the stars peeking through the leaves. “Feels like yesterday.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, following his gaze. “It does.”

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of knowing each other.

Steve broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “You know, no matter where we all end up, this’ll always be home.”

Bucky nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s gonna be weird, though. Not seeing you guys every day.”

Your chest tightened at the thought. Graduation was supposed to be exciting, but all you could think about was how different everything would be. Steve, with his dreams of art school. Bucky, with his plans to join the military. And you, still unsure of where you fit into the world.

“Hey,” Bucky said suddenly, nudging your arm. “We’ll figure it out. Always do, right?”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Always.”

Steve stood, brushing off his jeans. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s go get those milkshakes. And Bucky, you’re paying. I don’t care what you say—I won.”

Bucky groaned, but he followed, muttering something about “rigged games” as the three of you headed back toward the main street. His shoulder brushed against yours as you walked, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

But deep down, you knew this night was a goodbye to the way things used to be.

Your room was chaotic. Open boxes were scattered across the floor, half-filled with a mix of clothes, books, and trinkets you couldn’t quite decide whether to keep or leave behind. The walls, once plastered with posters and photos, were bare, the room already beginning to feel like it belonged to someone else. You sat cross-legged in the middle of the mess, holding an old photo of you, Bucky, and Steve from eighth grade.

You sighed, setting the photo down on top of a box labeled Memories. The future was coming on too fast and it felt like you were leaving more behind than you were taking with you.

There was a knock on your bedroom door frame. You looked up to see Bucky standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Your mom said you might need some help,” he said, his tone light but his eyes soft, searching yours.

You forced a smile, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “You’re brave to volunteer. It’s like a war zone in here.”

He stepped in, carefully maneuvering around the boxes. “Guess I better get familiar with it. I’ll be seeing places like that soon.” Bucky tried to joke and failed as your small smile disappeared. 

Bucky ignored it and moved further into your room. He picked up a stack of books, glancing at the spines. “Still got all those Jane Austen novels, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t the one who borrowed Pride and Prejudice and never gave it back.”

He grinned, setting the books down. “What can I say? Darcy’s got some moves.”

The easy banter settled the tension slightly. Bucky crouched next to you, reaching for a smaller box labeled Miscellaneous. As he opened it, his hand stilled, pulling out a small, faded flashlight.

“No way,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t seen that flashlight in years. It was the same one he’d used to flash messages to you across the street when you were kids, the one that had started all your late-night talks.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” he said, turning it over in his hands, his thumb brushing against the worn surface.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “I guess I couldn’t let it go. It’s… kind of important.”

Bucky looked up at you then, his expression unreadable but intense, like he was trying to memorize your face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with everything unsaid. His knees brushed yours as he sat back, still holding the flashlight. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and your heart started to race, a nervous, uneven rhythm.

“Bucky…” you started, but your voice faltered when his hand rested on the floor, so close to yours you could feel the heat of his skin.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice quieter now, his eyes locked on yours.

For a moment, it felt like the world stopped. Everything in your room faded, the only thing you could focus on was him—the curve of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something. You leaned forward just an inch, drawn to him like you always were, the space between you shrinking.

But then he pulled back, just enough to break the moment. He cleared his throat, his hand retreating as he set the flashlight gently back into the box.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nodded quickly, blinking away the haze of the moment. “Yeah. Right. Lots to pack.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, both of you busying yourselves with the boxes, avoiding each other’s eyes. But the tension lingered but neither of you brave enough to name it.

When Bucky finally left, hours later, you stood at the window and watched him walk down the sidewalk and up his porch before he disappeared into his house. For a moment, you thought about calling him back, about saying the words that had been on the tip of your tongue all night. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, clutching the flashlight in your hands, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavy on your chest.

The sound of laughter echoed through Bucky’s house. The kitchen was alive with your mom and Bucky’s mom chatting as they prepared trays of finger sandwiches and fruit platters, while Steve’s mom fiddled with the coffee maker, muttering about how much caffeine a morning like this required. The living room buzzed with excitement as younger siblings and cousins darted between the adults.

You stood at the top of the stairs, peering down at the chaos with a soft smile. Bucky’s house had always felt like a second home, and today, with all your families crowded together, it felt just like how it did growing. Your mind drifts off, reminiscing about all the holidays celebrated here, missing the simplistic and nostalgic feelings of those days. 

“Hey, don’t linger. You’re the one who insisted on wearing heels,” Steve teased as he passed you, nudging your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes but followed him down the hall to Bucky’s room, where the man himself was standing in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection.

“This stupid tassel keeps flipping the wrong way,” Bucky grumbled, swiping at it like it had personally offended him.

“Here, let me,” you said, stepping up to fix it. Your fingers brushed against his shoulder as you adjusted the tassel, and he stilled for a moment before offering a soft “Thanks.”

Steve flopped onto the edge of the bed, adjusting his cap. “Man, this thing is itchy,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his robe.

Bucky smirked, stepping back to inspect himself in the mirror. “It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that we’re about to enter the real world where everything is worse.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “You’re such an optimist, Barnes.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Bucky replied with a grin, though his expression softened as his eyes darted between you and Steve. “But seriously… I just wanted to say something before we head out.”

You and Steve both turned to him, the lightheartedness fading away. Bucky hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words.

“I’m glad I had you two with me through all of this,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “It hasn’t always been easy, but… I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Couldn’t have made it without you guys.”

Steve, ever the sentimental one, stood and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You’ve always had us, Buck. And you always will.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at them both, your best friends who had been by your side through every high and low. “We’re a team,” you said softly. “Always have been. Always will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just stood there, the weight of the day settling over you. It wasn’t just a graduation; it was the end of an era, the closing of a chapter that had defined so much of your lives.

