#a tragic one but one nonetheless

[stitcherofchaos]

TBH my ‘vision’ of Maglor is more of a music nerd than any kind of drama queen fanon makes him out to be sometimes.

Like someone who just doesn’t see the political ramifications other people saw in his songs, when it really was just a good metaphor. Someone with messy hair and pulls it back without even brushing it before going to a royal festival. The geeky, melancholic version of Finrod in his own family. A Maglor so obsessed with music and words he thinks about the sheer art of the Oath’s words rather than the context within itself or what it entails. Someone who wasn’t aware of how the Noldolantë could have been taken the wrong way and didn’t even finish it before he vanished from history (or, who knows, he probably forgot to bring the lyrics written with him when the Gap burned), probably had a meltdown when he realized that he had lost it. Someone who loves music so much that, after all is finished, he fades while singing, because it was all he had left.

Someone who once had a joyful, innocent spirit which was brutally killed after he did.

[jjoelswatch]

Always amuses me (read: exhausts me) when people are surprised and angry when Star Wars creators refer to Thrawn as a villain and act like it’s the end of the world because the creators don’t “get” the character.

[ardate]

do you have any song(s) you associate with ann-doreen? or any other characters?

Yeah !! There's two coming to mind with VERY different vibes.

First one I already mentioned offhandedly in the past but. Of fucking course Ann would sing along to Britney Spears - Criminal in her car on her way to work.

Not pasting all the (long) lyrics but this is essentially it - tell me this ain't just perfect. Of course for her this would all be about Snake, and she'd find that very romantic. Even better that this kind of pop is the sort of thing I think she'd be into. So yeah there's definitely a scene of her singing along to this at one point or the other. Disney owns this show they can pay for the royalties I'm sure.

There's another in a much more subdued and kinda bummed vibe, it'd be 'Emily Haines - Rowboat'

Only the very last line of the song doesn't fit (I cropped it out but it makes this about a dead loved one) - but otherwise this song has everything! Her denial, her poverty, and how she keeps making the wrong choices in her quest for love! What more could you possibly want <3

[davyjoneslockr]

Having Fugonara thoughts again.

[soup-for-ghosts]

I need to talk about my pokemon blorbos more I haven’t been insane enough about them

[longagoitwastuesday]

you seem to have a wide taste in books !! what are some books that you would recommend ??

Hmmm I wonder. I have the feeling I just read the same couple of books over and over, and at times only different iterations of the same story, like in that line by Borges ("the various intonations of a few metaphors").

I find recommending books without knowing anything at all about the person asking rather difficult. What I'd suggest to one may differ greatly from what I'd recommend to someone else. I'll give a list of some of my favourite books that I think are enjoyable in general:

— Thoughts by Pascal

— Cain: a mystery by Lord Byron

— The Iliad by Homer

— Crime and Punishment by Dostoievsky

— Othello by Shakespeare

— Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo

— Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand

— The fragments of the Presocratics

— La Regenta by Leopoldo Alas, Clarín

— Tractatus Logico-philosophicus by Wittgenstein

— East of Eden by John Steinbeck

— Vita nova by Dante

— Contributions to the Founding of the Theory of Transfinite Numbers by Georg Cantor

— Caligula by Albert Camus

— North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell

— Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie

— Some essays by Russell. I personally love Mysticism and Logic

— Metamorphoses by Ovid

Poetry is perhaps harder to recommend because at times it translates horribly, but in general I love Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Lorca, Juan Ramón Jiménez, Rilke, Byron, Quevedo, Góngora, Lope de Vega, Horace, Catullus, Ovid, Tennyson, Maiakovsky, Garcilaso de la Vega, Oliverio Girondo, Vicente Huidobro, Emily Brontë, T. S. Eliot, Luis Cernuda and Edgar Allan Poe, to name a few.

[bixels]

The final TF2 issue really got to me. Spoilers, but it’s the reveal that all of this suffering and murder and war over gravel and shitty land was for nothing but senseless, bottomless hatred. That the administrator can’t even remember where this revenge plot started as she flashes through different false memories of her parents’ deaths. There was never a tragic backstory or justification, only terrible people doing despicable things. And despite how crass and stupid and unserious TF2 is, the story subverts every expectation by showing the survivors and inheritors willingly breaking the cycle. Ms. Pauling lies to the administrator and chooses not to save her, and finally lets her die. (Hurts even more if you read into the subtext that Ms. Pauling is in love with the administrator.) She lets the final cache of Australium go and walks away from the burden and legacy of a century-old bloodfeud. Hale lets Gray’s daughter go and live her life freely. Spy is the first to arrive at Scout’s house and meet his big family, finally takes off his mask, and helps with the kids. Even Merasmus exhaustedly makes peace with himself and Soldier and chooses not to curse him or something. There’s nothing to finish, no promises to keep, and no one to avenge. The only thing to do is break the cycle and walk away.

It feels odd how happy and warm everything is, but it feels so right and earned. These bloodthirsty, awful, violent men were expendable cogs in a machine of endless violence, and they found a way out. It’s a genuinely great message about letting go the past that burdens you and finding the will and a way to hit the bricks, change, and be happy. Maybe they don’t technically deserve happiness, but they’ve got it nonetheless, and they’re not gonna let it go to waste. They’re still all crazy and violent, but on their own terms now and with people who love them! Smiles.

[disco-cola]

yall ive been studying wiki articles for the past two hours and under the article about hannibal directive it literally says that on dec 5 israeli h0stages who were released met with netanyahus war cabinet and claimed that they were "deliberately attacked by israeli helicopters on their way into gaza and shelled constantly by the israeli military while they were there" and on top of that two female survivors from be'eri said in a tv interview (i saw that on ig a few days ago too) that they witnessed a 12-yr old girl named liel being hit and k!lled by a tank shell. just a few hours ago on dec 18 the IDF admitted i quote "casualties fell as a result of friendly fire on october 7" but added that "beyond the operational investigations of the events, it would not be morally sound to investigate these incidents due to the immense and complex quantity of them that took place in the kibbutzim and southern israeli communities due to the challenging situations the soldiers were in at the time." an israeli police investigation also stated that the first helicopters at the scene of the festival arrived hours after the massacre began and that they were likely responsible for "only a few" friendly fire casualties (still at least they finally admitted to the firing from helicopters but given the amounts of totally destroyed and burnt cars and what the freed h0stages reported on dec 5 im not so sure about that). the numbers of civilian casualities of october 7 has been now named at 695 israeli civilians (of which reportedly 70 were arab israelis) including 36 kids plus 71 foreign nationals, of which the article said that an "unknown but significant number" was caused by friendly fire. i honestly hope this is investigated thoroughly and not swept under the carpet. yes h4mas is guilty of horrifying crimes and has to be held accountable and punished (but THEM, not the entire population of gaza) but also the israeli military and government has to be held accountable for their actions not only in gaza but also on their „own“ territory. many freed h0stages, surviving victims that have not been ab duc ted and their families have been talking how they felt betrayed (one young man said he was sh0t at the festival in his leg and immobilised by that and literally laid in the desert for 7 hours and that he could not understand what took them so long, also being given he was once serving in the army as well) and were made dual victims of h4mas and israel simultaneously. (continued in the hashtags bc this is already long enough) i needed to share this so badly im sorry.

[poobit]

i have many thoughts on how Mouthwashing handles the themes of abuse and the symbolism around it especially as a survivor ... im not gnna hold back so -

first of all i think since its clear the point Jimmy is dismissive of Anya´s personhood and his perception is warped towards what he does as a Captain rather than what he does as a man, it makes sense she doesnt get her own labyrinth or such , i cant argue around that because its realistic he´s so male focused he cant even bother to truly think about what he did to her, i would love it if Wrong Organ decides to do a side story vignette of her own perspective and view in the future if the game proves its successful enough for side content like that.

Assault is something usually not handled with subtlety in games, i think what struck me the most was how real the dialogue of her coping and suicidal ideations and how Curly responded to it felt , the dancing around the subject, the deflection, the "whats next" of the ever impending consequence of pregnancy, how Anya pleads for help from the person she trusts but nonetheless a man unequipped and too emotionally attached to the abuser to be able to confront him, its so real, Curly´s lack of initiative is something Jimmy fully takes advantage of the moment things dont go his way, he turns everyone against him even as a helpless body on a bed because he needed to be in control of the situation, thats what abusers do.

A more sensationalistic game would have easily played Anya´s helplessness and assault for shock for sure, because it would be easy, she is the archetypical victim trope, shes modeled in Wendy Torrance likeness from The Shining, shes meek and unsure of herself and Jimmy shoots her down from the very beginning to make her feel unqualified and cornered, but the furthest the games goes is making Jimmy terror towards the pregnancy and the baby as a boogeyman that crawls and tramples over him. No sights of bleeding legs or her crying or screaming and much less present objectification of her body (which is something that i always think the horror genre has such a struggle not grabbing onto, sexuality is mostly always played up in assault stories especially if the victim is an adult woman), she remains a fully clothed figure and maintains the agency to her own demise, away from Jimmy and beside Curly, which is tragic and obviously still a symptom of horror´s proclivity to back female characters into corners of self inflicted punishment, but the alternative would have been that sooner or later, Jimmy would have killed her.

Its clear to me that the game used Curly´s state as a way to put a barrier between Jimmy and Anya, we dont objectify Anya, but we objectify Curly, Anya doesnt just feel pained and unable to handle Curly´s medication because shes in a sensitive state, her comments about his noises and such draws a line between her trauma and her perception of things as Her fault, she cant handle hearing his struggles and cries trying to swallow a pill because it reminds her of her own helplessness, so she leaves the task to Jimmy, someone who has no qualms in forcing someone down, the emphasis of every treatment as a repetitive process and the sound design is all very poignant and for me, a great way to handle assault as a metaphor, Curly did not consent to being in this position, it is very much still Jimmy´s fault and the fact that Jimmy is basically keeping him alive against his will even to the last moment of the game says everything, Jimmy doesnt love Curly the same way he doesnt love Anya.

The horses are not lost on me, i think horses as animals are often seen as "viril" symbols, strong and often volatile, they can be often hard to mount but when one does the rider and animal are seen as this one all powerful entity, like centaurs, which also carry symbolism of assaulters mind you, so while maybe not intentional on the dev´s part i think it still points to the Horse as a symbol still important in the game, the only spoken audio lines of dialog come from the Pony Express mascot Polle itself, and they are the first to actually confront Jimmy´s self centered line of thought and over-focusing on Curly, if the Tulpar is akin to a beast of a burden then Jimmy beat the dead horse way long ago.

All in this to say that Mouthwashing was a really good experience and i really hope the dev team is interested on expanding a bit more on it because i trust their vision.

[cosycafune]

SINFUL DEVOTION

0.9k words. you're a deity, something sylus can't have. yet, here the two of you are -- recklessly fucking each other. an impossible power dynamic crackles between you two, but the forbidden sexual deeds make sylus' devotion tragically sweeter. he's the closest he can ever be, but it's almost not enough. you're to be rightfully worshipped, not coddled. 1/??? masterlist.

acts: unprotected sex, mating press, breeding kink, degration, rough sex, praising, creampies, devotion, forbidden love, begging, worshipping, hickeys and more.

a/n: this is supposed to be short bc it's a prologue. I'm actually so obsessed with him, that it hurts.

A deity, the embodiment of the unfathomable, that’s what you are. However, that status is disregarded now – tainted by a devoted Sylus. The strings of fate, intimacy and your sinful hearts swell and suffocate you two. Even though you both carry the gift of destruction, pain, control and leadership, this moment opposed everything you both stood for.

Nonetheless, you and Sylus carry a sexual franticness, insatiable lust and an unestablished base for you both. Desperation, humiliation and longing clings to the two of you. This intimate moment, where you’re folded into a degrading mating press, begging Sylus to pound you harder, dissolved your unreachable status.

