#I get a lot of really wonderful ones but many of them are long and require me to sit down and actually brainstorm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 3 days ago

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Hi, I’d like to make a request. Could you write a Transformers One headcanon featuring Optimus, Elita, and Bumblebee, with a male Cybertronian reader who has a dual personality? The reader’s original personality is friendly, sweet, and even a bit goofy. However, his other personality is cold, terrifying, and more prone to violence. This darker side may have been born from a traumatic experience so intense that it triggered a new, more aggressive and dangerous persona as a form of self-protection. The only way to bring the reader back to his normal self is by making him lose consciousness.

☆|♡ [TFO] BOTS w/ a Dual Personality Reader

OHHHHH I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR THIS ONE HEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHE but you didn't mention whether platonic or romantic so again, taking a thin middle line! i initially has two separate plotlines in mind but went with this one, other one was about reader being trapped in a cave-in at the mines and ending up with life-long trauma

scenario: a traumatized ex-High Guard member chose to stay with the Autobots instead of following the flock to Megatron

warning: mentions of anxiety attacks

including: Optimus, Elita One, B-127/Bumblebee

BACKGROUND:

You were initially a part of The High Guard. But for some vaguen unnamed reason, you shifted to the Autobot's side instead of joining Megatron. Something along the lines of not wanting to follow "a newcomer hot shot who dares to think he's the second coming of Megatronus". Clearly, you weren't very fond of having, once again, in your words "a miner nobody" cosplay as your old Commander, Megatronus who you clearly to this day hold immense respect for.

You're somewhat of a mystery to most Autobots. They wonder if you have some or the other ulterior motive, maybe a spy? But its only a very small portion of Autobots who suspect this. You do your best to ignore them.

As a seasoned soldier who's seen the horrors of war during your time in service, you are an important asset to the Autobot Cause. Of course, this also meant you had your own... hurdles to say the least. One which made you quite feared amongst the High Guard during Starscream's reign of it but most of your Autobot friends have yet to really see that part of you. They don't understand why the Decepticons seem to get so tense when they see you.

Optimus:

— Optimus actually appreciates your presence a lot more than you'd think. With your experience as a member of the old Cybertronian High Guard, you're able to provide valuable and insightful viewpoints when it comes to military tactics.

— Not to mention the fact that you've interacted with most of the newly formed Decepticon High-Command so you have more than surface level knowledge about the newest treats to Iacon city. Again, more valuable information especially since Optimus' is inexperienced with running a military.

— Optimus once asked for some intel on the Quintessons, what you know of them as the Hall of Records did lack significant data about how Quintessons function. Whether it be their biology or their society. But the moment you heard "Quintesson", its like you froze on the spot. It confused him and concerned him but he managed to snap you out of it before the other personality could take over. This is the first time he feels something odd about you.

— Optimus doesn't doubt your loyalty to the Autobots no matter what the others may think. It baffles the other Autobots but it makes you a lot more approachable to them, your war-frame is a bit intimidating to the old Autobot miners of Iacon who hadn't really seen anything outside of the mines.

— But Optimus actually likes that you're friendly for that very same reason, you're disarming despite being a rather well-known figure back during the days of the High-Guard.

— He notices how strange your behaviour is whenever the topic of the Quintesson War is brought up. Prime doesn't really say anything about it because he isn't sure how you would take it and how you'd feel about it either. Optimus doesn't want to bring up bad memories. He can definitely tell that the war with the Quintessons has taken a great toll on you.

— And it gets even clearer when the talk of going to the surface emerges. You visibly stiffen and the crimson hue of your optics get a little more dim. You look lost, almost. The other side of you threatens to take control during such moments but he doesn't really know that.

— Until he sees it first hand, he had told you that you could sit out the expedition if you didn't want to come, that you weren't obligated to come along but you insisted it was alright. Only for a, now looking back at it, an unfortunate Quintesson soldier to come into your periphery.

— Optimus didn't know what happened but it was like you went on autopilot, as if you were programmed with the soul intention of terminating Quintessons. You looked exactly the same but your EM field no longer had any of the amicable, laid-back fun; it was tucked to tightly to your frame, Optimus thought you might combust. It was like your guard just shot up immediately and you became a different person.

"Stop. It's... they're dead. There's only one of them" Optimus holds you servo tightly, he's clearly caught off-guard with the sheer violent depravity of your actions. Granted Quintessons were their enemies, you don't need to bash their helm into unrecognizable fragments with the muzzle of your servo-held blaster. His blue optics are narrowed at you, in soft way— your actions remind him of D when he got his servos on Sentinel. While he hadn't seen it, he'd seen the remains of the false Prime to know what his old friend had done. You turned your helm to him and your optics seemed hollowed out for a moment, the usual gleam of mischief and fun replaced with a cold, violent seriousness he's yet to see from you. Optimus has never felt so concerned about you ever in his life. Thankfully, the other's didn't get to see this. You and Optimus were unfortunate... or fortunate enough to get separated from the others. "There's never just one of them." You mutter out, flat as you look into his optics before walking towards the others. "Stay close. We have to leave quick." Your words ring through his helm as he stares at what remains of the Quintesson with one question on his processor:

Just what have you been through?

— The entire trip back to Iacon after successfully surveying Quintesson activity, you were quieter than usual. It really confused him... He wonders if anything to do with Quintessons might be some sort of trigger? Optimus isn't sure. He might have to talk it out with someone who's educated on the matter. Optimus does want to help you, you understand what's wrong. He consults Ratchet, without really mentioning you in the context out of consideration (what if you don't like being mentioned?) but the old medic is more familiar with... physical injuries than mental scars so Ratchet informs Optimus that he would have to see into some medical datapads.

— Until then, he's going to refrain from bringing up anything about Quintessons. He is sure there's a chance you won't like it when he tells you that you're not going to come with him for the next expedition...

Elita One:

— She was a bit skeptical of you at first, she will be entirely honest about that. It was just a bit suspicious how you seemed to stick with them when the rest of your friends, your comrades you'd known for years all flocked like sheep to a shepherd, towards Megatron.

— But Elita soon realized her suspicious were for nothing because you're actually a pretty cool bot, to her at least. You're fun and the two of you often spar. It's a relationship which took a while to build though.

— Your battle experience makes it so that you often give Elita advice on how she would make her kicks hurt even more and her punches dent even deeper, its solid advice and it soon turns to having training sessions with her. Elita enjoys the time she gets training with you. Especially since she is a member of the current Autobot High-Command, it is pivotal she knows more than just the basics of combat; especially since she's to be Commander.

— And you can see she's got the skill! You constantly motivate her while teaching her different methods and providing constructive crticism, she likes that a lot. Elita's battlefield powess only seems to grow after a good, long training session with you. The two of you are a deadly duo!

— So when on the way back to Iacon after the surveillance mission, she wondered why you looked and felt so... off. Your usual open EM field tightly held to your frame, you're typically not a closed off individual and it makes her frown.

"Hey, you okay?" She asks as the party continues to move forward. Optimus too was eerily quiet after giving out the order to go back to Iacon.

You don't respond and it annoys her but seeing that dead stare, as if you weren't even in this world... it was unsettling. Elita chose not to say anything after that but she's going to keep a close optic on you. Your behaviour is nothing like how you usually are. It's a complete 180.

Elita huffs as she continues to walk side by side with you, Optimus leading the team at the front. She knows you and Optimus got separated from rest of the team... she wonders what happened. Elita will be sure to ask Optimus what went down

She notices the strange oozing substance on your servos. Her optics narrow at the droplets, they don't look like energon— instead almost like some organic matter she just has never seen before.

Elita will get to the bottom of this.

— When Elita cares about someone, as a friend or anything else, she will make sure to find out what exactly is going on when they're acting odd. She isn't the type to sit around and do nothing. Elita One goes on to ask Optimus what happened and he explains, almost hesitantly. But he conveniently leaves out the more gorey details. From what she can conclude, you must've had something like an anxiety attack which understandably would make your mood a lot more sour.

— But ever since the expidition, you've been... moody. You're usually never moody. Granted you have an attitude sometimes, it was never permanent! Bee was also confused.

— Not to mention how much more... careless you've been during your usual sparring session with Elita. You always said her footwork could use some improvement but just take a look at yourself! You're moving unfocused when it comes to dodging her attacks, as if you're tanking it all for the sake of landing a blow on her. The sparring session the two of you had the next day after the whole expidition did not go well.

"HEY!" That punch thankfully landed right against the wall, the small impact crater formed in the shape of your balled up servos a testament to the force behind that blow— It was like you had nothing more than killing intent!

Elita does feel slightly scared but she manages to mask it with her will to snap you back to normal, using the time you were trying to turn around to deal a crisp kick right against your helm and knocking you out.

Her vents are huffing, you always you were 'holding back'... she didn't think you were serious about it! She barely managed to dodge your tackling attempt. What really had her concerned was the way you were taking every hit from her just to land a single, painful blow. Your pain receptors much be a lot tougher than she previously assumed; it's both terrifying and awe inducing in a way, she does admire your strength.

Elita looks down at your knocked-out form and decides she should probably take you to the med-bay... Your training sessions with her did get a little intense sometimes so Elita doesn't really expect anyone to some prying for an explanation.

— Your optics flicker open to see Elita looming over you as your flat against a medical berth and she can see the confusion etched across your features. You're looking around and looking back at her as if you have no clue as to why you're here! She's frowning hard and demands an explanation as to why you were acting that way.

— Elita is taking notes of how your frame stiffens, how you seem to go speechless for a moment as she reminds you of what you did. If it weren't for the genuine surpise your EM field was radiating. It shocks her too and the two of you are suprised.

— After talking to you a bit more, it finally dawns on her that you genuinely have no idea what happened or remember anything up until you saw that Quintesson.

— Elita looks at Ratchet and he's shrugging, saying how he'll have to check with more medical texts to come up with a diagnosis for this one. Elita is genuinely concerned. But she tries to pretend it didn't ever happen, until she can figure out what exactly was with you.

