#IM DEVASTATED IDK WHAT TO SAY EVEN

[heeslomll]

KAYLA PLEASE

The Murder House | Pt. Three

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕/𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒐𝒏𝒆 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒕𝒘𝒐 | 𝒑𝒕. 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆

「synopsis」 : everything seems to be going downhill at a rapid pace and nothing is going right and you've already suffered the loss of two friends, but the mastermind behind this doesn't seem to be satisfied just yet. another test is throw your way but things are starting to become more clear and you're realizing that the culprit has been with you the whole time... but will you be able to stop him and escape this hell house with your lives intact?

「word count」 : 10.5k

「genre」 : horror/thriller, gore, angst, psychological thriller, mystery

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, even more 'games', blood, violence, gore, gun goes pew pew, poisoning, betrayal, gaslighting, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), knife goes stabby, threats, death, obsessive/stalker-ish behavior, mental health disorders, even more betrayal, traumatic events, police, pls lmk if I missed any!

“Riki, seriously, now is not the time for pranks; where are you?” You called out, eyes searching every inch of the room, but there was no sign of the boy anywhere. “Riki!” Your voice cracked as you tried to keep the tears in your eyes at bay.

Jay released his hold on your arm before walking over to the door to check and see if, by some miracle, it was unlocked. Though just as he had thought, it was locked tight, not a chance that it would open unless unlocked. Sighing, he backed away from it before looking around the room.

A soft click caught the silver-haired male's attention. However, you were too busy calling out for your brother in hopes that he was just playing some kind of prank on you.  Jay watched as a door off to the side started to open, the sight making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he started to make his way to the door.

“Y/n.” He called out to you, causing your head to whip over in his direction, hoping that he had found some clue as to where your brother had been taken. Then you realize that that wasn’t the reason that he had called out to you.

“Jay, I swear to god, if you tell me to calm down, I will lose my shit.” You hissed, heart hammering in your chest. The last thing you needed was for him to dismiss your panic, much like Jake had done.

“No, no, I’m not going to.” He looked over at you, shocked that you would even think he would tell you that. “That door…” He pointed in the direction of the ajar door, “it just opened.”

Your eyes moved in the direction that he was pointing, seeing that a door was, in fact, opened. Without much of another thought, you made your way towards it, ignoring Jay’s calls for you to be careful. Pulling the door open, you walked inside but were met with more darkness. The only light was what the other room had to offer. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see what looked to be a table with chairs in the center.

“Y/n, jeez, you can’t just rush into random rooms when the door magically opens!” Jay exclaimed as he followed in behind you. However, the moment that he fully stepped into the room the door swung shut, the sound causing the both of you to jump. The older male mumbled a few curses before turning to check it, but of course, it was locked while your eyes stayed on his figure, and you could barely see in the dark.

Groaning, he drops his hand from the door and turns back towards you, telling you that it was locked, causing your heart to drop. Something about this situation seems a little too familiar to you. Before you could voice any of your thoughts, a spotlight turned on right over the table that you had seen earlier.

“Well, if it isn’t the love birds…” A voice cut through the air, causing a wave of dread to wash over both you and Jay, eyes on each other. “I must say, congratulations for making it this far would have been a bummer if you lost too soon.” The distortion of the voice only added to your unease, “Now, welcome to your final game!” Jay walked over to your side and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as the both of you listened, “this time though…” the voice trailed on, causing the hairs on your arms to stand, “one of you will die, but there’s a catch.” Your ears started to ring at the sudden revelation while Jay’s blood ran cold, his grip on your hand growing tighter, “the fate of your lives falls into your hands, y/n, so make sure you choose wisely.” The voice said with a cheery tone, causing your body to go rigid, your head to reel, and your palms to grow sweaty. What did they mean that the fate of their lives fell into your hands? Before you could get too lost in your thoughts, the voice spoke once more, “Now take a seat, won’t you?”

For a moment, neither of you moved, feet rooted to the ground, but with some hesitancy, Jay moved forward, pulling you after him. Stepping up to the table, you could have sworn you felt every nerve ending in your body catch on fire.

There, lying in the center of the table, was a sleek black handgun.

Your mind started to spiral as you connected the dots on what lay ahead of both you and Jay. Your heart squeezed so hard that you were sure it just might pop, followed by the insistent ringing that dulled your sense of hearing. This is what they meant by the fate of your life sitting in your hands: You were going to have to make a choice. No, you weren’t going to; there was no way that you could.

“No. I’m not doing that, you can’t-”

“Y/n?” Your blood ran frigid in your veins as that sound of your brother's voice flowed through the speakers, “Help me, please. I don’t know where I am.” There was so much fear in his shaky tone, and it brought tears to your eyes. He must be horrified right now, along with whoever it was that was doing all of this to you. Your heart started to hurt when you heard what sounded like small cries and sniffles through the speaker.

“Now sit,” The voice cut back, causing your head to snap up as the first few tears dripped from your eyelashes, “or your sweet little brother here dies; you wouldn’t want that now, would you y/n? To have another death on your hands?” 

Anger bubbled in your chest, hand balling into a fist, “fuck you asshole.” You seethed before releasing Jay’s hand to take a seat. Your heart continued to hammer underneath your ribs as you met Jay's eyes from the other side of the table. Jay’s face showcased all of his unease as he looked down at the gun before looking back at you. He wasn’t sure what to make of this situation, but he did know that this was going to be his final stop in this lifetime.

Merely seconds after your arms or sat on the armrest, straps come around one of your wrists while the other is left free. Jay, however, was rendered completely motionless, seeing as straps bound both of his wrists to the armrests.

“Ahhh, now that you’ve been seated, the game can begin.” The voice once again spoke, causing your body to jolt slightly; it was then followed by a laugh that struck fear into the depths of your soul. “One of you will live to see another light of day, and the other? Well, this is your final stop.” You could feel your body begin to shake as the words sunk in; Jay opened his mouth to try and say anything that might calm your nerves just a bit but was cut off, “Though y/n, I am quite curious, which is it going to be? Are you going to sacrifice your lover for yourself or yourself for your lover?”

You start shaking your head violently, refusing to touch the weapon that is laid before you, “No, I won’t be sacrificing anyone for anything, dammit! Just let us out.”

“Y/n, stop-” “No, Jay, I refuse to kill anyone, let alone myself!” You exclaim, staring at him with wide, teary eyes. There was an insufferable pain blooming in your chest as you looked at the man who sat across from you, a small, sad smile on his lips as if he had already accepted the fact that he could be the one dying here. “Jay, I don't want to do this. I can’t do this!”

“It would seem you have no other choice, y/n,” the voice spoke again, and you shouted no, fighting against your restraints. “You have ten minutes to decide, and if you don’t make a choice, well…” it was faint, but it rang in your ears, the sound of a gun clicking followed by a cry that sounded just like Riki, “or your brother dies.”

It was like time had slowed around you, the sounds becoming deafening as the weight of the reality you were living in started to drop on your shoulders. One of you was going to die here, and it was going to be your fault. Tears had long since started streaming down your cheeks, dripping down onto your lap as you looked at the metal death harbinger in front of you. The sound of your name being called causes you to lift your head, meeting Jay’s solemn gaze.

“Listen to me, it’s going to be okay.” He offered a small smile, but you couldn’t return it. 

How could he say that everything was going to be okay? How was any of this okay? Why isn’t he freaking out, begging you not to shoot him?

“Y/n, you’re going to have to shoot me.” Jay felt a punch to his gut when your face morphed into a look of horror. The last thing he ever wanted was to cause you any distress, to cause you to cry like you were before him without a way to comfort you. You then start shaking your head, refusing the idea. Even if you knew that the clock was ticking, you just couldn’t bring yourself to point that weapon at Jay. There was no way you were going to be able to end his life, not when he still had so much to look forward to. He was still in school, working his ass off to further his degree so he could do what he loved. You couldn’t sever that; you just couldn’t.

“Jay, I can’t.” You cried vision blurred due to the tears that built up on your waterline. 

“You have to, please y/n.” Jay’s voice cracked slightly as he tried to hold back the sobs that were building up in his lungs. “You have to get out so you can’t take care of your brother, to go and explore the world like you wanted, to finally be free from your parents. Y/n, you have to get out so you can move forward with your life; there’s so much you have to live for.” His words only brought more tears to your eyes, your heart lurching into your throat, “I don’t have that. All I have is you and the boys, and if I have to live a day without you, y/n… I don’t think I would be able to cope.”

His words felt like you had just been stabbed relentlessly in the heart; how could he say that? As if you would be able to cope? What about you? Does he truly think that you could just walk out of here and just move on with your life after killing him? Does he actually believe that you could move on with your life with that guilt in the back of your mind? 

“And you think I could?” Your voice was feeble, barely above a whisper.

Jay just shook his head, the tears finally breaking free from their hold, “you have to think about Riki, y/n. He wouldn’t be ab-”

“What about me, Jay?” Your voice raised in pitch as you tried to keep from completely breaking down, bringing your hand up to point to your chest, “how could you sit there and think that I would be okay if you died? And because I killed you, for fuck sake!” 

Jay flinched slightly at your tone, but he wasn’t going to budge. There was no way he could; you needed to get out. Needed to live the life you were never given the chance to.

“Time is running out, y/n; just shoot me, please.” Jay sat up straight as he watched you look at him in complete disbelief. It felt as if millions of tiny little needles were puncturing his heart as he watched you break down completely.

“Jay-” “Just shoot me y/n!” Jay’s tone was as sharp as a freshly sharpened knife that had just sliced into your entire being. 

Everything started to feel numb as you stared at the gun, tears still falling from your lashes. Was this how it was going to end? With you getting your friend's blood on your hands? Is this really what your life has come to?

Your ears began to ring as you reached forward to grab the weapon, the metal cool under your fingertips. All of the air left your lungs as you picked it up, the weight of it in your palm unsettling. The hairs on your arm were standing straight as you looked at the gun closer; there was no doubt in your mind that it had been loaded. Ready for you to use it to end a life.

“I really wished that I could have done this when we got out, but I won’t be able to.” Jay started, causing you to tear your gaze away from the gun, “But I love you, god, I love you, y/n, and I am so sorry that we can’t spend the rest of our lives together.” 

It was those words that left your world crumbling. The man before you, the very man that you had fallen so deeply in love with, had just told you that he loved you. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy. Your heart was shattering; piece by piece, it was starting to crumble viciously, being stabbed. Your throat felt so tight that it was like your body was trying to deprive itself of the oxygen that you needed. Pain washed over your still body like a rock stuck on a seashore, waves washing over it without a hint of remorse.

There was no way that you were going to be able to aim this gun and pull the trigger. You couldn’t end a man's life, let alone the love of your life. 

Noticing your hesitation, Jay calls out to you, barely gaining your attention. You are then reminded of the time that had been ticking down—minute by minute, second by second.

You had a choice to make.

“I’m sorry, Jay.” Your voice cracked as you lifted the heavy metal, aiming at the man in front of you, tears silently falling from your eyes. Jay just looked at you with nothing but adoration, love gleaming in his deep brown iris. “I love you too, I have always loved you…”

Closing your eyes, your mind starts to wander off to the memories that the two of you had created together, to the memories that you have made with all of your friends, and how they have brought so much joy into your life after you and Riki escaped your parents' house. Then you remembered the day that your dad had called only to berate you, leaving you in shambles, but then Jay was there.

“Hey, y/n, Riki was looking for – hey! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He had come into the kitchen to ask you for something that your brother had been looking for but dropped everything when he found you curled up against the cabinets, tears streaming down your face.

You remember so vividly how he managed to stop your panic attack so quickly, and all it took was for him to distract you. Something that no one other than Riki had been able to do. It was then that your crush started to develop.

At first, you thought it would just be one of those fleeting emotions that would go away within a week, but it never did. From that day, it only grew until nothing, but Jay occupied your mind most days.

Then, the memory faded until it was black. It was gone from your mind, only to be replaced with another memory from the day you knew that you would be okay, the day you told yourself that you had finally found your home.

It was early summer so the weather was almost perfect to just sit outside and enjoy the cool breeze with the fire burning in the pit. Jay had brought his guitar ready to show everyone a new song that he had learned. Jake brought Layla with him because he knew that she loved being with everyone just as much as he did. Jungwon and Sunoo were bickering over how to roast a marshmallow completely, while Riki watched in amusement, a marshmallow of his own sitting over the flame until it completely melted off of the stick, causing everyone to burst out laughing. Sunghoon had been talking to Heeseung about the skating competition that he had just gotten back from the previous week. Heeseung didn’t know a thing about ice skating, but he was more than willing to just listen to the boy.

Then there was you.

You sat between your brother and Heeseung, listening to all of the laughter and soft voices that surrounded you. It brought tears to your eyes because you had never been sure that this was something that you could have, not with everything that had happened with your parents. You were so sure that you would still be stuck under their thumb, bending to their every whim, even if that meant you would lose yourself in the process. 

You had pinched yourself so many times that night, hardly believing that any of it was real. However, a peaceful night and a few bruises later, you knew that this was real. All of it was, and you finally felt at home. Safe and loved.

Opening your eyes once more, you looked at Jay; the gaze in your eyes was enough to tell him just how grateful you were. Your finger then wrapped around the trigger, and Jay closed his eyes, accepting the fate that had been bestowed upon him.

However, you refused to let it be the end for him. Your grip tightened on the handle of the weapon before letting out a shaky breath.

“Take care of Riki for me.” Your words caused the male’s eyes to shoot up, “I’m sorry.”

Ignoring the cries of protest that fell from the male’s lips, you turned the weapon around. The barrel pressed against your temple as you closed your eyes, accepting your fate.

Jungwon made it his goal to keep his distance from the other two, well more like Jake. Something about his behavior was rubbing the boy wrong. Noticing how far back he was, Jake turned with a small twitch in his lip.

“Everything okay back there, Won?” There was a tone of worry in his voice, but Jungwon found it hard to believe, and he met the daring gaze of the older male. His stomach churned, and his mouth went dry, too terrified to say anything. What if the moment he said something, he attacked either of them?

Sunghoon also looks back at Jungwon, worried that something might be wrong. However, Jungwon just swallowed thickly as the two of them stared at him.

“Oh, you know, doing just fine for being stuck in a psycho’s house.” Jungwon’s eyes shift over to Jake causing the older male’s jaw to clench, his eye twitching slightly. Sunghoon, however, didn't catch it and rolled his eyes.

“Is now really the time to be sarcastic?”

“Look, sarcasm is my only defense, alright? I have nothing else to offer.” Jungwon sassed back, causing Sunghoon to roll his eyes once more before they started moving once more.

After walking a few more feet, they came across a room that was wide open, and the light was already on. A sense of dread fell over Jungwon as he noticed this small detail. However, neither of the other two seemed to care as they walked right into the room. He slowly followed behind them, trying to ignore the ever-growing gut feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Not even seconds after they are all in the room, the door slams shut, and the lock clicks, causing Jungwon and Sunghoon to jump.

With wide, fear-stricken eyes, Sunghoon rushed over to the door, nearly knocking into Jungwon on the way over. His hand wrapped around the handle and jostled it, but it was no use; it was locked tight. Turning, he looked between Jake and Jungwon, telling them that it was locked, and before either of them could speak, a voice crackled through the speakers.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that…” The almost robotic voice sent a chill down Jungwon’s spine as he looked around the room, “we’ve caught three little mice in our trap; what fun!” Whoever it was chuckled, causing Sunghoon’s hands to clench by his sides, a glare adorning his features. Jungwon tried his best to see if he could decipher the voice and figure out who it was, but whoever it was made damn sure that they wouldn’t be able to tell. “Now, now, little mice, why don’t we play another game, hm?” Sunghoon moved to stand beside Jungwon, who glanced over at him, “You managed to make it this far, but I’m afraid for one of you, this will be the end of the line.” The voice then chuckled again, causing a wave of dread to wash over both Sunghoon and Jungwon. “The best part of all of this? It’s all up to chance.” Just then, a spotlight clicked on, showcasing the desk and the three cups of red liquid that sat on top of it, “you’ll have ten minutes to pick your poison, and if you don’t, well, none of you will live to see the light of day again.” And with that, the voice stopped, and the speaker turned off, leaving the three boys to stand in complete silence.

Jake was the first to move towards the desk, causing Sunghoon to follow after him and Jungwon shortly after. The unease never lifted. How could he be sure that Jake wouldn’t make sure that one of them took the poison? Or was he just crazy, and Jake really wasn’t behind everything? There were so many questions that floated around the male brain; however, Jake reaching towards the cup caught his attention.

“I’ll take the one on the right,” Jake voiced as he grabbed the clear glass. Jungwon looked at him with a suspicious gaze. Jake then caught the younger boy’s eye and raised an eyebrow. " We only have ten minutes, so it’s best if we don’t waste time,” he told him as he brought the glass to his lip, downing the liquid in one fell swoop. Jungwon could not help but squint at him, his suspicions rising even further.

“He’s right,” Sunghoon nodded his head before grabbing the glass on the left, “and I’ll be damned if I’m the reason none of us make it out alive.” Then, before Jungwon could even protest, Sunghoon downed every last drop of the crimson liquid.

Jungwon’s heart was beating a million miles an hour as he watched Sunghoon set the cup back down. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Had he grabbed the safe glass along with Jake? Does that mean the last glass was the poison? Looking over at the last cup, Jungwon could have sworn he was going to be sick to his stomach.

Sweat started to accumulate on the boy’s forehead as he reluctantly grabbed the cup, looking down at the liquid inside. Was this really going to be the end of his life? A stupid idea of wiggling his way into going with everyone. He should have just stuck to his original plan of staying home and playing video games, yet here he was, on the brink of death. 

Although this might be his last ten minutes on earth, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life that he had lived. He hadn’t truly thought that he would make it out of his teen years if it wasn’t for meeting Sunoo in his junior year of high school after he transferred yet again. The blonde, who had been brunette back then, was the first person who offered the younger boy any kind of kindness. Sunoo had made it his goal to make sure the Jungwon was always included, even if it was someone as small as walking down the hall or sharing the snacks that he had bought. Then, just as things seemed to have started to flow smoothly, Jungwon met you at the grocery store. You had your headphones in and weren’t paying very good attention to those around you. You almost tripped over Jungwon, who had been crouched down to grab something on the shelf. If it wasn’t for his cat-like reflexes, you probably would have left with a nosebleed on top of the embarrassment you were already feeling.