Steve broke the silence first, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s graduate before I start crying.”

You laughed, and Bucky grinned, the tension easing as he reached over to nudge your arm. “Yeah, we can’t have Rogers blubbering in the middle of the ceremony.”

Steve shot him a mock glare. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

The three of you laughed as you headed downstairs, your hand brushing against Bucky’s briefly as you walked side by side. Downstairs, the laughter and chatter of your families wrapped around you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, the future didn’t feel so uncertain.

Today, at least, you had this—your friends, your family, and a shared sense of belonging, that you grasped onto for these fleeting moments. 

The auditorium hummed with energy, a crowd full of proud families and eager graduates filling every seat. The stage at the front was adorned with banners and bouquets in your school colors, the polished wood gleaming under the bright lights.

You filed into your seat with your classmates, the rustle of gowns and the low murmur of voices filling the space as everyone settled in. Bucky was in the first row, his posture relaxed, but the subtle tapping of his foot against the floor betrayed his nerves. Two rows behind him, you gripped the program in your lap like a lifeline, the mix of excitement and bittersweet anticipation settling in your chest. Steve sat three rows behind you, his cap slightly askew as he leaned back in his chair, as he tapped his finger against his thigh, a nervous habit he’s had since forever ago. 

The opening speaker took to the podium, their voice cutting through the loud whispers. Stories were shared, advice was provided, and promises of bright futures were offered. 

It was when your gaze fell to the back of Bucky’s head that you noticed him shift slightly. He turned, just enough to catch your eye, and smiled softly. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin or a teasing smirk—it was the kind of smile that spoke volumes without a single word. A smile that was just for you.

Your breath caught, the tightness in your throat making it impossible to return the smile properly. When he winked, the simple gesture filled you with warmth, mingled with the ache of knowing everything was about to change. You managed a shaky smile before he turned back around, your heart racing throughout the rest of the ceremony. 

One by one, names were called, followed by applause and cheers as each graduate crossed the stage. 

As your name was called, you rose, your legs trembling slightly as you made your way to the stage. The moment felt surreal—hands shaking yours, the weight of the diploma in your hands, the cheers from your family echoing in your ears. As you walked back to your seat, your gaze briefly met Bucky’s again, and the pride in his eyes made your chest tighten all over again.

When the last name was called, the room erupted into applause. The principal gave the final cue as caps flew into the air, a chaotic flurry raining down.

You wove through the groups of familiar faces you’ve spent the last 18 years with, searching for the two people who meant the most to you. Spotting Bucky and Steve wasn’t hard—Bucky stood tall and Steve’s blond head was unmistakable in the crowd.

The three of you collided in a fierce group hug, arms tangling as you held on tight.

“We did it,” Steve said, his voice thick with emotion as he patted both of your backs.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you slightly, his voice soft but firm. “We did it. Together.” His arms lingered around you a fraction longer than they did around Steve, his warmth grounding you amidst the chaos.

The hug broke apart reluctantly as your families swarmed in, their pride radiating in smiles and tears. Cameras flashed, capturing every possible combination of family and friends. Your mom insisted on a dozen different poses—one with Bucky, one with Steve, one with all three of you—and the laughter that spilled out of you made your cheeks ache.

For a little while, the joy of the moment masked the bittersweet ache that had been building all day. But every now and then, your gaze would catch Bucky’s, and the unspoken weight of what came next lingered in the space between you.

For now, though, you held onto this moment—this memory—tightly, unwilling to let it slip away just yet.

Bucky’s backyard was alive with the sounds of celebration. Laughter mingled with the sizzling of the grill, and the sweet aroma of barbecue drafted through the air. Kids darted across the lawn, chasing each other with bubbles and toy airplanes. Parents clustered in small groups, sharing stories and toasting with glasses of wine and bottles of beer.

Your cap and gown hung over the back of a chair near the patio, forgotten for now as you crouched on the lawn. Bucky’s younger sister sat cross-legged beside you, her brow furrowed in concentration as she held up a tiny daisy.

“Do you think this one’s pretty?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, smiling as you took the delicate flower from her and tucked it into the growing crown of wildflowers. 

As the sun started to dip lower, you glanced up, your eyes catching movement near the back door as Bucky slipped quietly through, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. 

Your gaze shifted to Steve, who had been leaning near the grill, chatting with one of Bucky’s uncles. He had noticed too, his easy smile fading as his eyes followed Bucky’s retreating figure. When he caught your eye, he gave a small nod, his expression knowing and a little sad.

You patted Bucky’s sister on the shoulder. “Keep working on this—I’ll be right back.” She nodded, already focused on the next flower.

Standing, you brushed the grass off your knees and headed inside, weaving through the crowded kitchen. You found Bucky in his room, standing by the window with his back to you. The curtains were slightly drawn, framing his silhouette as he stared out at your bedroom window.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t turn, his voice low and distant. “Just needed a minute.”

You stepped closer, careful not to startle him. “Big day,” you tentatively replied

“Yeah,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as he finally glanced at you. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant, were shadowed with worry. “Everything’s changing.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. “It is.”

He turned back to the window, his hand resting on the sill. “What if it all falls apart? What if… we fall apart?”

The crack in his voice sent a pang through you. You stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between you and wrapping your arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then his shoulders relaxed as he melted into your embrace. His arms wound tightly around your waist, keeping him grounded.

“We won’t,” you said firmly, your voice muffled against his chest. “No matter where we go or where we end up, we’ll always have this. We’ll always have each other.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his face inches from yours. His expression was a mix of gratitude and something deeper. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world held its breath, the sound of the party outside fading into the background.