Men like Sylus were ones you avoided, but he had sweetened and buttered you enough for you to have him so deeply within your guts – filling you up with his fruitful seed. Over and over and over again, you allowed yourself to be subjected to Sylus’ sexual reign – crying out his name. Worship seeped from your lips consistently, fuelling Sylus’ high ego drastically. 

Even though you sang his name, sex-drunk, he always devoted himself to you – whenever you were both sexually sober.

Currently, your lewd cries are captured by his ears as he glances down at you – grinning mercilessly while he pounds into you. Sylus held no sexual mercy for you, pouring his feelings, his heart, his thoughts and his genuine nature into each thrust. Deep down, you knew this forbidden form of art was his way of self-expression – due to you attempting to resist him. Through your swollen cunt, your cries of pleasure, your troubled breaths and orgasms, you let Sylus almost express his thoughts.

“Sy’, more!” Weeping, painfully overstimulated, you beg for more – overwhelmed by his harshly snapping hips.

“Aren’t… you greedy?” Hazily questioning you, lust-coated, Sylus lazily grins at the power imbalance between you two – relishing your celestial features scrunching.

“P-Please…breed me,” Humiliating yourself, begging Sylus, you gift him desperate, teary eyes – your eyes rolling back at his thick cock kissing your cervix.

“I’ll..destroy myself…just for you, “ Sylus declares through a deep thrust, feeling you tighten around him – fuelling the forbidden fruits that adorn you both.

“Ngh! ‘Gonna cum! ‘Too much!” A trembling mess, you lewdly bellow – vigorously shaking as Sylus sets an inhumane pace. 

Content, he burrows his deepest within you – unwilling to free you from his intoxicating physique. A physique that swells your every thought with his gigantic dick, his crimson eyes, his ivory hair and the yearning that marks him. The end of your world is seconds from drawing near, but Sylus’ presence smearing you is all you could think about – choppily breathing.

“Handle…it!” Gruffing commanding you, moaning, Sylus batters you with his pace – satisfied at you attempting to push some of his ample cock out of you.

“Can’t…hold,” Mentally blanking, your body strangled with warmth, a moan tears out of your throat – leading to you intensely finishing.

Right now, the only thing that mattered to you was Sylus, his cock and the longevity of his pounding. 

“S-Same,” Pricelessly trying to hold out for you, Sylus lowly responds to you – slamming his cock so deeply within you. 

Mellowly, his large balls would pulverise your bubble butt – drawing more attention to your soppy cunt, your mewling and his whimpering and grunting. Yet, this notion encouraged Sylus more – throwing almost everything he had on the line for the addictive taste of you. Sure, the two of you are fucking in one of his bases – surrounded by many dangerous clients that want you. However, he can’t bring himself to care right now – cock-bounding you so deeply. 

Sylus divulged as if you were to crumble beneath him, leaving him with fleeting winds.

Yelping, you jolt at Sylus’ cock hardening into you. Sylus is an absolute mess, panting whilst his furrowed brows knit closer. Longing for more, he drives his cock impossibly in you – watching you mischievously. Not once did he break eye contact, continuing his mean mating press – enjoying the warmth of your fluttering cunt. An hour had skimmed by, but you both refused to care.

“D-Don’t…want to lose you,” Wavering, Sylus mutters – thrusting deeply before he finishes within you. 

Devoted to you, Sylus can't help but grow lonesome – noticing the pitiful truth that lingers: you’re mentally unable to be his. Even as he plugs you with his baby batter, you’re still something greater than he ever is – surpassing him indefinitely.

Someone who’s destined to reconstruct and rule the world. However, Sylus wanted to hold more than sinful devotion.

Love. He wanted you to admit your heart, but you hid behind your painful status.

Collapsing mentally against you, Sylus swiftly pulls out of you – smitten at the sight of your swollen cunt plump and spilling with his thick seed. Naturally, this was your most vulnerable state – but you allowed Sylus to admire it. After all, the two of you have only this moment to express yourselves – before the chaotic night comes to an end.

“Sylus, we…can’t be here for long?” Regally speaking, slightly exhausted, you feel Sylus crumble into your arms – longing to be held.

“‘Can’t we…stay like this a little longer?” Desperate to be held and cared for by you, Sylus slyly begs you – his whiny question swaying you.

“Just a bit, but the deal at the masquerade ball isn’t going to make itself,” You speak, running your fingers through Sylus’ ivory locks – wanting to coddle him all night.

Knowing this is forbidden, you conceal your care behind your exhaustion – desperate to confess to Sylus. However, you’re unable to confess your heart – aware it’ll lead to your status as a powerful deity being your demise.

“If you insist, sweetie,” Vulnerable, a sinner within your arms, Sylus snuggles into your breasts – airily speaking.

Sinful devotion, but at what cost?

__

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[titsthedamnseason]

OH MY GOD THIS IS SOOOO AWKWARD KBR LOVE DRAMA BECAUSE THERES NO REASON EVERYONE NEEDED TO FIND OUT ABOUT LUNA AND DONNELLY FUCKING BUT OF COURSE THEY FOUND A WAY

unlucky like us reading thread starts now since chapter one just dropped on pattern

[ofbatsandballads]

turn me into something tragic

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: slight suggestive thoughts from reader, brief mentions of Jason being hurt

a/n: been listening to the secret of us by gracie abrams and “let it happen” just feels so much like what falling in love with jay would be like. so here’s a song fic!

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You’re in deep. You wish you weren’t because this whole longing thing sucks. But you’re here now—so it goes, you guess. It’s not like you have any other options. You can’t just quit your job at the Robbinsville Public Library because there’s a very handsome man that always shows up from one to four in the afternoon. You can’t uproot your life and your ability to pay rent because he smiles at you whenever he returns his books, because his voice makes your chest feel warm when he asks if you can put a copy of Emma on hold for him.

No. You just need to suck it up and stop thinking about Jason fucking Todd.

A remarkably hard task, honestly. Especially when he shows up at one o’clock on the dot as always. The weather’s pouring rain today, a clockwork symptom of Gotham winters. You watch as he diligently drags his boots along the entry rugs, careful to not track water on the hardwood floors of the library. It’s sweet. He’s sweet—no. You don’t need to be thinking anything about him.

He walks up to your circulation desk, unzips his black leather jacket and places the books he’d been keeping safe from the rain on the old oak. He always returns them early. He must be a particularly voracious reader. It’s a trait you find ridiculously attractive. He reads all these classic romances, so he must have a good appreciation of longing and devotion and soul crushing love and what would it be like to be loved by a man like that—God, you need to stop.

“Hi Jason,” you greet him cheerfully.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

His voice is so pretty. It’s deep but not rough, and he’s got that lilt that all born and bred Gothamites have. He’s so soft spoken, whether by choice or nature, you don’t know. But it’s a beautiful combination, his tone and inflection. You could listen to him talk all day. You do listen to him talk for at least 30 minutes of each day you work.

“Your hair looks nice.”

It’s sheepish and it’s nearly a whisper, but it’s got your heart racing nonetheless. You’d cut your hair over the weekend, wanting a change. And if you’d hastily curled it this morning before work in a vain attempt to make it look extra pretty, then that was for you to know.

“Thank you,” you say, face growing warm, “Oh, your copy of Emma just came in!”

You reach into the cubby under your desk where you’d specifically placed the book once it was returned by a guy named Dick. You had asked how he liked it and he’d just said he didn’t get why his brother enjoyed these things so much. You didn’t talk to him much after that.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Jason mutters, shaking his head and causing little droplets of water to fall from his damp curls.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Most times people don’t wait over a month, but I got the sense that the guy didn’t really like it. Probably DNF’ed it,” you ramble as you push the book towards him.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Some people have no taste,” he grumbles.

“Your taste is incredible.”

You don’t realize how horrible that double entendre is until you see the bright red of Jason’s cheeks. Oh, God, your inside thoughts are becoming outside thoughts. You really, really need to reel yourself in.

“I mean–I just meant–obviously books. Your taste in books. I have no idea about your taste otherwise.”

Yeah, that didn’t help. You want to crawl under your desk and die. Maybe the little old lady who works the morning shift will find your corpse when she clocks in.

“I–um–thank you?” Jason says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

He looks pretty when he’s flustered. You wonder just how pretty he’d look if he was under you all flustered like that. Jesus Christ, you want to gag your own inner monologue. You take one steadying deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a day,” it hasn’t, but he doesn’t know that, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He pauses, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks to be contemplating something of extreme importance. Then a resigned look crosses his face and his shoulders drop as he lets out a deep sigh.

“No, nothin’ yet. ‘M just gonna browse.”

And with that he’s off into the stacks. Once he’s out of your sight, you drop your burning face into your hands and groan. Humiliating. You’re so embarrassed that you’re jittery. You toss Jason’s books into the cart of returns and decide to make your way through the library returning them. The work distracts you from your own social suicide, as do the headphones you’ve pulled over your head.

You’re wandering along, head bobbing to the playlist you’ve entitled “book return bops”, when you encounter the source of your sudden emotional instability reading peacefully on the ground. He doesn’t notice or acknowledge you at first. It gives you time to admire him.

He truly is pretty. The cloudy light from the window throws shadows on his face, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones, his jaw, his nose. He’s like an old Roman statue. A beautiful man that reads, is kind, and is built like a brick house. You’re doomed.

You wheel your squeaky cart into the aisle and start placing the books back in their rightful homes. Jason looks up at you, a soft smile blooming on his face as he watches you work. Little do you know that he stares at you the same way you stare at him.

You glance over at him and see that he’s reading Frankenstein. You drag your headphones to hang around your neck and interrupt the peaceful quiet that’s settled between you.

“I need to know what you think of that book,” you demand.

Jason raises an eyebrow, gaze roaming from you to the book in his hands and back.

“It’s one of the best novels ever written. And one of the most widely misinterpreted by modern media. It’s a little infuriating, actually, just how much every adaptation misses the point.”

You’re in love with him. End of discussion.

“Thank you!” you exclaim. “First of all, the Creature isn’t green and bolted! Second, he’s not the fucking villain! Victor is! How do you create something, knowing every step of the way what you’ve made, then abandon it altogether once you’ve given it life. It’s bullshit. He’s neglectful and obtuse and utterly unaccountable.”

You continue to rant about Frankenstein for a good ten minutes, allowing Jason to make annotations to your verbal essay. In your literary fire, you completely miss the stars that are dancing in the eyes of the pretty boy sitting on the floor. If you did see them, maybe you’d realize that you’re not the only one with increasingly absurd inside thoughts.

“Anyways,” you sigh, “you’re the only person I’ve ever spoken to who gets it. So thank you.”

“No problem. You’re the only person I can talk to about it,” he says, voice going quiet at the last part.

You cock your head and raise an eyebrow in question.

“Well, my best friend isn’t much for reading. He prefers building weird shit. And my…dad,” he chokes the word out like it’s poison, “he just reads fuckin’ history books. Not even the good ones. He reads stuff like the history of semiconductors.”

You laugh so loud that it echoes. You slap your hand over your mouth, suddenly conscious of where you work. You’re still giggling as you sit down next to him. You look over and feel any of the air you’d regained leave your lungs. He’s smiling at you, bigger and brighter than he ever has before. And the way he’s looking at you…it’s not at all dissimilar to the way you look at him. Maybe you don’t have to stop thinking about him after all. You steel your nerves and dig your fingers into the shelf behind you.

“Well, maybe I could get your number so we can book club it sometime. Just so you don’t have to talk about semiconductors,” you joke, nerves coming through in the slight shake of your voice.

His smile grows even bigger.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says as he hands over his phone to you.