“I am so so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention!” The amount of apologies that had fallen from your lips was almost too cute to Jungwon, causing the boy to laugh slightly. The sound, however, only caused your face to flush even more.

“It’s okay,” He smiled softly at you, and you couldn’t help but admire the dimples that adorned his cheeks, making a comment on them without realizing it, which only made your embarrassment grow tenfold. Laughing once more, the younger boy pointed over his shoulder, “Did you wanna walk together? Maybe I can help make sure you don’t trip over any more innocent bystanders.” He teased you relentlessly about that day but you had still chosen to walk with him, exchanging numbers after you grabbed everything you had needed. He had found another friendship that he cherished more than his own life, but now he had lost one of his friends, and he wasn’t even sure if he would have the other one by the time this hellhole ended.

Swallowing thickly, he brought the cup to his lips and started to pour the liquid into his mouth, the bitter taste causing him to winch. He had to keep himself from gagging as he swallowed. Once it was all gone, he looked down into the empty cup, waiting for the inevitable to come.

Coughing then started to fill the room, but it wasn’t coming from Jungwon. Both Jake and Jungwon’s heads snapped over to Sunghoon, who was doubled over, hand covering his mouth as he nearly coughed a lung up. His eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to get his breathing under control, but it became nearly impossible in a matter of seconds, and his throat started to swell up. Pulling his hand away from his mouth, he was petrified as blood pooled in the palm of his hand.

He was dying.

The poison was in the cup he had chosen, the very cup that was bringing him to his end. Jungwon panicked, dropping his glass to rush over to Sunghoon.

“Shit! Sunghoon, make yourself throw up! You can get the poison out of your stomach!” Jungwon exclaimed, trying to get the older male to look at him, but Sunghoon’s ears were ringing far too loud to hear anything. Jake just sat his glass down leisurely before crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the desk.

“That’s not going to help him, not now.” Jake shrugged his shoulders as he met Jungwon’s shocked gaze. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I could tell that you knew.”

“You’re insane.” Jungwon seethed as he laid Sunghoon down when he stopped coughing, only to start wheezing. Jake’s smirk disappeared, only to be replaced by a glare, his upper lip pulling back a bit.

“I’m insane?” He stepped closer to Jungwon, who stood back on his feet, meeting Jake’s glare with his own. “You haven’t seen insane yet, but again, you won’t live to see it anyway.” Jake pointed right at the center of Jungwon’s chest, pushing him back slightly.

Sunghoon reached over to grab Jake’s leg, confused. Had his closest friend really been behind all of this? Jake’s glare shifted from Jungwon to the dying male on the ground, kicking his hand away with a sneer.

“And you, maybe I should have planted something of Jay’s on that damned hacker,” Jake growled as he crouched down, eyes trained on Sunghoon’s pained face. “I really thought I had everyone against you, but you just had to go and prove yourself.” The older male then reached out, moving a strand of Sunghoon’s hair, a sinister smirk on his lips, “No matter, y/n doesn’t trust you, and oh, that poor heartbroken face she’ll have after finding out you died.” A rush of excitement ran down Jake’s spine as he thought about the tear-streaked expression you would give him as he got to be the one to comfort you after this was said and done.

Sunghoon couldn’t believe what was happening. Had Jake really been behind all of this? Was he the one who killed the guy who was in your and Heeseung’s room? More and more questions started to cloud his fleeting mind.

Mustering up all of his courage, Sunghoon wheezed, “Why?”

“Why?” Jake chuckled, patting the younger’s cheek as he tilted his head, “I don’t really think that’s any of your concern.” He shrugged before moving away from Sunghoon, leaving him to lay there.

His vision was starting to flash in and out as he slowly started losing his ability to breathe. His lungs felt as if they had been set ablaze; every nerve ending felt like they were being pinched harshly. He was in extreme pain, but his body also felt numb. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t move at all, he was stuck. Paralyzed.

This wasn’t how he wanted things to end, not even close. He wanted to get out so he could apologize to you, to go and see Heeseung’s mother so he could comfort her after delivering the news of her son, to make things right. He wanted to do so much.

He wanted to grow old, meet his so-called soulmate, get married, and have all of his friends there with him. He wanted to make Heeseung his best man while having the rest of the guys as his groomsmen. Now? Even if he did somehow make it out alive, his best friend would be gone, and so would his other friends. 

The air was starting to become thinner as Sunghoon continued to fight to breathe; his eyes stung with tears, the salty liquid spilling from the corner of his eyes. He could see the faint outline of Jungwon, who was hovering over him, begging him to stay awake. Sunghoon tried to speak, but there was no way any words would make it out of his mouth, so he mustered all of his will and moved his hand. Jungwon quickly grabbed his hand, biting his tongue at how cold his skin felt already.

“I’m so sorry, Hoon,” Jungwon choked back sobs, squeezing the older male’s hand, and Sunghoon just shook his head. Well, tried to shake his head.

Sunghoon could feel the life draining from his body, his organs slowly shutting down, his heart slowing to a deathly low pace. Moments of his life flashed behind his eyelids, all of the happy, sad, angry, lonely moments replaying like a home film on VHS.

All of the time that he spent trying to get away from Heeseung in middle school was only for him to stick to him like glue, refusing to leave the younger boy alone. As much as he despised it at the time if you were to ask him now, he would say that he was forever grateful for Heeseung’s annoying persistence. Thanks to that, he found his best friend, a lifelong friend, and now they would be together again in the afterlife. 

He almost wanted to laugh when you flashed across his mind. Your first meeting, actually. The both of you had actually started off on the wrong foot. He was having a bad day; nothing seemed to be going his way, so he wanted to hang out with Heeseung. When he got there, you were just walking out of the older male’s apartment, not having seen Sunghoon, who, on the other hand, hadn’t seen you either because he was too busy looking at his phone. So when the two of you collided, it only added to his frustration, and he didn’t necessarily mean to snap at you. But he had cut you off mid-apology, his tone causing you to flinch slightly, a sight now that he regrets.

“Good god, would it be so hard to watch where the fuck you’re going.” He seethed, hand gripping his phone tightly. You looked up at him with wide eyes, completely taken aback by his reaction. However, your shock quickly morphed into anger.

“That’s rich coming from you, maybe you could have avoided me if your nose wasn’t stuck in your damn phone.” You had snapped back at him, causing him to recoil slightly, but Sunghoon was quick to brush it off and roll his eyes.

He muttered a quick ‘whatever’ before walking around you to Heeseung’s door knocking. You were still grumbling to yourself as you made it to your door across the hall. Though the call of your name caused you to turn to meet Heeseung’s eyes.

“This is Sunghoon, my best friend that I was telling you about.” Heeseung had introduced the two of you that day but quickly took note of the tension between the two of you. However, being the persistent one that he was, Heeseung made sure that the two of you apologized to each other, and before too long, it was just water under the bridge, and you became really good friends.

Sunghoon wondered if this is what they mean when they say your life flashes before your life. Was he going to see the light at the end of the tunnel next? That would be pretty cliche, huh? He wanted to laugh, but he felt completely detached from his body as his chest rose before falling for one last time before darkness consumed him completely.

Tears were streaming down Jungwon’s face when he felt Sunghoon’s hand go limp. He dropped the older male’s hand before reaching for his shoulders to shake him violently, hoping that he would open his eyes once more.

“Sunghoon! Wake up, please wake up!” He cried out, fingers digging into Sunghoon’s shirt. Jake just rolled his eyes before stepping over to the two, pushing Jungwon back with his foot.

“He’s dead, there’s nothing you can do.” Jake chuckled as he shoved his hands into his pockets, stepping over Sunghoon’s lifeless body. His head tilted slightly as a sinister smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. “It’s a shame I couldn’t pick something stronger. I really wanted one of you to suffer.” He let out a little sigh, taking another step closer to Jungwon, who quickly scooted back before scrambling to his feet. “No matter though, everything is almost done.”

Jungwon looked at the older male with wide, horrified eyes, “what?” He didn’t understand what was happening, let alone why it was happening.

“Well, you see, Jungwon, this little ‘game’ was merely a front to get rid of all of you.” Jake felt excitement bubble in his chest as he watched the younger boy stumble back as he tried to get away from Jake. “Once you’re all gone, y/n will finally be mine.”

Jungwon felt his stomach drop. It was no wonder he was reacting that way towards you and Jay or why he got so mad when you rejected his advances. He never took Jake to be the kind to become obsessive with a person; he was always laid back and never had a mean bone in his body. So, was all of that a lie? Was it just a front he put on to fool everyone?

Fear had completely engulfed the boy's mind as he looked around the room, trying to find any way out. Noticing this, Jake chuckled, shaking his head and causing Jungwon’s head to snap back towards him.

“Oh Jungwon, Jungwon, Jungwon…” Jake then pulled his hand out of his pocket with a flourish, and the knife he had sitting inside let the light gleam off of it. Jungwon’s heart lurched into his throat as he looked at the weapon before meeting Jake’s psychotic gaze. Moving quickly Jungwon put distance between himself and Jake by moving behind the desk.

“You're insane!” Jungwon seethed, shifting from foot to foot, trying to think if he’d make it to the door before Jake could grab him.

Jake’s face shifted into an evil snarl, fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife. His eyes twitched slightly, but it soon faded once he realized what Jungwon was planning on doing. He was going to make a break for the door, but he wouldn’t make it, even if he did.

It was still locked.

Then, just like he thought, the younger boy made a run for the door; however, Jake was one step ahead. Jake grabbed his arm, pulling Jungwon towards him. Jungwon let out a loud gasp when a searing pain spread through his abdomen. Eyes wide, he looks up at Jake, meeting his smut gaze.

“Poor little Wonnie…” Jake’s voice came out in a sing-song tone, twisting the knife he had plunged into the boy’s stomach, causing Jungwon’s mouth to fall agape, “no one is coming to save you.”

Jungwon’s ears started ringing loudly as he grabbed Jake’s arm, nails digging into his sleeve. He wanted to say something, anything. However, all of the words that were sitting on his tongue fizzled away. He knew Jake had hit a vital spot. He knew that his chances of making it out of this room alive were slim to none. He knew he would bleed out on this floor without a chance to do anything to help.

Jake twisted the knife once more, eliciting a pained cry from Jungwon’s parted lips. He then ripped the knife out, allowing Jungwon to drop to the ground. Jake then wiped the blood from the knife onto his pants before crouching down to look at Jungwon, who was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Such a shame, really,” Jake propped his arm up on his leg, chin sitting in his palm next to the knife hilt. Jungwon winched as he tried to move, but the pain was far too much; his breathing became labored. “Should have just stayed home.”

With that, Jake stood back to his feet and stepped over the boy’s bleeding body. Jungwon’s eyes stayed glued to Jake’s back as he tried to fight off the darkness that was clouding his vision. He hoped that you could figure something out before Jake made it back to you, Jay, and Riki. 

Then, for the first time in a very long time, he prayed. He prayed that the rest of his friends would make it out alive, that they would be safe, and that Jake would face the consequences of his actions.

He took one last deep breath before his eyes fluttered closed, the darkness consuming him whole.

Your finger wrapped around the trigger, moments away from pulling it and ending your life. Your eyes squeezed shut tightly, causing more tears to spill from the corners. Jay thrashed about on the opposite side, screaming at you to pull the gun away.

Then, right before you pulled the trigger, you heard rushed footsteps and a hand wrapped around your wrist, harshly pulling the weapon away from your head.

“What the fuck is wrong with you y/n?” At the sound of your brother’s voice, your eyes snapped open, widely looking over at the younger boy who was still holding your wrist. You flinched when Riki ripped the gun out of your hand, “would you really rather sacrifice yourself for your damn friends than choose to save your own fucking brother?” 

Your eyebrows scrunched together; what did he mean? Had he really expected you to shoot one of your friends? And Jay, of all of them? Then it dawned on you… why was he here if the psycho behind all of this had him captive?

“What are you talking about, Riki? Why are yo-” You were cut off by the stomach churning laugh that fell from the younger boy’s lips, your heart started racing as a bad feeling settled in your gut.

Riki tossed your hand from his grip before pointing the gun at you with a crazed look in his eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked at the barrel of the weapon in front of you before letting your gaze travel up to meet your brothers.

“What am I talking about?” He laughed again, moving his index finger from the trigger to point at you, “I’m talking about how you would be so willing to leave me alone rather than sacrifice one damn friend.” Your heart was beating in your ears as you watched the insane gleam overtake Riki’s eyes, a sight you had never seen a day in your life.

You swallowed thickly trying to make sense of everything as well as come up with some kind of answer to give the boy, but your brain was coming up blank. Noticing that you weren’t going to say anything, Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes. Though before he could say anything, he saw Jay shift in the corner of his eye.

“How did you even get out? Is the guy com-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Riki growled as he turned towards the older male, finally giving Jay a chance to see the crazed look in his eyes. “You know none of this would have happened if you had just kept your hands to yourself.” The younger boy dropped the gun to his side, allowing you to let out a breath that was being held hostage in your lungs.

Jay felt as though he had been hit with whiplash as Riki revealed the cause of all of this. What had he meant when he said that it was his fault? What had he done that deserved any of this? And what did he mean by saying if he had kept his hands to himself? Confusion clouded the male’s brain, and the question of ‘what?’ slipped past his lips before he even had a chance to catch it.

Riki’s glare towards the older male deepened but then morphed into a psychotic smirk as he brought the gun up to his own head, tapping the barrel against his temple. “Why don’t you use that brain of yours?” Riki’s smirk pulled wider as Jay looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. “No matter, though, because everything will still work out in the end.”

Jay felt his blood run cold as he started to realize what it was that was actually happening right now. Why was Riki standing with them instead of wherever he was being held ‘captive.’ He had never been taken in the first place. No. He was the one behind all of the hell they had been put through. 

“You’ll just be another name in the book, while me?” Riki leans closer to Jay with a psychotic smile on his lips, “I’ll be the main attraction once more.” The boy then leans away before raising the gun to aim at Jay, and your heart drops.

You didn’t wanna believe that it was your brother who was behind all of this. There was no way that he could be. Right? He was just being used by the actual mastermind. Being told to do things because they were using something against him. That had to be it.

But why did he look so happy to point that gun at Jay?

“Riki, no!” It was like time slowed down; you reached forward, knocking Riki’s hand to the side just as he pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang throughout the room, causing your ears to ring as you looked over at Jay with wide eyes. He was okay.

Riki’s head snapped towards you, pure, unfiltered rage burning in his eyes. He slammed the gun down on the table in front of Jay before reaching towards you. It happened way too quick for you to registar what was going on. All you knew was that a pain erupted in your head as Riki grabbed the back of your head, slamming it on the table.

“You stupid bitch!” Riki seethed as he pulled your head back up, taking in your dazed eyes and the blood that was trickling down from the wound on your forehead.

Your ears were ringing so loudly as you tried your best to keep your vision focused, but black spots were clouding your sight. You could faintly hear Jay screaming at Riki to let you go, but it felt like you were standing under an ongoing train. 

“It wouldn’t have come to this if you had just kept your promise,” Riki growled before dropping your head just as your vision turned black, your body slumping on the table. Blood from your wound pools under your skin, matting your hair.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jay thrashed around in his chair, his eyes flickering from your motionless body to Riki.

“Shut up.” Riki’s voice was cold and calm as he grabbed the gun, pointing it at Jay. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the barrel of the weapon, and he stopped moving completely. Riki then reached into his pocket before pulling out a small remote, “You try anything funny, and I won’t hesitate to blow holes into you and leave you here to bleed out.”

Jay felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at Riki. He knew that he wasn’t joking, seeing as he had already almost done that exact thing moments before. He nodded slowly, scared to make any quick, sudden movements.

Riki then released Jay, making him grab your still body before leaving the room, the gun still pointed at the back of his head.

Even with your eyes closed, it felt like your head was spinning, the light blinding even through your eyelids. A groan slipped past your parted lips as you tried to cover your eyes and blinked a few times. Only to realize that you couldn’t move your hands.

Panicked, your eyes shoot open, looking around the room. Where had you been taken? Because this wasn’t the same room you were previously in.

Then your eyes land on Jake. He was sitting by a table, his feet propped up on the surface cleaning the blade that was in his hands. The feeling of your eyes on him, Jake looked up, a wide smile spilling onto his lips.

“Well, good morning, there, sleeping beauty.” His voice was sickly sweet, and your stomach turned as you looked at him.

“Jake? Where am I?” You asked, your voice hoarse. 

Jake just made a ‘tsk’ sound as he stood on his feet, stabbing the knife into the table and making a loud thud, which caused you to jump. Fear started to etch into your bones as he stalked closer. Was he also a part of all of this? What happened to Sunghoon and Jungwon? Then you remembered that you were with Jay.

You started to move your head to look around the room for the silver-haired male, but Jake caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his eyes, a crazed gleam in them.

“It was about time you joined the party; it was getting pretty lonely without you.” His bottom lip jutted out as he looked over your face, “He couldn’t even last long enough for the real fun.” Jake sighed as he moved your head until your eyes landed on the male who was tied to a chair across from you.

Bile rose up your throat as you took in bloody and bruised. Jay was sitting there with his head hung low, eyes closed as blood slowly dripped from the tip of his nose. Was he even still breathing? What did they do to him?

Taking in the look of horror that was decorating your feature, he couldn’t help but chuckle slightly, “Does it disturb you?” He moved his hand away from your face before standing straight, “that’s a shame, red is such a pretty color.” His words caused your head to snap in his direction, staring at him with wide eyes.

How could he say that? Jay was one of his friends, so why the hell would he do this to him? You then started to remember little details that you had missed during the earlier times of this whole ordeal. How weird he had been acting in the room where Sunoo was killed. It was starting to make sense, but why?