Then he smiled faintly, the tension in his features easing. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head.

You returned his smile. “Yeah. You’re mine too.”

He grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made your heart tighten, like he wanted to say more but didn’t. You felt it too, the weight of everything you never said.

And so, instead of confessing all the feelings you had hidden for so long, you shared a quiet moment, wrapped in the understanding that things were changing. You would go your separate ways, but you’d always have this—the memories, the childhood you spent together with Steve, and the unspoken bond that would always tie you to Bucky Barnes.

And for now, this was enough.

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[plumbobgothica]

Season 1 Episode 5: Not So Darling (Part 4)

<previous // next > (coming soon)

Table of Contents

Image Descriptions & Transcript

Image 1: A picture of Goth Manor in the evening. Text: Goth Manor. Image 2: Frida Goth and Xander Clavell walking up to Goth Manor. Frida: “Thanks for coming with me. I couldn’t face this house alone.” Image 3: Frida and Xander walking side by side, Xander laughing. Xander: “You know me; I'm not one to turn down free food. Do I, uh, look presentable?” Image 4: Frida turns to Xander and smiles. Frida: “I’ll admit, you clean up pretty good, Clavell. Maybe just don’t mention your little side hustle to anyone, okay?” Image 5: Xander and Frida are facing the house, nearing the front porch. Multiple figures stand blurred in the background. Xander: “How stupid do you think I am--wait, why are the Altos and Landgraabs here?” Image 6: Nancy and Geoffrey Landgraab seem to be facing off against Gunther Goth on the front porch. Nancy: "You’ll regret this, Gunther. I strongly advise you to reconsider." Gunther: "I will not be signing the agreement, Nancy, and that’s final." Image 7: Nick Alto, Vita Alto, Nancy Landgraab, and Geoffrey Landgraab leaving the house. Nancy appears frustrated in the background. Frida: “Those are the Altos? Gunther had mentioned a land trust meeting tonight. Looks like it didn’t go well for the Landgraabs. Image 8: Frida and Xander standing to the side as the guests leave. Frida: “Land disputes, politics, secret agendas. It’s exactly the kind of thing I want nothing to do with.” Xander: “C’mon, tonight’s just a family dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Credits

I took so many different pictures when trying to make this scene that I kind of lost track of what poses I used. 🙈 Definitely used a bunch of poses from Poses by Bee, and also one or two from @chamisss and @ellixq. Thank you. 🖤

The Goth Manor featured in this scene is a wonderful remake by @greenplumbboblover (I use it in all my Sunset Valley saves!)

Thanks for reading. 😊

[27spoons]

Feeling Myself | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: Your best friend's been ignoring you since you hooked up a few days ago. Determined to speak with her again, you decide to visit her in the changing rooms after a soccer game. What's the worst that happens?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

warnings: porn/what plot, smut (afab!reader), slightly ooc nat (in the name of porn), no proofreading we die like jackie

a/n: this shit corny asf LMAOOOO (this is a "what-if" from part two.) (also see: i had a thought while writing part two. this is 90% smut.) (this is also 10x as crude as the previous smut I've done sorry not sorry)

wc: 3430

[you don't need to read either part to read this.]

part one / part two

A quick recap of the events that took place the past week.

You slept with your best friend at a party. Your best friend who happens to be knee-deep in denial when it comes to her sexuality. She's been avoiding you like the plague since then. You've just finished watching her play a soccer game, and now you're awkwardly standing outside the locker rooms.

Great. Recap over.

Okay, thirty minutes is overkill, especially for Nat, who typically likes getting in and out as fast as possible. Sure, maybe you'd spend thirty minutes in a shower at home, but in a public place? With the floors that definitely have bacteria on them that could kill a Victorian child?

That's practically a carnal sin.

You aren't sure why you're steeling yourself; I mean… odds are she just left through the other entrance, right? And it's not like you aren't allowed in this change room, it's just the general change room for the school facilities…

Whatever.

You stand up straight and throw the door open to the changing room, not that surprised to find it completely empty—save for the sound of a shower running in the back of the space. Realistically, if it is Nat, you should probably let her finish her shower. You don't really know where the two of you stand right now, and intruding on a shower hardly seems like a good time to find out. And, if it isn't Nat, intruding on a shower would be a really, really bad idea.

Still, you decide to investigate further. 

Quietly making your way toward the shower stalls, you glance around and look for anything that could give you an idea about whoever it is, showering and praying to whatever God there is that it's Nat and not some random stranger. 

When you reach the benches in front of the stalls, you let out a relieved breath you didn't even realise you were holding—you'd recognize those combat boots anywhere.

Is confronting her while she's in the shower the most intelligent idea? No. But honestly? You're more than a little frustrated and pretty sure that she'll continue to avoid you unless you do something now.

So, you do the mature thing, much like she did.

You storm to the front of the stall and bang on the door, "Natalie?!" You call out, voice slightly shaky at the idea that it might not be her after all. 

A long, tense moment of silence passes after you speak, save for the sound of water hitting the tiles below. You start to panic, worrying that you really did just knock on a stranger's shower stall, scaring the everliving shit out of—

"Are you fucking kidding me?" A voice, unmistakenly belonging to a certain Natalie Scatorccio, rings out over the sounds of the shower, "You couldn't fucking… wait until I wasn't fucking showering?!"

"You've been avoiding me!" You yell back, "What the fuck was I supposed to do? You haven't been showing up to class, you've been avoiding my calls… I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" She yells back, "Maybe wait for me to come to you when I'm ready to talk, ideally not when I'm in the fucking shower?!"

"Yeah, well…" You mutter, realising that… yeah… maybe this wasn't the best time, but you're already here! There's no backing down now! "That's not the point!" You eventually continue, "Why have you been avoiding me since Friday night?"