As you punch in the numbers, you swear that you can see how it’ll all unfold. You don’t love him yet, but you will. One day you’ll love him so much you don’t know how it stays contained in your body. You’ll discover that he loves chocolate chip cookies and you’ll learn how to make them for him. You’ll learn he’s ticklish right under his ribs, that the muscle that joins his neck and shoulder is extremely sensitive to kisses.

You’ll have bitter arguments when he comes to pick you up for a date with a black eye or a busted lip or a bum shoulder. You’ll have a vicious screaming match where he finally tells you what he does at night. He’ll vanish for a week, then come back to find you curled up in a ball on your couch. He’ll never vanish again, he’ll make a home with you. You’ll worry every night he leaves your side. You’ll rejoice with every sunrise you watch together on your fire escape.

Jason Todd will turn you into something tragic, into a love-struck, devoted, messy version of yourself that you didn’t know existed before he walked into your life. And, just for him, you’ll let it happen.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *now understands why their dad is not keen on going home*

The Senate: *couldn't conceal their disdain over the fact that the only child of Malleus Draconia returned as a human*

The Senate: What will become of the future of the Draconia clan? Nonetheless, we are relieved that you have returned to us in good health, Your Royal Highness.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* I appreciate your kind words, but I can’t help dwelling on the subtle, lingering question of the Draconia clan’s future.

MC: It seems like you're implying that my grandmother and father aren’t handling their responsibilities as they should.

The Senate: That is not what we're-

MC: Please understand that this is not intended as an attack on the Senate, but simply an observation. I also ask for your patience with my behavior, as I was raised among humans and have yet to fully learn fae etiquette.

The Senate: ...

The Senate: Don't worry, Your Royal Highness. We, the Senate, will assist you in understanding our culture and traditions.

Baul: *who had come to accompany them, was quite impressed*

Lilia: Your meeting with the Senate must've been stressful for you.

MC: I'm fine, Pépé. They were just expressing their concerns.

Baul: Your Royal Highness, I must say I was impressed by your eloquence. If it had been your late grandmother, Princess Maleanor, she would have been furious.

Lilia: Oho, that's true.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* She must have been a remarkable princess.

MC: If only I had the chance to meet her...

Baul and Lilia: ...

Lilia: Well, would you be interested in visiting Castle Wildrose?

Baul: Lilia-sama!

Lilia: What? It's best for them to check the place out. Maleficia will transfer ownership to them regardless, so I don’t see what the issue could be.

Baul: But the preparations haven't started yet-

Lilia: MC doesn't mind that. Right?

MC: *nods*

Baul: ...

Baul: *sighs in defeat* Alright.

Malleus and Maleficia: ...

Maleficia: Are you certain you wish to visit Castle Wildrose alone, my dear?

MC: Yes, Nana, if you will allow me.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: We have only arrived a few days ago, and now you want to explore.

MC: *smiles apologetically*

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *smiles* Go ahead.

MC: Thank you, Dada.

*Upon arriving at Castle Wildrose, MC understands why Baul was hesitant about their visit. The castle is still enveloped in thick vines of roses, and one could easily be cut by the sharp thorns surrounding the area.*

MC: ...

MC: *enters, and the rose vines part to clear a path for them*

'Ah, is this my precious grandchild?'

MC: !!!

MC: ...

MC: Is there anyone here?

*They are met with silence.*

MC: ...

*While walking through and inspecting every room in the castle, MC strangely started to experience memories of their grandmother, Maleanor.*

*Up to the moment when she protected her son, defended the castle, and ultimately died.*

MC: ...

MC: *couldn't help but cry over their grandmother's tragic fate*

'The last thing I want is to see you in tears, my dear.'

MC: !!!

Maleanor: *appears in front of them* *smiles in satisfaction*

Maleanor: Welcome back.

Baul: Sir! Their Royal Highness!

Baul: They vanished from Castle Wildrose!

Malleus and Maleficia: !!!

Malleus: What did you say?!

[lvlyghost]

The Things I Never Said

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Simon had told you he never wanted to be a dad, so when the inevitable happens you run.

Word Count: 2.2k

Tw: angst, fluff, ooc simon(? descriptions of pregnancy and panic attacks, medical inaccuracies, slightly suggestive but nothing too explicit, this isn't proofread; i think that's it?✨

A/N: omg i couldn't stop thinking about this so i had to write it! I'm just feral for dad!simon loosely connected to this bc this is where the idea came from. Hope y'all enjoy it🫰🏻💛🦄

Masterlist✨| Part 2

You're shaking by the time you're out of the bathrooms. There's no doubt. You think with slight tremble on your lower lip. It almost feels aa of the world around you is closing in. Suffocating your lungs. Your vision blurs, when you toss the pregnancy test in the trash can.

This can't be happening. Not to you.

It's not that you didn't want to have kids.

But Simon didn't.

At this point you're sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air. It's a good thing no one comes to this part late at night. The only moment you could find peace and solace. Sliding down the wall, hiding your face in your hands. How could you let this happen? You should've been more careful.

Your mind goes back to that day when neither of you cared about the consequences. Caught up in the moment, tearing each other's clothes; eager to be together. You hadn't seen Simon in two months when he was deployed to Serbia and you had to stay behind. Being both in the military meant knowing the risks. Every time could be the last time. You heard things about that specific mission. He got injured. You remember the gnawing fear clawing at your chest. And then there he was, knocking on your door as soon as they landed. His shoulder wrapped around bandages. He kissed you hard, desperately.

Hitting the mattress with you on top of him, not wanting to hurt him anymore. The sweet things he murmured in your ears, hands intertwined as you fall apart together.

You love him.

He cares for you.

But even if he felt slightly the same way about you, it wouldn't be enough.

Simon had... traumas. A tragic story of his own. You heard him talk about it late at night when he couldn't sleep. Those demons that plagued his mind, his dreams... and you listened. That's all you could do.

Offer a hand to the man that had saved you over and over again. And somewhere along the lines you fell.

And you fell hard.

Somewhere between dark nights and shared kisses at dawn.

-

You didn't get any sleep last night.

Your mind is still spinning with the anxiety. The morning sickness that started to disrupt as soon as you woke up. Red, puffy eyes that you try to dissimulate by washing your face hoping it goes away.

You get dressed feeling devastated, knowing that you'll have to face him as soon as you enter the training room. He's in charge. The mere thought makes you want to throw up. But you leave the bedroom nonetheless. Walking down the hallway feeling your hands sweating and your ragged breathing.

When you finally open the doors you're fifteen minutes late. That alone will earn you a punishment.

It's almost as if he feels your presence, immediately finding your form when you enter, his jaw tightens. Simon doesn't like this. But as long as you're under his command you get equal treatment or else, he'd be in problems. Both, would be in problems.

"Bit late Sergeant." He grumbles, emphasizing the last word staring directly in your eyes. Ghost is perceptive and is aware that something is wrong, but doesn't comment on it... yet. "Fifty push-ups. Start sparring when you're done."

You swallow down saliva, feeling your throat constrict.

Fuck, fuck. Don't cry. Not right now.

This whole situation has you sensitive.

You start, concentrating on doing the push-ups. Hearing the distant voice of him echoing around the room, sometimes you think he's closer to where you are then he's gone, but his gaze never leaves you. It's almost sinful how good he looks in that tight green army t-shirt and cargo pants

Your arms are sore and wobbly by the time you finish. Standing up you fight a wave o nausea, closing your eyes so hard you see white dots behind your eyelids.

"You alright?" It's Kyle's hand on your shoulder what brings you back, your eyes fluttering open and find him looking at you, eyebrows slightly raised.

You give him a small smile and a nod.

"Just tired that's all. Didn't get much sleep last night." You divert your gaze where the rest are beginning to spar. "How mad is Ghost?"

Gaz chuckles.

"I wouldn't call that mad. I think he's worried. You look like shite, dear."

"Oh." You say.

Gaz prompts you to the other side to join the training. Everyone's gathered around the training mat. Soap is kicking a soldier's ass. What was his name again? You forgot.

A gentle brush on your skin and then delicate fingers wrap your arm. You freeze, Simon's feather touch sends goosebumps all over your body. You turn your face upward to acknowledge him. His deep blue eyes soften when you look at him.

"Is everything okay Sergeant?" He asks. No. He demands.

You open your mouth and then close it. That's a question you don't know yourself.

I wish. You want to say.

But nothing will ever be okay after last night.

"I... I- didn't get much sleep, Sir. That's all."

Simon sighs but doesn't insist. He just nods, accepting your answer for now, once the training is done he'd talk to you. "You're up." He instructs.

Hand to hand to combat has never been your strongest suit but you do it nonetheless. Informatics on the other hand... you're the best of the best. That's why you're here, why you're a part of the task force.

Ghost stands within your range of vision in a way that you can see that he's there even when you're fighting.

You start although you're not in your best shape. Your heart is racing but not for the adrenaline. Your mind is fuzzy and your stomach churns. The panic is starting to break loose on you. You recognize the signs. You barely dodge the man's punch, this can't be called sparring. You're merely deflecting his hits, defending yourself.

Get a fucking grip!

Soap and Gaz look at each other. Then at Ghost who's clenching his fists, looking like he's about to jump between the two and kill the man. They get ready just in case something goes sideways.

You see his fist coming to your face, you take a step back but it grazes your left cheek. Someone in the distance swears and it's enough to distract you, the next blow goes to your gut. He doesn't even hit you with full force, noticing your lack of response he refrains as much as he can but it connects with your abdomen nevertheless.

It suffocates you. Brings you to your knees spitting saliva and gasping for air. You hear the soldier's frantic apologies. You cough trying to breathe but you just can't. It hurts you.

In a quick move Ghost is kneeling beside you, eyes scanning your body for external injuries. Anything.

"Hey... hey, kid! Look at me!" He orders. You can't, mostly because you're gasping for air, coughing, and the pain in your stomach. Ghost grabs your face seeing the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes. Another wave of nausea hits you and you spit out whatever comes out of your mouth. Simon takes you in his arms lifting you and runs to the infirmary, gritting his teeth. His steps echoing in the empty hallway as he bursts the doors of the med wing open.

-

"Captain..." you greet him as soon as you walk into his office, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Price looks at you, arms crossed. The bucket hat resting on his head. He's dead serious.

"Does he know?" He interrogates with that deep voice of his. It's only been an hour since the incident. Price had to do all in his power to keep Ghost busy. It nearly costs him a limb and a punch to his face. There's only so much he can do.

"No." You murmur, looking down to your feet.

"Jesus, kid." He pinches the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding already. This wasn't good. For any of them. John had decided to turn a blind eye on the situation. As long as it didn't interfere with their duties. Now? He shakes his head. Price walks towards you, the youngest of his team and a valuable asset. You were important to him, to everyone in the 141; to Simon in a very different way. "I'm putting you on medical leave. You must take care of your health, your body. I'll see what I can do, yeah? And for the love of God, talk to Simon."

-

You don't.

And that's because you're terrified. As soon as you left Price's office you ran to your room throwing your belongings in a duffel bag. You needed time to think. Of course you'd tell Simon.

Just not right now.

The disapproving stare of the doctor was enough to make you feel bad about hiding your pregnancy from him and then your Captain. You bite your lip and head out, the taxi driver is waiting already so you hop in, wishing to get some time alone. Clear your head and then find the best way to tell Simon about this.

It's raining outside by the time you're in your apartment. You've had time to get a quick shower and take the ibuprofen for your sore body. Your hands run absentmindedly to your stomach, soothing the skin but flinching when you press too hard. You should've stayed at base and talk to him after what happened.

But you're scared of the outcome.

By this time Simon must've found out you're gone. You won't blame him if he hates you. After all you ran away from him, like a coward.

Pouring some tea on a mug you hear the sound of keys jingle, and the footsteps followed by a large shadow that towers above you. Blond hair and hard eyes contemplating you, the mask is gone...

Holy shit. You think.