Jake then moved away from you, making his way over to Jay and grabbing a fistful of his hair. You started to tug on your restraints forcefully, but it was no use; they were far too tight. Tears started to brim in your eyes as Jake tugged his head back, causing a groan to fall from the older’s lips. Jay’s eyes are open, his pupils dilating as he looks over at you, and your stomach turns once more. He had multiple cuts on his face, a black eye starting to form around his left eye, and you could clearly see the popped blood vessel that surrounded his iris.

“Say hi to your lover, boy,” Jake cranked Jay’s head further back, causing another groan to tear through his throat and a sob to leave yours. “Because as soon as Riki is back, he’ll be joining the others.” The smirk that was playing on Jake’s lips left a sense of dread to overtake your body.

Tears were streaming down your face as you looked at the brunette, “Why are you doing this?” You cried out, tears dripping from your chin. Jake just looked at you with a slightly tilted head like it was the weirdest question that you ever asked.

“I don’t really think you’re in any position to ask that question…” He trailed on as he shoved Jay’s head out of his hands, causing you to jump, and your eyes flickered over to the other male. Jake then walked back around Jay towards you, “This little fucker has bee-.”

Jake, however, was cut off when Riki walked into the room, eyes instantly narrowing into slits when he noticed how close Jake was to you, “Sit down, Jake.” His voice was cold, which only added to your unease, but what really shook you to your core was when Jake just rolled his eyes before moving towards the table.

Riki’s eyes then moved over to your teary eyes, his face relaxing a bit at the sight. He then walked over to you, reaching out to wipe your tears as he has done multiple times; this time, however, you flinched away from his touch.

“This will all be over soon, and we can go home.” He smiled and patted the top of your head, making you flinch once more. His words felt more sickening rather than comforting; what was he going to do? Was he going to kill Jay? Why?

Your trembling lips couldn’t seem to move as you watched in horror while Riki walked over to the table where Jake was sitting. He laid the handgun from earlier on the surface before grabbing the knife and pulling it from the wood.

“Now, be a good girl and just sit there and watch. You can do that, right?” Riki asked with a wicked smirk on his lips, the knife twirling in his hand. He then walked over to you with the knife outstretched, the point merely inches away from your face. You bit your tongue as he moved closer, putting the blade under your chin to lift your head. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.” He chuckled before moving towards Jay.

The closer he got to the incoherent male, the more your heart hammered in your chest. Sobs and cries fell from your lips as you thrashed around in your restraints, hoping that they would give. 

“Leave him alone!” You screamed out, tears blurring your vision as Riki moved the knife to Jay’s face, “He didn’t do anything wrong, please, Riki!” You screamed, pulling harder at your restraints, causing the chair to move underneath you.

Riki looked back at you with crazed eyes, “Nothing?” His tone was full of amusement as he roughly grabbed Jay’s head, pulling it back and bringing the tip of the blade to his cheek, “He’s done nothing but get in the way.” Riki seethed, digging the point into Jay’s skin, eliciting a loud cry of pain from the older male.

“Please leave him alone!” You screamed out again, pleading over and over again like a broken record. The sound quickly annoyed Riki as he continued to leave small, deep cuts all over Jay’s cheek. 

Groaning, he raised his hand to rub the crease between his eyebrows. " Find something and shut her up, jeez!” Riki exclaimed, looking over at Jake, who quickly got to his feet. He grabbed something from the other side of the table before walking over to you, but you continued to scream and cry.

You tried to fight against Jake’s hold as he started to wrap a piece of cloth around your mouth, but it was pointless; he was too strong. Tears continued to stream down your face as you watched Riki continuously dig the blade into Jay’s skin, causing him to cry out and groan. 

Was this how your life was going to be? Were you going to get out of here and have to pretend that your brother and best friend didn’t just kill everyone that you have ever cared about? Go on having to keep a distance from anyone in fear of either of them doing anything like this again? Would you really have to carry around the guilt of knowing that all of this was because of you? Your nails were digging so deep into the palm of your hand that you had broken the skin, causing blood to pool in your fingers.

This was going to be the end.

Jake moved away from you, backing up until he stood against the table. His fingers wrapped around the holster of the gun, picking it up. Then, while Riki’s back was turned towards him, Jake moved around you to stand behind the younger boy. You didn’t even notice your gaze glued to the blood that was dripping from Jay’s motionless face, having passed out yet again due to all of the pain.

The older male raised the gun until it was leveled with the back of Riki’s head. It was when the gun clicked that you tore your eyes away from Jay and looked over at Jake. Your heart dropped even further into your stomach as you realized that he could easily kill your brother. 

“Thanks for letting me help, but I’m afraid this is where we come to an end.” Jake’s voice was cool as he wrapped his finger around the trigger. Riki dropped his hands down to his side, allowing Jay’s head to hang lowly. He then turned his head just enough to look at Jake, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re right…” Riki smirked, turning fully to face Jake, his body completely relaxed. “This is the end of the line for us, but…” Just then, Jake’s hand started to tremble as blood seeped from his nose, dripping down onto the floor; coughs racked his body, causing him to double over, “Not for me.”

You were completely shocked as you watched Jake cough into his hand, only to pull away with a handful of blood. What was happening? Your eyes went wide as Riki just tilted his head, watching Jake with an amused smile.

“Did you really think you could try and take me out without me realizing it?” Riki laughed, crossing his arms over his chest, the blade of the knife pointing in Jake’s direction. “Oh boy, you must have forgotten who I am, Jake.” He placed the blade under Jake’s chin, lifting his head much like he had done to you earlier, “I was planning on getting rid of you, but you just made it a whole lot easier for me.”

Jake started wheezing, dropping the gun to the ground. He clutched his neck as his throat started to close up. His body swayed from side to side. Blood continued to pour from his nose like a waterfall, and before too long, his body dropped to the ground. 

You watched as tears continued to flow from your bloodshot eyes. Watching as yet another friend of yours died. Killed by your brother.

Riki glanced over at you, smirking at the horrified expression that was displayed on your pretty face. A look he wished he could etch into his brain for the rest of his life, but he was sure he’d see it again if you ever stepped out of line again. The feeling of something hitting his foot caused the younger boy to look down just as Jake’s eyes rolled back and he stopped moving completely. Blood pooled around his head as it continued to flow from his nose and the corner of his lips. His eyes were completely red as they stared at the ceiling, lifeless.

You felt like you were going to be sick at the sight of all of the blood. The lifeless expression on Jake’s face is forever etched in your brain. The tears had stopped as you sat there in shock, your heart hammering so loudly it was deafening.

Stepping over Jake, Riki walked over to stand behind you. Your whole body jolted when his hands came down to rest on your shoulders, fingers digging into your skin. He then moved down until his face was right next to yours, looking over at Jay’s unmoving body to Jake’s lifeless form on the ground.

“Isn’t the sight just beautiful?” He asked; the sinister tone of his voice sent a chill down your spine. “Don’t worry so much about them, sis. You have me, and that’s more than enough.” He pulled away from you, patting the top of your head once more. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing more tears out, sobs racking your lungs once more.

He then untied the cloth muffling your sounds, throwing it off to the side before moving to stand in front of you. You, however, refused to meet his eyes, keeping them glued to the ground by his feet.

Riki just rolled his eyes before moving back towards Jay. He knew you would snap out of it eventually whenever the two of you got back home. You had done the same thing after leaving your parent's house, so why wouldn’t you be able to do it again?

He grabbed Jay’s head once more, twirling the knife around in his hand, ready to plunge it into the older male's neck, but you had started screaming at him to stop once again. He looked at you from over his shoulder, a glare adorning his face.

“Please, Riki, I’ll do anything! Just leave him alone!” You sobbed, thrashing about once again.

Scoffing, Riki just shook his head before turning back to Jay. You weren’t ever going to understand that your words meant nothing. Jay was going to die one way or another.

He was the last person on his list, after all.

Riki then started bringing the knife down, ignoring your screams for him to stop. Then there was a loud bang as the door bounced off of the wall behind it, a bunch of geared-up men rushing inside.

Your eyes went wide as you realized who these people were… the police. You were saved. Jay was saved. Tears once again welled up in your eyes, and for the first time in the whole night, you let out a sigh of relief.

Your ears started ringing, and it felt like everything was moving in a blur as a few of the cops grabbed Riki, forcing him to drop the knife and shoving him to the ground. His shouts of protest were ignored as they cuffed his hands behind his back.

Another cop walked behind you and undid your binds, asking you questions, none of which registered in your head as you watched them tug your brother to his feet. Watching as they drug him out of the room, you thought…

You’re finally safe.

You sat in the back of an ambulance, the paramedic checking you over to make sure there wasn’t anything seriously wrong. She had asked you a few questions but you could only respond with a series of hums, your brain not quite working.

“It does seem like you might have a concussion, so please take caution with any physical activities.” She informed you as she dropped her hands to her side and you just nodded, eyes staying glued to the ground.

When she started to move away, you looked up, hands closing around the bandages they had wrapped your hands in.

“Um, where’s Jay?” You asked, your voice hoarse from all of the screaming and crying. The paramedic turned back towards you, offering a small smile.

“The boy you were with? He’s on the way to the hospital along with the other boy.” You felt your shoulders relax, a sigh leaving your lips. Then, her words fully registered. Other boy? Riki was in the back of a cop car on his way to the station, not the hospital. So, who else could it be?

“Other boy?”

She nodded, “The boy who called the police, Jungwon, I think his name was.” She informed you, and tears instantly started to pour from your eyes.

Jungwon was okay. You were so sure that he had been killed, too, but he was okay. He was safe and alive. The paramedic smiled sympathetically as you cried, hand resting on your shoulder in a comforting manner.

“Was he okay?” You hiccuped, wiping some of the tears away, but they were quickly replaced with more.

“He was stabbed pretty badly, but by some miracle, he survived, and he’ll be okay.” She patted your shoulder before moving out of the way when an officer made his way towards you.

As you answered the cop's question, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The hellish night had finally been put to an end. You and the rest of your friends were going to be okay. Riki was going to be locked away for a very long time. It was over.

...Right?

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[ganondoodle]

wont have time to work on anything for a few days probably, so uh, since i love reading comments/tags of people sharing their experiences- as part of the preparation for the totk rant script i got another question to ask :3

if you dont like tears of the kingdom, was there a moment that "broke" you, as in, the moment you knew this game is worse than you thought/hoped, and if so what was it?

personally, while i was suspicious after seeing its last trailer, i told myself its just me again and i kept up my hopes for a long time into my playthrough- its hard to point to a specific point since it was a growing feeling of something being off, things didnt make sense and i ever so more wondered how they would pull this all together (they didnt)- i do think the moment i stopped being in denial about it was when i found the shrine of life, the beginning of botw, and found .. nothing, a dingy cave practically licked clean of any traces of the shiekah tech like it never existed, instead of the medical bed a pathetic puddle of water that healed you, no one caring at all, like it actually never happened- i felt like the game pointed and laughed at me for caring about botw, pretty sure i was struggeling to keep it together on stream bc it forced me to realize this game truly is everything i hoped it wouldnt be, even if that sounds a little weird, at that time zelda and especially botw was so much more important to me, a passion for the franchise this game really did end up killing.

[batboopp]

as much as I love batgirl 2024, I have to admit the lack of Barbara Gordon mentions in the whole series so far, especially with the first arc having such a big theme of motherhood/daughterhood and the things that comes with it, makes me soo sad. Barbara was the first person Cass actually considered as a mother! Barbara, although she wasn’t the best at it at first, truly did try to understand and love Cass unconditionally even when she was separated from the Bat mantle! And that panel where Cass overhears Barbara tell Dick that she doesn’t know how to really care for Cass could’ve been the perfect parallel to the whole “is a Mother just being connected by blood? No, Something more is owed/Being a daughter is more than being connected by blood” lines that Cass says in the last (current) issue because Barbara, though she did not physically bring Cass into this world, has sacrificed SO much for her, and in return Cass gave so much back.

[cloudbends]

Witch hat. :(

[arolesbianism]

*experiences potential ~symptoms~* Hm. Let's not think abt that too hard (<- guy who is always obsessing over everything that's ever happened to them ever (<- no one tell them))

[elliesfreckle]

over & out | radio au |

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0

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📟 : record two 𖣠 white noise and wrong stars

⏯ synopsis : you’re a voice on the other side of the radio. she’s your wrong frequency — a mistake. a fortune, maybe, at the edge of a devastated world. you never told her your name. she never asked what you looked like. but when the nights get colder, in a world full of silence, you keep talking.

⏯ pairing : ellie williams & fem!reader

⏯ content warning : swearing; canon tlou after outbreak world; idk and prob edit it later

⏯ word count : 4.7k

⏯ a/n : HELLO we did it! today is the day! i have passed (away) the exam (two more left)! wont say much 'cause i died while proofreading, editing and uploading this shi on tumblr. and im REALLY sorry if there are so many stupid mistakes that you'll ban me forever. trust me i hate being perfectly literate in my native language while writing english like a 9 year old boy. but! i have to thank you all for how gently you embraced this idea and for your support. special shoutout to @losing-it-lately youre SO SWEET, and i loved that crazy night talk.

promise ill learn how to make posts prettier, maybe even create a masterlist and a playlist. flirty reminder that your reblogs and comments feed my soul

also if you wanna be tagged in the next chapter, let me know. for now, enjoy ♡

The one constant thing about the broadcast room in the Great Falls quarantine zone is that it’s freezing cold no matter what. This chill has been dwelling deep inside your bones for years. Not the kind that bites, but the kind that settles over your skin like a breath held too long.

And yet, sometimes you keep forgetting to bring a threadbare sweater on your night shifts. Like tonight. But there are nights in which you don’t need any of it, because the world you’re forced to live in doesn’t let you feel comfort too often. It wants you to keep in mind that given life is fragile, and might be taken back whenever the world pleases. Your blood runs cold every time the sent patrols go silent.

Like tonight, again.

Outside the narrow window, evening fades away and coming night stretches wide and endless, clinging to window frame like wet lining. The air has that strange, waiting stillness—too quiet, too heavy—that lingers in your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Crickets hum faintly in the grass (you can hear them even from your radio cell on the highest floor), but even they sound unsure, like something’s pressing down on them from above. Birds are hovering in the low sky, almost bruising tree crowns with their angled wings. Their calls warn you. A bug cracks with all its tiny power into the glass of the windowpane, attracted by the lamp’s light. You flinch.

The pine trees don’t move. Not yet.

They stand stiff and dark against the horizon, their needles limp in the air, knowing what’s coming.

You can feel it too—not in sound, but in pressure, like something biding just beyond the edge of hearing. For days, the weather’s been thick with it—heat that doesn’t lift even after sunset, that makes the floors sweat and tempers run short. Checking the weather is one of your responsibilities too—radio signals are capricious with changes in the air, and with years it became a sense, not a science. You’ve learned that from the specific shapes of clouds—or their absence, the shade that sun has at the dawn; you’ve been watching birds and stray cats, as they are the first early harbingers of storms. You like to think they share sacred knowledge with you. Leaving your post on grey mornings, you can tell if it’s going to rain just by looking at the dew. And that definitely won’t be modest to claim that you have some skills in handling forecasting tools. Smartass, they call you.

So now you keep thinking the sky will crack open and bleed it all out.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

The radio crackles softly beside you, calming like an old friend, warming like embers popping in a dying fire. Yes, in four walls of the radio station there is still cold.

And still no sign of the patrol.

You lean forward, elbow on the desk, the familiar ache of exhaustion in your shoulders. Something’s telling you it’s going to be a long shift. The transmission button is worn smooth, paint rubbed away years ago by hands just like yours, probably older. The headset squeezes your head—a relic that somehow survived the outbreak. You forgive it the discomfort. Most nights. You adjust it out of habit—the ear padding still crooked from the last shift.

You press the button down.

“This is Homebase calling AA40B. Do you copy?” A heartbeat-long pause. “AA40B, check-in, you’re two hours overdue. Report your position.”

You count to five. Then ten. Dead air. This is the first radio term you ever learned—not from a book, not from a manual, but in the heavy silence beside someone older, more practiced. You must’ve been sixteen. Maybe younger. Watching, listening and realizing that sometimes, absence speaks louder than any broadcast.

Dead air means something has gone wrong. Someone important, who never spoke through the white noise again.

It stays with you—static coiling around your ribs, slow and taut like wire. You’ve never forgotten the weight of it, because now it’s here again.

Flipping to a fresh page in the logbook, you scribble the call sign again, even though the page already looks like a graveyard of unanswered calls:

18:04 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Received scheduled check-in from AA40B. Background static, but no incidents reported.

18:15 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Attempted contact with AA40B. Negative. Assumed out of range unit. Logged for follow-up.

18:24 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Logged inactivity. Next scheduled check-in ???

20:02 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — No response.

Silence. It is always about silence at the end. You’ve faced the same ends of different stories too many times. However, you’re just a radio operator, aren’t you? A messenger. The one whose face people barely remember. They know you for your voice. They hate you for it; they hate to hear it in moments of another acknowledgement of things going wrong. But this is not your fault, right? You receive news—then you report. Bad news—report. No news? Report. So you file the report like always. No sirens. No raised voices. Just protocol, neat and quiet. Loss isn’t rare enough to stop the day. Or night. Collateral damage, they call it. Lives.

The last entry in the logbook is smudged—ink dragged by the heel of your palm in a moment of distraction. You underline the status. Twice. You want to breathe, really breathe. Tear off the headset, heavy and too tight; let your pulse settle in open air, feel your shoulders drop for once. Shake off the weight of duty.

But protocol says stay.

So you do.

Anchored in your chair (as old as the headset), waiting for something. Or nothing.

The clock on the wall is old, its plastic yellowed with age, but it still ticks with rude efficiency. Every second lands like a drop of water in an empty basin.

You count minutes by it — minutes left until the next scheduled check-in. The last one for the night. The one you’re not expecting to go any differently.

A small glass jar sits near the base of the radio, filled with dried wildflowers you picked earlier that summer. Yarrow, tansy, bluebells gone brittle in the heat. It doesn’t belong here—not among the grey buttons, frayed wires, and institutional gloom—but you brought it anyway. Something to look at while the hours crawl.

You clear your throat. You don’t bother sounding official anymore.