B-127/Bumblebee:

— You and Bee are thick as thieves with your usual shenanigans and tomfoolery when you're not being 'advisor to the Prime'. So it basically means you and Bee get very little time together.

— Nevertheless, with how chatty he is, it didn't take long for you to really get close with him because he's the one initiating most of the conversations. His talkativeness also ends up making the bots who converse with him open up quicker.

— He may not look like it but he's a silent observer, he can see the subtle discomfort on your frame whenever the topic of Quintessons are brought up in your conversations with him. Bee has learnt to avoid it. He has people-pleasing tendencies so he picks up on things like this rather quickly unlike what most bots would think. He's just incredibly optimistic but even he can't think of a positive reason as to why you'd be on edge when Quintessons are mentioned.

— Bee is probably the only one who's ever gotten to hear you war stories, it takes time but as the more you talk to him, the more you end up opening up despite the barriers you've set for yourself. Bee can feel how guarded you get; how you EM field shrinks as you try desperately to ensure that he can't feel how overwhelmed you are despite the strong face, how your voice goes uncharacteristically soft, the way look like you're remembering something which Bee can only describe as bad.

— Despite being able to pick up on these cues, he doesn't really know... what to do after. Usually, its just him nervously laughing and desperately trying to change the topic. This is not only for you but also for him because Bee is terrified of being left alone again, he doesn't want you to lose someone who means a lot to him like you do— Bee doesn't want you to leave him because of something he said. Whether its platonic or otherwise.

— He would, by sheer fucking accident, end up learning about this... issue you had back when you were in the High Guard and how you don't really know what's wrong with you, how you have these episodes and you can't really remember somethings when you have these episodes. He knows this but he's sworn not to tell anyone. He's trying his hardest not to jump up and down, shout it out at Ratchet while he's trying to figure out more signs and symptoms as to what could be up with you, a secret task assigned to him by Optimus & Elita. Ratchet is huffing, he's no damn psychologist!

— Bee is also relatively good at relatively pacifying the darker personality with how disarming he is. While Elita just knocks you out cold, Bee is more of a talking type but it just tames that darker side a bit more, not really makes it go away.

— Sometimes, Bee even matches the other violent personality's style. He's showing off what his knife hands can do and why he's banned from the training grounds while you rack up more bodies. There are times when Bee can't tell which personality is currently in control but he knows that the switch only happens when you see something with deeply reminds you of the Quintesson War. Bee is able to heal that traumatized soldier within you, slowly.

im sorry for how short the Bumblebee segment was, i blew up my budget on Elita & Oppy... ran out of ideas for Bee </3

FYI, every time you guys forget mention whether you want the request to be platonic or romantic, this is me:

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thewayilikemycookie · 3 days ago

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🤞🏻┆April fools .ᐟ

Spencer Agnew x gn!reader

Summary: You and Spencer planned a prank on your coworkers, but as it turns out, your feelings are more complicated than just a joke.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none!

Ever since starting your new job as a cast member for Smosh, your life did a complete 180. You went from having a relatively calm life, booking acting and comedy gigs every once in a while, maintaining a stable job at a chain restaurant to working for Smosh full time, being casted in videos for all their channels and helping with writing when you’re not on camera. It’s incredible how much someone’s life can change in such a short amount of time.

You became friends with the cast very quickly, they were all friendly, of course, but in the spam of a few months you felt like you truly belonged. You usually had lunch with Amanda, Tommy, Arasha and Angela or with the games crew and a lot of your afternoons -whenever you were off camera- were spent in the writing pods with Erin, Courtney and the other writers. But the person you got really close to was Spencer. You and the director of Smosh games tended to watch many shoots together, your laughter sometimes was caught by the mics and oftentimes fans would drop comments about it. You’ve never felt more like yourself in a job before.

Though, there is one big part of Smosh you would’ve never expected before working there.

From Arasha’s “I lied” prank, to bit city’s “rib cam”, the pranks they pulled on camera were something the viewers seemed to love, but you would never expect it to go beyond that, just funny content.

In reality, there wasn’t a full week that went by without a prank being pulled on someone behind the scenes, whether it was cast or crew, it didn’t matter, as long as it ended with laughs - and as long as it caused no harm, a rule established by Ian the moment he noticed the mischief going around in the office.

So, really, they should’ve seen this coming.

It was the middle of March and you were sick and tired of Courtney Miller.

The woman in question was now laughing her ass off in the kitchen, pointing at you, who had your whole face covered in whipped cream “DID YOU DO THIS?” You screamed, half shocked half laughing.

“NO I SWEAR IT WASN’T ME!!” Courtney shouted back, still laughing.

Chanse, who was unfortunately close to you when the prank happened, also got some of the whipped cream in his hair and was now in the same state of outrage as you “COURTNEY MILLER I SWEAR TO GOD”

He began chasing her around the kitchen and you were more lost than a fish out of water. To put you out of your misery, you heard Alex Aguilar calling places for a bit city shoot, and you were immediately on your feet (after quickly grabbing a towel to wipe the mess on your face).

You headed towards the games studio to look for Spencer, but he was already waiting for you at the door “what happened to your hair?” He smiled at you

“Whipped cream,” You answered, trying your best to clean the white spot on your hair “don’t ask”

You both entered the set and made yourselves comfortable behind the camera. This episode’s theme was lies, you watched Angela pull a prank on Arasha, Tommy falling for said prank as well and Amanda’s hilarious performance as Bill Clinton, until it was time for Arasha to come on as a guest, and she revealed a scheme she had been working on for 4 months.

The scheme itself was that she pretended to get married to her current boyfriend, only to reveal it was all a prank. She was getting into the details of the whole thing when you heard Spencer’s low voice coming from your left “I have an idea”

“What is it?” You looked at him, noticing the mischievous smirk on his face.

“April fools is coming up,” he whispered, now looking right back at you “and you know how Arasha pranked them- or all of us, I guess, by not actually getting married?”

“Yes…?” You wondered where he was going with this

“What if we prank them by pretending we’re dating?”

Spencer’s idea surprised you to say the least. You were used to reading comments shipping you two and listening to your coworkers quick remarks about your closeness, but you would’ve never expected to hear anything of the kind from him.

You thought about it. The idea of you two dating wasn’t something completely impossible, it could happen. They can definitely make it believable for a day, just to surprise them.

“Okay, I’m in” you said, turning to look at him again, only to find he was already looking at you, his smirk growing bigger.

And if his smile made your stomach twist and turn a little, that was your business.

The morning of April fools, you drove to the Smosh building with no music on, just thinking about the day’s events.

You and Spencer had started scheming the moment you left the bit city set that day. You planned everything, from the moment you entered the building to the moment you left, little moments in between shoots and interactions during lunch.

It all made you a little nervous, what would everyone’s reactions be? Will they believe it? And a question that you promised yourself to bury deep in your head: would it feel a little too real?

Needless to say you were scared.

The moment you walked through the door you felt the buzz, the emotion the day promised.

He saw you immediately, truth to be told he was waiting for you.

You smiled secretively at each other and when you walked over he gave you a side hug and nodded at you. You nodded back, not pulling away completely. The action at the same time calmed you a little and sparked something inside.

Damien, who was having a conversation with Spencer before you joined, paused for a second and gave you a wondering look. “R-Right, so then they….” he continued.

When it was time to part ways, Spencer squeezed your hand a little and waved. You started to make your way to the writing pod, not forgetting to check if Damien showed some type of reaction. He shot you a glance and a curious smile.

In the writing pod, you, Courtney, Erin and Tommy worked together. You were writing a sketch for bit city, a romantic comedy turned horror starring Arasha and Shayne. Courtney was helping you with the structure when Spencer approached flashing a hesitant smile.

“Hi” he stood by the entrance awkwardly

“Hey Spence, come in!” You turned away from the computer and Courtney mirrored your greeting

“I- um.. I actually got you something” He walked up to your chair and handed you a small box, you recognized it immediately “I- You told me you started collecting them”

The box had “sonny angels” written on it on cute colors. It was the dinosaur line, which made it even more adorable. You don’t remember this being on the plan, but nevertheless, you jumped up out of your seat to hug him. He hugged you back tightly “Spencer!!! Thank you so much, oh my god!”

“Awww how cute!” Courtney cooed at them as they pulled away from each others arms, remembering where they were.

“Hey, careful, it’s April fools day” Tommy warned you, for a second you thought he caught you on your prank, but his tone said otherwise “he might be pranking you with that box”

“oh he wouldn’t,” you played into it “right Spence? You would never do such a thing” you glanced at him while you started to open the tiny box

“noo, never.” He said in a joking tone

you opened the box to reveal the expected small plastic bag “so far so good” you smiled and opened the bag to reveal a Triceratops sonny angel. You looked at him with what could only be described as a love stare “thank you” It was all a performance, of course, only to watch their friend’s reactions. Though they found it unexpectedly hard to look away from each others eyes.

“I- uh, I have a games video to um- shoot” he started to walk back “I’ll see you during lunch though” you found his flustered smile adorable

“Okay, I’ll see you during lunch” you smiled back

After he left, leaving you with a big smile on your face and small figurine in hand, you looked back at your fellow coworkers, who now had a confused expression on their faces. Tommy and Erin both had matching furrowed eyebrows and a smile, while Courtney fully stared with an open mouth and a funny expression

“What?” You asked, with fake confusion. You truly deserved an Oscar for this, you thought.

“What was that?” Erin asked, headphones down by this point

“What was what?” You answered, looking back at your laptop

“That.” Tommy said “that whole thing”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you pretended to go back into work, your mind racing through a million thoughts

“I mean, we knew you two were very close but this is-” Courtney began speaking

“HEY, what do you think about this dialogue?”you cut her off before having to answer any hard questions. Your friends seemed to understand the signal, but that didn’t stop them from sharing knowing looks.

After lunch you and Spencer walked over to the games stage together, your arms purposefully bumping on the way. You probably caught some looks, but maybe you were too caught up in the conversation - or the way Spencer looked at you - to notice them.

The crew was setting up to play Moose Master with some characters - right after lunch, so you know its about to be chaotic -, your conversation with Spencer continued until it was time to start the shoot, he needed to give some notes before they initiated, so you started to move to the back, looking for a spot to sit down.