The only thing that Simon finds comfort in is gone. There's something about him not hiding behind the balaclava that sets deep in your heart. As if he were baring himself to you. Not that you hadn't seen his face before; that's exactly why this is more meaningful. It's serious. He chose to show you how vulnerable you can make him.

"Why?" His stern voice sends shivers down your spine. "I went to check on you and the first thing they say is that you're gone." His lips are pressed in a thin line.

"Simon, it's not what you're thinking..."

"Then bloody tell me what is it." He seethes, taking a step closer. "Was already losing my fucking mind over that bastard hitting you and suddenly you're gone?" He shakes his head. "Had I known you weren't going to fight back..."

"I'm pregnant." You blurt out, interrupting his talk. Simon's jaw clenched, halting and freezing on his spot. "And I'm sorry I didn't come to you as soon as I found out but I was scared." Your lips quiver and you hold back a sob, but unable to do much about the tears. "I was scared to tell you because I know you never wanted any of this, I failed to you. I couldn't sleep, I was panicking and the thought of losing you... I needed time to figure out how to tell you." Simon is silent, he doesn't move nor blinks. He just stares. Memories of his time with his father flooding his mind. He never wanted kids. That's true.

Seeing you there, in front of him. Choking on your words, crying because you thought he'd abandon you like you were nothing? Bloody fucking Christ it breaks his heart. Very few things had that effect on Simon. He had made you fearful of facing this on your own. Did you think you were just his friend with benefits? Someone he'd come to whenever he wanted to get laid? Hadn't you seen the way his eyes roamed over you whenever you were around? Never fucking heard the despair in his voice when you got shot during that black ops in Afghanistan? How he seemed to loom over your presence if some pathetic muppet tried flirting with you? The nights spent in his bedroom, limbs tangled hearing you speak about your day? The mission when he finally realized he was completely and utterly fucking enamored with you?

That time he wouldn't leave your bedside because you were severely wounded and comatose?

"I am not my old man, kid." He states after a few minutes of silence. "And if it wasn't clear already, I'd do anything for you. I don't know shite about being a parent but I'll try, yeah? For you..." he clears his throat. This was as complicated for him as it was for you. "For both of you, I'll try." The words sound strange coming out of his mouth. You close the space between you and hug him, inhaling his scent. He kisses your temple while rubbing soft circles on your back. Relief washes over your body and the tears stop gradually, until it's just the two holding one another during a raging storm of feelings and nature outside.

Soon the tension, the doubts and the anxiety are replaced with reassurance and loving words.

Promises.

Things you never thought you'd hear.

[jessamine-rose]

𓇢𓆸 Withering Purpurbloom ࿐

Read my Yandere! Capitano fics first ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

Aahh hello, Capitano nation……how are all of you?? At first, I had no plans to write an angst fic about his “death” in 5.3, but I kept getting ideas for Damsel! Darling’s reaction </3

With that in mind, I figured I’d write just one story where his death is final. This is only an alternate timeline in the Herbarium series, and I hope you all cry enjoy this tragic ending to CapiDamsel’s dark fairytale .°(ಗдಗ。)°.

Tw:: YANDERE, Stockholm Syndrome, blood, offscreen death, implied self-harm, mention of abuse from darling’s backstory

Note:: Fem reader who is smaller and weaker than Capitano, takes place after 5.3 story

♡ 4.8k words under the cut ♡

On the day of your husband’s death, you were preserving flowers.

Just the common flora that grew around your home. It was a frigid day in Snezhnaya, and your morning stroll had been bountiful. As you pressed each flower between the pages of your notebook, you thought of the Captain miles away in Natlan.

His last letter was written before his battle with the Pyro Archon. The words of his past self had brought tears to your eyes, though you made no mention of that in your response.

How is he? What has happened in the days since he sent his letter? Has he read yours?

You added the last flower and closed your notebook.

All of the flowers were for him, to be enclosed in your next letter—assuming that his mission had to be extended. Your gift would make for a nice reminder of Snezhnaya.

Of you.

The flowers were still fresh on the night of the messenger’s arrival.

✿ ⚘

You don’t believe it.

This must be a joke. Another betrayal, even.

As usual, your guard speaks to him first. But when they come inside, the messenger’s hands are empty of letters and parcels. You are asked to take a seat on the sofa.

The messenger repeats what he told Cyane.

“The Captain has departed from this world.”

No.

You stare at him, eyes wide.

Despite his mask, his sorrow is evident. He doesn’t stop there, rambling about battles and souls and a god who presides over death.

Capitano…someone like him wouldn’t go down without a fight.

There is the sound of glass shattering—are the servants listening in? Cyane stands next to the messenger, a grim expression on their face.

He won’t stop talking.

Why is he saying that your husband sacrificed himself? That death is the end he had been trying to reach all along?

No, no, no. He wouldn’t do such a thing. Not when he has you. Not when he knows that you’re here, waiting for him to come home.

Your vision blurs.

The room closes in on you.

The messenger’s mouth is still moving, but you can no longer tell what he is saying. There is a different noise—your own voice?

But what makes you think you are more important?

“My lady!” Cyane rushes to your side but you slap their hand away.

Dizzily, you stand up. You rush past them, out of the living room, through the front door.

You have to leave.

How long has it been since your husband’s sacrifice?

Which direction is Natlan?

The sky is dark.

There are no flowers in sight.

But there are traces of the messenger’s footprints, leading the way out of the woods.

In your haste, you trip and fall into the snow.

Cold. It’s so cold.

Hands wrap around your upper arms. That is when you panic and struggle in the grasp of your unknown assailant, fear overriding all of your thoughts.

“Don’t touch me!”

“My lady?” It’s one of the Fatuus who guards the estate. Private Herkyna tries to help you up but you flinch nonetheless.

Cyane runs outside. “Unhand her! Lady ______ is not to be—have you forgotten the orders of the late Captain?!”

The late…why are they already calling him that?!

Private Herkyna lets go of you. Now she is bowing and apologizing profusely. You don’t see the messenger anywhere—is he still in your home?

Cyane walks over to you and crouches to your level.

“Lady ______, please.” The pity in their gaze is unbearable. “Come back inside.”

“N-No.” Your voice comes out in strained whispers. “You’re lying. Let me go. Let…”

Cyane holds out their hand but you turn away. The snow is numbingly cold yet you grip it with both hands, if only to ground yourself to something physical.

When you look up, the sky is empty of stars.

“Let me see my husband!”

This can’t be true.

Yes, that’s it. This must be a dream, just another nightmare crafted by your fears and memories. Soon enough, you’ll open your eyes and see the stars in your husband’s gaze. And when that happens, he will comfort you, pull you into the warmth of his embrace, tell you it was all a dream that will never come true.

✿ ⚘

Ideally, you’d be in Natlan by now.

But there is only so much authority you hold as the wife of the First Harbinger, so you are still awaiting approval. From who, you don’t know.

Until then, you refuse to believe in the rumors.

You have to see Capitano with your own eyes. Only then can you believe that he is truly gone.

In the meantime, you are incapable of waiting.

Time passes slowly in the manor. It has always felt too big, too quiet in Capitano’s absence. But back then, you could sustain yourself with the promise of his return.

Come to think of it, did he say anything about coming home?

He always made that promise, before his missions and in his letters, but on the day he left for Natlan…his last words to you were a prayer for your everlasting happiness.

It’s not just that. The servants have gone into mourning. They don’t know how to act around you, with their piteous gazes and fruitless attempts at comfort.

You don’t talk to any of them. You keep to yourself, drowning out their words, drifting from one room to another in a disoriented haze.

A family portrait hangs in the living room, depicting you and Capitano. He’d kept his mask on, of course, to conceal the abyssal rot consuming his body. As for you, your lacy gown made you look like the princesses in your storybooks.

His face is still vivid in your memories, along with his loving expressions. But when you stare at your husband’s painted imitation, all you can see is the black void of his mask.

✿ ⚘

Three days later, Cyane brings you to Capitano’s office.

“Cyane,” you whisper, “why are we here?”

They speak carefully. “When I was selected for this job, the Captain gave me access to special documents. I was told to only open them if we received news of his…absence.”

Absence. That is the word they use around you these days.

Well, they aren’t wrong. From what you heard, your husband is still in Natlan.

Cyane unlocks the door, stepping aside so you can enter.

The office is familiar. In the past, you avoided that room and only went there if Capitano called for you. But later on, you became a frequent visitor of your own volition.

The desk is empty. So is the chair behind it. On the days he worked from home, Capitano would be here, signing documents and speaking to subordinates. Whenever you visited, he’d adjust his sitting position so you could make yourself comfortable on his lap.

Cyane walks over to his desk and takes out a set of keys. They unlock the leftmost drawer.

Inside is a leather folder engraved with Capitano’s insignia and two names—yours and Sergeant C. Naiad. That, too, has to be unlocked.

It is filled with several documents written in familiar handwriting. A few words catch your eye, and that is all it takes for you to step back.

“What…what is this?”

“I opened it as soon as we received the news,” Cyane explains. “The Captain left this behind to ensure your welfare in the event that he died in battle.”

Died. But he technically isn’t…

“Cyane.” Your voice comes out in a deathly whisper. “Did you know?”

Just how long has he been planning this?

They shake their head. “I knew nothing. When the Captain gave me the key to this drawer, he phrased it as a contingency plan, not…an inevitability.”

Cyane explains the documents to you. There is a signed will. A pension that ensures all of your needs will be met for the remainder of your life. And many other considerations.

One document provides options for your living situation. If you want, you can stay in Capitano’s estate; you have sole ownership. Otherwise, you can return to Mondstadt or relocate to another nation entirely. Wherever you go, the Fatui will permit it and your servants will follow you.

It’s funny really. Had your captor died a few years ago, you would’ve felt relief. Joy. Freedom. But at this moment, your chest feels hollow.

Has Mondstadt changed?

It should be safe, seeing how Capitano brought justice upon your tormentors. Mondstadt Library will still be there, though you doubt that your coworkers missed you. As for the meadow…it was never yours to begin with.

You have nothing to return to, really.

How can you return to your days of barely living? What is waiting for you in the nation you once called home?

The last document is a sealed envelope.

Cyane gives it to you. “I didn’t read this. It’s for your eyes only.”

Wordlessly, you accept it. The envelope is thicker than Capitano’s previous letters combined. Your name is written on the back, the handwriting still familiar.

With that, you leave the office before Cyane can say another word.

You don’t read the letter, however. It is slipped between the pages of your notebook, joining the flowers you’d saved for your husband.

✿ ⚘

The condolences are insufferable.

Thankfully, you don’t receive any visitors or official summons from the Fatui. But sympathy gifts begin to pile up in your estate, all from your husband’s colleagues.

You’ve overheard the servants predicting a funeral in Zapolyarny Palace. It will likely happen, seeing how all of the Harbingers gathered to “mourn” La Signora.

Hopefully, you won’t be invited. From what Capitano told you, the meeting will only be a clash of egos, insincere pleasantries, formal discussions in which your husband’s death will be referred to as a necessary step in the grand scheme of the Tsaritsa.

There are also rumors that there is more to Capitano’s plan than his sacrifice. But you’ve yet to receive any official confirmation.

There is a vase of lilies from a long-forgotten acquaintance. A maid asks if you’d like to preserve it, and your response is a blank stare.

The flowers are left to wilt.

✿ ⚘

Your hobbies are your only distraction.

A week later, you continue your morning strolls. Cyane escorts you as usual, but there are more Fatuus in the distance. They are likely here to stop you from running off to Natlan.

…Snezhnaya feels colder. At this time of the year, most of the flowers have shed their petals and returned to the earth. Those that remain are all picked and passed to Cyane.

You can give them to your husband when the two of you reunite.