“This is Homebase. Again. Check-in.” You swirl a faded yellow petal in your fingers. Squeeze it until your fingertips are covered with its sticky powder. “I repeat—AA40B, answer my call. Report the situation. Have you got any troubles? This is channel ninety-four point seven, if you’re suddenly unaware. Be advised, Lisa, if you don’t respond your mother will fucking murder me. Slowly.”

You let the words trail off, resting your fingers lightly on the worn edge of the desk.

The kind of joke born from routine.

Lisa and you had planned to grab dinner after her shift next week—you weren’t close; maybe you would’ve been. It was supposed to be the first. A small thing. And now just…undone. Silence folds back over the room like a heavy blanket. Your peripheral vision catches something alike with a flick of lightning far away. Just a second that might be a play of your overwhelmed mind. Just a second. Then—

Click.

Soft; barely there. But unmistakable—not static. Not interference.

Someone pressed something.

Your body reacts before your mind does—a tightening in the chest, a shift in the gut. The way this familiar frequency is talking to you now: you can recognize its hiss among the thousands of others. And this one is totally different. Something unusual is happening.

This isn’t protocol, isn’t your patrol.

And there’s no call sign.

Just a breath, maybe. A small, ambient shuffle of noise—a movement. Someone is there. And then, at last—a voice cuts through. You will think about it many times later; you’ll try to replay this moment like an old tape, always returning to the second she spoke to you. You will lie for that voice. And you will—

“Who the hell is Lisa? And…who the hell are you?”

A beat. Long pause. The silence stretches, tense, uncertain. She’s close to the mic. No headset, no filter. Unmistakably not Lisa. But someone who’s used to surviving, not asking questions.

The voice doesn’t match anything you were expecting—sharp and low, with a slow drawl that sounds like it's been roughened by time and too many cold mornings. She doesn't sound scared, but she sure as hell sounds like someone who’s ready to pull a knife if you so much as breathe wrong. And as for your breathe…it’s more than wrong. Something about her makes you sit up straighter. You glance down at the console, thumb hovering over the mic: 94.7.

That should be right. That’s the patrol’s frequency; it has been for months. You double-check the band anyway, twisting the dial just enough to hear the edge of the next channel before snapping it back.

How the hell—?

Maybe the storm’s fucking up with the signals. That happens sometimes. Reflections bouncing off mountains. Electromagnetic interference. Whatever excuse science likes to throw at you when something strange happens in the middle of the goddamn night.

Your understanding of fate is called science.

“Are you ghosting me now?” Your stomach dips with another question from her. You forgot to reply. Do you really have to do it? Probably not. But damn—curiosity and boredom are louder than reason. And you want it. Badly.

You clear your throat, shift your weight in the creaky chair, and press the button.

“Uhm…Hello.” Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You—the person who spent years talking to strangers over the radio—and now you’re mute. “I’m here. But you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

A soft scrape of fabric brushes the mic—like something is shifting on the other edge. Another pause. You can hear the smile in her voice before she even speaks.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Her voice sounds younger now, almost smug. The way she says it—calm, sure, like she has a knife in one hand and her finger on the trigger with the other, makes your pulse skip. Calm. Dry. Like she’s holding back either a laugh or a warning. On the edge of your mind you wonder how old she is. Could you be peers? Some people define age by looking at someone’s palms. Your trained hearing doesn’t require watching to see things.

You pull a thin blanket tighter around your shoulders; you keep it here special for night shifts and instead of forgotten jackets. Moths ate through its fabric; holes stare at you like frightened eyes or twisted mouths.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the low hum of the equipment, the way twilight sky is fading navy, and your lamp is the only source of light. There’s no one else in the room: just you, just her. And the strange, thin thread of static connecting your two points of the map.

She doesn’t break the silence again, allowing you to take your time and think. Lead the dialogue or end it. She gives you choice.

You don’t even know her name.

But somehow, in this moment, that feels like the least important part.

“So…first of all, I must ask: do you need any urgent help?”

The question comes out too formal, like you’re reading off protocol.

“Do I sound like I need help?” The mic chuckles faintly with the sound of her voice. You knew the answer, but you had to ask. Just in case.

“Right now I’m not sure if I should answer at all,” you say. Does she hear the smile curving in the corners of your lips? “You’re not in danger, looking for signal to save you?”

“Save me? No way.” Her tone dips low, husky at the edges. A pause. There’s a smirk—quick and barbed—but it doesn’t soften fully. You figure out that she speaks like someone who’s used to being heard but never really listened to; that happens to people who don’t speak much.

Each of her words clipped just enough to sound in control, laced with amusement sharp around it. There’s warmth in it, sure, but distant warmth, like fire through glass. You catch the tail end of a sigh. “I’m fine. No danger. And even if I were, what’d you do? Send a helicopter?”

This. Even in her irony, something stays braced, like she’s talking with her back still against the wall.

You huff a soft laugh. Involuntary. You better think on what the hell you are even doing. You better think twice before the answer. But you choose to play her game.

“Just a helicopter? I have a whole rescue team for losers like you.” probably you don’t think even once, replying.

“Enjoy saving losers?” She baits.

“I’m here daily for it.” You bite.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“What ‘bout nights?”

You lean back slightly, flexing your aching fingers. The headset hums with a tiny echo of her voice and some static. There’s a rhythm forming here—and it isn’t protocol. You’re treading on thin ice. Almost dancing.

You glance at the faint, flickering bulb above you—the only company in this concrete box you’ve half-started calling home. The air smells like warm dust and coil-burned wire. Silence is hovering, like she’s waiting for you to laugh or shoot back some banter, because she has no idea how long it’s been since anyone spoke to you like that.

Your finger lingers over the transmit button. You press it, slower this time.

“Nights are for ghosts and dead batteries,” you realize how desperate that must’ve sounded, and add, “You fit right in.”

The girl scoffs. You’re not sure if she’s smiling or offended. Or just listening. A low crackle fills the space between you. If you close your eyes, will she remain on the border of your signal? Or will she vanish into the white noise?

You don’t want to know, so your eyes are open. Surreal night.

The connection falls quiet again. That particular silence that means someone is thinking. You interrupt it with another question:

“How did you catch this frequency?”

The response comes, broken and crackling:

“By random? I was—”

The rest is swallowed by static. Not loud, but needling. Noise spilling through the line like wind through the flung open window.

You wait, leaning toward the console, squinting as if that might help decipher the pattern in the interference. You try again, more precisely this time.

“Take on the headset. Your sound is shit.”

A pause. Some fumbling on her end. You hear what might be a soft grunt, the clang of something metal.

“Didn’t think it’d make any difference,” she mutters, half-off mic. “Hold on… I don’t see any— Oh. Here it is. Looks terrible.”

Only God knows what’s going on over there. Something to do with wires and dust, maybe. There is a clumsy thud, then a hiss, then the faintest muttered curse. Whatever it is—they’re putting up one hell of a fight. You smirk silently.

Finally, a low rustle, then—click.

“Well. Fine. Do you hear me now?”

And just like that, you do. You almost regret the suggestion.

Her voice lands crisp, close—like it’s suddenly right behind your ear, not scattered across states. The line is clear enough to catch the curve of her vowels, the scrape of dry amusement under the words.

Oh, you do.

It’s the kind of voice that makes you forget the question. The kind that holds back more than it gives—something low, a little rough, but sharpened and steady, like she’s watching you through the wire and dares you to blink first.

So you blink. Swallow.

“Yes.”

No more, no less. You decide to keep your freaky thoughts to yourself.

She hums, then moves: now you can hear it perfectly well, trying to imagine this natural movement. You fail.

A shift in your seat, the chair creaks. The room suddenly feels smaller. Warmer?

She’s the first to speak.

“What’s with your, how did you call it, AA40C?”

You correct her out of habit—and to buy time.

“Forty-B.”

A beat. Your ink-stained finger hovers the transmit button a moment too long. The clock mocks you—shame prickles beneath your collar. You’d completely lost track of time. And of the patrol.

“I can’t share this information with someone from beyond.”

You hesitate to call her a stranger. You must be losing your fucking mind. You add a half-smile into the mic, though she can’t see it. The words aren’t harsh, but there is a line in them—clear, official, practiced. One you’ve been taught to hold. You almost feel like apologizing—which is absurd. Unfamiliar. Not like you.

Her reply is quick, clipped.

“Fair enough.”

But something in her tone curls at the edge. Like she’s testing you, just to see how far the signal stretches. It’s not like she’s interested in all your military secrets, but like she has some interest in you. Or you’re just fantasizing things.

Her voice lingers in the headset—that grainy warmth, half static, half smirk. She doesn’t let it drop.

“Where are you talking from then?”

You freeze for a breath. The words are simple, innocent-sounding, but they land sharp. You’re not supposed to—

“I can’t—“

“Jesus. C'mon.” A scoff, close to the mic. Her voice crackles at the edges. “Such coincidences happen once in a lifetime. Ain’t you curious?”

You are, and this is the problem.

You hesitate, eyes fixed on the dull glow of the frequency dial. You’ve followed protocol a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel like protocol—not anymore. You tell yourself it’s fine. Montana’s a big place. Nobody would guess.

“Ugh… Montana.”

There’s a bit of silence on the other end, then a click of her tongue.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“Girl, you're so fucking paranoid.”

You huff through your nose—not quite a laugh. She’s not wrong. You hadn’t realized how tight you were holding the line—like names could unravel something if spoken too clearly.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you answer, steadier than you feel. “It’s safer. For both of us.”

“Let it be.”

There’s a shift in her tone that might come with leaning back, chin tilted, daring you.

“Then you can call me…” A beat. A mock-dramatic sigh. “Damn Jackson.”

You blink at the console, then laugh before you can stop it. It catches in your throat. The name drops like a pebble in a well. Small, almost casual. Echoing. You know the name. Most do. A settlement too far south. Rumored to be peaceful. Overgrown with good soil and better people. Rumored, at least.

You let yourself savor the answer. Like you need to place her somewhere on a map just to stay grounded. Small details start to shape her features in your mind.

“Jackson’s not even a state, dumbass.”

“Wyoming doesn’t sound cool at all.”

Her voice flattens with false seriousness. You imagine a shrug. A smirk, maybe. Something self-aware but distant—like she’s drawing lines in the sand just to rub them out a moment later.

The words slip out without thinking.

“It kinda does.”

Are you still talking about names?

You slightly frown, eyes scanning your table, though there’s nothing to see. You raise an eyebrow.

“And why would you tell me your place?”

“It’s not really mine, is it?” A pause. “Just a name.”

You bite your lip. She’s still playing. Still keeping her real cards hidden, just like you. But the word Jackson settles into your memory heavy. Like it matters.

Like you’ll be writing it down later, in a space not meant for records.

There’s a lull again. Not awkward—just stretched thin. Like neither of you wants to admit the conversation has no more ground to stand on.

You glance at the clock. It’s later than you’d thought. Your logbook lies open beside you, the last line still unfinished.

“You should go,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

You don’t add what you’ve begun to notice—how her breathing has slowed between sentences, how the edges of her voice soften, just slightly, like the weight of the night is finally catching up to her.

She’s clearly not home.

Not even on watch. Just… out there.

Wherever she is, it’s not where she’s supposed to be. You hear it in the way she pauses more often now; in how the static doesn’t quite hide her quiet exhale. The kind people let out only when they’ve been running too long.

She’s lost. For now.

And somehow, you don’t want to keep her any longer. Not out of duty—but because something in you wants her to rest. Just a few hours. Just until dawn.

Even if you’ll never know where she lays her head.

Even if she never calls again.

“You gonna report me?”

It’s half a joke. Maybe.

You answer before thinking.

“Not if you promise not to show up again.”

Do you want her to show up again? That’s another question. The one you’re not going to think on.

“Harsh.” You hear her shift—maybe the creak of a table beneath her elbow. “Guess I’ll just get lost then.”

Her tone is light, but something flickers underneath.

You hesitate, then add—

“Batteries don’t last forever anyway.”

That earns you a breath of static shaped like a laugh.

“Neither do ghosts.”

The silence that follows is different. Not quite goodbye. Just long enough to say something without needing words. The button waits beneath your touch, untouched. You sigh.

“Well, Jackson. Over and out?”

You try to make it sound casual, like it doesn’t matter if she answers.

But she snorts — soft, amused.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhmm… it’s like ‘bye’ in radio slang. Some kind of etiquette.”

Another pause. This one warmer.

“Then over and out, Montana.”

You smile—not that she can see it. But feel, maybe.

Your hand slips from the button. You expect silence. Expect her to vanish into space, like she was never there.

But then, you remember something:

“Oh. Wait.”

There’s a second you think she’s gone. You hold your breath, unintentionally. Your knuckles brush the edge of the transmitter, hesitating. Her voice comes through quiet, no louder than an exhale.

“Yeah?”

“Storm’s coming. Stay safe.”

You wait—half-expecting her to follow it with a joke, or some snide comment about the clear skies.

But she doesn’t. You wonder if she hears it too—that strange pressure in the air. That breathless weight.

Her answer is simple.

“I will.”

And somehow… that’s enough.

The line goes quiet. Not with a pop or sudden crackle—just…softer. As if her breath was still caught in the waves of signals, and then even that lets go. An act of disappearing without curtain call.

You don’t realize how much noise she’d brought with her until it’s gone.

Now there’s only the faint hum of the equipment; the low buzz in your skull, and underneath it—a hush that finally feels real. It presses against your ribs. Wraps around the base of your neck. Heavy, still. Known.

You lean back slowly, letting the weight of it all settle in. Shoulders drop, the holey blanket slips onto the floor—loud in the absence of her voice. Your body reminds you that it’s late. That your eyes sting. You haven’t moved for too long. And you sit there, still, another minute, or maybe more. You don’t know why.

You haven’t touched the dial since she stopped talking. Since that sharp and guarded voice cut through the wrong frequency and landed in your hands like something not meant to be held.

You should log it.

You should log everything.

You reach for the journal and stare at it for a long time. The pen dangles on a piece of string, tied to the corner of the desk. You’ve lost too many not to do it this way. It hovers in your hand. No idea what to write. A few entries above, your own writing stares back at you—neat, all-caps block letters. You draw a line underneath it, slow, deliberate. Then glance back at the console, the frequency is still open. But she’s gone. You press the pen to the paper.

20:27 — Unknown signal —

You pause, biting your lip. Hell. No words come. You don’t write what she said. Or what you said back. Instead, you cross this line out and turn to the next page. A blank one, cleaner. Further from truth.

20:28 — atmospheric interference — ghost frequency spill. No contact established.

You underline it once; like that will make it true. Then you flip the page, just in case someone else reads it in the morning.

You know it’s not procedure. But you also know how it works: unofficial frequencies are monitored sometimes. If the others find out you spoke to someone from another city—someone who shouldn’t have been there—they’ll shut it down. Change the band. Pull your shift. Maybe worse.

You close the book and push it at the edge of the desk. Your fingers tingle, thumb is awkwardly ink-stained as before. You don’t bother to wipe it. Just tilt your head back and close your eyes.

The silence hums, her voice lingering in your mind—

and it’s yours to keep.

Ellie doesn’t remember the walk back.

Morning mist obscures the sound of her steps, hides her uneven silhouette. She’s smoke, a breath of wind in the ferns. She’s at the edge of there and nowhere.

By the time she’s near the gates behind the west trail, the trees whisper above, restless with the wind that hadn’t been there an hour ago. She swears it wasn't. Light spills over the treeline—pale and uncertain, like it’s not sure it should be here yet.

Jackson's lights bloom like low, tired fireflies. The gates creak open just past dawn. Someone nods to Ellie from the watchtower. She lifts a hand, doesn’t stop walking.

As she reaches home, the door groans as she pushes it open. Inside, the air is still—cooler than outside. Ellie doesn’t bother turning on the light. Her shoes leave dark shapes on the floor, soles soaked from dirt. She shrugs off the backpack, peels off the outer jacket, and kicks at her converse until one tumbles sideways and stays that way. No sign of Joel. She doesn’t check. The weight of everything settles in the quiet. The shirt—one of her favorites—clings to her back, damp with sweat and dust. She scratches at her wrist, smearing a thin line of dried mud. She’ll shower later. Maybe. Exhaustion pulls her to the ground.

She has a couple of hours before they will need her.

Ellie sinks onto the couch like the bones have gone out of her. Face-down, arm tucked under her head, too tired to change. Her knuckles sting a little—a scraped corner from earlier—but it barely registers. Her brain floats somewhere shallow. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Just drifting.

She blinks once. Twice. Between those blinks, a voice brushes the edge of her thoughts, like a skipped page in a journal. It’s not clear at first—just a wordless shape, like a whisper behind closed doors. But then it forms: “you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

Ellie doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t not smile either.

She hears it before she sees it—the soft tap-tap-tap on the glass. That type of rain that starts tentative, as if asking permission. She turns her head, watches the droplets race each other down the pane.

Ellie exhales, low and long, and lets her eyes close.

The storm came after all.