She doesn't respond for a long moment.

"Well?" You scoff, calling over the water, "Natalie? Are you gonna answer me—"

The stall door flings open, revealing a very naked and very wet Natalie Scatorccio.

Your jaw drops. Sure, you saw her naked during the night of the party, but this is much different. She looks very upset with your sudden appearance, and for a moment, when she draws her hand back, you worry she's about to clock you in the jaw. And, honestly? You'd probably deserve it.

What you aren't expecting, however, is her to grab the back of your head and mash your lips against hers, all tongue and teeth.

It's only a moment's hesitation before you return the kiss, and she's drawing you back into the shower stall. "We better be alone," Natalie murmurs, tugging your hoodie off and over your head as it begins to soak through. "I'm not about to have one of the girls walk in on this." 

"No, uh, yeah, we're alone." You stammer out, kicking off your shoes and pants, "I wouldn't have caused a scene if there were still people in here—"

"Good." Nat breathes out as she tugs you into the shower's spray, despite the fact you haven't even gotten the chance to remove your underwear yet. "Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about this." And her lips are back against yours, free hand immediately moving to find purchase between your thighs, fingers rubbing you through the damp fabric. (Which, you'll note, is now damp for more than one reason.) 

"Holy fuck—" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, your head falling back to hit the shower wall, one hand attempting to find some sort of grip on the wall while the other grasps uselessly at her wrist, "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you in the time we weren't talking?" You ask breathlessly, hips pushing into her hand.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about this." She murmurs, fingers pushing the soaked fabric aside and pushing two fingers through your slick folds, teasing the length of your slit for a few moments before she quickly sinks two fingers into the wet heat at the apex of your thighs.

"F-fuck—" A full-body shiver rakes through your form as your back arches off the wall, a shocked gasp leaving your lips once she starts fucking her fingers into you with reckless abandon. "Jesus Christ—" "You seem to be saying his name a lot. Last I checked, it's my fingers inside of you and not his." She says with a smug grin, resting her free hand on the wall next to your head. "Unless you got really religious in the past few days."

"Asshole." You grunt out, nails digging into her wrist as you desperately roll your hips against her hand, "You are knuckle deep inside me, and I'm not about to just start saying your full name—"

"No." She cuts you off, "But you could just say Natalie."

"That's not—" She cuts you off when she stretches you further with a third finger, and you're almost positive her wrist has to be cramping with the angle it's at, but she shows zero signs of stopping or slowing down. "—the point—" You stammer out, eyes screwing shut as squelching sounds from her fingers fucking your pussy manage just to be loud enough to be heard over the rush of water beating against the porcelain.  

"No, you're right. The point is that you shouldn't be thinking of anyone else while I'm the one inside of you."

If there was something you expected Nat to say, that was not it, but you can't help the way you clench around her fingers at the comment.

"Oh, shit." A low laugh spills from her throat, "You like that, huh? When I'm all possessive? Didn't realise you'd be into that sorta stuff."

"Fuck off." You mutter, "I've never heard you get possessive before. It's kinda hot."

"Yeah? Guess I'll have to keep that in mind." Her palm grinds hard into your clit as her fingers brush against that spot inside of you that has your hips bucking and losing the rhythm you had found. "Oh. That was a fun spot." Nat murmurs to herself, "I liked that. Let's do it again."

So, she does. She presses her fingers right against that spot with every flick of her wrist, and you can't help but wonder how the fuck she became so damn good at this when at times, it felt like she barely had two brain cells to rub together that night of the party—

Shit, you didn't even notice the fact she was trailing her lips along the hollow of your throat, tongue collecting the water that streams down your body from your face. "Nat—" You gasp when you feel her teeth bite at your jaw, "Shit—"

"Mm, yeah." You can feel her grin against your throat, "See? Knew you had it in you to say my name. Just needed some gentle encouragement, is all."

You can't even form coherent thoughts at this point. You aren't sure what turns you on more: doing this in a public place where anyone could walk in and hear the deplorable things currently transpiring, the fact that Nat seems to be eager to have you like this, the way her lips trace along your neck reverently, or her completely making you forget the whole reason you walked into the changing rooms to begin with.

Nat spends some time alternating between the stretch of three fingers and the ruthless pace of two, occasionally completely retracting her fingers in favour of circling your clit with the pads of her index and middle before sinking them back in.

"You, fuck, I'm close." You stammer out the next time she sinks her fingers back into the tight heat, "Don't fucking stop—"

She shakes her head against your neck, "Not stopping." A shaky exhale, and you start to feel her hips rolling against your thigh, "Not stopping until I feel you fucking come around my fingers."

Your eyes roll back into your head at the words that fall from her lips, and you find yourself gripping her arm again for support. "Oh, holy fuck, Natalie—"

With a stuttering movement of your hips against the heel of her palm, you find yourself crashing into a climax that you were not expecting to get right in the fucking changing rooms.

And, despite how you clench around her fingers and your knees buckle slightly, Nat doesn't even stop. Not for half a second. The crude sounds of her fingers fucking your spasming pussy at breakneck speed don't slow, and your head thrashes back and forth against the wall, "Nat, fuck, wait—"

"No." She hisses into the side of your neck, biting at the skin, "I'm not done yet."

Thank causes a broken groan to slip from your lips as her fingers press against that one spot over and over again to the point the edges of your vision start to turn fuzzy amid the ecstasy. "F-fuck, I just came—"

"I know." She growls out, fingers seemingly plunging in deeper to your tight heat with every thrust of her wrist, "And I want you to come again."

