#and i think it makes more sense for her to be one when she's *not* the keeper's first
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"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba
Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.
"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.
You get the picture.
Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.
Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.
For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.
Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.
And who does Glinda have?
Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.
And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.
I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.
But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.
As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...
Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.
There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!
And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.
Well, isn't it?
Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.
It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.
So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.
She's singing about herself.
The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.
Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.
It leaves her lonely.
Entirely alone.
#wicked 2024#wicked musical#wicked elphaba#wicked the movie#wicked movie#wicked the musical#wicked#galinda upland#ariana grande#glinda the good witch#glinda#glinda upland#wicked glinda#no one mourns the wicked#musical theatre#musicals#This movie is my whole personality now
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If You Were My Little Girl II
Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader
Summary: Things are looking up
Alexia watches from the stands.
They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.
Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.
But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.
Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.
A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.
Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.
There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.
They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.
You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.
The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.
A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.
She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.
It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.
You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.
You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.
"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."
You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.
"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."
"I'm managing expectations."
Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."
She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.
"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.
"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."
"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.
You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.
You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.
Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.
You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.
A toe pokes you in the leg.
"Move."
"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."
"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.
"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."
"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"
Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.
The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.
Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.
It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.
All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.
Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.
She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.
She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.
Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.
"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.
"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"
"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"
Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."
You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."
"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."
You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.
If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.
But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.
"Thanks."
Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.
You stop.
"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"
"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."
"Is that a yes?"
"Possibly..."
"And there's no getting out of this?"
Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."
You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.
Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.
It's just a fleeting second.
Just a moment.
But your good mood plummets as the door opens.
Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.
Between you and Jenni.
#woso x reader#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso
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Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?
yandere headcanons: caitlyn, jayce, victor, vander
WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors
AN: sooooo many requests for these guys ^^
caitlyn protective type
She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change. The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?
She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.
It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near.
Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more.
Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with. You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval.
The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.
Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.
She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.
Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.
On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.
The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.
The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.
“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.
You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.
It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.
jayce fixating type
After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.
When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.
That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.
And so began his obsession.
Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.
Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.
The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?
His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.
Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.
In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.
victor savior type
Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.
At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.
In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.
He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.
And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.
Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.
And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.
Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.
His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.
But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about control. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.
There would be no turning back.
Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.
By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.
vander infantilizing type
Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.
It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. ���Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.
At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.
Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.
Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.
But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.
You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.
Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.
Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.
You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”
Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.
Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.
“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.
He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.
Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.
“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.
The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.
Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?
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#caitlyn kiramman#jayce#victor#vander#caitlyn arcane#jayce arcane#victor arcane#vander arcane#caitlyn x reader#jayce x reader#victor x reader#vander x reader#arcane#arcane league of legends#arcane headcanon#league of legends#yandere#ao3
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My thing about Veth potentially venturing into polyamory is that I do think everyone involved would be perfectly fine with it and happy to help her experiment, and I think that no matter how they do it, it would not fix her. This isn't to say that she wouldn't get any benefit out of trying! It's just to say that it's not a solution to her actual problem, because I genuinely don't think the problem is that she's lacking any one thing that would make her life complete.
Fundamentally, I think Veth struggles with the idea that there will come a point at which she has to settle. Not in a bad way, just in the sense that she is one person with one life and she will have to live within those bounds. Because the thing is, I don't really think her issue ends at struggling to "have it all"; to an extent she does! She is a good parent, even if her kid is a little rebellious; her marriage is supportive (and has fun sex); she gets to go off to save the world with Yeza's blessing on occasion, when the world needs saving. She doesn't have all of these things all the time, but... that's not really a flaw, that's just a fact of life.
But she started out her adult life settling to an extent—even if she loved Yeza and loved being Luc's mom, she did the safe thing that was expected of her. The goblin attack and everything that transpired after shoved her out of that life, but in retrospect, to an extent it likely feels that that pushed her to find something more that she wouldn't have had otherwise. Being pushed to her limit under the worst conditions made her better, stronger, braver, and at the end of it she found that she could have both her original life and much of her new life—so why wouldn't she then wonder if further experiences of that ilk could do the same?