To think that the last time you walked around the woods, you were picking flowers without a care in the world. Though your morning strolls are more enjoyable in Capitano’s company.

The rosebush is still there. But its flowers are gone; all that remain are frost-covered thorns.

A year ago, you learned that the rosebush was artificially planted in the estate. It’s just like your husband to perform these quiet gestures for you.

Back then, you were still afraid of him. Nonetheless, he remained patient with you.

Your hand wraps around a barren stem.

The thorns are sharp, just the way you remember them. Capitano always told you to be careful when handling the roses. He’d even offer to pick them and remove the thorns for you.

He was gentle with you, too, the first time you pricked yourself on these flowers.

But it’s different now. These thorns are pricking your palm in different places. There are no white petals to absorb the blood. It is Cyane’s hand that catches your wrist, their urgent tone that breaks the silence. It is a healer, not Capitano, who treats the wounds.

Later, you flip through your notebook. Capitano’s last letter included several Natlanese flowers. Even during his most important mission, he’d taken the time to pick them for you. It was always your favorite gift, not just the flowers but the knowledge that he was constantly thinking of you.

Cyane hands you the flowers you’d picked earlier, newly thawed.

Your notebook has run out of blank pages, but you refuse to get a new one. You stack layers of flowers and parchment between the final pages, then you slam it shut and press down on the cover. The flowers flatten.

Still, your notebook won’t close fully.

✿ ⚘

These days, you hide in the library.

In the beginning of your captivity, there was a single stack of books in your room. As the months passed, it expanded to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, followed by a personal library. Your husband had always been supportive of your hobby, so long as it wasn’t used “as a means to avoid him.”

The entire library is yours. Every time you receive a new book, you write your name on the front page and place it on a specific shelf. Unlike the books you handled as a librarian, your books are arranged according to your own system of classification.

A week before the messenger’s arrival, a set of books was delivered to the manor. In addition to sequels, there were new titles which you expressed interest in but never mentioned to Capitano. You assumed that it was Cyane who told him.

One of the books was written by a Snezhnayan author, but he’d purchased a translated edition. Thus, you were able to read it on your own; there was no need to wait for Capitano’s return.

The Snezhnayan titles take up their own bookcase. Unlike their newest addition, the books are all printed in their native language. As such, you couldn’t read them without Capitano’s help. By now, your proficiency has improved but you haven’t touched those books ever since he left.

What was the last book he read to you?

It was a love story about a cursed dragon and a captive princess. In the end, the dragon’s curse was lifted with true love’s kiss. And they all lived happily ever after.

But that was an adaptation of a fairytale. The original story ended in tragedy.

✿ ⚘

One night, you dream of your husband.

In your dream, you reunite with him in a meadow of dandelions and Inteyvats.

He wears a pristine uniform with an eight-pointed star over his chest. His mask is off, revealing a face free of scars and abyssal rot.

His cursed appearance had never bothered you, at least after you got used to it.

His eyes are the only part of his body which remain the same. And yet those deep blue stars are gazing at you with indifference. The same emotion that you’d seen, time and time again, in the eyes of your foster family and caretakers from Mondstadt Orphanage.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Is it because he doesn’t recognize you?

Perhaps that is it. After all, just as Capitano’s old body has been preserved, so has yours. Every inch of your skin is covered in old bruises and wounds, along with the pain of each memory.

Your voice is audible, restored to its original state before you began speaking in whispers. When you call out to him, there is no pain in your throat.

But he doesn’t respond. Behind him, you can make sight of a war-torn battlefield.

You run towards him but the meadow stretches, widening the distance to him. Capitano turns around and walks in the direction of the battlefield, leaving crushed flowers in his wake.

Is it because he doesn’t know you? Or has he simply tired of protecting you?

In the end, even this imaginary version of your husband didn’t hesitate to discard you.

✿ ⚘

Your trip to Natlan is finally approved.

A group of Fatuus, including Cyane, make preparations to escort you. An official report confirms that you will be welcomed by the Captain’s remaining soldiers stationed in Natlan.

You don’t pack much. You are only traveling to reunite with your husband, after all.

This is different from the trip you had in mind. Before, you’d envisioned Capitano bringing you to Natlan for a vacation after his victory. He only had good things to say about the nation.

It was a year into your marriage when he told you about his battles in Natlan, his previous life in Khaenri’ah, the souls he’d carried in his heart for the past five hundred years. What he didn’t tell you was the sacrifice required to grant salvation to his fallen comrades.

Sometimes, you forget that he has lived a whole life before you.

It’s nothing to be jealous over, not when the same can be said for you.

But in those moments…it becomes clear that you were only a short chapter in his life.

You tell the servants to prepare clothes suitable for Natlan’s climate. When you check your luggage, you are pleased to note that they didn’t pack mourning attire.

You still wear your wedding ring, with its little flowers sculpted from gold and jewels.

There was no romantic proposal or wedding. A few days after your abduction, Capitano simply slipped it onto your finger. From then on, he began calling you his wife.

It was a perfect fit. Capitano had his own ring, and you rarely saw him without it.

Similar to him, you wear it around your ring finger. Other times, you hang it from a necklace chain, keeping it close to your heart.

✿ ⚘

In Natlan, you introduce yourself with Capitano’s family name.

Until now, you aren’t used to hearing a surname after your first name.

In Mondstadt, only your first name is registered in official records. When you were part of your foster family, you had no opportunity to use your new name; you only know that “______ Maier” was written in adoption papers long reduced to ashes.

In contrast, your name is registered with Capitano’s family name in Snezhnaya. And when you began accepting his love, you were all too happy to use it in conversations.

It was a significant decision. To him, who had lost his family in the Cataclysm. To you, who never had a family before him.

You also know about Capitano’s true name, though you rarely use it out of respect for his past. But whenever you dared to call him Thrain, his reaction was one of affection.

Now, in Natlan, you hear his true name spoken in reference to a legendary hero. But you don’t ask for those stories, and instead focus on your husband’s soldiers.

They are visibly somber, eroding what is left of your hope. Worse are their thoughts of you.

Prior to their mission, you were mainly known as the mysterious wife of Il Capitano with your frail countenance and melancholy gaze. But now there is a different tone to their whispers.

“The Captain’s widow is here.”

“Was her gaze always this dim?”

“Poor thing…you can tell that something has broken in her.”

Rotchev brings you to a monument honoring those who lost their lives in the war. The Captain’s image is sculpted on it, and it isn’t just his soldiers who visit it. An elderly man named Munay offers to host you in his home, out of gratitude to him.

…The nation seems lovely, and you can see why it never left your husband’s memory. But grief plants persistent seeds of resentment, and you have little reason to enjoy Natlan in solitude.

In the end, you are introduced to Ororon, the Natlanese hero who worked closely with Capitano.

He is awkward around you, if not surprised by the revelation that the Captain was married. He does recall a few instances when he spied on him picking flowers; when he gives the names, you recognize those flowers from his last gift.

He agrees to bring you to him.

✿ ⚘

Here he is.

Your husband sits upon a throne surrounded by dark ice. A stairway leads up to him.

He looks like a character straight from a fairytale. A dignified ruler. A lonely warrior distanced from those he saved. Or perhaps even a sleeping beauty waiting for his beloved to wake him.

Cyane guides Ororon away from the Throne of the Primal Fire, far enough to give you privacy but close enough to come to your aid if anything happens.

With that, you walk up the steps. You don’t stop until you’re right in front of him.

Up close, your husband looks the same. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Capitano?”

Silence. He remains seated.

You reach out to him. “It’s me, ______.”

Cold. His body is so cold.

Still, you don’t let go of his hand. The muscles are relaxed and when you check his palm, you find his wedding ring under his gauntlet. But the warmth of his touch is gone.

You look up. “I’m sorry for making you wait. I tried…I really did try to come here as soon as possible.”

The silence is stifling.

Carefully, you kneel on the space between his legs so you can face him. Up close, you can peer into his mask. But no stars gaze back at you, only darkness.

Why would he do such a thing?

“This…isn’t the end, is it?” You speak louder, as much as your voice permits. “You didn’t get the Gnosis, after all, and the Tsaritsa…there must be another phase to your plan.”

Why did he save you if he knew your story would only end in tragedy?

Your vision blurs.

“Please. Tell me you aren’t gone.”

Blinking back tears, you shake him by his shoulders. But the only sounds you hear are the clink of chains, your unsteady breaths. The cracking of your voice.

Why have you been holding on to false hope?

Desperately, you tilt his head and bring your lips to his.

…They’re just as cold. Unresponsive.

When you pull away, he remains asleep.

“Thrain, wake up!”

What made you think that life would play out like a fairytale?

That is when you give up.

The tears won’t stop.

It’s so hard to breathe.

“Could…Couldn’t you have at least told me?” you shout. Your voice breaks again, coupled with a familiar ache in your throat. “Why…?”

What is left of your future?

How could the gods be so cruel as to deprive you of love time and time again?

For once in your life, couldn’t you be less selfish?

You cover your mouth but incoherent noises continue to spill from your lips. It’s too loud, all distinction lost between your words and your sobs. So noisy.

But Capitano’s response is nonexistent. This body doesn’t hug you; neither does it carry you out of this horrible place. It remains still, cold as a corpse, indifferent to your grief.

You bury your face into his coat and continue crying.

✿ ⚘

At some point, you cry yourself to sleep.

When you wake up, the sky is dark. You’re still clinging to Capitano’s body but a blanket covers you—did Cyane check on you? Nothing else has changed.

By now, you’re exhausted. Your voice has reached its limit, and your tears have dried. Numbly, you change your position so you can sit on your husband’s lap.

For the next few minutes, you just stay there. Taking in the silence, the familiar shape of his body, the ambience of his final resting place.

Here, the sky is foggy. There are no stars in sight.

Finally, you turn around to face him.

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper. Your throat hurts but you force out the words. “Capitano…I’ve missed you. I hope—”

I hope you come back.

But you dare not say it, thinking of your time in Mondstadt Orphanage when such words were a cruel wish. Back then, goodbyes meant that someone was leaving for a happier place. Why would anyone want them to return—discarded, faded, like you?

So you don’t say it. Your husband has suffered enough.

Instead, you take your notebook out of your bag. “Here, this is for you.”

You flip to the final pages. Then you take out all of the flowers you’d preserved from the beginning of his mission—the Natlanese flowers from his gifts, the Snezhnayan flowers picked since the day of his death.

You slip each flower into his coat pocket, close to his heart. When you touch his chest, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Well, there’s no denying that he loved you. Not as much as his comrades, but enough that he made room in his heart for you.

You stand up and fix the creases on his clothes. Another kiss is given but again, no reaction.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” you tell him. A ghost of a smile makes its way to your face. “I still have so many flowers to offer to you, after all.”

With that, you walk down the stairway. Before you head in the direction of the exit, you turn back to look at your husband.

…He looks tranquil. Preserved in death, just like your flowers.

Wherever it is, may his soul rest in peace.

✿ ⚘

Cyane says nothing when you approach them, eyes red and voice hoarse.

Neither does Ororon, though you can tell he is resisting the urge to ask questions. Before you go separate ways, he asks if you are leaving soon.

“...No,” you whisper. With the pain in your throat, you are barely audible. “I’d like to stay longer. I still have so much to tell my husband, after all. Thank you for showing me the way.”

Cyane brings you to the Fatui encampment. The soldiers look even more concerned when they see you, but you walk past them and enter your husband’s tent.

It’s still furnished. When you go through his things, you find your letters, including the last one you sent him. A locked box containing every flower you’d gifted him. Reports written in Cyane’s handwriting. A Withering Purpurbloom that didn’t make it into his letters.

The flower is added to your notebook. You can give it to him when it is fully preserved.

Sighing, you lie down. Now that you’ve seen your husband…what’s left to do?