"Oh." You exhale, eyes screwing shut again, "Oh…"

Nat grins at your breathless sounds, "Yeah, baby. Like that." Three fingers, "Fuck, love how tight you feel around my fingers. How fucking wet you are for me." "We're, ah, in a shower. Of course, I'm wet—"

She bites down on your neck particularly harshly at your words, "Shut up. You know that isn't what I fucking meant."

"N-no, but it's funny—"

You barely even register it when Nat drops to her knees before you, bringing one of your legs over her shoulder, "God, shut up."

And, well, you don't get a chance to speak again before she's burying her face against your heat, fingers continuing in their harsh movements as her tongue attaches itself to your clit, swirling around and sucking at the nub.

One of your hands immediately finds itself tangled in her blonde hair, the other trying to hold your body up against the stall wall behind you, which proves… to be a hard enough task on its own, given that the walls are slick with water and smooth.

"Oh, fuck—" You hiss out, tugging slightly on her hair, "Shit, give me a second—"

Nat doesn't. She doesn't stop or slow, either. Hell, she doesn't even humour you with a response, just choosing to focus on her task at hand: making you come again.

It's slightly embarrassing how quickly you're right back on the precipice of an orgasm. You'd probably be mortified if you could form thoughts other than "yes" and "please."

You swear you can feel the way Nat smirks against you as she wraps her lips around your clit, creating a suction that has a full-body shudder raking through you and—

…

Even Nat has to stop for half a second when she feels you come again, less than a minute after the first one. "Fuck." She breathes out, looking up at you with her jaw slightly slack, fingers still buried inside of you. "Did you just…?"

Realistically, you could lie. But you get the feeling this is a hypothetical question.

"I… I told you I needed a second…" Comes your stammered response, "That's… I'm not… I don't… it's just…"

A dark chuckle leaves Nat's mouth as she removes your leg from her shoulder, ensuring you can stand properly before she rises back to her feet, "Mmn, I'm not mad. If anything, it's kinda flattering."

You scowl slightly at her, "What-whatever." 

You decide it's her turn, now. 

As fast as you can move without slipping on the tile, you pin Natalie to the wall in your place, lips finding her neck, tracing up the path of a water droplet with your tongue, then further up still until your lips are back on hers.

One of Nat's hands comes to rest on your shoulder, the other tangling itself into your hair as your kiss grows more and more heated. Although it's a little tricky to do with the slick walls, you spread her thighs slightly and press your knee up between them, encouraging her to grind down onto your leg. It's your turn to smirk now, finding some sort of pleasure in the way she immediately presses her pussy against you, hips rocking with urgency.

"Yeah," You grunt against her lips, "like that. Keep doing that." The blonde whimpers back, grinding herself faster, "Please." She breathes out, "I need more."

"What?" You chuckle, "Sorry, I didn't get that. Mind saying that again?"

She slaps your shoulder, "Stop being such a fucking tease, asshole. What do you want me to say? That I want your fingers inside of me?"

You grin, "Yeah. That works, actually." One of your hands runs down the flat of her stomach, two fingers run across her folds, not quite delving into the warmth between them. "But the begging is a little hot."

"I'm not going to beg." She immediately answers, "If you aren't gonna fuck me, I'll find someone else to do it."

Your jaw tenses immediately at the comment, and you aren't quite sure if it's jealousy or something else, but the very idea of that pisses you off to no end. "No the fuck you aren't." You hiss out, sinking your index and middle finger into her cunt without another word, earning you a keening sound. "I'm the only person doing this to you tonight."

"God, yes." She almost moans out the words, "Harder."

A scoff, but you oblige her anyway, turning two fingers to three and fucking them into her faster, grinding your palm into her as the digits move, and Nat doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for someone with long fingers.

She presses her tongue back against yours, using the hand that's tangled in your hair to guide your mouth where she wants it—against hers.

The press of your lips against yours makes the movements of your hand slow momentarily, but you quickly recover your speed when Nat tugs at the hair on the nape of your neck, reminding you that there's an end goal to this.

"Mm, my bad." You murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of her lips, "Your mouth is very distracting."

Nat rolls her eyes, "Yeah? Then maybe you should be somewhere it won't distract you." A half-grin twitches itself onto her lips, and the hand on your shoulder presses down, "On your knees, ideally."

"Just say you want me to eat you out." You lower yourself onto one knee, "Saying what you want is hot." Nat grins down at you and runs her fingers through your hair as you get down on your other knee, "Don't need to say what I want. You're already doing it."

You roll your eyes at her as you press some gentle kisses to her inner thighs, humming when she parts them for you. "Maybe." A small nip to the soft skin, "But I do enjoy you telling me what to do."

"Oh, yeah? What, you into being dominated?" She laughs lowly, "Interesting. I'll have to keep that in mind."

"You say that like you plan on doing this again." You take one of her legs and hoist it over your shoulder, pausing a beat, then taking the other leg and repeating the motion. "Do you plan on doing this again?" Nat gasps when you have her sit on your shoulders, fingers tightening in your hair, "Fuck, you keep pulling shit like this, and I just might keep doing it."

A grin graces your lips, "That so? Guess I'll have to keep you coming back." A chaste kiss to her clit, then you're delving your tongue into her cunt, greedily slurping at the wetness that's collected between her legs. 

Your fingers dig into the meat of her thighs, holding her against your face, encouraging her to squeeze your head like a goddamn watermelon. You could, quite honestly, die happy with your head where it is right now.

Nat is rolling her hips against your face, your nose brushing against her clit as your face remains buried in her pussy, obscene sounds echoing against the walls, and you aren't even sure when the shower clicked off, but you are aware that it makes the two of you much more audible.