[mythalism]

i think what people need to understand is that no amount of essays assuring me of veilguard's strengths, of which i agree there are plenty, is going to change the fact that the emotional experience veilguard prompted within me (and for many others) while i played it was a deeply negative one. discomfort at best, painful at worst. im talking stomach aches. visceral, somatic creeping disappointment and dread that i tried to fight for hours and hours but eventually had no choice but to accept. i stopped wanting to play entirely around 30 hours. i felt vaguely ill. i felt anxious. i could not sleep for a few days. and im not saying i felt sick because it was so bad, but that i felt sick because of the sinking realization that i was about to be terribly, horribly disappointed after so, so long. you could call me dramatic and im sure someone will. idk what to tell you. my emotions manifest physically long before they become decipherable or understandable to me mentally, especially when they're 10 years in the making. probably an autism symptom. regardless, it was genuinely pretty awful, especially because i had immense good faith for this game. i was so hopeful and optimistic and generally thrilled and literally anyone who followed me before october 31 would know that. the emotional whiplash and crash was intense and devastating, and i was reeling for days. you cannot tell me that this experience was "wrong" or "toxic" due to it's negative nature. it was entirely involuntary and outside of my control, as i would expect many people's joy was. emotional reactions are not beholden to fandom discourse.

any post i have made criticizing the game since is attempt to make sense of the emotional roller-coaster of the past 10 years, this summer, and finally this game's release. i do not come on here and write out my criticisms of veilguard because i want YOU to dislike it too. the nature of my essays are not persuasive. if they do persuade you its just because i am a well-trained essayist. sorry. if they dont, great! that wasnt the point. i have no desire to change anyone's mind on the game, in fact i actually would not wish the disappointment i felt on anyone. the fact that i have a lot of followers who agree with what i say and who spread the thoughts i express across tumblr is literally out of my control. when i write out my long-winded criticisms, it is out of a need to express and externalize that sinking, cold feeling i had while playing, in pursuit of understanding exactly why playing that game felt that way to me. identifying, analyzing and verbalizing is the only way i have been able to process my experience. its confessional and therapeutic more than anything. it helps other people understand their own difficult emotional process with the game. its not an attempt to ruin your fun. my negative experience with veilguard does not invalidate anyone else's positive one.

i see so many posts acting like all criticism is an intentional, targeted hate campaign and i dont understand that assumption. to what ends? what would that achieve? why would i bother with such a thing? maybe that is some people's intention in the deep hater corners of this website, and im blissfully unaware. if it is, fuck them. its certainly the intention of annoying grifters, but i feel the distinction between transphobe grifters and devastated fans is pretty clear, so im not sure why the lines are deliberately blurred as if those groups are remotely similar. some of my criticisms come from a more objective place. the writing comes to mind, and it's a consistent criticism from thousands of players. but just because i consider it to be poorly executed, does not make it unlovable. and when i say that i think its poorly done, i am not saying that you cannot or should not love it, or that you are stupid for loving it. maybe someone out there is saying that!!! but i am not. things do not have to be perfect to be enjoyable. they dont even have to be well executed to be enjoyable. "i think x aspect of veilguard is poorly done for yz reasons" is a completely different sentence than "you should not like x aspect of veilguard for yz reasons". these are not the same statements. i see so many posts that are so vitriolic and acting like two experiences of this game cannot coexist, that one has to win and be objectively right, moralizing them on a false axis of positivity = good and negativity = bad, and acting like the existence of one negates the experience of the other. and why? why would that be true? i literally love so many things that other people think are absolute ass. i also love plenty of things that i myself think are actual ass. i love them anyway. this is allowed and really fun. i am not sure who told you that it is not.

however, i have just as much of a right to express my disappointment as you have to express your excitement. i am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the game, i am glad it resonated, or that you saw yourself in its characters, or that it just scratched your hyperfixation itch. but whatever je ne se quoi it had for you, it did not have for me. i have written out so much criticism about so many aspects of the game, but fundamentally what it comes down to and what i cannot express in words is that while i played after waiting 10 years for that moment, it felt wrong. it wasn't that i had specific expectations for game story that were not met, in fact, it exceeded my expectations in a lot of ways. i mean that in terms of how i felt, something was off. it did not resonate. it did not land. it did not hit the right cord with me. i did not have enough moments of joy to outweigh the feeling of emptiness. i did not walk away from it feeling the way that the previous games made me feel. and ive been trying to figure out exactly why that is for three months now by talking about it with people who feel similarly. i am not sure that i will ever be able to analyze my way into figuring it out. it might just have to simply be that it left me bereft.

and so my posts are not anti-veilguard hater propaganda to make you feel like shit for loving the game. rather, they are me verbally processing exactly why i feel like shit so i can hopefully stop feeling like shit. to assume that people who are trying to process these negative feelings are toxic and intentionally malicious is a projection made in bad faith. i love dragon age, and it is because i love it so much that it disappointed me, and it is because disappointed me that i have to verbally process it on tumblr.com so that i dont go absolutely insane. i tag my posts properly. i do not go into tags where i do not belong. i do not rage-bait. i am participating in post-partum dragon age therapy between me and my followers. if it ends up on your dash, sorry. my therapy is popular i guess. so please for the love of god enjoy the game, freely and enthusiastically. i am happy for you. i will sit here and be jealous that it spoke to something in your soul that it unfortunately did not speak to in mine, and nothing i say can take that away from you. please stop interpreting it as an attempt to.

[gamblersdoll]

hihi! idk if you’ve done smth like this , if not could u write like apologetic typa sex w denki after he fucks up or smth, like if he reaalllyy pisses u off and you wont speak to him

js a random thought i had😭😭

ooouuu anon i like you, have a cupcake!

“please, ma— just talk to me!” hes been devastated for about a week, knowing he shouldnt had added someone. it wasn’t a girl, but it was definitely someone who had the hots for him. and knowing denki? he could pull anyone he wanted. “i said i was sorry!”

“and i said i was mad, you know better, you barely short circuit anymore.” you remind him for the eleventh time in person. you had approximately six hundred and fourteen messages from him alone, maybe he was remorseful. “hitoshi is literally the college manwhore, so why did you add him back?”

“i dunno okay? i was just being nice!”

“and where does ‘bein nice’ get you? dead in a ditch, a kid, or some kind of disease.” you remind him one of your golden rules, being nice didn’t necessarily mean you get that back. “you might as well have texted hitoshi, since you wanna be so nice.”

what you dont necessarily expect is him to stop you in your tracks— in your own apartment, to get on his knees and bow to you. “boy, what the hell—“

“please,” he starts, his head low and he looks back up to you, puppy dog eyed. “ill let you do anything you want, whatever you want, ill be some toy or something even if you want to use me— just please, talk to me! ill make everything right again, please mama.”

“stop with all of the little pecks, you know better.” you pull his hair, showing his forehead and he nods.

“yes maam.”

you finally let go of your vice grip, his head going back down and you roll your eyes in pleasure. he finally realized what kind of timing you were on, and fuck, did he love it when you get mad. “yer squeezing my— fi-fingers, baby..” he says, “god, youre so tight..”

“less talking, more eating.” you remind, shoving his face in between your folds. “there you go.. did you just want to get used? is that what it was?” you ask, biting your knuckle to keep a moan in. “thats it.. use your tongue, baby.”

“so sorry..” he moans with your enlarged clit in his mouth. “sorry i followed him back..” he looked cute, his eyes heavy with lust and having your arousal up to his eyebrows. “ohmygoddd— you taste so good when you hate me..”

“such a dirty boy..” you moan, feeling his tongue lick up to your throat and his fingers press past your ring of muscle. “fuck— baby youll make me come already doin that..”

“the least i could do right..? fuckk—“ he moans with you, thrusting his fingers inside along with his hips. he was weird, pressing his hand against his groin and thrusting his fingers inside as if a cock. “forgive me, pleaaasee?” he draws out the moan, along with his thrusts.

“forgive you, baby— fuck, im comin!” he squeal, kissing his jaw and he licks at your cheek trying to catch your lips.

[lokideservesahug]

Perfect pair

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-Pairings: Lewis Hamilton x famous!actress!Reader

Warnings: Maybe a swear word or two, idk. There is loads of mentions of dogs so Im sorry if you're allergic :(.

Notes: I saw a tik tok (by the user ayloparis) about celebrities seen on raya, the celeb dating app. And Lewis was just there (middle photo above)!?!? And it stuck in my mind (also Ben Hardy was there aswell, how random).

Summary: When you moved to Monaco, the last thing you expected was your greatest fan and a fan of a race car driver to almost force you to go on a date with said F1 driver. But when you find that same man on a dating app, it doesn't hurt that talk to him; especially because he's so gorgeous.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: Great awards weekend with an even better ending of going home to my best friend🤍

Liked by hamm4rtim4, thelomlyn and 3,987,091 others

View all comments

User1: Girls be saying the most heartfelt, sweetest things ever about someone and that someone ends up being their dog...

↳Yourusername: 😮It's me! I'm girls!

↳User2: Dont blame you tbh. I also love your dog Y/N

User3: One of these days, She'll post a soft launch (it'll never happen)

↳User4: Nothing can ever get rid of her baby from her posts!

Thelomlyn: Y/NNNNNNNN?

↳ Yourusername: You're back!!

↳ Thelomlyn: You know it. Also its probably a stretch but you know you said that you'd trust me with almost anything?

↳ Yourusername: OH no... But yeah?

↳ Thelomly/n: Well a friend of mine (hamm4rtim4) and I think we've found the perfect guy for you

↳ Yourusername: Oh... I'm intrigued. Who do you think this guy perfect for me is then?

↳ Hamm4rtim4: Sir Lewis Hamilton

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

📍Circuit de Monaco, Monte Carlo

Yourusername: What a great weekend! El made a new friend @roscoelovescoco. And well done to his dad @lewishamilton for managing to get the win, it was an amazing race. 🤍

Liked by Lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco and 3,678,905 others

View all 6,876 comments

Roscoelovescoco: It's was lovely's to see's you's!

↳ Yourusername: And it was lovely to see you. Although I think El misses you already. She looks devastated without you!

↳ Roscoelovescoco: Well's we've God's to see's you's soon then!

↳ Yourusername: I wouldn't have it any other way🤍

↳User1: Awww that's so adorable

↳User 2: Lewis x Y/N and Roscoe x El. It's meant to be!!!

Lewishamilton: Thank you for your support (and for dogsitting Roscoe).

↳ Yourusername: Any time. And like I said we'll done, you did truly brilliantly this weekend 🤍

↳ Lewishamilton: ❤

↳User3: And so we're meant to believe that they aren't dating!?!?!?!?

↳User4: Ikr. They make such a good (and attractive pair)

Liked by Lewishamilton

User5: Idk why they hid it. Because if I was dating acadamy award winning actress Y/N Y/L/N, I'd never shut up about it.

Liked by Lewishamilton

↳User6: LEWIS LIKING OMD. That has to be a PR concern? RIGHT!??!?!

Mercedesamgf1: Thank you for all of your support this weekend, glad to see you found the right team to support first time. 🖤

↳ Yourusername: It wasn't difficult when you have a certain Hamilton to convince me!

↳ Mercedesamgf1: 🤨

↳ Yourusername: Yeah Roscoe is the best person in the sport!!!

↳User7: Even admin is suspicious lmao

↳User8: She thinks she's so sly...

User9: I'm just saying if they get together, then their dogs can live together and they can all live happily ever after.

Liked by Lewishamilton, yourusername

User10: Lewis likeing all of the comments about him and Y/N is so unserious yet kinda sweet.

↳User11: Like yeah he wants to show her off and let their dogs have kids as they grow old together (they aren't 100% dating)

↳User12: Awww them growing old together with their little bulldogs is adorable

Liked by yourusername

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Lewishamilton

Lewishamilton: Thank you everyone for helping me to get in that top step once again. Its been really tough the past few years but by putting lots of time and effort in it clearly payed off.

Thank you to all the mechanics for your endless work. Thank you to Toto for putting up with my constant feedback, thank you George for helping defend and let me keep that top position today. And most importantly, thank you to my 'personal cheerleader' Y/N. Who has helped to support me, bring me joy and just be a beacon of hope throughout the turbulent season start. I love you ❤

Liked by Yourusername, Mercedesamgf1 and 5,897,098 others

View all 57,764 comments

Yourusername: Love you Lew. You're amazing🤍

↳ Lewishamilton: ❤

↳User1: Awww they've been hiding in plain sight (everyone knew)

User2: Shut up that is adorable. And I love the Y/N effect. You can't have a photo dump without El

↳Yourusername: Why would you want to? Unless it has Roscoe in (I love that dog sm)

↳Roscoelovescoco: Awww's I's love's you's too's

Mercedesamgf1: Felling left out rn🥲

↳User3: I love you admin

↳User4: Well done admin

↳Yourusername: We love you admin

↳Mercedesamgf1: Aww thanks guys. Love you more!

User5: Whoever would have expected this!?!?!? Me. I did.

User6: Does this mean we'll get Lewis in a blockbuster film

↳ Yourusername: He can sing, he can dance... question is, can he act?🤔

User7: This is such a random pairing. I love it.

↳ Yourusername: You can thank @thelomlyn and @hamm4rtim4 for that

↳ Lewishamilton: Thank you you two

↳Thelomlyn: I think you just killed @hamm4rtim4. Oh my gosh. This is unreal.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Also my inbox is open if you ever have a request!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

[buckysfaveplum]

doomsday

summary: missions don't always go according to plan, sometimes you lose people- that's the job. bucky told you that himself.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, character death, um yea this one's sad. OH and Steve is dead in this (I mean he was like 90 something in endgame...)

a/n: GUYS omg i missed youuu i hope you remember me. its been like almost two years? i moved to ireland and started grad school! things are different. buttt here’s a new fic cause i’m back!!! ANGST omg im sorryyyy.... idk I wanted to right something that hurt okay okay bye (:

masterlist | send requests

You hated funerals. 

The suffocating smell of formaldehyde and roses wafted through the wake hall. The sounds of distant friends and relatives feigning grief, playing up small interactions with the deceased as more than just pleasantries while siblings and best friends' voices seem to be gone with a lack of words to express their suffering. The stale cookies and donuts in the hall, as if someone’s lover isn’t lying in a casket 50 feet away. All wrapped up in black dresses, suits, and handkerchiefs.

You hated funerals.

Today was no exception. An agent lost on a routine mission in Guam, taking out an arms dealer terrorizing a village. There were loose connections to Hydra, but just petty violence and shootouts for nothing. It shouldn’t have resulted in the loss of an agent. But sometimes things go wrong. A gun barrel stalls, someone trips, a civilian happens to be in the way. Sometimes people die. That’s how you ended up here.

Sarah was a good agent, a great one. She was top of her class at Westpoint, went straight to the FBI, and was recruited into SHIELD- all before 30. She was good- too good for a slip-up like this.

As speeches wrapped up, family and friends began to say their goodbyes. A line formed at the casket as people poured their hearts out for the redhead you once called a friend. You waited patiently at the back, making sure you were one of the last. You always did. Maybe out of respect, perhaps guilt? Who knows. You always felt guilt, even if there was nothing to be done. There was guilt.

Finally, as the small crowd left the room, flooding into the hall outside, you made your way to the front. Laid out before you, Sarah’s curly and wild hair was in two thick braids on each side of her head, a blue dress covering her as well as a soft cream cardigan. She looked beautiful and peaceful. But she was dead. Your friend was dead. No makeup or pretty clothes would lessen that blow. The plush velvet of the casket seemed to soften the prison that her body would rest in. At every funeral, you were reminded of how you wished to be cremated.

“I’ve never seen her hair so flat,” you turned to see Bucky standing beside you.

“You know, even wet her hair always seemed to spring up. Had a mind of its own,” you said, your gaze resting on him.

He was clad in a simple black suit, an older set you’d gotten him at a vintage shop. Something familiar. A simple cream button-down, no tie. It was simple, but that was him. What was most striking though was his serene demeanor. It never seemed to settle with you how unaffected by death he was. How easily he was able to gather himself and keep going. You couldn’t blame him though, 90 years of pain, death, torture, and violence will do that to you. You’d only seen him torn up once. And it was beyond devastating. Steve. “You okay, kid?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

He was your partner, in every sense of the word. In the field, as a friend, in life. He was everything. Your taut shoulders melted under the firm comfort of his vibranium arm. You could rest in its embrace a thousand times and never cease to crave its solace when away. He was your rock through every debriefing, call to family, black dress, and smeared mascara. Who knows what you would be without him?

You rested your head on his chest, breathing in the potent smell of his old cologne and something that was distinctly Bucky. 

“I hate funerals.”

——

“Do you ever think about dying?”

Bucky’s grip on you tightened slightly at your words. Wrapped in the soft linen of your duvet and the sunlight streaming in through your windows, his body lay around yours. His short choppy locks were tousled fresh from his slumber. The previous night’s sleep had yet to let go of his consciousness fully, still cozy and relaxed in your shared bed. His vibranium fingers continued to play with your hair as he considered your question.

“Not anymore,” he said.

Your face scrunched in confusion at his words. Your fingers traced gently over the thick scars on his left shoulder. They mangled and twisted, sprouting in angry red from the line where his skin met vibranium. Shuri had done her best to soften the tissue when replacing his arm, but only so much could be done.

“I did a lot when I was first drafted. I was scared of it then. And in those early days under Hydra. It was all-consuming. But at some point, I wasn’t scared of it, I embraced it- prayed for it,” your fingers froze at his words. It was nothing new to you, you had spent countless late nights and early mornings recounting the abuse of his days as the Winter Soldier. But hearing him say flat out how he wished to die. That was jarring. “After the Blip, I’ve just become a bit numb to it. I don’t really think about it if that makes sense. It could always happen.”

His hands danced down your spine as if his words were simple.

“You expect it?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“It’s the job, Y/N. It comes with the territory. Sometimes you lose people. And it could always be you,” he said, giving you a soft look. “You know that, doll”.

“I just, I don’t expect it in the field you know?” you relaxed a bit, regretting the subject you forced upon him.

“Hey, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it,” he said, giving you a ginger smile as he leaned close and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Death has just followed me for a long time, doll. I mean I’m a 106. I’m just not scared of it anymore.”

You tucked yourself into his chest, his words soothing the fears swirling in your mind. You knew the job was dangerous. That any mission could be the last. You just hoped it would never be him.

“Why do you always pick the heaviest topics of discussion early in the morning?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. He smiled as you chuckled against his chest. 

“Probably cause I’m hungry, Plum,” you said, turning to lay on your back as you smiled up at him. 

“Yea? What could we do about that, huh?” that devilish smirk of his could stop your heart anytime and you’d be grateful. “Pancakes? Clinton St?” 

You nodded eagerly at his suggestion before taking his hand and slipping from the bed.

——

The rumbling of the quinjet shot up your spine. Sam and Bucky’s relentless bickering filled the steel jet as you came closer to your destination. Your gloved hands worked at strapping your knives to your thighs as they quarreled over how best to stain wooden beams in Sam’s living room during your and Bucky’s next trip down to Louisiana.

“No! NO! Buck, that stain doesn’t go with the accent wood in the kitchen! I already told you,” Sam said as he fixed his shield to his back. You chuckled as you walked over to them. Your backup squad, full of agents fresh from SWORD’s training academy, snickered at the two men as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“The beams are in your living room, what does it matter?” He said. 