Crucially, she has not actually run up against a hard limit yet, and as such she hasn't had reason to believe that there is a point at which she has to stop and recognize that there isn't more for her to find. When she was drinking more heavily during missions, even when it caused the death of herself or others, there were no long-term consequences. And the thing is, I'm not saying that she should face that kind of major consequence, but she seems as though she is scared to accept that maybe she could be happy if she stopped before she does.
I'm also not suggesting that she should stop experimenting or trying new things—the Luxon knows I am not one to talk in that realm—but I do think she is searching for novelty not because that would make her happy, but because she doesn't believe that she has the capacity to know what would make her happy. She was unaware that polyamory was even an option, so think of what else she might not be aware of! She doesn't have perfect knowledge of the world, after all, so how can she trust that she's found what she really wants? So yeah, she could fuck someone else, and it might even be an enjoyable experience that she didn't know was missing! But that only prolongs the question of what else she might be missing.
I think that deep down, she's terrified that if she doesn't keep pushing until that external hard limit, she will end up with regrets later, and simultaneously she is resentful that her friends all seem to have reached a point where they are largely content with what they have, because she wants them to have everything. She wants herself to have everything. And she has not yet allowed herself to come to terms with the fact that only she can determine when the everything of what she already has is enough, and anything else is the cherry on top.
#but also she should still try polyamory. because it'd be very funny.#I just think she should corner essek with a knife after sleeping with caleb like 'SURELY YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY OKAY WITH THAT YOU LIAR'#(because she still feels guilty and unsatisfied and she couldn't possibly be the one keeping herself from being content. nosiree lmao.)#but in all seriousness hilariously I think she should talk to essek about it cuz I think he would actually relate most lmao#and he does seem to be doing well with it! like he's living within the bounds of what will keep him alive sure#but he's also doing so in such a way that's like#I can't have my cake and eat it too but I can be content eating the cake#like look. as an essek girlie. do you think I do not relate lmao. BUT the important point is that it really is up to you#you can do what you want forever! but you also have to live with that.#critical role#cr spoilers#cr meta#veth brenatto
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Mel being an empath
(Okay i just got say arcane has sparked passion in me i haven’t felt for a show and fandom in yeeeears i haven’t written a meta in forever so bare with me.)
Anyway at first watching act 3 the reveal of Mel being empath felt crazy like that’s such a huge bomb that we didn’t get build up on or much follow through but i do think it explains so much about her character. Traditionally empaths are written to be overly emotional or sensitive sort of like telepaths and being smart but Mel wasn’t written like that she’s quite calm and collected her most emotional outbursts are with her mother and jayce and even with jayce it’s only because he’s hurling accusations at her and she still remains relatively calm in her responses. I think her knowing people’s emotions wether she was aware of this or not plays into this she knows Jayce is coming from a place of hurt and confusion where as her mother back in season one she knows she’s being disingenuous with the reasons of being in piltover.
First watch this just seems like a disgruntled daughter and her mother trying to get on her good side but knowing that Mel can read people’s emotions adds another layer she see right through her mother which not only from just being raised by her but through her her empath skills.
also wanted to bring this up someone pointed this out tiktok and someone else pointed out that this maybe because we’re seeing this scene through Mel’s POV and since she is empath she see that Maddie is secretly enjoying executing Caitlyn. This got me thinking about her career as council member/politician I’ve wondered how she got so high up while seemingly not only being the youngest member but being young period if she’s assumed to be Jayce’s and Victor’s age this makes her about 24-27 in s1 which is extremely young for council member which essentially this region’s governing body. Being able to sense people’s true intentions allowed her to know who to align herself who not to, knowing when people agreed and disagreed with her, or when people sympathize with your views, causes, or concerns on certain issues which all helped her advance quickly her career. I’m sure being from a high born house helped but we see other high born houses in council positions but they’re all older.