There is the matter of your future. You don’t want to move out of Snezhnaya; the manor has too many memories you can’t let go of. Maybe you can arrange for regular visits to your husband’s body. You don’t know if it’s grief or hope that makes you unwilling to leave what remains of him.

For now, you might as well honor his wishes and read his last words to you.

You wrap yourself in his blanket; if you close your eyes, you can pretend the warmth is from his embrace. Then you take his letter out of your bag and open the envelope.

…There are so many pages. A past version of your husband awaits you, preserved in paper and ink. And this certainly won’t be the last time you read his message—you’ll read it again and again, as with his other letters, until you can memorize it by heart.

“My beloved flower…”

✿ ⚘

The night before your husband’s departure, you stayed awake to enjoy your remaining time together.

He told you not to force yourself but you were stubborn. This would be his longest mission and for just one night, you wanted to spare him of the voices within his heart.

You helped him pack his bags. Capitano read one last Snezhnayan story to you, then he shared anecdotes from his past. The two of you went outside to view the stars and when you found none, you turned to him and said that his gaze would suffice.

Before dawn broke, the two of you cuddled in bed.

“Will you miss me?” you whispered. This time, you didn’t hold back your yawn—you made Capitano promise to wake you up in a few hours.

By now, that question had become part of your routine. His answer was always the same.

“I will.” He pulled back to look at your face. But his arms were still around you, caging you in his embrace. “From the bottom of my heart.”

There was a soft light in your eyes as you met his gaze, committing his face to memory—his scars, his abyssal rot, his loving expression, those deep blue eyes that held the stars.

Your hand moved lower to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’ll miss you too.”

His kiss was warm. He felt your smile against his lips.

With that, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. There were so many more things you wanted to tell him, but you decided to save it for another day. For your future letters. For your inevitable reunion. For the happy future in your delusions.

As for Capitano, everything had already been said and written.

“May you thrive in the peaceful world I leave behind to you.”

 ♡

Happy Ending coming someday!! ヽ(；▽；)ノ

…And then Capitano got resurrected and they lived happily ever after hahahaha /deranged. 

Just to be clear, Capitano isn’t dead in my I Love You, Darling universe. This fic doubles as an alternate ending AND a prelude to my next fic, which is a canon-divergent happy ending. If Hoyoverse resurrects Capitano later on, assume that this fic + the continuation are both canon to the Herbarium series (*≧∀≦*)

Fufufufu so what did you think of this tragic ending?? *evil laugh* Like I said earlier, I’m not into angst but I had fun writing this fic. I even slipped in a few parallels to Herbarium for eagle-eyed readers. Also, a big thank you to my long-time beta-reader @diodellet <3

Lastly, I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their love for CapiDamsel!! Capitano and Damsel will always occupy a special place in my heart and don’t worry, this isn’t the last you’ll see of them. For now, do share your tears and reactions with me >:’3

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @bye-bye-sunbird @leftdestiny-posts @harmonysanreads @brynn-lear @naraven @mochinon-yah @pranabefall @euniveve @limeiyuan @stickyspeckledlight @teabutmakeitazure @dawn-sky-collective @poetics-of-fuubutsu

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You knelt beside Peter with your hands in your lap, staring down at them as the conversation flowed around you. While you’d never had much to contribute to the conversation before, you still felt awful about being purposely excluded. Even more so because your humiliation was on full display for the whole house to see.

“It’s disappointing to see another empty chair at the table.”

Steve’s voice wasn’t very loud amongst the other low conversations, but it carried, nonetheless. You didn’t need to look up to know that his gaze was on you. You could feel it. It was then that you felt a gentle touch on the top of your head, fingers trailing down to rest just under your chin.

“Yeah,” you heard Peter sigh. “…but she knows what she’s being punished for.”

You did.

The night you told Peter that Nat had mentioned a pregnancy scare, he hadn’t said much to you for the rest of the evening. You could count the number of times Peter had been really mad with you, and his visible anger hadn’t done much for your sleep. You hadn’t been able to deny the pang in your chest when he laid down for bed without sparing you a glance.

You had almost wished you could take it back.

…but if it would prevent Nat from being on the end of whatever punishment Bucky saw fit for her, then you would accept however Peter retaliated. You weren’t being tied to some tree nor walking around with some collar on your neck, but it was no less embarrassing to sit at Peter’s feet on your knees while the rest of the household ate dinner.

Occasionally, Peter’s hand would come down to give you something to eat, and with starving as the only other option, you had no choice but to open your mouth and accept.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” he’d said just hours earlier, gazing at you with a small shake of his head. “…and to think this is something you knew before she even left. What if she was pregnant and has lost the baby? Do you have any idea what that will do to Bucky?”

You hadn’t had the heart nor courage to tell Peter that you didn’t care about Bucky. You didn’t care about him, at all. Your priority had been Nat and keeping quiet on something she herself hadn’t even known what to do with. That was then though, and while your first priority was still Nat, now you only wanted her out of harm’s way in whatever way you could achieve that. Even if it meant disappointing Peter and making Bucky aware of her possible delicate condition.

You knew that with Steve over his shoulder, Bucky was liable to do unspeakable harm to Nat. It didn’t matter that he’d grown up with her and therefore shared a deeper history than any other couple in the house. In fact, you’d wager that those circumstances only made him angrier, made him feel more betrayed. You didn’t count on Bucky being fair, on the punishment fitting the crime. The dark-haired man was angry and hurt—something you’d never understand—and he seemed the type to take it out on her.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sight of a fork in front of your face, and lock clockwork, you leaned in to eat what Peter offered. Your embarrassment lessened as you thought of the humiliating things the other wives probably had to go through. One incident stood out amongst the rest, and as you glanced up, your eyes met a familiar brown pair. She threw you a brief sympathetic look, something in her eyes telling you that it was okay, and you looked back down.

You tried to remind yourself that if your husband had been literally anyone else, you’d be dealing with far worse. Even Thor—who seemed a gentle giant most times—had forced Jane to hang the clothes to dry while completely naked once. At least, that was what Jane had said, and despite how long ago it was, you’d been able to see that she was still hurt about it. You wondered if that contributed to how “well behaved” she was for the blond. You wondered if she just didn’t want to experience that hurt again, and that was something you could understand.

When dinner was over, instead of following behind the rest of the men, Peter remained seated. You could feel his gaze on you, and you kept your own on your lap as you heard him stand. He stood there for what felt like a long time while the other women cleared the table. When the both of you were alone again, he quietly told you to stand and follow him.

Peter hadn’t said all that much to you since that day, and you didn’t know what you were walking into.

You kept your gaze on the back of his head while you followed him, tracing the brown strands with your eyes. There was a part of you that could acknowledge Peter’s disappointment, even understand the twisted logic in some sick way, but another part of you didn’t feel bad, at all. Whether or not Nat was pregnant was not something Peter needed to know. It simply wasn’t for him to know. It hadn’t even been for you to know until Nat decided it so, and it equally hadn’t been for you to tell.

…and you weren’t…until Steve and Bucky were itching to hurt her in ways she just didn’t deserve.

Even now, you wondered if you did the right thing. Only time would really tell, but you felt so…helpless. That night, you’d felt helpless, but it was a different kind of helpless. It was a helplessness that came about of your own accord. You could have very well told Peter you saw her. You could have even ran downstairs yourself to go after her, but you hadn’t. You’d remained quiet, and the opportunity to do anything to help or hinder the situation had passed you by.

You had left the fate of everyone in the house—including you—in her hands. Your future had depended on whether or not Nat was caught or not, both yours and Peters. You felt like something of a coward to leave that in Nat’s hands. Although, you guessed that your decision had been made when you simply…let her go.

You were frowning when Peter spoke to you again.

“You do understand why you’re being punished…don’t you…?”

You licked your lips, starting to nod before thinking better of it, remembering that Peter preferred you use your voice.

“Yes,” you told him.

“Tell me,” Peter urged, sitting down on the bed.

Your eyes met his, and like they had been for days, they gleamed with a mixture of confusion and disappointment.

“It’s important that Bucky knows everything pertaining to Nat’s health…and I helped her hide that from him.”

You repeated the words he’d said to you even though you didn’t quite believe them yourself.

Peter reached for you with a small sigh, and you slowly reached for his hand in return, moving closer. When his fingers threaded with yours, he pulled you to stand in between his knees, taking your other hand too. He looked at you with a look you couldn’t name, pink lips pressed together as he studied your face.

“If you were pregnant…surely you’d understand why I’d need to know that,” he continued before you could say anything. “Even if you just thought you were pregnant…that’s important, Y/N.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Now…now I have to find a way to bring this up to him. I did make a promise, after all,” he said to you, reminding you of your plea not to tell Bucky you told him.

Peter pulled on your hands, forcing you to sit in his lap. One of his hands came to rest on your waist, and you held his gaze as he kneaded his hand into your side.

“…and you wouldn’t want me to break my promise…would you?”

Peter tilted his head at that, and you shakily shook your head.

If Bucky knew you knew…you shuddered to think of what would happen. Peter reached up to cup your face, gently brushing his thumb over your skin. It disgusted you to think that not even thirty minutes ago, he had you kneeling at his side and eating whatever he fed you like a dog…and now… Now, you were sitting in his lap, reaching up to cover his own hand as it rested on your face.

Was this how any of the others felt?

Did Margaret feel that conflicted mix of anger and sadness and admiration whenever she gazed at Steve? Did she remember the ways in which he’d humiliate her as he kissed her? Did Pepper think of Tony leading her around the house like a pet when he smiled at her? You wondered what Laura thought about when Clint hugged her and if it was that time she was forced to keep him warm in her mouth at the dinner table?

“I was very proud of you tonight,” Peter eventually told you. “You were so well behaved and did exactly as I told you.”

Peter pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there.

“Only four more days to go.”

You were outside in the garden when you first saw it.

Laura and Jane were planting some garlic with you when you saw Steve and Bucky talking and walking around the house. They were coming from the front yard, presumably from work seeing as they were still in their uniforms, and Steve had it in his hand. A whip­—long and braided and dark brown. By the looks of it, you could tell it was real leather, and even in Steve’s grasp, it looked big…and torturous.

The sight of it made your stomach turn, and you had the brief thought that you were going to be sick…until you actually were sick.

“Oh my God!”

Both Laura and Jane’s voices caught their attention, and the poor garlic bulbs you’d had every intention of planting were suddenly covered in what you ate that morning. Your legs were unsteady as both women hurried to pull you to your feet. Both men were nearing you, something crossing their faces that looked oddly like concern.

It was strange.

You’d seen something like that on Bucky’s face before, notably that night when you ran into him outside the basement door. There was a hurt and crestfallen look there that told you as mad as he was at Nat, something in him hated the idea of punishing her more. Steve, however… You had never seen anything remotely resembling unease before, and it was then that you were reminded of something Peter had said to you once.

“You’re family, Y/N,” Peter had whispered one night. “Steve may be hard on you, and it may seem like he’s out to get you, but he just wants you to fall in line and be part of the family.”

Laura was wiping your mouth with a napkin she kept in her apron.

“Are you alright? Did you eat something bad?”

No.

You didn’t know how to tell her that the sight of that whip in Steve’s hand—the whip that was still in Steve’s hand—had disturbed you so badly you couldn’t even keep your food down. You could feel pressure behind your eyes, a burning sensation, and you wanted to scream. On top of throwing up on yourself like some child, you were now on the verge of crying too.

“Y/N…”

You weren’t on the verge of anything. You were crying…and badly too. You couldn’t stop shaking, covering your face with your hands as you fought to keep standing. Laura’s hands were on you as she guided you into the house, and your knees buckled. You would have collapsed if it weren’t for familiar arms catching you, and you clung to him instantly.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N,” he softly urged, one hand on your head and the other on the small of your back. “What happened?”