“I wouldn’t take any interior design advice from him, he wanted a purple couch in our living room,” you said, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist. Sam laughed as he turned to grab the mission report. The jet was drawing close, entering stealth mode and preparing for landing.

“It was a plum color,” Bucky grumbled, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

“Okay team, huddle up!” Sam said. “This is just a simple in and out. We gotta get these hostages out safely so no risky moves- I’m lookin’ at you, Buck.”

Bucky threw his hand up in defeat, scoffing jokingly under his breath. 

“I’ll swoop through and scout entrances, Squad Two you’ll be with me for direct combat. We’re clearing out the building. Squad One, you’ll be with Y/N and Bucky, you’re getting those hostages out. You bring them straight back here, got it? There’s four so it shouldn’t be too strenuous,” he said, closing up his report before slipping on his cowl. “Alright team, let’s show ‘em what we got.”

——

Fluorescent red light filtered across your face as you slipped through the hallways. Half the squad led ahead of you, banging on doors in search of the hostages. Bucky hung close behind you, the rest of your squad keeping your entrance open for your escape. His hand rested on the gun strapped to his hip as he kept an eye on your blind spots.

Watching your back on the field was second nature to him. Protecting you, be it on the subway or in an active battle zone, was something he felt born to do. A reason to survive all those years under Hydra.

After several doors, your team stopped; having heard the pleas for help on the other end of the steel doors, they backed up to allow room for an agent to blast the lock. You stumbled back into Bucky, tripping on your own feet. His arms caught you before you could even glance at the floor. You felt his fingers gripping your hips and fidgeting with the straps on your thighs as you straighten.

“Some reflexes you got,” you whispered to him.

“Can’t let my babydoll fall,” he said, kissing the back of your head before his focus shifted back to the lock, now falling to the floor.

The agents flooded into the room, pulling hostages out and bringing them back into the hall. As they streamed out, you realized something was wrong. You only counted 3.

“Where’s the fourth hostage?” you asked. 

Bucky commed Sam, hoping he’d scanned the place and found a lead. As he spoke, you gathered the agents, giving them an order. Lead them through the building, get out to the other half of the squad, and get them into the jet. You’d meet them on the other side. You and Bucky would find the last hostage. The agents fled, leaving you and Bucky alone in the dark hallway. 

“Where are they?” you asked. Bucky sighed, as he grabbed a knife from his hip.

“In the lab in the basement, must’ve been the first to get taken,” he said.

The hostages weren’t nobodies. Prisoners were taken from SWORD on a mission to squash a newly established radical group. A group that seemed to resonate with the ideas of Hydra. This mission was all too familiar to Bucky, and all the more upsetting. You gave his free hand a firm squeeze before you turned and bolted to the lab.

You could feel the heaviness of the lab as soon as you entered the basement. The looming presence of the sterile room filled the hallways as you stalked toward it. Bucky was unusually quiet as he covered you from behind. You knew this was triggering, it had to be. He would always tell you he was beyond triggered episodes, having gotten a firm grasp on his PTSD. But you knew better. The subtle tremor in his brow told you so.

As you reached the eerie room, you stilled. Bucky came up behind you, resting a hand on your waist as you assessed the space. Metal shelves lined the walls full of jars, syringes, and test tubes. Sleek steel tables with rags soaked in blood, white grimy cabinets full of scalpels and needles, and an operating table at the center. The floors were coated in grot, each crack in the tile stained brown. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder if this condition was what Bucky was used to for all those decades.

Realizing the area was clear, you entered. Quickly, you spotted the hostage. Strapped to a chair in the corner with an IV jabbed into his arm. Bucky squeezed your arm as he headed over, slipping his knife back on his hip. 

You felt a pit growing in your stomach. You pulled your gun gently. This hostage didn’t look familiar, you thought Sam said he was a brunette, not blonde.

Bucky began to break the straps holding the man down. Slipping the IV gently from his arms, Bucky eased him up into a sitting position. He spoke to the man calmly, explaining to him who you were and that he was here to get him out. He seemed off, but Bucky just assumed it was the experimentation. He was wrong.

“Do you know who we are?” Bucky asked, helping the man up.

“I know who you are, Soldat,” the man said.

A chill ran through your legs, almost toppling you over. You reached for your gun, but the man was quicker. He was able to log four bullets into Bucky’s chest before you could get one in his skull. 

Shots rang out in the room, flooding your ears. As soon as you pulled the trigger, the man fell to the ground. Your bullet nestled into the side of his head. Your hands were shaky as the gun fell from your grasp, clattering across the floor and sending echoes through the rotting room. Of course it was a trap. The rubber of your boots squeaked as you sprinted your way over to your lover. He stumbled back against the filthy wall, his hands pressing firmly on the holes scattered across his chest.

As soon as you reached him, his legs seemed to give out. Everything in you tried to keep him up, your hands gripping the straps of his suit to keep him from surrendering to the floor. But he was too heavy. You followed him down, gathering him in your arms and holding him close. His breathing was labored and rough. Squeaks and coughs escaping from his punctured lungs haunted your ears, taunting you as you desperately tried to get him to stand.

“Baby, baby come on… you gotta get up, love,” you said, pulling him as you tried to get his attention.

His eyes were fixed on the mess in his chest. Blood bloomed across the fabric of his blue suit like a watercolor painting. His hands slipped from their place over the wounds and grasped yours. 

“Y/N…” he said. You froze at his voice. It was weak and unsteady. His grip on your hand was tight, too tight. He was always so gentle with you. As if you were glass under his hands and he was afraid you cracked. Now, he gripped you so hard you were afraid your bones would fracture.

“Bucky, you gotta get up. You’re gonna be okay,” you said as you tried to stay calm, but your voice failed you. You commed Sam, “Sam, Sam! Bucky’s down, I need help please!” 

You tried your best to stop the bleeding, tearing fabric from your pants to stuff the wound and slow the blood. But it didn’t seem to help. Bucky’s vibranium hand rose to your cheek, holding you steady. You mumbled to yourself, beginning to panic as blood spilled onto your hand; it stained the groves in your knuckles and cakes in your fingertips. Bucky’s coughing finally brought you out of your spiral. Blood began to trickle from his mouth.

“Doll…I can’t- I can’t breathe,” he said, his voice hoarse from the blood filling his throat.

“Bucky, hang on for me okay, please,” you said, your hands grasping his face and pulling yourself closer. You pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, you could see it in his eyes.

“Y/N, I’m scared…” you felt bile rise in your throat at his words. The reality of the situation began to set in. Sam’s glitchy voice rang through your coms but you barely registered it.

“You’re okay, plum. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay,” you said. Your voice was frantic and distraught. The need to reassure him he would make it was overwhelming. But was it for him or you? Perhaps if you kept repeating it, doomsday would stay at bay.

His hands returned to yours, grabbing them and pulling you close as another cough racked his body. Blood speckled across your hands. You were white in the face, all the color drained.

“I…I love you, kid,” he said, his grip loosening. 

“No, baby, you’re gonna be okay. Sam’s on the way, it’s-”

“Y/N, I love you,” your hands gripped his tighter, wishing the firm hold he had minutes ago would return as his hands became limp in yours.

“… I love you, Buck,” you said softly, resting your forehead on his.

You pulled him close, kissing his lips one last time. You felt his breathing slow, his lips still. You didn’t pull back, you couldn’t. You knew what would await. A thick sob slipped through your chest. 

You tucked yourself further into his body, pulling him close and wrapping your arms around him. His head rested tucked into the crook of your neck, your hand tangled into his hair. You closed your eyes as you pressed your face into his hair, your free hand stroking his back and you rocked his now limp body. And you waited for Sam.

——

The smell of formaldehyde was the same, but no roses- Bucky preferred lilacs. You didn’t want the standard service, but SWORD insisted. No speeches, except for the pastor leading the service. You didn’t want any speeches, you knew Bucky would agree. 

You sat in the back, behind the small crowd of agents, friends, and the team you had come to consider family. Sam kept looking over his shoulder, keeping an arm behind him and resting on your knee. Perhaps he was trying to stop its shaking through the service or just to bring you comfort.

The service was simple, it was quiet. It was small. But it didn’t change anything. 

You hated funerals.

**taglist has been reset! let me know if you'd like to be added**

[asha-dasha]

TELL ME UR DIOMEDES HEADCANONS ... all of them (also I like your epic trauma studies fics btw)

Hhhhhhmnnnggggg all of them would take soooooo long I am thinking about Diomedes 24/7.

- Comaetho wanted a baby sister and was DEVASTATED when Deipyle and Tydeus were like "here's your brother!" she still complains about it when Dio is especially annoying to her

- the first time he actually heard about what Tydeus did at Thebes (a lot of what he hears is filtered through mentors or his mother), he was 12 or 13 and he threw up.

- speaking about Tydeus eating brains, Diomedes sometimes gets really queasy around raw meat, this mostly goes away after Thebes because he's scene real guts and gore

- as a kid, did NOT understand the concept of tact. He would say anything that comes to mind, the first time he meets the rest of the Epigoni (probably around age 10 or so, he called one of them ugly). He's been beat up enough to develop some sort of filter

More below the cut :))))

- hhhnnngggg he has autism lets just get that out of the way and his special interests are horses and fighting and adrenaline rushes

- when hes not in an adrenaline rush, he gets overstimulated pretty easily but has learned to mask very well

- in Thebes, he truly found himself. He became a man there, which is why he gravitates toward battle

- Every calculated action he makes, he views as an offering to Athena way of showing that he won't disappoint her like his father did

- he loves a hater, loves to be a hater. this is why he gets along with Sthenelus and later Odysseus, aka the biggest haters he knows

- Diomedes LOVES to sleep, it's his favorite hobby.

- he is not a morning person or a night person do not wake him up

- I'm so serious he loves his beauty sleep so much he will sleep 10 hours easy if you let him

- he and Athena dont speak much when it's just the two of them. They gesture and grumble, very rarely do they actually speak.

- scared of a man who has everything to lose (Hector). When people are hopeless they get sloppy but calculated people are so much more deadly

- DESPISES Paris because he's babied by his family, Diomedes was forced by his mother to swear an oath to avenge his father when he was too young to even know what that means, why should Paris be protected? His mistakes got them all here

- I think Diomedes and Antilochus would have been war besties but Antilochus is too loud for him (odysseus talks a lot but is rarely loud)

- after he injuried aphrodite and ares he had a panic attack that Athena would hate him, it took Odysseus and Athena's reassurances to calm him down

- not my hc its from "A Thousand Ships" by Natalie Haynes, but he and Odysseus make faces at each other during war meetings when others aren't looking

- jokes about being odysseus's eromenos, odysseus hates these jokes

- doesnt sleep well post-pallidium

I have more but these are the ones from the top of my head, Im currently writing a Diomedes goes to Ithaca AU fic so I have more but idk which ones I'll use.

[amymbona]

First time writing an ask kinda nervous….. imagine you went to the tennis academy with ArtPatrick and they never really noticed you, not really on their radar but you end up going to Stanford and befriended Tashi and they are just whipped for you idk what else to add IM SO NERVOUS

Yes yes yes that's so cute! The boys being completely smitten with reader 🥹🥹🥹 I could make a series from this cause this one's a bit short (I've no inspiration😔). Let's pretend that in this neither of the boys study at Stanford and Patrick isn't dating Tashi.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

To begin the story simply, tennis is the main focus of your life. Or at least used to be, until you hit puberty. With hormones running through your body, up and down from head to toe, and your periods happening each month, you started noticing significant changes not only in your physique but your mentality too. Suddenly, boys were all you think about.

While slowly building your teenage career and attending the academy, you kept your eyes on boys around you, subconsciously searching for a partner. And you considered yourself pretty normal. Not many thoughts about sex, at least not the hardcore version of it, just hoping for a nice monogamous relationship with a guy who'd love and support you unconditionally. Until you met Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson.

Aside from your crush on Brad Pitt as Achilles, you were never really smitten with boys before, so your poor brain froze the moment you entered the court and a mix of two muscular - for their age - moans reached your ears. There they were. The brunet one was taller, a mess of curly hair sticking to his forehead, and he was a bit more expressive too. Most of the groans were from his mouth, face grimacing as he chased the ball, limbs long. Next to him, on the court, was a guy who's blond hair was hidden under a cap, but you caught a glimpse of his big nose. This one, was a bit more muscular, eyes creased in concentration.

It's safe to say that you became obsessed with them, figuring out their schedule to be on the court exactly at the same time. It wasn't really your thing before, but you began tucking your skirts a bit higher so they could possibly catch a glimpse of your ass, and make sure to groan loud enough when you hit the ball. Every so often, your eyes would trail towards the two, eager to see if they are watching you, only to end up disappointed if you find them immersed in a deep conversation.

It shattered your poor teenage ego, especially when you decided to greet them - reminding yourself that tennis players all know one another so it won't be that awkward - only to end up with a light wave from Art in response. Honestly, you were devastated.

Now, one year into Stanford, you've managed to successfully push the two towards the most dark depths of your mind, focusing back on tennis. You are grateful to have befriended a fellow player - Tashi Duncan - who has become something close to a best friend. You hadn't really heard of her before, perhaps once or twice on the sport's channel news, but she has proven as an incredibly complex person. For her age, she is far above average, dominating every match, but her soul is delicate enough to flow in sync with yours.

The two of you are dorm mates, spend a lot of time together and have found much needed calmness in the presence of one another, a friendship one could really ask for. Doing the talk, you've learnt about Tashi's family, hobbies and friends - two of which, she has mentioned, were named Art and Patrick. Rings a bell?

And definitely rings a bell, if not even slaps you across the face, when you come back to your dorm after practice, eager for a shower and a good afternoon's rest, only to find two boys occupying your two beds. And Tashi's nowhere.

"Oh, hi," the blond guy is the first to break the awkward silence, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "We didn't know you were coming. We, um- we're waiting here for Tashi."

You nod, eyes trailing between the two boys, each of them gazing you up and down. And suddenly, you become too aware of your attire - a really mini *mini* skirt and a light sports bra, your top stuffed somewhere in your sports bag that you've dropped by the door - and it's easy to see the boys aren't trying to hide their excitement.

"Well, she's still at practice so..." you mutter, crossing arms over your chest to somehow hide whatever the boys are looking at.

"Should we go?" Art proposes, finger pointing at the door.

"No, no, you can wait here. I'm just gonna shower so I can't really entertain you." you offer the boys a small smile and quickly fish some clothes out of the wardrobe and disappear in the bathroom.

The boys exchange a glance, mouths parted and eyes wide. Damn. It's been a long time since they've seen a girl this pretty! Your flushed cheeks and plump lips are all engraved in their minds, the sight of you in so little clothes hard to erase. God, your cleavage was so full, almost spilling out of that bra, that Patrick desperately wished the fabric would magically burst and he's ve granted with the clear view of your tits.

You reenter the dorm in a fresh set of clothes, combed hair flowing down your back and the boys' eyes are on you again, small, playful smirks on their faces. You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy and the way your voice threatens to quiver as you approach your own bed, currently occupied by Patrick.

"Do you mind?"

"No, no, enough space for both of us," he replies nonchalantly, patting the space next to him, but that smug smile on his face is hard to miss.

Your eyes roll, arms crossing. He knows damn well that's not what you meant. "Just move."

Patrick grins, raising his arms in mock defense and reluctantly pushes up from his spot only when Art commands him with a soft c'mon Pat, allowing you to plop down.

For a long while, now both settled on Tashi's bed, the boys study you, taking notice of the way your sweater clings to your skin, the way your bare feet tap against the floor nervously and how you're trying to look all calm and indifferent, picking up a random book from the nightstand to demonstrate so. But Patrick breaks the silence.

"So, who're you?"

The question surprises you and perhaps hurts a bit, as you realise the boys have completely forgotten your face, despite seeing it for years in the academy. Perhaps you hoped they would remember you.

"Tashi's roommate... Y/N." you add when they raise a brow.

"Y/N." the name rolls off of Art's tongue sweetly as he repeats it. He likes how it sounds, it's simple but very flirting, as if your face was meant to hold such a name.

Patrick, meanwhile, imagines himself screaming that name. Not only that, his mind is filled with various scenarios where you are the main character.

The boys introduce themselves, not that it's needed for you, and for a moment, you're almost tempted to remind them that you actually know each other. "Yeah, I know you."

"You do?" Patrick asks, raising a brow, almost too excited.

Fuck. But you can't just tell them how much of a crush you had on both of the boys back in the academy, how many days and nights you spent thinking about them, imagining that'd be thinking about you too, imagining all the possible moments you three could have spent together.

"Um, yeah, from the... From Tashi." you stumble over your words. "She's mentioned you before a couple of times."

The boys nod, looking you all over, examining every single of your tiny mannerisms that are on display, the way you nervously scratch the back of your neck and chew onto your lower lip. Fuck. You're so cute in their eyes, they could watch you forever.

A slightly awkward silence settles over the room, and the more intense their gazes become, the more nervous you are. God damn, where the hell is Tashi when you need her the most? If you'll be forced to stay alone with Art and Patrick for one more minute, you're probably gonna go crazy and say something incredibly stupid or just jump in one of their laps and begin kissing them.

Like a miracle, a much needed knight in shining armor, Tashi shows up. She greets her friends, introduces you three once again before finally taking the boys out. Like they're on a leash, the boys follow her without a single protest, but before they leave the dorm, two sly smirks are shot in your direction. What you don't hear, after the door closes, is the boys smothering Tashi in questions about you.

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

<- previous part

PART SIX —

— A STRANGER & AN UNEXPECTED SMILE

you were back in chains and a muzzle.

the difference this time was that you asked for them.

nick pushed you down the long, bright hallways with no windows in a wheelchair. you were underground where no sunlight could reach you. the handcuffs covered both your fists entirely, a fairly heavy metal block on your lap. the muzzle was only your mask.

you feared you’d kill him before he could explain it all.

“are you sure you want to do this?” nick asked as you rounded the corner. he stopped at the first door and looked down at you.

“i’ve waited forty years for this,” you said looking up at him. “i’m sure.”