“Hey, where are you going?” You heard Spencer’s voice coming from behind you

“Oh, I’ll just go sit down on the couch” you turned around to face him

“You can take my chair,” Spencer moved immediately, taking his things from his chair “we rarely sit down for these videos, you know”

“The director’s chair? You sure?” You asked jokingly, a little flustered

“Yeah,” He slowly took your hand, his warm touch making you even more flustered, leading you to the chair “of course”

“Thank you Spence” you smiled sweetly at him as he turned to the cast, starting to go over some notes.

He stayed right by your side the whole time. Whenever you laughed you would lean a bit into each other. At some point he rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, which naturally led you to rest your head on his shoulder, of course. You didn’t notice the looks from Alex Tran or the rest of the crew.

“Cut! That was great everyone! Good job” Spencer moved away from you to wrap up the shoot, but he kept his hand on the arm of the chair “no notes whatsoever”

Some people stayed behind to take down the equipment, so you and Spencer decided to help. After staying back, you continued your conversation until everyone else left the set

“Bye Alexcina!” Spencer said as the woman left set, leaving the two of you alone

“I’d say that was a victory” You smiled at him

“Yeah,” he agreed, choosing a strand of your hair to play with, occasionally his hand would graze your cheek “People were talking about it during lunch”

“Really? I didn’t even notice” you analyzed his face, he looked calm, but happy. In that moment you realized what was happening “Spence…. we’re alone”

“Oh….” he started to pull away from you “You’re right, sorry”

“No, don’t” you retrieved his hand and placed it back in your hair. Slowly, he started to play with it again. A million questions raced though your head as you finally faced your feelings. Maybe you do like Spencer, and there’s a small possibility that maybe he likes you back.

He paused for a few seconds “Do you wanna come over today? We can watch a movie…” Spencer’s voice was intense and he looked nervous, it was a little adorable honestly

“And get some take out?” he nodded back “Okay, deal.”

You shared a smile, realizing that you wouldn’t have to follow up with tomorrow’s plan for the big reveal.

A.n: I watched so many compilations of Smosh vs. Dread while writing this so you can probably predict what’s coming next

Hope you liked it, requests are open!!

#spencer agnew x reader #smosh #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x you #smoshblr #smosh x reader #smosh x you

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redemptive-truth · 1 day ago

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A Time to Pretend | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 4)

Summary: Four years ago, she survived the impossible—going toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier and living to tell the tale. Now, Bucky Barnes is on her balcony, broken and bleeding. And her? She’s always had a soft spot for lost causes with blood on their hands.

MCU Timeline Placement: Post-CATWS Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 AO3 Link Warnings: N/A Word Count: 7K

Author's Note:

I'm a day late, I am so sorry! Had too many adult things to deal with pop up yesterday -- plus my husband and I are traveling to Florida for the week, so packing took far too long.

Enjoy this next part! Little bit more emotion, little bit more of a deep dive into both characters. This is a slow burn so be patient with them -- I personally don't think Bucky would fall hard and fast right away especially right after the events of CATWS.

And thank you so much for the comments and praise! The feedback means everything :) If you are not on the tag list, and want to be added, let me know!

______________________________________________________________

Part 4: June 2014, West Virginia

She spent part of the night unpacking, taking quiet inventory of the place. The weapons were the first priority—tucked into drawers near entry points, behind cupboard panels, in the closet behind the coats. Just in case. She sent off a few messages to the people who might wonder where she was—Maria, a few old friends from work. Nothing detailed, just enough to keep suspicion off her back.

The exhaustion from the drive and the sleepless night before hit her hard once the night fully crept in. Despite the unfamiliarity of the house, sleep came quickly, pulling her under before she could dwell too long on the past.

She hadn’t spent much time here before, really. Just a few childhood visits with her father: a week here and there during hunting season, or for quiet, firelit weekends in the fall. She remembered counting stars with him under thick wool blankets during the fall, eating hot dogs roasted outdoors – but after he died, she hadn’t returned more than once or twice. It felt too empty. Too haunted.

She wouldn’t tell Barnes that, though. No sense in layering guilt onto everything else he was already carrying. He had enough ghosts of his own.

The sun was high in the sky when she woke. Her muscles ached from the restless travel and heavy sleep, and her hair was a mess when she shuffled out of bed. Barnes’s door was open. The bed inside looked untouched—pillows and folded blankets stacked neatly on the floor instead.

Her stomach twisted at the sight. She knew what that meant, she’d seen it before. A lot of vets couldn’t handle sleeping in beds when they got home. Too soft. Too uncomfortable.

She found him out back, sitting on the steps of the porch, the morning air still clinging to a bit of chill. He had one of the new flannels on, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair was a mess, slightly damp from washing, and he hadn’t shaved yet—but he looked calmer. Grounded.

She stepped outside and sat next to him without saying a word. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he’d heard her coming before she even touched the screen door. She could tell by the way he straightened slightly as she approached, his shoulders tensing a bit once her footfalls were heard.

“How was the floor?” she asked, her tone light.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. Not quite a smile, but not a frown. “Better than you’d think.”

She gave a soft hum. “Yeah, I slept on the floor for a few months after my first tour. Beds felt too… fake. Took me forever to get used to them again.”

That earned her a glance. His eyes flicked to her, expression curious. “You served?”

She nodded, brushing a leaf off the step beside her absentmindedly. “Army. West Point grad. I was in until I was twenty-six. Best and worst years of my life.”

He twisted his hands together absently, metal one covered with a black glove. She noticed, but didn’t comment.

“Lot’s changed since I was in,” he murmured after a pause.

She laughed. “Yeah, I bet women weren’t exactly getting combat roles back in the forties, huh?”

He shook his head, looking into the distance at something she was sure wasn’t there. “No, ma’am.”

She smirked. “Technically, that means you’d have to salute me, then.”

That got him—a faint smile, almost shy, tugging briefly at his mouth. “Hopefully you’re not one of those officers who made the grunts do push-ups for breathing too loud.”

She grinned, “You remember some of the fun stuff then, I see.”

He shook his head, the smile lingering just a second longer. Then, softer, with something like respect in his voice: “Just impressive, is all.”

Her chest tightened a bit at that, unexpected warmth settling behind her ribs. She leaned back on her hands, letting the morning sun warm her face for a moment before speaking again.

“I’m gonna head into town in a bit,” she said casually, eyes scanning the treeline in the distance. “Pick up some groceries, supplies. This place hasn’t exactly been lived in for a while. We’re out of almost everything but coffee and canned soup.”

Barnes didn’t say anything, but she saw the slight tilt of his head in acknowledgment.

“I was also thinking… I’ll stop by the library,” she added, glancing over at him. “Pick up some books. Stuff that might help you catch up on the world. History, politics, pop culture—whatever you’re interested in.”

That made him look at her fully. His brows pulled together slightly, not in suspicion, but in something closer to confusion. Or maybe hesitation.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said after a second. “You’ve already done enough.”

She shrugged, brushing some hair out of her face. “It’s not a big deal. I figure you’ve got a lot to piece together. Might as well give you some tools.”

He looked back toward the woods, jaw tight. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “Start wherever you want. No pressure.”

A beat passed. Then, quietly, he muttered. “Books might be good.”

She smiled faintly. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I used to read a lot. Before.”

There was a pause between them. A heaviness in that word—”before”. Lost time.

“Well,” she said, standing up and brushing off her sweats. “Anything in particular you want me to look for?”

He shook his head, his lips twisted. She couldn’t tell if that was apathy or just an unwillingness to open up. “No idea what’s even out there anymore.”

“Fair enough,” she said, stepping toward the door. “I’ll surprise you. Maybe something that would really knock your socks off. Like space travel. You know about that?”

He shot her a look, a mix of displeasure and amusement. “HYDRA had me frozen and brainwashed half the time, but I still saw more than you think.”

She snorted. “Good point! You were born before the Depression. You’re pretty much dust now.”

She caught the ghost of a smile on his face before she turned away — small and barely there, but real. It was the first one that looked like it didn’t hurt him to wear.

The drive into town was quiet—just miles of thick woods and winding roads until she hit the sparse heart of the county. The town was tiny, home to fewer than a thousand people, most of whom had been born here and would die here. Folks kept to themselves, didn’t ask questions, and liked it that way. It made for the perfect place to hide someone like HYDRA’s former greatest weapon.

Not surprisingly, the town just had one grocery store. She stocked up on enough food to last them at least a month and grabbed a few extra sets of clothes and some basic toiletries she figured Barnes might need. Nothing flashy. Just essentials.

Barnes wouldn’t know - no one really did - but her inheritance from both her parents’ was enough to last her nearly the rest of her life without working again. She hadn’t touched it beyond putting herself through Westpoint. Everything she earned and used so far had been with her own money. Given what was going on now – hiding on the fringes of society – she supposed she would rely on the money if it came down to it. She hated the idea of it, hated not working for herself, but it wasn’t like she could get a steadily paying job out here without raising flags.

After the store, she made a quick stop at the small, locally-owned gun shop nearby. She replenished her ammo and picked up a few more weapons—nothing out of the ordinary for this part of the country, but enough to keep them safe if anyone did come looking. She didn’t expect HYDRA to find them out here. But she wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

And while she wasn’t a super soldier with a vibranium arm, she was experienced and had killed her fair share of men. Out here, especially if HYDRA was still searching for him, owning weapons and staying armed wasn’t unusual—it was just practical.

The town’s library sat on a quiet corner just off the main road, nestled between the post office and a feed store. It looked like something out of time—a squat brick building with ivy creeping up the sides and a rusted bike rack no one had clearly used in decades. Inside, it smelled of paper and wood polish, the faint must of forgotten old texts lingering in the corners. She was the only one there aside from an elderly librarian with silver hair and glasses perched on her nose, who barely looked up from her crossword puzzle when the door creaked open.