He was addressing someone else, now, and you didn’t hear what they told him. You only shook your head, unable to get the words out. You wanted to be sick again, and you pressed a hand to your mouth. Peter took that as a sign, hurrying to get you up the stairs.

He softly called your name again as soon as you made it into the room, and you finally did collapse.

“Is that what he’s going to do to her?” you asked him, tearfully looking up at Peter as he looked down at you in confusion. “Whip her?”

Realization bled into Peter’s eyes, and you watched his shoulders fall.

“Like…like some animal that needs to be broken into submission? …and for what? Because she ran?”

You swallowed down something else that threatened to come up, and Peter knelt down with you. You were fighting to keep it together, but your chest felt so tight, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The mere thought of Nat being on the other end of that almost made you sick again, and the room spun just a bit.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Peter cooed, wrapping his arms around you and leaning you back into him.

You descended into another fit of sobs, turning your face into Peter’s shoulder, and he rocked you. You reached up to grip the arm around your chest, holding onto him. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but what else could you possibly say that would stop this?

“Did you talk to Bucky…?” you finally choked out.

You both felt and heard Peter sigh.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Look…Y/N…”

Peter paused, rubbing your arm and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I know you want to protect Nat…want to stop this from happening to her, but she did a bad thing.”

You started to shake your head, but Peter continued.

“She has to be punished, made an example of. Hell…we still need to figure out how she escaped.”

Those words gave you pause, and you swallowed.

“She won’t say a thing about how she got out of the house with any of us none the wiser. How she snuck past all of us, Bucky especially,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “She could do it again. Any of you could try to imitate her…and we can’t have that.”

Peter pulled away a bit, looking at you as you looked at him.

“I would lose my mind if you escaped,” he told you. “…and I mean that.”

He took your face into his hands.

“You don’t understand what you mean to me…all I’ve done to keep you by my side,” he gently said. “All I would do to have you again if you ever did what she did.”

You believed him.

You didn’t doubt him for a moment, and that in itself didn’t scare you. It was the fact that you didn’t see yourself ever doing what Nat did, never even trying, and that thought was equally imprisoning as it was freeing.

You stared into the darkness with your arms wrapped around your knees. The stair beneath your bottom didn’t even feel that hard to you anymore, long growing numb to the feel. It was so hard to sleep lately, so tonight you’d just given up. Even with Peter at your side, you hadn’t been able to find lethargic bliss, too plagued with thoughts of Nat.

The memory of that whip in Steve’s hand made you grow so cold, like something was being sucked out of you. You had imagined the worst for her, but actually seeing it was another thing entirely. As much as Bucky scared you, you couldn’t really picture him doing that to her. Even for him, it seemed wrong, but then again, it was hard to tell what Bucky was actually feeling and what he wanted.

He kidnapped the girl he grew up with and he was the one to feel betrayed when she ran.

You wondered if a day would come where you’d sleep soundly again. Maybe when you knew for sure that Nat was going to be okay? You wondered if you’d even fret this much if you hadn’t seen her that night. You liked to think that you would, but you couldn’t deny that your guilt and fear over the whole situation played a huge part.

Rubbing your forehead, you pushed yourself to your feet.

When you turned around, the imposing figure at the top of the stairs almost made you fall back. You let out a gasp, taking a stumbling step back and almost falling in the process. The sound of your heartbeat was loud in your ear, and even before he turned the light on, you knew who it was.

Steve was as scary as he always was, but even more so now with the memory of him holding the whip that was most likely intended for Nat. It was crazy to think that even in the middle of the night, a time of day that should be for the most relaxed version of oneself, he still looked like a strict leader just itching to hand out a punishment.

“You should be in bed.”

You swallowed as he looked down his nose at you, lips trembling.

“I…I couldn’t sleep. I have trouble sleeping, sometimes,” you forced out, truthful.

The blond didn’t reply right away at that, simply raising an eyebrow at you as he studied you.

“Is that so…”

It came out more like a statement than a question, and you frowned.

“Since when?” he wondered, and you realized this was probably the longest you’d ever talked to Steve and definitely one on one.

“Since…since I got here, I guess,” you whispered with a frown.

He sniffed, looking past you for a few moments before meeting your eyes again. They narrowed at you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t place the look in them.

“You spend most of your nights awake? Sitting on the stairs? Hmm?”

“No,” you hurried to say. “No, this is a first. I guess I didn’t want to wake up Peter.”

There was a brief pause, and the silence was so loud.

“Is that okay…?”

You tried to keep your voice even, but you supposed you couldn’t cover the mocking tone well. It was hard to keep up with what was allowed with Steve, and it wasn’t like the other night when you were trying to bring Nat some food. You’d just been sitting on the stairs. What rule was there against that?

Steve stared at you for what felt like a long time before suddenly throwing you a tense smile. It looked fake, plastic even.

“Of course,” he almost sang as if it were obvious. “You’re family, now, and this is your house too.”

His tone, like yours had been, sounded almost mocking, and you didn’t like it. Unable to continue engaging in conversation with the blond without wanting to hurl, you moved to make your way back to your room. Steve’s gaze remained on you the entire time, and it was only when you were past him did he speak again.

“I never realized what a night owl you were…”

You slowed to a pause, looking over your shoulder at him, but his back was still to you as he stared ahead.

“You probably see all sorts of things from your perch.”

Your chest grew tight at that, and you stumbled back to your room without another response.

Peter seemed to reach for you on autopilot, pulling you into his arms and holding you close even in his sleep. You held onto him too, tears kissing your eyes as you forced your heart to stop racing. You pressed your face into his chest, thoughts going a mile a minute.

You hadn’t liked Steve’s words nor his tone, and you wondered…

Did he know? He couldn’t know, but his dubious tone and hidden meanings in his words couldn’t mean anything else. Unless he only suspected, and even then, that did little to reassure you. You weren’t good with lies, poker faces. As it were, it was taking everything in you to keep lying to Peter, and the way you felt about Peter was nothing at all how you felt about Steve.

It was taking all you had to lie to the man whose face you looked forward to seeing every day. You couldn’t even pretend to imagine you’d be good at lying to Steve. The thought made you sit up some, gazing at Peter’s face as he slept. You thought about your conversation earlier and what he’d done for you, the feeling in your chest when he told you he’d talked to Bucky.

“I just mentioned to him he might want to have Bruce come and look over her first before…”

He had trailed off after answering you when you asked him what he told him, quieting at the look on your face at the reminder of what was in store for her.

“They’ve been trying, you know, and I just reminded Bucky that he’d never forgive himself if he did anything that could take away something he didn’t even know he had.”

Your worry hadn’t disappeared completely, but it had definitely lessened, causing you to hug Peter. He had hugged you back, but you’d been more concerned with pressing kisses to his face. Even if Nat turned out to not be pregnant, it would put off her punishment for a bit at the least.

Sometimes you wondered why Peter did anything for you. You supposed it was equally for his benefit, to make you more susceptible to him, and you couldn’t deny that there was merit to it. Did it really matter the reasons behind anything he did to make you happy? As long as it made you happy, right…?

You leaned over, pressing your lips to his cheek, silently thanking him. You grazed your fingers over his own, listening to the sound of his breathing, and you kissed his cheek again before sliding out of bed. You moved to stand at the window, feeling very reminiscent of that night as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

You knew that you needed to get up early, and that you’d probably regret having such a late night in the morning, but you saw no value in trying to force something that would not come. Like the night Nat ran, you stared out of the window, looking over the yard...

…and just like that night, movement caught your eye.

The figure was unmistakable, his hands on his hips as he stood in the backyard, gazing around. You didn’t know why he was out there, especially at this time of night, and you frowned as you watched him. The sight of Steve would always serve to do the opposite of calming you down, so you were just about to turn away when he suddenly turned instead. Steve’s eyes met yours from so far below, and you could tell by the look on his face that he could see you.

You could also tell by the look on his face…that this did not surprise him.

His expression was even as he stared up at you, and you blinked, a slow frown forming between your brows. You didn’t understand why he was out there nor why he was preoccupied with looking up at your window, but the longer he stared, the more he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, frowning at you before you made the choice to turn away completely.

The next morning was as normal as any other.

For some reason, you hadn’t expected that. It had taken you forever to fall asleep, doubly so when coupled with the memory of Steve staring you down both on the stairs and through the window. You helped Margaret make Egg’s Benedict before getting started on a key lime pie she wanted to have ready by dinnertime. She brought little Sarah around for a bit, something you were grateful for.

“I know what they think,” she whispered as you shook the girl’s hand playfully. “What they say…”

You glanced up at her at that, and she sent you a sad smile.

“You would never hurt any of them,” she assured you. “You just need more time to adjust, that’s all.”

Knowing that Margaret trusted you around her child despite what Steve thought made your chest feel warm, and you thanked her. You often wondered about your own future child, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t worry for them. After all, if Steve and the others were worried about you around the other children, what could you possibly expect with your own?

You helped Christine in the garden, feeling much better than the other day. You felt that had more to do with the lack of a whip in your line of sight than anything. Peter was gone most of the day, at work, and when he finally returned home, it was almost time for dinner.

“What were you two planting? You smell wonderful,” Peter mused, watching you as you helped him undress.

“Sweet Pea,” you replied, unhooking his belt. “Pepper wanted some on the side of the house.”

You felt Peter press his face to your hair, deeply inhaling with a hum that fell over you like a warm blanket. When Peter kissed you, you were unsurprised when it didn’t remain just that, allowing him to pull you into the bathtub with him. Much wasn’t said between you, more preoccupied with the feel of his lips on yours and his hands on your waist.

It was a wonder neither of you were late to the dinner table.

Despite your interactions with Steve the previous night, dinner remained unproblematic. In fact, the blond was much more concerned with his wife whose forehead he kept touching. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know what you’d expected. Perhaps your disastrous birthday was still fresh in your mind, no stranger to Steve’s lack of reluctance to cause a scene.

You left dinner without a care, and you managed to go to bed without a care.

It was late in the night, however, when the horror you expected finally arrived.

It was the sound of yelling that disturbed you, the height of sound something you’d only heard the morning Nat went missing. You remained in bed in confusion—and slight annoyance—as you blearily stared at the ceiling. Sleep was still just within reach, and despite the disturbance, you were determined to find it once again.

That wasn’t possible though.

“Let me talk to her!”

It was Peter’s voice, the sound of it making your eyes fly open. You slowly sat up, never knowing Peter for one to raise his voice under any circumstances. There were a lot of voices mingling together from below, and they all quickly drowned his out. You slowly blinked as you stared at the door…

…and an uneasy feeling started to stir deep in your gut.

It only just occurred to you that if he was downstairs, then he wasn’t asleep next to you. You reached over and slid your hand along his side of the bed. It was cool to the touch, telling you he’d been gone for quite some time, and your frown deepened. What was going on?

Just as you thought that, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and you stared at the door in dread. They were nearing your room, the sound of them echoing in the hallway, and for some reason, you expected Steve’s imposing frame to be on the other side of the door. It wasn’t, but you still felt no relief at the familiar sight of Peter.

You rubbed your eye as your gaze met his, the dark-haired man standing in the doorway.

“Peter…”

It was hard to pinpoint the look on his face, only that it was strained and pinched. You watched the way his jaw ticked, chest heaving slightly, and when your gaze lowered, it landed on his tightening grip on the doorknob. You said his name again, growing even more nervous the longer he didn’t speak.

“Peter.”

That wasn’t your voice.

Your lips parted at the sound of Steve’s stern voice coming from over Peter’s shoulder, and you guessed that he was somewhere in between the door and the stairs, somewhere in the hallway where you couldn’t see him. At the sound of the other man’s voice, Peter seemed to visibly tense. He stood there for a few more seconds before finally stepping into the room.

“Peter, what…?”

“It’s okay,” he whispered to you although you felt like it was absolutely not okay. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He took your hand, threading your fingers together.