“well,” nick said, giving you a once over. “you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

“i think im closer to twenty-eight, actually.” you said.

he smiled at you and even though your mask covered it, you smiled, too.

how quickly it faded away…

the lights in the room were off except for a lamp on the bedside table. the warm orange light shined across half of him. with his chest wrapped in bandages, he was looking about as bad as you. he struggled to sit up and you savored the sound of his labored, tight breaths.

“i will be right here.” nick said, taking a seat in the corner of the room. he waved his hand towards the two of you. “but pretend im not.”

the silence in the room was suffocating.

facing him now, you were so tongue tied that it was impossible to pick what you wanted to say first. you were so angry— so devastated that it made you tremble.

“there is nothing i can say to ease your pain,” nikta began. he spoke in russian and his voice was small in his throat for a man who you had always known to be larger than life. “i feel as though it would be more of an insult to try and apologize to you for it.”

“i’m not here for an apology because that would require me having to forgive you— and i will never do that.” you spat. your mask covered most of your face but disgust was visible in your eyes.

“fair enough.” nikta said.

“fair enough…” you muttered under your breath. you could feel your blood begin to boil. “you have the nerve to say ‘fair enough’?”

“i didn’t mean to cause offense. i only meant i understand.” he said with a small tip of his head. “new slang is always the hardest for you two to keep up with, isn’t it?”

you uncurled your hands from within the heavy box cuffs around them. you could feel how sweaty they had become. you felt hot and cold all at once. sad and mad. brazen and cowardice.

“why did you shoot at him?” you asked softly. that was as good a place to start as any.

“why wouldn’t i have tried to shoot him? if i hadn’t, he would have shot on nick and if he did that, this whole thing never would have happened.” nikta said, gesturing between the two of you.

“karov is dead.” you told him. you wondered if it would hurt him at all.

it did not.

“good,” nikta said with a low scoff. “i will not sit here and pretend that i am a saint, fangs, but i have a better chance of seeing any kind of heaven before he does.”

“don’t call me that.” you said though your teeth.

he held up his hands in surrender.

“why did you do it?”

the question was hard to ask— and it was hard to hear. nikita’s face pinched and you did your best from keeping yourself from crying. you bit your lips hard in order not to feel them tremble.

“why me?” you asked when he said nothing. “why did you do this to me? why did you choose me?”

“i had a mission. simple as that. i was charged with finding a suitable candidate for weapon-v.” nikta said outright with little patience. “you weren’t the first girl that i studied from afar. you were the fifth.”

your stomach twisted and you fought to swallow. “what happened to the those girls?”

nikta sighed reluctantly, “i killed them.”

“why didn’t you kill me?” you asked in a whisper.

“you bit me. many, many times. you were the only one that bit me and that is what set you apart.” nikta said with a shrug.

“i bit you because you raped me.” it was hard to say the word. saying it made it feel real and you didn’t want it to be real. “was that what you did to the other girls, too?”

nikta shook his head, “you won’t like my answer. ask a different question.”

“i want to know.” you insisted, your bows pinching tight together.

“what i did to you in that field was wrong and it is something i can never apologize for, but the reason i did what i did was in the hope that if anyone else were to touch you once i brought you to hydra, that you would have been prepared for it.”

“you were the only girl i did that to, isla, and i really am sorry for it.” nikta said softly.

“don’t say her name.” you whispered, glaring at him with tears brimming on your lashes. “you don’t get to say her name. you killed her.”

nikta said nothing.

your blood burned like acid in your veins. you didn’t want him to apologize. it only made it worse. his answers only made it all worse— but you wanted the truth no matter how much it hurt.

“tell me about project winter solstice.” you said.

nikta took a long, deep breath. you could see the thoughts running through his mind.

for the first time, he looked utterly human.

and you hated it.

“twenty five years ago, doctor armin zola proposed the idea of breeding you and the winter soldier to see what the outcome would be. would you have super children? would those children inherit the powers and enhancements given to you and the soldier? would they be born ready to follow orders?”

“when i was told about the idea, i could see how much evil had infected each and everyone of us. i contacted shield and sent the project file to them in the hopes that something could be done to stop it.”

“it was too hard to find a way to get the two of you out, so i did what i could to limit the strain the project would place upon the two of you.” nikta closed his eyes and grimaced at what he saw when he did.

“the plan was to hardwire you and the soldier with a new set of trigger words that, when said, would ensure that you two procreated. almost like a compulsion. there were talks of creating a sex pollen. talks of trying to induce a heat cycle into human nature that mimicked animals in the wild.”

“i argued against those ideas and i told the board that if this was going to work and work well for us, that the best way would be for it to happen naturally between the two of you. it was no secret to anyone that you and the winter soldier shared a bed. how could you not? two caged animals, what else did you do pass the time?”

“for some reason, some sliver of a miracle, the board sided with my idea— but not entirely.” nikta said. he opened his eyes and frowned at you. “the board agreed with zola that you could not know these things were happening. if you knew that you were pregnant and laboring babies, you wouldn’t be able to do your job.”

“you got pregnant in 1961 for the first time three years after project winter solstice began. you then got pregnant again in 1963. and the last time was in 1966. in the beginning, they kept you sedated. groggy. once you began showing, in order to not distress the winter soldier, they put you somewhere by yourself. and in order not to distress you when you finally realized your belly was round and heavy, they put you to sleep. they put you into a coma, fed you through tubes, and let the babies come to full term within you while you were sleeping.”

“zola would wake you up once it was time to deliver and he took the babies away right after. the doctors would clean you up and then they would attempt to wipe your mind of any lingering evidence that you had been pregnant at all. they would keep you heavily sedated until your body healed and then they would freeze you for a couple years in order to prolong the gaps in your memory.”

even when you heard it outright, it was almost entirely impossible to believe.

it didn’t feel real.

“and…and what would he be doing? where would winter be?” you asked in a whisper.

“what he always does,” nikta said with a small shake of his head. “they sent him out to kill.”

“your absence disturbed him but it was for the best that neither of you saw much of each other during those times. they put you to sleep and they would break into his mind anytime he tried to look for you.”

“did he know?” you asked. your hands were shaking and it was hard to draw breath in your mask. “did winter ever know that i was pregnant?”

“i cannot say for sure. he is not my project and i do not fully understand how it is he works— but my personal belief is yes. with how well in tune the two of you are, i believe he knows but i don’t know if he understands completely what it means. zola and the doctors messed with his mind during those times, too. real bad.”

you said nothing.

you had no idea what to say.

more than ever before, you wanted to see him.

you wanted to sit on the floor of your cell and talk to him in whispers that no one else would hear.

“you said 1966 was the last time i was…pregnant.” you struggled to say the word. it felt foreign on your tongue. “its 1983. that’s seventeen years. why have there been no more children?”

you didn’t want more children.

you were glad to hear it was a small enough number.

but it made you uneasy to do the math and see such a large number of years had passed with no child born.

“winter solstice was put to a stand still in 1966 when the last child you had was stolen from the facility.” nikta said.

“with such a breech in security and a rat on the inside, zola and the head of directors agreed to put a pin in the project. you’ve been on birth control for the last seventeen years that they inject you with each time you wake up.” he explained.

panic shot through you like lightning. “where is the child now? who took it?”

nikta smiled at you and it made you recoil.

“i took the baby,” nikta said softly. he had the guiltiest look on his face and shook his head, recalling the memory as if he could picture holding the small baby right now. “you labored a girl and i…i couldn’t stomach it any longer. when zola handed me the baby, i knew i needed to get her out. i knew i needed to put a stop to this and get both you and james barnes out.”

“you— you took the baby?” you asked, shaking your head. you closed your eyes and tried to pull your hands free from the cuffs. you wanted to chew on your nails. you wanted to scratch at your face and pull at your hair. “you took…you took her? what did you do to her? where…where is the baby now?” you asked, tears slipping down your face.

of all people in the world, he was the last person you would’ve ever trusted with someone as precious as a baby.

a baby that had come from you of all things.

“i sent her to shield and shield sent her to family.” nikta said. he looked over at nick. “isn’t that right? the girl is safe, isn’t she?”

“family?” you repeated the word in english. you looked over at nick and shook your head at the two of them. “what family?”

nick sighed as he stood up. he looked over at nikta and said, “you tell her about the boys. i have a call to make.”

fear unlike anything you had ever known rushed through you like hot water— but nick placed his hand on your shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.

you swallowed down your worry.

once he left, nikta struggled to reach something on the table by his bedside. you craned your neck to see as he opened up a set of folders.

“it’s called project empire,” nikta said as he forced himself to get up. “and its goal is to create the most cutthroat and lethal generals hydra has ever seen.”

he grunted as he walked across the room to take the chair nick had been sitting on. he pulled it up beside you and you tensed as he neared. he opened the folder and held it out for you to see.

inside you saw pictures of two boys— two men.

two nearly grown men.

your brows drew together and you looked up at nikta.

he frowned at you and introduced you to the two men that were blood of your blood and bone of your bone. “their names are aurelius and caracalla. they are named after roman emperors to instill the idea that they are burdened with divine righteousness to any and all who hear their names.”

“aurelius is your eldest. caracalla is your second.” nikta said, pointing each one of them out.

it was impossible to understand.

the pictures of them made it harder to accept— to believe.

they weren’t babies.

they weren’t toddlers.

when you had been told you labored babies, that is what you pictured. you pictured drool-stains and spit up. you pictured ceaseless crying and trembling little lips. you pictured snot-nosed toddlers with sticky hands and infectious laughter that would’ve made even the stoic winter soldier smile…

these were men.

grown men.

“how old are they?” you asked in a whisper.

“aurelius is twenty-two. caracalla just turned twenty.” nikta told you gently. “they’ve never been in cryo. they’ve aged each year of their lives and have lived floors below you and the winter soldier since the day they were born.”

you looked at the pictures of those men and you wanted them to mean nothing. you wanted them to be nothing but faces in pictures and names written in ink on a page.

but you could see him.

you could see winter in their faces.

aurelius could’ve been his carbon copy. even though the photo of him was black and white, you could see his light, beautiful eyes— eyes that he had inherited from no one other than his father.

he looked just like bucky.

you wanted to reach out and touch the photo of caracalla. it made your eyes well with tears. he looked like his father, too, but you knew those stubborn brows. they were the same ones that pinched and raised on your own face.

it was easy to see the resemblance.

but it was hard to believe they were real.

“how recent are these pictures?” you asked. you looked up at nikta.

“fairly recent.” he said softly. “i brought them with me when we left siberia so you could see for yourself what they look like.”

your hands ached to hold those photos of them even though you had no desire to in your chest.

“are they like us?” you asked. you bit your lip under your mask and took a slow deep breath. “did hydra achieve what they wished to with them?”

“they have super soldier DNA, yes, but none of your enhancements carried on to any of them. except for caracalla, i believe. it’s speculated that he has a strong sense of smell like you and can see farther than most.” nikta said. he glanced at you. “if it makes you feel better, they’ve never been put under any surgeries and have no modifications.”

that did make you feel better.

to know the two of them were untouched by scalpels and kept from the pain of mutilation, it relieved you.

“have they been dispatched?” you asked.

“numerous times. aurelius has eighteen confirmed kills. his weapon of choice is a sniper. some apples don’t fall far from their trees, it seems.” nikta said. he looked down at the photo of caracalla and tipped his head. “caracalla has seven confirmed kills but he is…he is so unimaginably smart. truthfully, he surpasses any set expectation for a lab rat like him who has been in captivity his whole life.”

“don’t call him that.” you said. you frowned underneath your mask as a sadness washed over you. “he’s not a lab rat.”

nikta smiled sympathetically. “you are all lab rats.”

you said nothing.

it filled you with guilt to see the boys in those pictures. you had too many questions you didn’t know how to ask.

“do they know each other?” you asked softly. you hoped they weren’t alone.

“yes,” nikta said with a small smile. “they know that they are brothers and they’re quite the sarcastic duo.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “sarcastic?”

“unbelievably so.” nikta nodded.

“do they know who winter and i are?” you asked.

nikta seemed to hesitate. “caracalla…he figured it out when he was younger. he’s a cyber wizard that kid and when the guards weren’t paying attention to him on the computers, he got into the classified files and read everything on the two of you. photographic memory. he can remember anything he sees. it’s truly remarkable. he told aurelius but aurelius refuses to accept the truth.”

all you could manage was a nod.

“have they ever seen us?” you asked. you looked at the pictures of them in the folder and sighed. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen them before.”

“they watch the two of you spar all the time.” nikta told you softly. “they sit in the box above the arena and watch. hydra believes there is no reason for them not to. they know who you are and they know that they must be better than the best— and the best hydra has are you and the winter soldier.”

it made you feel…

you didn’t have the words.

the last time you sparred on the mat the winter had nearly choked you to death on orders from those above— and to know that those two were there… that they had watched.

it was something unexplainable.

yours boys knew you — though one was not keen on the idea of you — but you didn’t know them.

and they watched you.

perhaps one of them rooted for you.

perhaps one of them betted against you.

you tried not to care.

but a feeling kept creeping in like a cold breeze. a whisper of something deeper— something truly unyielding.

the door to the room opened and nick came back in. he seemed surprised to see you and nikta sitting so close, but he said nothing. he only nodded towards the ex-hydra officer.

“your daughter’s name is clover.” nikta told you. he stood up slowly and grunted as he did. “she’s lived her whole life untouched by hydra. she’s a real sweetheart. looks just like the two of you.”

“who has been taking care of her if not you?” you asked, watching as he placed down the folders pertaining to project empire.

“that would be someone she refers to as poppy.” nick said from behind you. “and she and poppy have been waiting a real long time for us to find you.”

your brows pinched tight together and you shook your head. “she…she knows about me?”

“you and sergeant barnes, yes.” nick said with a small smile. “and she’s eager to meet you.”

you blinked. “what? meet me? meet me when?”

nick looked at his watch. “she’s already here so right now, actually.”

“i can’t— no,” you said, shaking your head over and over again. “i can’t meet her.”

“you should.” nikta said. he was back in bed, laying down with his eyes closed. “you’d regret it the whole of your life if you didn’t because she’s been waiting the whole of hers to meet you.”

“shield doesn’t like lies, miss constantinescu. we like secrets. it just so happens that people like clover are privy to those secrets— because she is one herself.”nick said as he kneeled beside you. he gave your shoulder a soft pat. “no one on either side has lied to your children about who you are. about who sergeant barnes is. that goes for this girl and those boys still locked away.”

“how do i face her when i did not know she existed until today?” you asked in a voice far too soft. guilty tears brimmed on your lashes.

nick smiled, “you face her bravely.”

— ☆ —

you didn’t know what to do with your hands.

sitting alone in a lounge with the soft hum of 40’s music playing in the background, you were sweating. free of cuffs and free of a muzzle, you sat patiently. the wound on your stomach ached— but nothing was worse than how hard your heart was racing.

you were about to reach up and pull it out your chest just to make it stop when the door opened.

her head popped into the room— and she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.

clover toyed with the sleeves of her cardigan as she made her way over to you with an unsure wobble in her step. she was so big but so, so young. a lanky little thing with long dark hair and eyes like yours. her cheeks were flush and she kept bringing her hand to her mouth only to put it back at her side.

all you could do was stare.

and she was trembling like a leaf.

you thought that seeing her would be like seeing a stranger. you had not known that she existed until today. you had not a single memory of her. you’d say hello and then say goodbye, remaining a pair of strangers who shared the same blood. the same eyes.

you thought it would be nothing.

she was a stranger.

she was your baby.

and some deep, untapped damn of love burst at the sight of her chewing on her nails in front of you.

you forced yourself to your feet despite the way your wound screamed and you took her into your arms. she clung to you instantly, her fingers digging into your shoulders, grasping the fabric of your shirt. the sound of her cries brought tears to your own eyes that you could not have fought away even if you wanted to.

once she was in your arms, it all came pouring out.

you covered her in kisses. the whole of her face. her forehead. her cheeks. her chin. her nose. you couldn’t get enough of her. it was like being high— and the sound of her laughter was unlike anything in the world had ever been before.

you cupped her face in your hands and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you. “look at how beautiful you are.”

“i’ve seen so many pictures of you,” she whispered, her lips trembling. she brought her hands up to her mouth and tried to hide it. she had the warmest voice you’d ever heard. “you— you’re really tall.”

“me? tall? you’re much taller than i thought you’d be. you’re a little bean sprout!” you said with a wide-eyed expression. she was nearly to the tip of your chin.

“i can see where i get it from.” she said with a giggle that sounded so much like yours.

you smiled wider than you had ever smiled before.

a small beat of silence fell over the two of you and it made your heart lurch. the last thing you wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable— to scare her. it felt like walking on glass. like you needed to be the most careful you had ever been.

you sat down with her and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her.

“so,” you said, rubbing your hands on your lap. “how are you?”

“oh,” clover said with an awkward smile. she toyed with the sleeves of her cardigan and nodded once. twice. “i’m— yeah, i’m good. i’m studying right now for my midterms.”

“oh,” your brows drew together. what the hell was her midterms? “wow. that’s— yeah. good job! work hard at that so you can…succeed.”

“it’s a test,” she whispered with a small, nervous laugh. “a big test. i’m trying really hard to get into a good college so i need my grades to be good.”

“smart, are you?” you asked.

she shrugged. “a little, yeah.”

silence fell over the both of you again and you chewed on your lip. you tried so hard to think of anything to say but you didn’t know how to speak to someone who was not him—and it didn’t help that you were from a different time. you still had very little idea of what the world was like today.

“listen,” you said as you scooted the smallest bit closer. “i’m…i’m sorry. i know this is…it’s not…it’s really hard and i’m sorry.”

her lips trembled and her eyes welled with tears she refused to let fall. shaking her head, she tried to assure you it was okay. she reached for your hand but she stopped herself.

you took ahold of her hands and brought them to your lips, kissing them softly.

“i’m just so happy to see you.” she whispered. she squeezed your hands and leaned towards you as if there was some tangled string pulling you together. “i’ve wanted to meet you for so long…”

“i’m sorry,” you murmured into her hair, wrapping your arms around her. you kissed the top of her head. “i am truly, truly sorry.”