She wandered the narrow aisles, trailing her fingers along the spines of anything of interest. Most of the books here had to be decades old – donations from personal collections, worn hardbacks with yellowed pages and fading jackets. Perfect, really. She wasn’t about to hand Barnes a stack of books filled with pop culture references and modern slang. He needed to catch up, yes, but gently. Gradually.

She gathered a few well-worn copies of classics: Steinbeck’s East of Eden, Capote’s In Cold Blood, a beat-up edition of Catcher in the Rye. She added Fahrenheit 451 and Slaughterhouse-Five to the pile. Maybe they’d resonate. Maybe they’d just give him something to think about that wasn’t his own past.

She paused at a shelf marked “NON-FICTION – HISTORY”, running her hand over the titles until she found a slim book on the Cold War and another on the civil rights movement. She hesitated over Vietnam: A Retrospective, then added it too. He’d missed all of that. The decades had passed without him. He deserved the chance to fill in the blanks. If he wanted to. Plenty to keep him busy.

By the time she pulled back into the long gravel driveway, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting gold rays through the trees and stretching shadows across the yard. Barnes was outside still, stripped down to just a pair of dark pants and a dark tank top, the latter clinging to him with sweat. He stood at the edge of the clearing with an axe in one hand, a growing stack of split logs at his feet.

His metal arm caught the fading light with each swing—gleaming like liquid steel. He was precise and methodical, like he could handle the blade with his eyes closed. She didn’t doubt that he could.

She watched him for a moment through the windshield, how mechanical the movements were—and yet how human he looked. Sunlight caught in his unkempt hair, muscles coiled tight with each clean strike. He was a man clearly built for war — or transformed to be one — and still somehow oddly ordinary.

She unloaded the groceries quickly, hauling bags inside and setting everything down on the kitchen counter. When she stepped out onto the back porch, Barnes glanced at her from the corner of his eye, pausing his movements. He stared at her for a moment intently, looking like he might say something. Instead, he turned back to his work, driving the axe down into another log with brutal precision. Everything about him seemed uncertain - the hesitant, stiff way in which he stood, the drawn look on his face. She doubted he had had any social interaction beyond whatever HYDRA conditioned him with, beyond the torture. Hopefully, in time, he would open up more. Learn how to speak up.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a faint smirk. “I see you found a job for yourself.”

He didn’t look at her when he replied, just shrugged one shoulder and split another piece clean through. “Might as well be useful.”

“Hey, you’ve got free range here,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not gonna police you. But if you're working, I’m not paying.”

That earned her the ghost of a smirk, though it was fleeting. She nodded toward the house. “I left some books on the table for you—classics mostly. Stuff from the '40s and '50s. Figured they’d make more sense than, you know, the Internet.”

He finally glanced at her properly, sweat dripping from his brow, the weight of his stare heavier than it should have been. Soft. “Thank you.”

There was something sincere in the way he said it, not just polite gratitude, but something quieter…more complicated. Maybe he wasn’t used to people thinking of him like that. Maybe he didn’t expect anyone to.

She gave him a small nod, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t mention it.”

She stayed in the doorway, eyes drifting instinctively—curiously—to the metal arm gleaming in the sun. It was hard not to stare. The plates caught the light like a mirror, fluid in motion even as they cut through solid wood like it was nothing. But it wasn’t just the shine or the tech that drew her attention—it was where it ended, where steel met flesh.

There, along the skin of his left shoulder and upper ribs, were ridges of faint scars. Scratches, indentations—places where skin had been torn, healed badly. She could tell even from where she stood that it hadn’t always been a clean graft. It looked like it had hurt. Probably still did.

And the scratches looked a lot like marks from human nails. Like he had tried to claw his own arm off long ago. The thought made her stomach twist.

Barnes straightened suddenly when he noticed her looking, spine stiff. He didn’t look at her right away, just pulled in a breath through his nose. “I can keep it covered,” he said gruffly, grabbing the shirt he had slung over a nearby railing. “If it bothers you.”

Her gaze snapped up to his face. “No. No, it doesn’t bother me.”

He stared at her with furrowed brows, skeptical, as if he wasn’t sure if she meant it.

She took a step off the porch and into the yard, hands in her sweatshirt pockets. “It’s just…” Her eyes dropped to his shoulder again, softer now. “Does it hurt?”

That stopped him. His mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes followed hers to the thin red scars where metal fused to skin. For a moment, he didn’t speak and stood there silently, like he had to search for the answer within himself.

“Not the way it used to,” he said finally, voice quiet. Drawn. “But yeah. Some days it still does.”

Her heart ached quietly in her chest. Not with pity, but with something heavier – empathy, maybe. Or the recognition of pain that never really goes away.

“You don’t have to cover it,” she said again, firmer now. “You don’t have to hide anything here.”

Something passed across his face—surprise. Or discomfort. She wanted to think that it was gratitude that looked too raw to name.

He gave a tight nod and looked down, shifting his weight slightly. “Alright.”

She let the moment sit, the quiet thick with things neither of them said. Or had the heart to ask.

“Let me know if you need painkillers,” she added after a beat, saying something just to break the silence. “I keep some inside.”

“Will do.”

And then he turned back to the axe and wood, his movements a little slower, more deliberate. Like he was still turning the conversation over in his mind.

—————————————-

The next couple of weeks passed in a quiet, predictable rhythm. She’d wake early to an empty house, the sound of birdsong and the wind through the trees her only company until Barnes returned from his morning run. Always gone before sunrise, always back by the time the coffee finished brewing. She never asked where he went. She got the sense he wouldn’t answer anyway.

He spent the rest of the day keeping busy. Working out with a near-militant intensity, chopping wood even when there was already plenty stacked, rebuilding parts of the house that needed some care, or sitting silently on the back porch with one of the books she’d brought him. She introduced him to the television, keeping it simple—just the local channels, a handful of news networks, the occasional old movie. He used it sparingly. Never seemed interested in the headlines or sports, rarely changed the channel once it was on.

He barely spoke.

It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. At breakfast, over the clatter of pans and the hiss of bacon, in the afternoons when she passed by him reading, when they ran into each other in the house. But outside of dinner, he said almost nothing – just communicated with shrugs, nods, and grunts.. And even then, it was only a handful of words exchanged while they ate. She couldn’t tell if it was dislike or distrust, or maybe just the weight of realizing things from his past he didn’t know how to carry yet.

Still, he was staying. That, at least, mattered.

He looked more at ease here, if not exactly comfortable. He didn’t flinch at every noise anymore. He spent hours outside, sitting under trees or walking the edges of the woods. But he refused to do anything with her. She invited him to hunt, but he declined every time. The same went for trips into town or even the solo runs she took at dusk. Always a quiet, firm no. If she got more than a full sentence out of him each day, it was a miracle.

In the third week, she made the mistake of pushing.

They were eating dinner—a simple meal of grilled steak, potatoes, and greens. The silence wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t easy either. It had never been easy. She never knew what to say, when to ask things…it was like a constant dance of avoidance.

She cleared her throat softly and glanced at him across the table. “Do you…” she hesitated, fork halfway to her mouth.“Do you remember anything more from your past? Has anything sparked your memory?”

Barnes stilled. His fork hovered over his plate, unmoving. Metal creaked softly and she glanced at his left arm – the metal looked stiff, like he had his hand clenched in his lap. His jaw locked hard enough that the tension in his neck was visible from across the room.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t blink. When he spoke, it was flat. “Just past…missions. People I killed. Things I’ve done.”

She froze. The bite of steak she’d just cut sat like lead in her mouth. Her throat closed up, and she reached for her water, trying to swallow it down, heat rising up her neck.

“I—” she started, unsure of where the line was. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

He looked up then. His eyes weren’t cold, but they were hollow. Tired.

“No,” he said. Quiet, but firm.

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. She nodded slowly, backing off, pushing a piece of potato around her plate with the edge of her fork.

And then, for whatever reason that came over her — there was a fine line between boldness and stupidity — she decided to risk it.

“You know none of it was your fault, right?” she said softly, not looking at him directly when she spoke. “What HYDRA did… they controlled you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The effect was immediate. And exactly what she had been afraid of.

He stilled. The fork in his hand trembled slightly as his grip on it tightened. Slowly, he looked up at her, expression darkening like a storm rolling in.

“Don’t,” he said, voice quiet still — but it wasn’t calm. It was a warning.

She didn’t back off. “I’m just saying—”

“I said don’t.” His voice cracked louder this time, rough and raw. “Don’t tell me what was or wasn’t my fault. You don’t know. You can’t know.”

He stood up, the air between them thick with a sudden and terrible heat. His breathing had grown sharp, his shoulders tense. His metal hand was clenched so tightly around the edge of the kitchen table that the wood beneath it began to creak—splintering slightly under the pressure.

“I remember all of it,” he hissed, not looking at her now, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder. The anger in his eyes was a cold, churning sea. “Their voices. The faces. What I did to them. I felt it. I watched it happen. I couldn’t stop it. Doesn’t matter if they were pulling the strings—I was still the one holding the goddamn gun.”

The table gave a sharp crack. She flinched, eyes darting down to where his metal fingers had sunk into the edge of the wood, bending it inwards like aluminum foil. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“Barnes,” she said gently. “Hey—”

Then he saw it.

His breath hitched. Slowly, he uncurled his fist, staring at the damage he'd done. At his hand next. The rage drained from him in an instant, replaced by something worse—shame, hollow and heavy.

He backed away from the table like it had burned him, blue eyes wide, chest heaving.

“I didn’t…” he started, barely above a whisper. She tried to meet his gaze, doing her best to keep a neutral expression to not frighten him more, but he wouldn’t look at her. Guilt was tangible in the air around them, all of it exuded from him. He looked utterly lost…like he had no idea what to do.

Then, without another word, he turned — fast and silent — disappearing down the hallway. She heard the door to his room shut with a quiet finality.

She waited a few minutes before she followed, heart hammering, uncertain if she should even try. But something in her gut told her she had to. She moved slowly down the hallway and stood outside his door, the wood scarred slightly near the handle, like it had been slammed too hard too many times. She hesitated, then raised her hand and knocked.

“Barnes?” she called gently, voice barely above a whisper.

No answer.