“I just…I need you to come downstairs.”

His voice was so low, and despite the confusion you felt as you gazed into his eyes, you allowed him to lead you out of bed. You surmised that Steve went back downstairs because he was nowhere to be found when you followed Peter into the hallway.

Every step of yours felt heavy, and you didn’t miss the tight hold Peter had on your hand as he gently pulled you downstairs. You had no inkling of where you were even going, but you were shocked to realize that he was leading you towards the den. However, the biggest shock of all was the sight that met you.

You faltered as your eyes roamed over every single one of the husbands.

“Peter…”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he heard you by the feel of his hand gently squeezing yours.

You didn’t understand what was going on, and as you looked around, you almost wished you hadn’t. None of them looked happy, and while that in itself wasn’t alarming, it was the degree of unhappiness that unsettled you. Your gaze briefly met Bucky’s, and you suspected that if looks could kill, your throat would have slit on sight.

You took a step behind Peter.

“I always knew that your methods would backfire one day, Peter.”

Your eyes landed on Steve as he said this, and you watched the blond pour himself a drink. Thor was sitting in the seat closest to him, and you felt grateful for that because you were sure that the sight of an angry and imposing Thor towering over you would have made you faint.

You glanced at Peter, face almost hurting now from how much you were frowning.

“Peter, what’s going on?” you whispered.

“Yeah, Peter,” Steve mockingly agreed. “What’s going on?”

You looked between them, that feeling a full-fledged impairment, now as you almost felt like you couldn’t move.

“Ask her, Peter.”

Steve’s voice had lowered, his tone cold when his blue gaze finally met yours.

“Ask her, right now.”

You wanted to run for some reason, get far away from here…but you couldn’t. Peter seemed to be hesitating about whatever he was supposed to be asking you, and Bucky beat him to it.

“Did you help Nat escape?”

The question shocked you both for how unexpected it was and also because it wasn’t true. You felt your lips part as you looked at Bucky, withering under his venomous stare.

“What?” you gasped. “N-No!”

You looked around, a painful feeling washing over you as you realized what all of this was about.

“No, I-.”

“I don’t believe you,” you hadn’t even been able to get the words out, interrupted by Bucky who charged towards you. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

You stumbled back per courtesy of Peter who forced you back with a hand on your waist. Your hand gripped his arm in fear as you looked around him, watching with wide eyes as he faced Bucky. The other man looked at you like he could kill you without thinking twice about it, and you supposed that he could. He’d done it to Wanda, after all.

You hadn’t realized that you’d started crying, your cheeks cold all of a sudden.

“Bucky.”

“She helped her, Peter. I know she did!” Bucky spat, pointing at you as you shook your head.

“No! I didn’t-! Peter,” you pleaded, looking at him, now. “I didn’t!”

Your voice was cracking, and you hoped they didn’t take that for an admission of guilt or something. You hadn’t helped Nat escape, but you knew that to them, the truth might as well be the same, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“Remind us again, Peter… Repeat to us the events of that night for you,” Steve finally spoke up again, his voice eerily calm as he looked at you both.

His words had you blinking, and you looked to Peter in confusion. He looked conflicted, almost miserable, in fact, and you watched him pull his lip between his teeth.

“What was it you said? You woke up…?”

You looked at Steve, hating him and his mocking tone. You hated the way he talked like he already knew the answers he was looking for, like he was the smartest person in the room.

“…because Y/N wasn’t beside me,” he finally answered.

Steve nodded, slowly and with a hum.

“…and why not? Where was she?”

Your heart dropped to the very bottom of your stomach, and the room swayed for half a second as you tightened your hand on Peter’s arm. You didn’t stare at any of them, your eyes falling to the floor as you fought to keep your food down. You felt numb and heavy all at once, and for the first time in a long time, you genuinely wanted to die.

“Where was she, Peter?” Steve asked again, not so nice this time.

Peter didn’t respond right away, and you wrapped your arm around him, forehead falling to his frame as you held in a sob.

“She was by the window,” he finally breathed, sounding defeated. “Looking out of it.”

You heard Clint mumble something, and although you couldn’t make it out, you knew it wasn’t nice.

Only another moment passed before Peter was harshly pushing you back, but it wasn’t fast enough. Bucky’s hand had gripped the sleeve of your nightgown, both ripping the fabric and scratching your skin in the process. You screamed in both shock and pain, hurrying back until you met the wall, clutching your arm as Peter harshly shoved the older man away.

“She didn’t do it!”

“Move, Peter,” Bucky hissed. “Anyone with half a brain can see that she helped her! She-.”

Bucky cut himself off, and when you looked around Peter, the other man’s chest was heaving as he stared you down.

“Anything could’ve happened to Nat,” he forced out. “Anything, and she-!”

“I didn’t help her!”

“Shut up,” he snarled at you, so harsh and violent that more tears fell.

You pressed your hands to your mouth, trying and failing to hold your sobs in.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of her mouth unless it’s the truth,” he bit out.

“Do not talk to her like that,” Peter told him, taking a step towards him. “Do you hear me?”

He continued before Bucky could say anything else.

“You’re angry, I get it, but if you think I’m going to stand here and let you talk to her like that, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head,” Peter sneered.

They stared at one another for what felt like too long, just staring each other down, and you felt yourself sliding to the floor. The room was blurry from your tears, and it felt so hard to breathe. You brought your knees up to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell.

“Let me talk to her,” you heard Peter whisper, the same thing you’d heard him yell earlier.

You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried, and you let your head fall into your hands. The room was quiet save from the sound of you, and it wasn’t long before you felt Peter’s hands reach for your own.

“Peter,” you sobbed.

“Look at me. Hey…look at me,” he softly said. “Please…”

You reluctantly peeled your eyes open, and you glanced up when Peter gripped your chin.

“Don’t look at them,” he told you, voice gentle. “Look right at me.”

His voice was soothing, and you reached up to grip his wrist as you met his dark gaze. His eyes were soft, but there was something swirling there that made you nervous. An underlying skepticism lie there, and you pressed your lips together.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he quietly praised, sadly smiling at you.

He wiped your face, tongue darting between his lips. He stared at you, running his eyes over your face, and drinking you in for a moment.

“Did you help Nat escape?”

“No,” you answered without hesitation. “I didn’t. I… I could never.”

…and it was true.

You weren’t like Nat. You were weak, passive at best, and you could never have the courage to actively help anyone in this house escape. At least, you didn’t think so. The best anyone would get out of you was…well…simply looking the other way, and that was why as Peter took a deep breath, hinting that he was not done, you feared what would come out of his mouth. You dreaded his next words…

…and Peter looked like he dreaded them too.

He looked like he dreaded them more than the question that had just left his lips, and maybe it was because he knew the truth in this moment.

“…but you saw her leave.”

He held your gaze, and you held his. You didn’t move…didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to. Your silence was confirmation enough, and you flinched when you heard Bucky break something. It sounded like a glass.

“Peter…”

“You saw her leave…and you didn’t say anything,” he sounded heartbroken, and you soon realized why. “You lied to me.”

Your head lowered, and you wiped your face, but more tears just replaced those. You reached for him, gripping his shirt, trying to keep him close.

“Peter… Peter, I’m sorry,” you choked out, trying to pull him closer.

“That’s why…” he trailed off, sighing to himself as his eyes fell closed.

He chuckled to himself, but it lacked humor.

“That’s why,” he said to himself, his own head lowering so that his forehead touched yours.

You felt him wipe your face, a shaky sigh leaving him.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmured. “…but I’m not who you should be apologizing to.”

You looked at him with wide eyes when he pulled away, and you released another sob. Just the thought of what was waiting for you had you breathing short, and you pressed your hand to your chest. Peter still had one of your hands, and you could feel his chin on top of your head.

“Anything could have happened to her,” he told you. “Nat could’ve been seriously hurt…she could’ve died.”

“We told you,” you heard Bucky harshly tell him. “We told you you were being too soft on her.”

“Bucky…”

Peter’s voice reeked of exasperation as he held you to him, letting you cry into his chest. You couldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding so much from your tears. What would happen to you now? Would you be going down into the basement? For how long? Or…

Or was Steve going to make Peter tie you to a tree?

“What? You’re going to look at us and tell us we’re wrong, now? Nat escaped!”

You flinched as Bucky raised his voice, sounding much closer, too close.

“…and she just let it happen,” he snarled. “If she wasn’t yours…if she was just some random woman on the street, I’d wring her neck.”

That was enough to have Peter pulling away from you, presumably confronting Bucky, but you couldn’t even care, couldn’t even focus on that. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard you tried. Every time you did, you almost choked, and between that and trying to suck in air…

“…and why would I be like you…? Or Steve? You don’t think you broke her enough when you killed her friends? What did you expect, for her to behave rationally all this time?”

You heard Bucky chuckle, and for some reason, you hated the sound of it. It was cold, nasty, and it sounded like something that preceded trouble.

“Get off your high horse, Peter,” Bucky threw at him. “You’ve done just as much damage to her as we have…”

Bucky’s next words made your breath stop entirely.

“…it wasn’t us who killed…what was her name? Was it Michelle? Was that the one you shot?”

You felt…paralyzed, and the distinct lack of sobs filling the room was evident. Your hands had been on your forehead, and you could only stare at the floor as you felt like nothing was below your feet, falling without an end in sight. A sharp pain in your head forced you to squeeze your eyes shut, and you shook your head.

No.

No…no…

That wasn’t right.

It couldn’t be.

Sam…Sam killed her. Hadn’t he?

Your chest was hurting so bad that you actually clutched it, gasping for breath, and your other hand reached for the wall, trying and failing to steady yourself. You felt like you were in pain, and when you tried to stand up, you only fell back down. You felt familiar hands on your arms, and when you looked up, you flinched.

Peter frowned.

“Y/N…”

“What…?” you breathed.

That couldn’t be true…and yet…you couldn’t recall actually seeing Sam shoot Michelle. You…you had just assumed… But Peter was the first one to get to you that day, but he’d also spoke as if it was Sam…but Peter… As you looked into his brown eyes, the brown eyes that you had grown to look forward to looking into, you realized that Peter was a liar…and a murderer.

…and you wanted to be sick.

His hands were on your face, and you tried to bat them away.

“No, no, no,” you repeatedly mumbled, shaking your head. “No!”

You shoved at him, but Peter wouldn’t budge, determined to get you to calm down. Too preoccupied with wanting to be as far away from him as possible, you were none the wiser to Steve’s approach.

“It’s a good thing you brought Nat back up to prepare for Bruce’s visit,” the blond said, shoving past Peter and roughly grabbing you. “…because now she’ll have the whole basement to herself.”

The scream that you let out hurt your throat, and despite your anger and disgust with him, you still reached for Peter as Steve dragged you away. Your hand just barely grazed his as your feet lifted from the ground, and you reached out, trying to grab onto anything you could. You could hear Peter following behind Steve, begging and pleading with him on your behalf.

You could hear something occasionally being knocked over by you, the sound of breaking glass reaching your ears here and there. When Steve finally did reach the basement door, you pressed your feet to it, trying in vain to prevent this from happening. You hadn’t been in the basement since your first few days here, and it was not somewhere you wanted to be again. Not now…not after…

However, enthusiastic to see you suffer for letting his wife get away, Bucky unlocked and opened the door for Steve, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole. When Steve’s arm pressed into the cut Bucky had made on your arm, you winced.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time…”

…and with those last words, Steve tossed you inside. Your hands slid over the steps as you fell, feet tangling together, and you reached out to grab the rail, but it only slowed your descent. It did nothing to stop it, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a heap just as the door was slammed shut. You were surrounded by darkness, but it was the least of your worries, a choked wail escaping you at the thought of Peter.

You pressed your face into the floor as you cried, lacking the strength and will to move.