“you’re here now,” clover said softly. with her head resting on your chest, she could hear the thrum of your heart— a sound she had once been so familiar with. “you’re here right now and that’s all that matters to me.”

you were changed.

down to the marrow of your bones, you had changed in a single instant.

you held the world in your arms. you held the most valuable thing to live and breathe. you held the very thing you would kill for no matter what it took.

this is why the red room sterilized their assassins.

you would die before a hair on her head was ruffled out of place.

you knew nothing about her and yet you knew every single facet of her. you had made her. her bones. her flesh. her heart. you had. she’s was yours. apart of you— and that part could not be denied.

it was an overwhelming and unrelenting sense of love that poured and poured and poured free as you cradled her.

she was nearly grown— but she was your baby.

and you knew her.

you knew her by touch alone.

you would have been able to pick her in a crowd with your eyes closed.

she was yours.

and you learned everything about her in the time that you had together on that sofa.

she was seventeen years old. she attended a private high school where she ranked third in her class. she enjoyed solving mysteries and she played the piano. she wanted to go to college to study criminology. she had grown up under shield’s protection and she was a little agent in the making. she wanted to work as one when she got older.

knowing that made part of you nervous — you wanted her safe always — but it made you smile seeing the way her eyes lit up at the idea of being able to make the world a safer place. a better place.

“you’re a very remarkable young woman, clover.” you said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. she’d gotten those pretty little ears from him. they were unmistakably his.

she beamed with the sweetest smile you had ever seen. “i’m glad you think so. i’ve tried really hard to learn a lot so that when we met, you’d be impressed.”

your heart ached— and you couldn’t tell if it was a good feeling or a bad one.

perfectly bittersweet.

“i am throughly impressed,” you said with a soft smile. you brushed your fingers along her cheek and met her eyes. “i wish i had more to say and i wish i could understand what the heck a skateboard really is and how you travel on it, but you amaze me. you are…you are truly the best thing that has happened to me in a long, long time and i wish that we had more time.”

clover smiled anxiously at you. at the idea that this would all go away so soon. “we have so much time. we have — like — all the time ever in the world now.” she was trying to convince you, to cling to you as tight as you wanted to cling to her. “you don’t ever have to go back to that place. you can stay with me.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you are such a sweet little thing but i don’t think that your guardian would take kindly to someone like me living under their roof and eating all their food.”

it was the best you could come up with to let her down easy— but it broke your heart.

“did they not tell you?” clover asked. she smiled at you and let out a soft laugh. “oh, gosh, you’re in for a real shocker with this one, mama.”

mama.

it felt like lightening in your veins to hear that name.

a rush you’d never imagined possible.

a name you’d never thought you’d be called.

a small, teeny tiny part of you hoped she’d said it again and again and again.

“well, go on then.” you said with a small flick of your head. “deliver the news.”

“i live here in new york with auntie becca and uncle dimitri!” clover said, throwing up her hands like it was some big surprise.

you smiled because she did but those names meant nothing. “oh!” you blinked at her for a moment and tried your best to nod. “and…auntie is…?”

she flushed a soft shade of pink. she must’ve forgotten that you knew very little of anything at all. “auntie becca is my father’s sister and uncle dimitri is your bother, mama.”

your expression dropped.

you closed your eyes and let your head dip down. you couldn’t hold it up. you could hardly sit straight at all as your chest heaved— and the cries that escaped you were so foreign.

your brother was alive after all this time.

your daughter was surrounded by family.

and not just your family, either.

bucky’s too.

“are you okay?” clover asked softly, frowning as she watched you cry. she scooted closer and tried her best to console you.

“i am just so…” you sighed and wiped your face, unable to truly find the words. you looked at her and couldn’t help but let out a soft, broken sob. “i am so, so, so grateful to know that there is good in this world and that you live in it. that my brother still does. that his sister does.”

“you have all had each other and that just…god, sweetheart, you have no idea how happy it makes me to know.” you whispered.

clover smiled at you. you softened as she wiped off your cheeks with her sleeves. “i’m happy that you’re happy. i was really worried that you…” she stopped.

“that i what?” you asked.

“i was worried that you wouldn’t like me very much…” clover admitted in a voice almost too soft to hear.

your heart shattered.

“oh, my gosh,” you cried. you cupped her face in your hands and shook your head as tears rushed down your cheeks. “never, baby. not ever. are you kidding me? you are— you…oh, my love.” you kissed her face and clutched her close to you, embracing her as she nuzzled into the warmth of you and wept softly.

“you are my baby,” you whispered into the roots of her hair. “you are mine and nothing in this world could take that away. they tried and they failed because you are mine, sweet girl. and i could never feel anything for you but love.”

clover wept like a baby. red-faced and inconsolable. making a mess of your shirt and sniffling as she cried.

this is what you pictured.

and no matter how old she was now or how old she grew to be, she was still your baby.

— ☆ —

it had been a week of laughter, tears, and everything in between as you spent time recovering from the gunshot wound. it was a harder injury to heal from that you wished it to be, but you could stand on your own without feeling like you were wounding yourself all over again. it would be a long time until you could run and jump and bend over with ease— but you didn’t care.

the only thing that you cared about when the sun was up was her.

clover would come visit you every day once she got out of school. sometimes she would come by herself and other times she brought her uncle with her.

your brother was an old man.

he was not the dark haired boy you could recall bits and pieces of anymore. he was old and grey and wrinkly. being in his 60’s, your little brother was no so little anymore— and seeing dimitri again was as hard as meeting yourself again for the first time.

it was slow coming and hazy until it wasn’t— until you were recalling things you couldn’t imagine you’d forgotten at all.

rebecca barnes passed on her well wishes through your daughter but she did not come to visit you. she couldn’t. it was too hard for her and you understood why.

for the first time in 40 years, you felt human.

you felt alive.

you felt happy.

but each night was hard.

alone in your room with no one but yourself, it was war. you had never been so happy and yet you cried and cried and cried because it all felt incomplete.

he was not with you.

the boys were not with you.

and you couldn’t be truly at peace until they were.

but you didn’t know how to be alone with yourself and in order for you to heal — in order for you to take your next steps forward — you needed to at least learn how to do that.

“i don’t know,” nick said with a hesitant shake of his head. “i don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“it is,” you said. you frowned at him. “it’s safest for everyone this way. they won’t know where i am and i will be alone for the first time in my second life— and that’s a good thing.”

nick turned his head away.

he’d never admit it but he had grown fond of you.

and now you were shipping yourself away.

clover didn’t find it easy to understand. she cried when you told her and it made it all so much harder than you ever could’ve imagined it being.

“i just got you, mama. you can’t go.” she sobbed.

“it’s not forever.” you said as you wiped her tears away. “i just…i need a little time to get everything sorted up here.” you tapped your temple and tried to smile at her.

“promise me that you’ll come back.” clover said, sticking out her pinky.

you weren’t very sure what to do with that.

you held out yours, too, and you softened as she linked your pinkies together.

a promise.

a pinky promise— and you’d never break something as cute as that.

“i promise.” you whispered.

she hugged you and you savored each and every second she clung to you. you kissed the top of her head over and over and memorized the way she smelled. you burned the image of her smile into your memory. each line and angle on her face. her ears. her long dark hair.

and that sweet little laugh.

you really did love her.

you just didn’t know how to say those three words the right way.

so you didn’t.

it was something you regretted when she left— but the next time you saw her, it would be the start of something new.

you would never leave her side again because you had made your decision.

you would join shield.

one day.

for now, you would be sent somewhere hydra could never touch you and get help from professionals to rebuild what was broken inside you. you were going somewhere you could be alone to grieve, to cry, to remember, and to restart.

“i’ll miss you.” you said from where you sat strapped in handcuffs in the back of the heavy armored truck.

nick rolled his eyes at you, hanging on the door as he watched the last of the agents assigned to escort you to the ocean prison get into the truck.

“you be easy, isla.” nick said with a small smile.

you smiled back at him. “keep an eye on my kid?”

nick tapped his sunglasses where his good eye was and tipped his head. “i always do.”

when he shut the door, it didn’t feel like a sentencing.

it didn’t feel like you were trapped.

it didn’t feel like you were damned any longer.

the handcuffs were precautionary. a safety measure for you and others. you did not resent them. you did not resent any of what was to come because you had made the choice yourself.

you wanted a life.

a real one with laughter and lazy sundays.

you wanted to grow up and watch your daughter grow up, too.

and maybe one day when the wounds faded into scars, you’d find the courage and strength to find yours boys and free them, too.

all three of them.

— ☆ —

the trucks movements and the small amount of pain medicine given to you lulled you little by little as the minutes turned into hours. you rested your head back against the metal wall and let your eyes fall closed.

how could you ever be bored again when there was so much to think about?

you thought about your daughter.

you thought about the work it would take to be whole and how you were ready to face each obstacle in your way in order to be.

you thought about your brother.

you thought about where you would live with clover once you could— if she’d like that.

and you smiled to yourself because you knew that she would.

thundered rumbled from above but it wasn’t raining.

you opened your eyes and looked up.

the roof came down.

the muted buzz of bullets spraying through the silencer of his gun and the hard, gruesome sound of them hitting their targets filled the truck— and so did the smell of blood.

you looked up in horror as he stood before you, his metal arm gleaming in the spotlight that the hole in the roof of the truck had created.

“miss me?”

hello, friends. i hope you all enjoyed this update of headlock! it was a shorter one than the last because the previous one was so long. besides, it’s main goal was to sort of cover the lore of the reader and bucky’s kids— which i hope everyone is vibing with. (i really love it and i have so much planned). also, i’d like to make it clear that you are all entitled to imagine aurelius and caracalla in whatever way you want. i chose two actors who i think resemble sebastian stan to hit closer to home, but you can fancast them as whoever you’d like! i left clover’s fc blank for you all as of right now because she’s supposed to look like isla and isla is your character :3

maybe one day i’ll post my personal fc of her but for now, it is your turn to play pretend and be the casting director of your dreams!!!

next part ->

taglist: @homiesexual-or-homosexual @carbonnite-copy @strangunddurm @normanreedus-blog @valckenaux @buckyswife106 @itsmadamehydra

[baby-heart429]

More creepy with a chubby reader! Specifically Jeff, Brian, Tim and Jane 👉👈

Creeps x Chubby reader || GN reader || pt. 2

part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/partytillicry/756767090552307712/creeps-x-chubby-reader-pt1

characters: Jeff the Killer, Brian/Hoodie, Tim/Masky, & Jane the Killer

AN: im like doing these so im not complaining AND IM SO SORRY FOR LEAVING! as a sorry im adding a free spicy hc at the end & more hc's than usual!!

Jeff the Killer

not complaining

loves it

he will go insane if you wear low rise or show off your tummy at all

loves to leave hickeys on your thighsss

he'll also let lose on your collarbones

will also fuck up your chest

marking you up and letting others know that you're his gives him a fat hard one

he also loves the way your face sits in his hands

he definitely has some cuteness aggression with you

whenever you wear a baggy shirt or hoodie, Jeff will make you put on his hoodie

he says that it hugs your hips and chest just right

but in his opinion, so does anything else

🔥

any time he hears you talking bad about yourself and how youre "too heavy", he says "oh yeah? well i bet i could thrust that ass into mid air."

and then he does

Brian/Hoodie

he lovesssssss it so much tho

ur so soft and squishy like a huge squishmallow

he loves to just hold you in his arms after a long day

a pair of low rise jeans and a tank top is all u need to wear for him to be DROOLING 😝

he never understood why people dont like bigger bodys or find them ugly even

he actually has to double take when someone says something like that

theres just more to love for him!!!!

he's an ass type guy so he'll definitely love if you've got a fat one

fat or not, it will be slapped

brian is a ass slapping god atp 🤦‍♀️

everytime you guys are walking somewhere and you got jeans on, his hand is in your back pocket

its a surprise to not see his hand up ur ass all the time

🔥

he loveesss getting his face ridden

your full body weight just plopped on top of him while your ass is so close to his face? it's practically heaven to hoodie

Tim/Masky

he honestly doesn't care that your chubby

COULD NOT care less

he literally forgets sometimes

"literally what are you complaining about, ur fine 🙄"

sassy king

he does live to see you in some jeans though

this man will NOT control himself !!!!

like brian, he's also an ass guy

he definitely enjoys how squishy you are

not like he's gonna tell you that but still

he holds onto you at night like you'll run away if he doesn't hold tight enough

he says its because he "gets cold at night"

you know he just loves you though <3

🔥

when he hears you talk bad about yourself he basically takes it as "you think i can't handle all of that?"

he'll take you up to your shared room and leave DEVASTATING hickeys all your plush body

Jane the Killer

she loves it

ngl its one of her favorite parte about you

not that ur body is the only thing she sees

she IMMEDIATELY puts down any negative self talk you have to yourself

she up lifts you and makes you feel comfortable with a shower of compliments <3

Jane to me has always been a sweetheart

dont ask why cuz idk

the type to go out of her way to make you feel more comfortable

the type to do something that shows off that she knows, loves, and cares for you

she loves throwing random surprises at you

"surprise! i got stole you this $1.M necklace!!! hope you like it as such as i like you!!"

she could get thrown in jail for the rest of her life just for the things she's stole for you

love love love lovessss laying on your chest

its her literal safe haven

"trust"

i swear she could actually sleep for years there

🔥

whenever Jane can tell that youre having a bad day, she'll sit you down and make you tell her everything that you dont like about yourself

she then goes through everything and says how turned on it makes her. then placing kisses and bites on said spots

to those that have left asks that i haven't replied to yet, im so sorry and i will get to them!!! im so thankful that you guys trust me with ur prompts and that i'll write them well!! have good day or night <3

[signanothername]

What do you think would happen if Stage 4 Killer was ordered to kill a cat?

Would he do it?

Or would he switch to a lower stage?

Cuz now im just thinking about how devastated he would be , coming down from stage 4 and seeing what he's done. If I remember correctly he isn't conscious during that stage.

I mentioned before that I believe Killer would switch to stage 1 if he saw his cats, so I don’t think Killer at stage 4 would even have a chance to hurt his cats before he’s back to stage 1 (not that stage 4 would hurt his cats in my eyes regardless)

And from what we’ve seen in the stage 4 comic, stage 4 seems to be a very rabid stage, while Killer is very out of it, the moment Killer supposedly completes his job, he immediately switches back to stage 2, and that also makes me think his cats aren’t going to be a target, cause the moment he finishes whatever job that made him switch to stage 4 to begin with, he’d just get back to stage 2 before anyone knows it

Now whether he’d do it if he’s commanded to, I like to believe Killer keeps stage 4 a secret from everyone

That includes Nightmare, nobody truly knows stage 4 exists except for Killer, and his own hallucinations (so just him basically)

So Nightmare wouldn’t even get to command Stage 4 at all, even if he did, I think an interesting question to ask is whether Killer would even listen to Nightmare at all, cause Stage 4 seems to act on instinct rather than Killer being his usual calculated self, and to me, it seems to also act on self defense in a way, cause it was triggered specifically after Killer got a really bad flashback concerning his brother, then hearing all the voices of everyone screaming at him, it’s obviously something that’s heavily influenced by his trauma

What I’m trying to say is, if we assume stage 4 acts on self defense rather than simply killing for the sake of killing, wouldn’t he feel the need to protect himself against Nightmare? Against his abuser as well? So would he attack Nightmare or would his conditioning cause Killer at stage 4 to cower and run and hide instead? The latter seems more plausible to me, but Idk just food for thought >:)

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 16

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

best friend, baby by @ghosttotheparty*

“You— You make me feel so… good,” he finishes lamely, his head void of any words that could describe it, because how can Will describe the peace he finds in Nico’s presence, or the way he feels like he can finally breathe whenever Nico looks into his eyes? “You’re my favourite person,” he breathes. “My best friend.”

hooooooo boy the intimacy tag was NOT joking. i was gagged. yall tell me all the time how high u value will angst and like....this one DEVASTATED me for him??? like do yall ever think about how the first dialogue we hear from will in nico's perspective is self-loathing. yall ever think about how nico has always known him hating himself. well this author did. "i know you hate yourself but just because you hate yourself doesnt mean everyone else does too" hey what if we FOUGHT. also im going back in to all my FRFs to star my FAVE FAVE FAVE fics bc this is one of them LET ME TELL YOU.

2. just a dumb game by @ghosttotheparty

Nico di Angelo is not a party person. But Will Solace is going to be there. So.

they are SO FUCKING GAY and SO FUCKING IN LOVE and SO FUCKING STUPID. god i love them so fucking bad like they are inherently down bad obsessed with each other and this is how they should be. this is the way of the world.

3. even in the silver light by @ghosttotheparty

Nico is back. Will is still smitten.

first of all. latino and nb will. thank you. second of all. i am (obviously) obsessed with this author bc they KILLLLLL w burning intimacy. like you have no idea they write them like there is a twice burning fire only alive within them it's CRAZZZYYY. i also fckn LOVE that this is like. okay so the author says its plotless and it is kind of 45k of plotless, yes, but idk theres something to be said of love as a plot?? of learning and loving each other as a storyline.

4. splash by @ghosttotheparty

Annabeth is reading her favourite book. Someone walks directly into her.

yeah okay i think this is another one author week. sue me. this fic made me GRIN okay. it was so fucking cute and sweet and soft and autistic annabeth my beloved!! my love and light!! they are so in love in every universe fr and i fckn LOVE them dude i am OBSESSED. when this author writes people together it's as if you can hear them click.

5. isnt she lovely by @ghosttotheparty

Their eyes always meet in the halls. Her eyes are grey and shiny, and they make Percy think of stormy skies and marble sculptures. (She could be a marble sculpture, in the entrance of a museum, surrounded by scholars and artists and mesmerised passersby. Fucking beautiful in a way that only art ever is.) - - - Percy has had a crush on Annabeth since eighth grade. (He doesn’t know she likes him too.)

percy hitting the ground when annabeth kisses him 😭😭 HES SO REAL. i just recced this fic on instagram and i am here reccing it again bc it is EXCELLENT. i rly rly love to see pjotv percabeth in fic like i DO. theyre so fucking cute. and i LOVE how this author writes autistic annabeth!! it is so important to me!!! and this one is so CUTE like percy had such a huge crush on him.....like not just he liked her he had a CRUSH on her. god. i am melting.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!