She rested her knuckles against the door, just listening. No footsteps. No breath. He was either holding completely still, or…no, he was still there. She could feel it somehow. His presence sat behind the door like tangible tension. But he wasn’t going to answer her. Not tonight.

She sighed quietly and stepped back. She wasn’t going to push him. It was her fault this had even happened this way. She should have held her tongue.

She cleaned up the table quickly and in silence, doing the dishes with her mind churning. There was no way she was equipped to undo decades of guilt. She had no idea where to start. Maybe she was in over her head here — she wanted to do the right thing for the broken man a few doors away…but what the hell could she offer him?

Her feet felt like bricks when she walked back to her room. The house felt colder now, hollowed out and echoing in a way that hadn’t been there this morning. Maybe she had crossed a line. Or maybe the wound was just too deep.

She curled under the covers, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the shadows from the trees outside dancing across the wood-paneled walls. Her chest ached, not just for him, but for the silence that sat like stone between them.

—————————————-

Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under, despite the hours she spent tossing and turning. But this time, it wasn’t the soft call of birdsong that woke her. It was a loud crash, sharp and jarring, somewhere nearby.

She bolted upright — heart pounding — groggy but alert. Her vision swam with dark spots as she reached for the glowing screen of her phone on the nightstand. 2:03 A.M.

Her first thought was that she’d imagined it — just another dream, maybe. But then came another sound. A thud. Heavy. Muffled.

Barnes.

Instinct took over. She grabbed the handgun from her nightstand, flicking the safety off with practiced fingers, and slipped out of bed. Her bare feet made no noise on the cool hardwood as she crept toward the door. She paused only to press her back to the frame, listening. The house was still save for the occasional creak of old wood. But she could hear it now — soft shuffling, the distinct sound of movement coming from Barnes’s room.

Without a word, she turned the doorknob to Barnes’s room slowly. Silently. No announcement. If someone was in there with him, if he was in trouble, she wouldn’t risk giving them any warning.

She let the door fall open just a crack first, letting the shadows shift. Then, she eased it open further with the barrel of her gun, breath baited, body tensed and ready. The room was dark, lit only faintly by moonlight filtering in through the half-closed blinds.

She stepped outside cautiously, eyes adjusting to the dim light. That’s when she saw him —Barnes, tangled in his sheets, chest heaving, sweat slick on his brow. He was thrashing, legs kicking at the blanket like he was trying to escape from it. A lamp had been knocked off the nightstand and lay shattered on the floor, the bulb cracked and flickering weakly.

It wasn’t an intruder. It was him. Having a nightmare.

She exhaled slowly, lowering the gun and placing it quietly on the dresser. “Barnes,” she said softly, approaching the bed. “Hey—Barnes, it’s just a dream.”

He didn’t hear her. His eyes were shut tight, lips parted as he murmured something she couldn’t quite catch—words in Russian, maybe? His face was twisted in pain. She saw his metal hand claw at the air, fingers twitching violently.

She reached out, hesitating for a second before placing her hand gently on his shoulder. “Bucky,” she said again, louder this time. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

The response was instant—and brutal.

His eyes snapped open but there was no recognition in them, only sheer panic and adrenaline. Before she could even speak again, his metal hand shot up and clamped around her throat, cold and unrelenting. The weight of him sent her stumbling back onto the mattress as he rolled over, pinning her halfway beneath him, grip tightening.

She choked, instinctively grabbing at his wrist, trying to break the hold desperately. “Barnes—” she rasped, her voice strained. “It’s me…you’re okay. You’re with me.”

Nothing. His grip on her throat tightened, his eyes dead and unfocused, like he was still in the middle of his nightmare. She gasped, straining for air, clutching at his arm desperately. “Bucky….stop….please.”

For a few terrifying seconds, he didn’t let go. His breathing was wild, ragged. But then, thankfully, something shifted. His eyes flickered at his name, recognition starting to bleed into them—first confusion, then horror. Another moment passed and the haze cleared out of his blue irises, clarity seeping back in quickly.

“Shit—” he released her at once and backed off like she physically burned him, his whole body trembling. “Shit, I—I didn’t—I didn’t know where I was—”

She sat up, coughing, hand instinctively holding onto her neck. “I know,” she said, her voice hoarse. She swallowed hard, doing her best to sound as collected as possible. “You were dreaming. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he whispered, folding in on himself near the edge of the bed. His hands—both of them—were shaking. “I could’ve killed you. I nearly— Christ, I…”

“You didn’t.” She reached out, slowly, carefully, and placed a hand on his shoulder again. He flinched, but he didn’t move away. “You stopped. You’re here. You’re not him anymore.”

But he still couldn’t meet her eyes. He just stared down at the broken lamp on the floor, jaw clenched, shame practically radiating off him in waves. Her neck was throbbing, and her heart was certainly still pounding a war tune in her chest, but she willed herself to keep it together enough to calm him down. The night had already gone bad enough, she didn’t need this driving him over the edge to leave.

She sat beside him slowly, her hand still resting gently on his shoulder. “What just happened… it’s not uncommon,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “I’ve known a lot of soldiers who’ve gone through it. Hell, I’ve been through it.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered over to her for the first time since letting go of her throat. There was doubt in them—guilt, too—but she held his gaze.

“I used to wake up screaming,” she continued, brushing a hand over her neck subconsciously. “I once put my fist through a bathroom mirror because I thought I saw someone behind me. I’ve bolted out of bed with my heart going a thousand beats a minute thinking I was back in the desert. The brain can’t always tell when you’re safe after coming home from war.”

He said nothing for a while, just sitting there silently, watching her. The room was filled with the hum of silence, heavy but not cold.

Finally, his voice came, low and cracked. “It’s most nights. The nightmares.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “How long?”

“Since HYDRA,” he said, staring down at the floor. “Since I got out. They never stopped. Sometimes I don’t even remember them. Other times it’s… everything. Like I’m still him. Like I never left.”

Her heart gripped in her chest. “You did leave. You got out.”

His jaw clenched. “Doesn’t feel like it. Not when I’m in it. And now I’ve hurt you…I could’ve killed you. I shouldn’t be here…with you. You’re not safe around me.”

“No,” she said, firm this time. She turned more to face him fully, forcing him to look at her. She grabbed his flesh hand in her own tightly, like the contact would anchor him. “Don’t say that.”

He shook his head but looked down at their hands, guilt still stamped all over his face. His skin was warm against her own. “You don’t understand—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “More than you think. You weren’t awake. You weren’t yourself. It was a reflex, Bucky. That wasn’t you choosing to hurt me.”

His brows pulled together, like he was trying to fight her words. “I’m not safe.”

“You are,” she said again, her voice gentler now. “You’ve been here days and haven’t so much as raised your voice. You barely even talk. And tonight wasn’t your fault.”

He looked at her, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. “But I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t,” she asserted. “That’s the difference.”

He looked away, running his metal hand down his face, exhaustion prevalent in his expression. Like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

She reached out and squeezed his forearm, warm skin and cold metal beneath her palm. “You’re not the man HYDRA made. You’re someone who survived them. You deserve peace, Bucky. Just like anyone else.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders starting to melt, just barely. The haunted look in his eyes dulled, but it didn’t disappear. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, glancing down at his hands. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know where I was. I swear.”

She offered him a small, tired smile. “I know. You already apologized.”

“I just…” he shook his head. “I’ve hurt enough people. Last thing I wanna do is add you to that list.”

“You haven’t,” she said softly.

He looked over at her then, really looked, something gentler replacing the tired expression in his eyes. “You said my name.”

She blinked. “What?” He gave her a small shrug. “Back there. You said ‘Bucky.’ First time you’ve said it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, caught off guard by the observation—and by the way he said it. Her ears felt hot suddenly. “I—I guess I did.”

He didn’t tease her, didn’t smile, but his expression softened just enough. “I like hearing you say it. Makes me feel like a person again.”

The words caught her off guard in a different way. She cleared her throat, not trusting her voice for a moment, then shifted a little on the edge of the bed. “You are a person, Bucky.”

He looked away, but she saw the way his jaw relaxed a little at her words. Not a full surrender, but close.

She glanced toward the window, focusing on the moonlight spilling through onto the wood floor. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked. “Just until you fall asleep.”

He hesitated — he always hesitated — but after a beat, he gave her a small nod. “If… if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

She let go of him, shifting to sit up straighter and get a little more comfortable on the bed. He didn’t lie down right away—just leaned back against the headboard, his hands loosely folded in his lap, gaze distant.

The room was dim, bathed only in the soft spill of the moonlight through the window, but even in the low light, she could see him clearly. He was all sharp lines and quiet strength — lean, dense muscle stretched beneath pale skin marked with faint scars that caught in the light like stories left untold. His arms—flesh and metal—rested easily at his sides now, but the coiled tension in his frame never fully faded. He looked like he was always prepared to run. Or fight. Or both.

His hair, still long, hung in clean, damp strands that brushed against the curve of his jaw, and though he shaved only occasionally, he often wore a layer of rough stubble that suited him. Rugged, unpolished. Real.

There was nothing soft about him. And yet, something about the quiet way he held himself now, the way his expression loosened just enough to let the silence settle, struck her as deeply human. Undeniably masculine too. Undeniably him.

She didn’t realize she was staring until he shifted slightly, and she looked away, pretending to adjust the blanket beneath her. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again, her voice quiet in the stillness. Trying something to distract his mind. “Do you remember anything from…before HYDRA? Like childhood stuff?”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Some,” he said eventually. “Not everything. But a few pieces are coming back.”

She watched him from his side, eyes locked onto his face. “Like what?”

He scratched at the stubble on his jaw, thinking. “My ma’s hands. She used to pull my ear when I was getting mouthy. And the smell of my old apartment building—like boiled cabbage and laundry soap.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, barely there. “I remember running down the fire escape with Steve when we were kids, trying to catch pigeons. Dumb idea. We fell into a garbage can.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a good memory.”

He nodded slowly, eyes distant. “Yeah. I think it was.”