You'd pull your head back to tell her or move one of your hands to swat at the button to turn the water back on, but you get the feeling she could care less how audible what's transpiring between the two of you is.

So, you try to put that into the back of your mind, letting the sounds of your mouth against her and Nat's broken gasps act as fuel for the way you fuck her with your tongue. 

It's a handful of minutes before her breathing becomes more stuttered, her grip on your hair starts to hurt slightly, and you don't think she would let you up for air if your face were literally turning blue, but that's okay.

In fact, it's more than okay, considering you feel her pussy pulsate around your tongue as a whimpering moan breaks from her throat, hips continuing to rock against your face for a few more seconds before ceasing. 

"Fuck." Her fingers run through your hair, as if serving an apology for the way she was tugging on it. "You're fucking good at that." You shoot a lazy grin up at her through between her thighs, which were effectively acting as earmuffs. "I aim to please. Happy that my goal was met."

Her head falls back against the wall as she laughs, "Yeah. Now, put me down."

"Mm, sure you can stand?" You tease, nipping at her thigh again.

"Positive, asshole." She rolls her eyes fondly, "Let me off."

A dramatic sigh parts from your lips, but you relent and help her get her feet back on the ground, "Fine, fine." You stand back at your full height, looking down at her slightly as you lean against the wall, "But I really wasn't done yet."

"Yeah, well, I was. I'm not in the mood to get caught by someone in here." She shoves your shoulder, causing you to take a step away from her. "We both got off."

You click your tongue, "Seriously? C'mon. Don't be like that…"

"We can get off more later."

"Oh?" You quirk an eyebrow, "That mean I'm coming back to your dorm?"

"Well. That was fun." Nat ignores the question, pushing off the wall and hitting the shower button again. "Now. I need to finish showering. You staying or leaving?"

You scoff, "Staying, I guess." You spare a glance down at your soaked clothes, "Gonna be soaked the whole walk home, anyway. Not in the mood for that walk."

She laughs deliciously, "Oh, trust me; if I have anything to say about it? You'll be soaked at home, too."

A beat. "And you said my dirty talk was terrible."

a/n: ok NOW crush act two part one next fr fr

[doodler16]

Yappy Stella Anon again.

I want to have hope for her in season 3 but I simply can't. With what they've made Stella into now, she's literally too stupid to pull anything off. The theory I hate the most with her, is that Andrealphus 'always hated her' and now that he has Stolas's power he's going to kick Stella to the curb. THAT feels most likely rn, sadly. That the story will want to get rid of Stella entirely and have Andy take her place and she can be cast away and die or something. After all 🥺 it what she deserves :3 🌈 we can have our gay ice king take over now (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

Agony, makes me MAD. What I personally thought was happening in the first season was that this lack of attention Stella is getting from the story and from the characters, she was going to use that to her advantage. As it was, she wasn't threatening! Stolas didn't really care, Blitz definitely doesn't care. But Stella matters when it comes to the grimwoire, if that makes sense. In Truth Seekers when Stolas is like "If YOU get in trouble then I get in trouble. WE don't want that!" Building that if shit happens to Stolas, Blitz won't have the grimwoire, and that's obviously a problem. Stolas's problems will inevitably be Blitz's. So Stella, going under both of their radars while they deal with their personal dramas and escapades and distractions in the form of smaller antagonists, will work in the shadows to torment Stolas and have Andy more like a partner in her escapades to be The Worst Ever.

Stolas is finding happiness in this new "relationship" with the imp? She'll ruin it, seed doubt, she already knows Stolas(married for years, she knows whether she likes it or not) so she uses striker to snoop and give her information on said imp she can use to make their already failing relationship worse. Rip that away from him

The actual Octavia manipulation. That's less manipulative and more of nurturing the pain Octavia ALREADY feels from Stolas's repeated failures. Goddddd whyyyyy did they make her relationship with Octavia openly obnoxious it's a WASTE

And THEN the final scheme with Andrealphus. THEY, TOGETHER have been planning the trial to "usurp her horny ex-husband's power". It's not a last minute plan because Stella is soooo stupid. The plan from the beginning will be that either Stolas runs away with his imp, tattered relationship and no power. Or he stays in his sad terrible little life with no imp and monitored power he'll keep. But in both scenarios, he doesn't have his daughter, Octavia is still hurt. The real loss for him. And yeah this is all very Stolas focused but was willing to do that if,,,, y'know the drama was good.

:( Instead the trial is a last minute thing with no build up despite being Immensely Important, motives are just sort of tapered on to the main romance and things just sort of Happen Around Them for it to continue, Stella is wasted for her brother that randomly appeared to steal the show and be "The Mastermind" when it WAS leading for Stella to take that role(in the shadows and playing everyone on strings just because she's "Likes tormenting you!"), and I am sad. I am frustrated and sad. Does this make sense, punching the walls. Stellaaaaaa

Season 3 is supposed to be about the goetia and Stella will have her backstory, so that will be interesting. Andrealphus backstabbing Stella, I do not believe and can’t see that happening. If Andrealphus was truly that fake, he would’ve done it the moment Stolas was stripped of his powers and title. Andrealphus is a massive weirdo but bro is loyal for Stella.

Stella could’ve been cooking and scheming in the background but she doesn’t. Instead Stella is just the dumb and pretty girl. Like girl knew about the grimoire/Stolas relationship with Blitzø and didn’t use it to her advantage. That’s frustrating part. Anon, they made Stella into a cartoon villain (not in the good way, super goofy). Some people are giving Stella way too much credit than she deserves 😂

The funny thing about the Mastermind trial was that in the concept art Salem (ex Spindlehorse employee) made Stella was literally in the trial with Andrealphus. Stella could’ve done so much.