She shifted a little closer, the bed creaking softly beneath her as she leaned in, just enough that their legs were nearly touching. Close, but not quite. She was careful with touch — he didn’t usually respond well to it. The hand-hold from earlier had been a first…for both of them. A fragile kind of milestone.

“Tell me more,” she said gently. “As much as you can remember. I want to know it all.”

He turned his head toward her, slow and deliberate. His blue eyes met hers, and something in them changed. Less guarded. More open.

His shoulders eased up and the tension in his frame began to melt. He let out a long breath, sinking a bit deeper into the headboard, like he’d finally stopped bracing for the worst. He was quiet for a long moment, gaze cast toward the window again. The moonlight traced the angles of his face, catching in his lashes. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.

“I remember a night before I shipped out - couple of days before,” he said. “Back in Brooklyn, with Steve. Went to the docks with some guys we knew, drank cheap beer under the stars. It was freezing, but none of us cared. We were just… having fun.”

She leaned in, her arms resting on her thighs. “Were you scared? Of going to war?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I was. Not that I ever said it out loud.” A soft huff escaped him. “I remember putting on that uniform for the first time, thinking it would make me feel bigger somehow. Braver. But all it did was remind me of what I was leaving behind.”

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Late nights at O’Malley’s,” he said, a faint smile flickering. “Dancing with girls I barely knew. Laughing too loud. Getting into fights just because I could win them.” His smile faded slightly. “I didn’t have much, but I had… freedom. Friends. We were just kids havin’ some fun..”

“And then the war came.”

He nodded, something dark flickering in his eyes. “Everything changed. I changed.”

She watched him for a moment, then asked gently, “Do you remember what you wanted? Back then. Before the war.”

He let out a slow breath. “I thought I wanted to be something. A name. Someone people remembered.” He glanced at her, eyes shadowed with something heavier. “Careful what you wish for.”

Her heart ached at the weight in his voice, but she didn’t look away. “You are remembered. Maybe not in the way you’re thinking. But you’re a hero. There’s a whole exhibit in the Smithsonian with your name on it. You’re a war hero.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just sat there with his head down, the silence stretching between them again — but not uncomfortable.

“I used to dream about opening a garage,” he said finally, looking back up at her. He was making direct eye contact now, taking in every detail of her tone and expressions. “Fixing cars. Maybe owning something that couldn’t be taken from me. Thought it’d be a good life.”

She smiled softly. “I could see that. You, in coveralls, covered in grease.”

That actually earned a faint, genuine laugh from him. It was a gorgeous sound, husky and deep. “Yeah? That your type?”

She rolled her eyes but gave him a sharp smile. “I’m just saying it fits.”

Bucky leaned back a little further into the headboard, the tension in his frame easing, if only slightly.

“You ask good questions,” he murmured.

“Lots of time spent sitting in tents,” she said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Nothing to do but talk to the same people every day for months on end.” Their shoulders brushed lightly, and she noticed—almost with surprise—that he didn’t tense or pull away. “I’m sure you did the same.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted, not toward her but somewhere far beyond the room, seeing something she couldn’t. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “I think we did. I went to that exhibit you mentioned. After… D.C.” His fingers flexed lightly in his lap. “Helped me remember a little. Some of the guys. The war. What it felt like.” He turned to look at her, his eyes clearer in the moonlight. “Guess we got that in common, huh?”

She scoffed, biting gently at the inside of her cheek. “Your war was a little more impactful than mine.” Her voice was casual, but her gaze had dropped, heavy now. “I lost friends for pretty much nothing. Lost some of myself too, if I’m being honest. But at the time, it felt like the right thing to do. Like I was helping.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, soft, softer than she’d ever heard it from him.

“Doesn’t make you any less of a hero.”

The words hit harder than she expected. She looked at him, and his expression was steady, sincere.

“None of that takes away from what you did,” he added.

Now it was her turn to fall quiet, eyes drifting into the blur of memory. The weight of years pressed on her chest in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. Her eyelids were growing heavier by the second, the warmth of his presence beside her pulling her into something calm, something safe.

He didn’t interrupt her silence. He sat with it, respected it.

But after a moment, his voice returned, tentative. “Was that…the Medal of Valor I saw back at your place?”

Her breath caught slightly, just for a second. The haze of sleep threatened, but his question pulled her back.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “It was.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his brow knitting. “Was it your father’s?” he asked, voice low.

She shook her head, her eyes still half-lidded from sleep but her voice steady. “No. It was mine.”

He blinked at that, genuine surprise flickering across his face before giving way to something softer. Respect. “You don’t seem like the type to bring that up.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly. “It was a rough mission. One we barely got out of. Two of my team didn’t. I just happened to be the one still breathing when the dust settled.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze settling more fully on her. Not as a soldier or some distant past version of herself—but as someone present, vulnerable. Real.

“You got it for a reason,” he said gently.

She let out a breath through her nose, not quite a laugh. “Sometimes it feels like a mistake. Like I got it because I lived and they didn’t. I didn’t do anything heroic. I just made it back.”

His voice was quiet but firm. “That’s exactly how I feel now. Now that I’m remembering.” She turned to him slightly, eyes meeting his.

“Every name,” he said, “every face from the war, from the missions after… I remember all of them. And I’m still here. Don’t know why. Don’t know what for. But I get it.” He paused, then added, “Survivor’s guilt doesn’t mean you didn’t earn what you’ve lived through. It just means you still care.”

Something in her chest ached at that, something she didn't realize until now. The likeness between them. The commonalities.

She nodded, the movement small — almost imperceptible — and settled deeper into the bed beside him. It felt strangely good to be next to him. Comfortable. The most relaxed she had felt in months, really.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He gave a faint nod, blue eyes focused on her. “Anytime.”

—————————————-

tag list: @frog-fans-unite @multifandomneeerd @hiraethmae @chocopaintus @eviaandjacks @mawmaster @cokewhoreio @quartzbimd @0cr4b @bridgeoverstrawberryfields @torntaltos @kreishin @iyskgd @miss-chuchu @resting-confused-face

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spnfemslashbang · 1 day ago

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The Supernatural Femslash Bang: A Manifesto

So.

This week, the deadline for draft turn-ins for the Supernatural Femslash Bang came and went, and I was ultimately forced to make the very difficult decision to cancel the event due to lack of submissions. One or two of you might have wondered how many submissions we actually received.

The answer is one. It was the story I (Mod Slinky) wrote as my life was crumbling around me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that story at this time; maybe I’ll submit it for another event if one comes along that’s appropriate for it; maybe I’ll save it in case I ever decide to try this again; or maybe I’ll get bored in a month and decide to just post it as-is.

Let me make it clear that I am not angry at any of the individual participants, nor am I trying to shame anyone for not meeting the deadline. Writing is hard, and writing on a deadline is even harder, and I applaud everyone for even trying to do it, even if they couldn’t finish.

I am disappointed that the event did not go as planned, because well, this is my baby. I’ve run several bangs, both for Supernatural and other fandoms, but this is the one I’m most proud of. I think there are a lot of reasons for it failing this year, but I’ll probably never know all of them. (I am running a Feedback and Suggestions Survey if anyone wants to weigh in.)

The rest of this is very long and I don’t know how interesting it will be to the rest of you so it’s under the cut.

TL;DR: We will be trying the Bang again sometime in the future (don’t know exactly when) with revised rules. In the meantime, we’ll be starting up a no-minimum, no-deadlines bingo in the next couple weeks and looking at organizing some smaller events to make sure we get more femslash out in the world anyway and to help inspire people for the next Bang.

Let’s start at the beginning.

History

I joined the Supernatural fandom in 2021, after the show ended. I had vacation time I needed to burn, but there was nowhere I could really go in the midst of the pandemic, so I decided to just bingewatch a really long show to fill the time. I knew how Supernatural ended, so I figured why not, it can’t possibly disappoint me.

It disappointed me.

But it also sparked something in me, because it was so bad but the characters were so great. I started writing fic, and then I signed up for the DeanCas Big Bang as a way to force myself to finish a longfic I’d started. I had a blast, and my beta reader for that fic recommended another bang to try, and then I learned of all the events going on in the fandom.

I found a (partial) list of bangs and looked through for any I could participate in. Most were Destiel-focused which, fair, they’re the juggernaut of all fandoms ever. Some were Wincest-based, which fine, you do you, I’ve dabbled there. Some were all-comer events for any pairing, but when I participated in those, they were still very Dean-Sam-Cas focused. There were a few events focused on other characters, but they were few and far between.

On the list I had, two of them were centered on female characters, and neither of them were actively running.

Supernatural has a misogyny problem, and I’m not the first or the last to point this out. While I don’t think it’s fair to say that every woman on Supernatural is just there to die, the way it treats its female characters is not great. I could go into how and why this is, but we’d be here all day and frankly the topic has been beaten to death by people much smarter than me.

The Supernatural fandom also has a bit of a misogyny problem. Again, this is not a revelation, though the misogyny in the fandom is a lot more complicated than the show itself, considering the show was made by and for men while the fandom is largely made up of fem-aligned people. Not entirely, but again, we won’t get into that because I want to focus.

But Supernatural also has a lot of amazing woman characters in it, and as a lesbian, I felt a little bit alienated by all the fandom events being so male-centric. This has improved somewhat over the last three years, and I applaud everyone who has made that happen. And as part of that effort, I decided to start the Femslash Bang, so that there would be a place for stories entirely about those amazing, interesting women who were mistreated or ignored by the narrative. A place where they could have better writing, better stories, better endings.

The first year, we ended with six stories. The second year, we got eleven, and the third year was a reverse bang that got eight. The event has never been huge, and that’s fine, I didn’t expect it to do Destiel Bang numbers, and honestly, it was a lot easier to manage a few participants than to try and wrangle dozens or hundreds. I am incredibly proud of all 25 stories and artworks; they’re all incredible and unique and everyone who wrote them should also be proud they were part of it.

And then this year came and you all know what happened. Again, I’m not angry at anyone for it, and I do plan to try again next year with some revised rules.

What Went Wrong

Again, I will probably never know all the reasons this year’s bang failed the way it did. I have received a few responses on the survey so I can speculate, but I may be dead wrong. Keep that in mind through the next section.