[that-hazbin]

With your reblog of the What-If scenario where Alastor’s mom is a kinda bad mom, I am now picturing a combination of that What-If with your Blackout AU. I mean, not having any parental affection growing up in combination with a father who is so physically abusive he beat his wife to death, and then living through the early 1900’s in New Orleans as a mixed race man—is it any wonder his brain decided to “nope” out of super stressful situations?

And in the scenario where Alastor’s mom and Alastor reunite in Hell, what if she finds out about the blackouts and the fact that Alastor did not know what landed him in Hell?? I’m just picturing it as being a bad time for everyone involved, like that has some serious angst potential.

God that would genuinely be so, so messed up.

Alastor's lack of love during his formative years would honestly not even be the worst of his trauma, but damn did it have permanent consequences. Honestly it would be a good explanation for why his relationship with Mimzy is the way it is— he's so used to loving without being loved in return, and therefore has 0 problems with being used by the people he loves. He's just a bag of Horrific Brain Issues.

I think Alastor's mom would still go to heaven. She may not have loved Alastor, and as a result was a pretty bad mom, but she wasn't a bad person. She still did her best. Honestly speaking, Alastor mostly doesn't blame her for not loving him specifically because he knew her own circumstances were absolutely abysmal. His dad was a wife-beating scumbag and Alastor was a product of rape. As far as Alastor is concerned, his mother was a fucking saint just for not hating his existence on principle. She stuck around and tried her best.

(Of course, he knows she's thought horrible things in moments of weakness. She once stood over his bed with a pillow in her hands when he was seven. It was a bad night, one of her eyes were swollen shut, tears running down her face... Alastor pretended to sleep, silently watching her in the mirror. She stood there for an hour, shaking like a leaf, before leaving. He kept this memory to himself.)

I think if she ever takes a visit to hell and finds out about the blackouts, she might actually have a really bad initial reaction. Alastor always did his best to never act anything like his father, despite sharing a similar face with him. His mom would not take kindly to knowing that he gets violent in any capacity.

When she finds out that it's entirely involuntary, and that Alastor didn't even know it was happening when he was alive, she's definitely going to have a bad mental breakdown. Her first thought would be that it's her fault. She already felt guilty for the way she treated him in life. She couldn't love him the way he deserved, never looked him in the eyes, had a hard time even going through the motions of a "proper mother." Was the lack of love the reason why his mind is so broken?

Finding out the first time he ever had a blackout was the day she was murdered would break her. Alastor loved her so much that her death destroyed his mind.

(The fault isn't solely hers, but she wouldn't be in sound enough mind to recognize this. It's the fault of Alastor's father, for being an abusive asshole, for everyone who outcasted Alastor based on his race, for being a "mixed bastard." It's the continued fault of war, financial instability, hunger, segregation, police brutality, etc. She may have been part of the initial spark, but she wasn't the sole cause.)

As for the rest of the hotel, I think some of them might actually get super annoyed with her guilt. Because to them, it might look like she's making Alastor's suffering all about her. Which would definitely lead to some tension, between her and the rest of the hazbin crew, as well as some tension between the crew and Alastor. Because he would not appreciate their line of thinking.

Despite the tension, it would take a lot for them to move on from the opinion they built on Alastor's mom. Namely that she definitely does not deserve the absolute unconditional love that Alastor showers her with.

[followfire]

Just had something happen to me which was very close to a situation I often have nightmares about, and I thought those nightmares were a bit over the top, like, you know, the way dreams tend to be...

Well turns out the dreams weren't exaggerating at all. In fact it's worse in real life. The nightmares were the game turned on easy mode. :)

[arttsuka]

Based on somewhat real events

I spent way too much time drawing this...

But yeah, Ford finally saying thank you

A continuation (kinda)

[leciraofthewilderness]

So, despite some faults, I really enjoyed totk, and on its anniversary I want to say something about it. Other people have said similar things before but it’s really important to me and actually a big part of why the story of totk was meaningful to me, so I want to also say it:

Zelda needed to come back from draconification. The story needed that. It wasn’t lazy and just ignoring “consequences” because (imo) that was the *point*

The point is to feel like there are going to be terrible consequences and then say actually, no. You can come back from this, with the help of other people.

To me at least, that was the theme of the whole story.

If botw was about how the world goes on past loss and grief and starts to heal (how flowers grow in the ruins and the world can be beautiful again, be worth saving, even if it has changed)…then totk was about a more personal kind of healing.

The weight of the world should not be on your shoulders alone…you, alone, should not have to fix everything…you should not have to sacrifice yourself, but when you do, someone will be there to save you from it.

This turned into a really long ramble so:

You (Link) gained so much and now it’s gone. It feels like you’re back to where you started and yet you know you have to do it all again…you were weak and you failed and you’re weaker now…but

You go down to the surface. Monsters swarm across it once again. Other people are fighting them too though. You help, but it’s not just you…

You go to the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, the Gerudo…just like with the divine beasts, there are friends who help you save each region. But this time, part of them comes along with you when you leave. It’s nice, you realize, the first time one of them protects you from a monster you weren’t prepared for. You’re still weaker than you were before, but someone has your back…

When you go up to the sky you see a strange new dragon there. There’s something about them that feels familiar. You try not to think about it.

You go down to the depths too. It’s terrifying at first. You hate it. You only want to get what you came for and get out of the dark….but slowly, the light grows. You get stronger. The dark feels like a challenge you can face (and someone has your back).

There are spirits down there. You don’t know when they’re from, but some part of you wonders…are these all the people you let die in the Calamity? (You help them find rest from their wandering. The weight on your shoulders feels a little less heavy).