Part of it is that this Bang has never been huge to begin with. My reach within the fandom is extremely limited, especially since it’s so huge, so getting the word out is a challenge to begin with. I suspect that there are more people who would register and participate if they only knew about it, but the announcements never got the one reblog that would have brought those people in.

Another part is that I may have been a little ambitious with the word count. The word count for the Big Bang has always been 10,000 words, writing over about eight months. I did not feel that was an arduous task, but I am admittedly a pretty fast writer. I don’t think I could make the schedule any longer without the whole thing feeling like a slog.

And then there’s the matter of investment. We’re adults with lives, and there’s a lot happening in the world, so investing in any kind of fandom project is a lot. Coming up with new ideas is hard work, and making those ideas come out the way you want is even harder. Writing is hard, and if you don’t want to do it, or if you don’t have words, it becomes impossible. But also, Supernatural’s time in the spotlight is starting to come to an end.

Supernatural got a boost in its fandom at the end of the show because frankly, the end of the show sucked, and it sparked a bit of a renaissance in terms of fanworks in an attempt to fix it. But that was five years ago and the only new material released was a very short-lived spinoff that no one asked for and that got a generally lukewarm reception. (Yes, I know The Winchesters has its fans, but it was nowhere near as popular as the main show.) Fandoms thrive when there’s new material to analyse and write about and inspire more stories. Even long-enduring fandoms like Star Trek are still chugging along because they never really stopped releasing new shows and movies. There might have been lulls, but they always come back.

I don’t know if Supernatural is ever coming back. There’s always rumors and teasing about a revival, but I doubt it’s actually going to happen, and if it does, let’s be real, it’s probably going to suck. And meanwhile, the fans have moved on. Half the people I followed for Supernatural (including me) are now into 911 (which also sucks but in a completely different way than Supernatural). Getting people to invest in the really big events is hard, let alone the tiny little Femslash Bang that doesn’t focus on the most popular characters.

I always knew that the event would end one day. My policy from the beginning was that as long as even one person besides me wanted to participate, I would keep running it, because it’s important to have femslash and other women-centered events available.

Well, the day has come when I was the only participant, so I have to ask if it’s worth running. I like to think it is, that if we just put it aside for this year and come back later, we can make it happen again. Maybe I’m being grossly optimistic, but I still believe in giving a space for those stories to be told. Just maybe not in the format we’ve been using.

What Comes Next

I do intend to try running the Bang again. Maybe next year, maybe the year after that, but I do plan to make it happen one day. I’ll be revising the rules and requirements and possibly moving the schedule to a less busy fandom time, though the general time frame will likely remain the same because let’s face it, eight months is already a long time to be running an event like this.

In the meantime, the feedback survey has indicated that people would be open to another kind of event. So far, the most popular option has been a bingo, which I am open to doing. On further reflection though, trying to make a schedule and rules for an event like that feels like it would end the same way as the bang did, with nothing being turned in except from the person running it.

So here is the current proposal: Shift into anarchy bingo mode.

What does that mean? It means that there will be no schedule and no limits (for minimum or maximum) on the fanworks created. Write a drabble or 50K. Draw stick figures or the Mona Lisa. Make a playlist with five songs or fifty on it. Write a three-hour operatic tragedy if that’s what inspires you. Post whenever, just tag the bang on Tumblr or add it to our AO3 collection. (We’ll have more details soon, I just have to work out some logistics.)

I am still open to other suggestions, of course, and maybe we’ll do some smaller events as well over the next few months to a year while revising the Bang rules and schedule, but right now my goal is simple:

Put more femslash out in the world. Celebrate the women of Supernatural. Participate in any of the other women-centered events in the fandom if you find them. Use your bingo card to write your fic next year or whenever we regroup and start again.

I still believe in all of you, and I’m not giving up on making this thing happen.

#supernatural #sapphicnatural #femslash #supernatural femslash bang

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emberphoenixisgoingtolive · 18 hours ago

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the camp fam, Soyona and the Handler going to a spa

(DISCLAIMER: this is based off the spa i went to recently! some spas may look different)

TW — light implied/referenced self harm scars (at the end of Kenji’s section)

i was going to do Mae, Dave and Roxie before i decided none of them are spa people lmao

Darius:

accidentally falls asleep in a hot room (luckily someone else found him and stopped him from getting literal heatstroke)

kinda just. follows Brooklynn around if they go together

likes swimming in the pool. he feels like a mosasaurs or some other kinda water dinosaur

can tolerate the heat but much prefers being in the mild waters

the spa i went to had this massive jet at the bottom of the pool and you could hang onto the edge of the pool with your hands and float like a dragon. Darius would love that

wears swim trunks with dinosaur footprints on them

Brooklynn:

absolute spa babe. she is so good at spas. goes in with the most gorgeous towel and bathrobe

very good heat tolerance. she could stay in the hot rooms for ages. plus the heat helps her chronic pain in her left arm (i love u spas as chronic pain treatment)

goes around everything

cc Brooklynn would start a lot of conversations with people but ct Brooklynn would be a bit more reserved

wears a bikini and glares at people who stare at her scars

Yaz:

used to see going to a spa as more of a functional thing, since the heat is very good for relaxing her muscles

after she stops her athletic career though she gets much better at just. enjoying the spa

she really enjoys the hot tub with Sammy

in fact she goes around everything with Sammy. they love sitting in the hot rooms, Yaz’s head on Sammy’s shoulder, enjoying each others’ company

likes the hot rooms with a floral scent

the water jets scare her. the others have to gently encourage her into it

if she’s with Kenji, she’ll do that mocking hand gesture (in camp cretaceous season 2 when he’s trying to convince her to relax) when they’re in the same room

wears pretty modest (but still super athletic) swimwear. too many people stared at her scars for her to want to wear a bikini

Sammy:

best heat tolerance out of everyone. she is Texan

chats with everyone when they’re sitting in the hot rooms and starts little word games

also makes silly noises and vocal stims in the rooms with a nice echo

Kenji:

absolutely ass heat tolerance. he melts within five (5) minutes. someone usually has to help him walk out of the hot rooms, if not lift him

this won’t stop him going to a spa at least once a month

mama Bowman makes someone go to the spa with him because she knows he’ll otherwise get heatstroke. he used to take Darius because he’s good company, but once he and Ben start dating, they go together. it’s a Thing for them

he doesn’t want to do any swimming. he’ll sit in the same place as long as the others will let him. he came here to relax, not exercise!

dubs everything “Kenji’s resting seat/bench/lounger etc”

wears normal, boring swim trunks and a swimming t shirt. he has quite a few scars he doesn’t want to show, iykwim

Ben:

very good heat tolerance, thank goodness, or Kenji and Ben would not enjoy spas as much as they do

starts rambling random, philosophical concepts out of nowhere in the hot rooms

Ben: “we’re all so afraid of dying, we never stop to wonder if we get rewarded at the end of our lives. maybe the religious people who fear what God has in store for them when they die don’t truly trust and believe in God. or maybe after we die, we just cease to exist...”

Kenji, half asleep against his shoulder who has been listening to this shit for twenty minutes: “that’s nice Benny boy”

finds it hard to relax, and worries a lot about Kenji getting dizzy, but Kenji tells him to relax

wears the most ugly fucking swim trunks you ever saw

Soyona:

loves the heat. it really relaxes her

has ridiculous heat tolerance. the sauna could be 120 degrees and she’s fine

will swim a bit with the Handler; she likes the exercise

wears a really low cut one piece (for her Handler)

Handler:

hates spas. does not like the heat. almost passes out, and Soyona has to half–drag half–lift her out of the sauna after five minutes

the only thing she does enjoy is the pool (at normal temperature)

she just swims up and down while Soyona does her thing

wears swim shorts and a pretty modest tankini; she does not like anything too revealing

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 hours ago

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watched kpop demon hunters bc of you and loved it! i think some of the themes overlap with twst and are executed pretty well. the idea that demonic, negative influence doesn't just manifest in and is fueled by cruelty to others but also in cruelty to oneself seems like it would resonate with a lot of the cast. internalized perception of self in which you are inherently bad due to having done something bad/being born that way which then in turn prevents you from doing good and consequently leading a good, fullfilling life is a seemingly simple concept yet a pretty relatable one imo. also jinu first telling a sugarcoated version and then feeling even worse because of it! circles of horrible coping mechanisms are circling.

was wondering if you might like to share some thoughts on the thematic similarities? either way, thank you for the endorsement of it! i was initially wary due to some viral clips being those fanservicy comedic moments so you were the one to convince me to give it a try.

[Referencing this post!]

Yaaay 🎊 I am a positive influence for once/j!! hdwfejcmchevejkee I has skeptical of it too (mostly because the premise wasn’t selling me on it), but I’m glad I gave it a shot because KPDH really is such a gem 💎✨ The humor definitely isn’t for everyone; some friends of mine couldn’t get into it because they found the jokes too cringe or leaning too much into stan/celebrity worship culture. That’s okay, everyone has different opinions. The film has found its audience and they’re happy with it regardless ^^

I think part of what helped KPop Demon Hunters succeed is how far-reaching its message is. Its themes and story can be read multiple different ways, which are all equally valid. For example, many in the LGBTQIA+ community see the finale as a metaphor for Rumi coming out of the closet and her friends accepting her gender identity and/or sexuality. Remember how Celine kept telling Rumi to “cover up”, admitted she was getting over her own bigotry, and insisted Rumi could never talk about it? It gives similar vibes as shaming someone who wants to come out and confide in friends. Same goes for the scene when Rumi said she wanted “all of [her]” to be accepted, not for one aspect of her (ie her demon heritage or, in this case, gender identity/sexuality, to be conveniently ignored). Her demon markings going from purple to rainbow (a symbol commonly associated with the queer community) at the end is also cited as contributing to the coming out metaphor.

KPDH can generally be read as a “person learning to entrust friends with their secret(s)” story too. However, this can also be interpreted as (more specifically) healing from generational trauma. I’m not sure hos common this take it, but it came up a LOT in my irl friend circles (which are predominantly composed of what are considered ethnic minorities in our country). Note that Huntrix are from a long line of demon hunters, are beholden to a duty or a legacy, and have an mentor from the previous generation that encourages them to keep to the status quo by concealing their weaknesses and flaws. Rumi is also shown to have a lot of shame regarding her markings, and shame is pretty prominently used to shame people into obedience or following outdated traditions or rules. By covering up these problems, ignoring them, and/or trying to “fix” them instead of talking about the problems, they are perpetuated.

With the film being about Kpop stars, another interesting interpretation presents itself: critique of the industry and the fandom around it. For example, Celine insists to Huntrix that their flaws and weaknesses must remain hidden. The fans are not allowed to see idols at their low points or making mistakes because it messes with the fantasy of perfection many idols have formed around their images. And if there is a mistake made or publicized? Those idols can take a DEEP hit and the fans can turn on them or seek out the next best thing real fast.

Our protagonists are a group that has a positive relationship with their fans. Huntrix’s music quite literally brings people together, as it is the souls resonating with their songs that provides the thread for the honmoon. The Saja Boys, who rival them in popularity, have a far more sinister relationship with their fans. They manipulate, take advantage of, and hypnotize people into becoming fanatics who will literally lay down their lives/souls for them. This reflects the toxic side of stan culture—when fans become TOO obsessive and go out of their way to defend anything their idols do or say. Furthermore, we see Huntrix and the Saja Boys see their fans very differently. Huntrix states both in the beginning and the end of the film that they love their fans. The Saja Boys are largely the opposite—4 out of 5 members immediately lose interest and slump once they leave the autograph signing and are out of the fans’ sights. Their love is fake and performative. In creating this parallel, KPDH shows us the power music has to be both a force for good and a force for evil, how there are genuine people and fake people alike in the industry.

Whoops, this became a KPDH analysis and not a Twst one—

The point is, I don’t think there’s one obvious way to see the film; people are going to get something slightly different out of it depending on their own experiences and perspectives. As for how these could relate to Twst… Well, let’s start with some of the things you pointed out.

You mentioned how cruelty inflicted onto others and to oneself are equivalent +

I don’t think there’s idea of being held back by the belief that one is “born bad” is super applicable to Twst in-universe. Very few of our main cast believes they are born evil (and even fewer see themselves as evil to begin with). Leona and Malleus were born with immense power, Jamil was born into an unfortunate legacy, and Vil was a child celebrity constantly type casted and convinced he was the same as the roles he played. I don’t think any of these guys (or other characters) necessarily have the mentality of “I was born bad, so I can’t be capable of any good.” Most of them try to do good or to earn respect via their actions (save for maybe Jamil, who again is just trapped where he is in the social ladder). However, that idea definitely relates on a meta level. The whole philosophy of Twst is to show that no person is entirely good or evil and asks us to give second chances to its characters no matter how terrible their actions or first impressions are. We’re not meant to see the boys as static, but rather as dynamic beings who can grow and change to become better versions of themselves.

You pointed out how Jinu sugarcoated his past, but I also want to add he wanted to erase it altogether. This is reminiscent of how Azul denied his past self and wanted to delete all records of it.

I remember seeing a Twitter post basically saying “we need the OB boys performing something like Your Idol” blow up. Honestly though?? I don’t think that song (or the vibes of it) fits them at all. It’s too… sinister and seductive. I do not realistically think any of them would say this kind of flirty wish fulfillment stuff in canon. Like, I think it fits a fanon version of the OB boys (especially the yumeshipping side of fandom) just fine, but not the canon versions. The only part of Your Idol that sort of resonated with particular Twst characters was Now we runnin’ wild / You’re down on your knees […] because it vaguely reminded me of Leona’s Book 2: Usurper from the Wilds and his UM chant, which involves a command to kneel before him. Even then, I find it’s a very threadbare connection.

I sort of got Leona vibes from Golden too, but primarily the opening portion:

I was a ghost, I was alone

In the darkened abyss

Given the throne, I didn’t know how to believe

I was the queen I was meant to be

If you swapped out “queen” for “king”, I would 100% believe Kingscholar wrote that verse. It even mentions the ABYSS, which is the term Leona coins for the deeper dreams the darkness drags the OB boys into in book 7. And the THRONE??? One he doesn’t believe he deserves? C’mon now, that’s for Leona written all over it 😭

The song I actually think best represents the Twst boys—and, more specifically, the OB boys—is This is What it Sounds Like. I feel like this is the least talked about of the KPDH’s original songs, which is such a shame because I really love it and think it represents the characters’ growth so well.

Here’s a breakdown of the relevant lyrics and how I see them relating to the OB boys:

Nothing but the truth now

Nothing but the proof of what I am

The worst of what I came from, patterns I'm ashamed of

Things that even I don't understand

This phrasing automatically makes me think of the boys confronting their OB selves + Phantoms in book 7. They are quite literally facing down their true selves, proof of the darkest and most ugly parts of their personalities, the “worst of what [they] came from”, things they are ashamed of.

I tried to fix it, I tried to fight it

My head was twisted, my heart divided

My lies all collided

These read to me like each individual OB boy’s attempts to cope with their past trauma with various methods. For example, Riddle adopted his mother’s mentality, Leona tried to rebel against the expectations placed on him, Azul toughened up and became a bully instead of the victim he once was, Jamil attempted to free himself by manipulating others, Vil worked his ass off to prove himself, Idia became increasingly lonely and withdrawn, and Malleus used disaster-level magic to stop the flow of time. In most, if not all, of these cases, the boys actively lied about themselves and/or pretended to be strong instead of confessing to their weaknesses and seeking help.

Brownie points for these lyrics saying TWISTED 😭 It just so happens to fit with Twisted Wonderland so well.

I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side

Twst has been pushing the power of friendship since the prologue. We are told that NRC students are prideful and want to get things done themselves. It’s not until maybe late book 6 when we start to see the students working together and trusting their peers to fight alongside them or to stand beside them as equals. This trend continues into book 7, where we see various dorm members jumping after their dorm leader to help them (when they NEVER would before) and the dorm leaders trusting their members to support them. For example, Adeuce absolutely REFUSE to follow Riddle’s command to abandon him and to save themselves, and Azul + the twins trust he can make it out of his abyss on his own—he is no longer weak. There has been such a clear change in dynamic among the students from the prologue until now.

I/we broke into a million pieces and I/we can't go back

But now I'm/we’re seeing all the beauty in the broken glass

A very prominent and recurring motif in Twst is mirrors. These lyrics make me think of the mirrors in the Mirror Chamber all shattering. Broken mirrors result in 7 years bad luck and ruins the images of the students reflected in them. By every account, this should be considered a bad thing—but in a way, it can also be considered triumphant and hopeful.

A broken mirror is not nice to look at and the shards hurt if they pierce you. It’s literally something ugly and with the capacity to harm, a truth that brings you pain if you acknowledge it. But look again, and you’ll see your image is still there. Many smaller, fragmented versions. Bite-sized pieces of the truth, presented in a more digestible manner. Little by little, you start to appreciate what you see there. Again, it’s like the OB boys staring at all their fears and insecurities—but in facing them, they see how far they’ve come since.

I think this message is particularly powerful for Azul, who has a lot of shame associated with his youth. The day when he can look back fondly on his childhood and accept every part of himself, including the rotund crybaby he once was.

The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony

My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like

The “scars” here are not literal, but moreso a representation of each person’s trauma. Our negative experiences shouldn’t entirely define us, but they are always going to be an aspect of us. A lot of the reason why the OB boys are the way they are is due to those experiences in their formative years. The bad is there, yes—but so is the good. Both darkness AND harmony are a part of them, and the moment they can admit that to themselves, they can be authentic and open with who they are.

Why did I/we cover up the colors stuck inside my/our head?

I/We should've let the jagged edges meet the light instead

Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony

The song we couldn't write, this is what it sounds like

Really beautiful imagery aside, I think this could be interpreted as the boys realizing they should put aside their difference snd come together. Each dorm is represented by different colors—so let those colors merge, not remain covered or isolated. You have jagged edges (ie you have trauma and issues?). Be open and vulnerable about them. Unite with your peers instead of pushing them away. Show them what’s beneath your proud exteriors, show them your good traits too!!

We're shattering the silence, we're rising defiant

Shouting in the quiet, you're not alone

We listened to the demons, we let them get between us

But none of us are out here on our own

Again, this touches on the theme of coming together—something set up since the prologue. In this case, the “demons” are not literal, but instead refer to dark thoughts that someone may be dealing with on their own. It’s a difficult task, but, as the lyrics point out, everyone is dealing with their own “demons”. It is this shared sentiments that gives the Twst boys common ground to stand on. Knowing that, it also grants them the strength—through numbers, through social support—to “[rise] defiant” against it.

So, we were cowards, so, we were liars

So, we're not heroes, we're still survivors

The dreamers, the fighters, no lying, I'm tired

But dive in the fire and I'll be right here by your side

This parallels the OB boys confessing to their failures and shortcomings. They lied, cheated, manipulated, and sooo much more. They admit to not being good guys, that they’re not worthy of being called “heroes”—yet they still survived for this long, and that, in of itself, is a commendable feat. They still have their hopes and dreams, and they’re still willing to fight for them. This point is especially salient because the OB boys all reject the dreams Malleus presents to them and want to actively fight for the right to make their own futures.

The “dive in the fire” part doesn’t have to be an actual fire; it could just mean a tough situation. In the case of the Twst boys, it CAN be an actual fire. More specifically, Malleus’s. I think of how the students had to take turns whittling him down by dorm. We get several moments of them struggling to hold the line, but they’re able to do so only because they have their dorm members by their side, thus affirming the fact that there is strength in togetherness.

Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like

Truth after all this time, our voices all combined

When darkness meets the light, this is what it sounds like

A summation of everyone uniting and sounding so much more confident in doing so!! (“When darkness meets the light” refers to when trauma, secrets, etc. are finally exposed and shared with others. There’s nothing to hide anymore, and that’s framed as a good thing.) The ultimate goal in Twst; no further comments.

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