There’s so much gloom. The first few times the sky turns red and hands chase you (a reminder of what you’ve lost, how you failed) you just run. Eventually though, you have to fight. It feels like the (second) worst day of your life again. But you manage to get free of the grasping gloom and stand and fight, as wild and desperate as it is. Beneath the manifestation of your worst fears, there’s another thing to fight, but this time it has a face (a voice in the back of your head says…you know this isn’t all on you and your failure…it’s really Ganon’s fault right?). You get through it.

At every turn in your travels, it seems like something reminds you of Zelda. Her passion, her curiosity, her kindness. You miss her.

At first, the tears you find reassure you. She may be in the past, but she’s safe. She’ll come back somehow…but then you hear the word draconification for the first time. You want to believe she wouldn’t do it but you know her and the fear sits cold inside you. (Zelda is a lot of things. She’s been allowed to be more of them, since she was freed from her hundred year battle, without her father holding her back. But deep down inside her, there’s a vein of self-sacrifice that still runs strong. It’s what saved the world before, after all).

She did it. She really did it. She’s gone from you (from Hyrule) forever, and it’s all your fault. If only you hadn’t failed so utterly in the battle (you can hardly even call it that) under the castle. If only you’d caught her. If only you hadn’t let the sword break. You should have protected her you should have been better it’s all your fault and now she has to live with the consequences, forever. Everything really is on you, you should have been better.

(Zelda POV: you couldn’t call upon Hylia’s power in time, you were too content to let it wither and fade away from you, ready to be free of it. You shouldn’t have. He got hurt, the sword got hurt, it’s your fault…Sonia and Rauru help you channel it again, Sonia helps you learn how to turn back time…but you don’t save her. She dies because you couldn’t save her. Rauru dies not long after. There is no one left to guide you, once again. You could spend years trying to figure it out on your own. But you did that last time. It didn’t work. Self-sacrifice, stepping in front of someone you love, that worked. (You do what you can, to call upon the sages, to help Link in the future, first). And then you swallow the stone. You’ve come a long way, in the past five years, allowing yourself to exist. But in the end, self-sacrifice worked last time. It’ll work this time too.)

You (Link) go down beneath the castle. You were supposed to bring the sages but you didn’t. It’s nice, for someone to have your back. But no one else should get hurt to fix your mistakes.

They follow you anyway. They fight with you, against the hordes, against the greatest enemies you defeated together, along the way. They’ll have your back, even if you don’t think you deserve it.

You fight Ganondorf, and then the demon king, in the hardest battle of your life. You think it’s over and then the demon king decides it’s better to lose himself completely than let you win. You’re exhausted and afraid of yet another battle, but up there in the sky, when you’re falling, the Light Dragon catches you (you wonder why she changed her path to catch you, you wonder if there’s still something of Zelda left in there to save). With her help, you win.

And then you’re in some other realm. The spirits of Sonia and Rauru are there. You remember how the two of them and Zelda channeled such incredible power together. You think about Recall. Turning something back to the memory of what it was before, like Sonia said. You stand with them and you allow yourself to hope. Maybe the Light Dragon can remember the form she took so long ago, the person that she was.

And then you’re falling, and Zelda is falling, but this time you catch her. You catch her. She’s back home with you, finally, finally.

And maybe, one mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, someone else can stand with you, and it’ll all turn out alright. (You can put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can sacrifice yourself, but someone will be there to catch you, someone will be there to pull you back to yourself, when all is said and done).

[57sfinest]

calling harry a “can opener” was SUCH a good play for so many reasons i think about it every day.

in the context of his work, it makes him a tool. as many people have pointed out, including martin luiga, part of the hdb tragedy is that he simply cannot leave the force, and his superiors know that and are using it to their advantage. no matter what happens, even if harry hated every nanosecond of every bit of the work and wanted to leave, he can’t and won’t leave. they can leverage anything they want against him and then reel him back in with a facade of kindness when they “allow” him to keep his job, as long as he does what they want him to. the 41st knows he has this inexplicable talent with people and they use him for it. he’s a cop: that talent can be used in so many awful ways, to push so many different agendas. and they won’t even be his own. a can opener has no particular desire to open a can, aside from maybe the satisfaction of fulfilling a purpose. a can opener has no agency, it’s just a tool for someone else to use to get what they want. and he’s learned to be okay with being used as long as it means he gets to stay. his complacency with this system makes him guilty even if he’s also being harmed by it.

but in the context of his personal life you kind of... flip it. the people around him are going to be opened up whether they want to be or not, and it’s terrible for his relationships. it’s shown that the questions, the prying- the can-opening- it’s become inextricable from who he is as a person. it’s like he doesn’t know how else to communicate, except it’s hardly communication when you’re just ripping people open. he’s invasive as all hell, although whether he means to be is debatable. he’s the kind of person that wants to take things apart to see what makes them tick. he dissects people, but really that’s too delicate of a word for what he does; if he doesn’t get what he wants right up front, he’ll abandon all subtlety and go for brute force. if he can’t get your screws loose he’ll just smash you on the ground and pick through your pieces until he’s satisfied, and if what he did to you isn’t fixable? oh well, there are other cans to open. 

and he’ll use it for personal gain: we already know he is (was?) manipulative. once he knows how you operate, he knows how to make you keep him. he can yell or he can cry; he can threaten you or he can threaten himself; he can be completely suffocating or he can withdraw completely; he can be an incorrigible liar or brutally honest; he can present himself as a threat or a joke or a talent. he’s a chimera- that’s why he’s got this inexplicable magnetism, even when people know they shouldn’t like or trust him. fidelity of character means nothing to him. he’ll be whatever he needs to be as long as it gets him what he wants. the can-opening is just his way in.