She also seems to be somewhat bored with politics and somewhat disillusioned when we meet her i mean giving a fellow council member a child’s toy almost like a practical joke doesn’t seem like someone who views politics and her colleagues with utmost seriousness it isn’t until she meets Jayce that we see the passion for change. I think being empath she saw that Jayce and Vicktor’s vision for hextech and Piltover and Zaun were pure and genuine which is why she supported them. I also hate the rhetoric that Mel never loved jayce and just manipulated for her own gain she does everything in her power to stay true to him and Vicktor’s vision she doesn’t push him to do anything that goes against their morals and goals. When Jayce is worried about Vicktor and his absence at the council may lead to she reassures she won’t let them corrupt their dream. Like i said early she isn’t written like a typical empath she also isn’t written like a typical manipulator(if you can call her that) she is genuine in what she’s says to Jayce she just also knows how people work and his feelings on the matter so she’s able to play on that.
Ambessa describes her to be too soft and she tells Jayce she didn’t Medarda standards i think the way she operates as empath is the cause of that I don’t think Mel is welling to corrupt herself or others when getting what she wants unlike her Mother and the rest of her family i think they operate much more cut through in their goals.
Whew anyway mind any typos i didn’t mean for this be as long as turned out just wanted to share revelation i had!:)
#mel medarda#mel arcane#arcane ambessa#arcane#arcane mel#empath#arcane season 2#arcane season one#arcane season two#arcane spoilers#arcane piltover#piltover and zaun#arcane zaun#meljay#jayce talis#arcane jayce#mel x jayce#jayce x mel#mel’s powers#mel season 2#ambessa medarda#ambessa league of legends#mel and ambessa#mel and jayce#noxus#arcane noxus#also like#please follow me if you’re mel fan i want to discuss her more
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Silent strain | part vii
outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
previous part | next chapter
summary: Joel still holds on to the idea of giving you the world even though everything feels broken.
w.c: 9k>
warnings: angst, mentions of murder, mentions of death, panics attacks, fluff.
a/n: Hello! I have to be honest. I don't feel really connected to this story since I stopped thinking about it for 3 weeks. I don't know if this chapter makes sense at all. I went to my drafts and tried to join all the different ideas I had written for this chapter 😭 I didn't want to end this story here and there will be one more chapter 🥺 thanks for your patience and sorry for my outbursts. By the way thank you so much on all the love you had given to my marcus acacius fic that one was carefully written haha ✨ Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
For the last few days, the house had been quiet.
Unbearable quiet.
The air seemed to be charged with some kind of machiavellian aura. You could breathe the fear coming out your lungs mingling in it with it in some kind of joke. Because after a long time of surviving and doing everything, you could to arrive to a place where you could come to close your eyes at night without the fear of being murdered. The dream faded.
After a long time, you felt hopeless and scared.
After a long time, you had to face the imminent death of someone you loved.
Your biggest fear.
You had seen your sister died before your eyes when the world became mad. You saw Tess died sacrificed for you all, and now, you almost lost your daughter.
Joel hadn’t left your side since you were dismissed from the infirmary.
He had been watching you. At nights when you were finally sleeping, he kept himself awake just to see you sleep and making sure you were fighting your demons in your dreams.
It cut him deep in the heart to feel it, to hear it, and to acknowledge. The sight of you, every day in front of the window with your arms crossed around your middle as a shield from the outside broke his heart. Joel’s heart ached as he watched you, your usual force now cloaked in fear.
The soft light from this morning highlighted the bruise on your face, the purple and blue tones reminding the events that had happened just a few days ago. He hated it, the mark on your skin, the haunted look in your eyes, the way your hands shook no matter how tightly you tried to hold yourself together.
The ring he had given you laid on your finger, shining as the only light you could see during the clouding morning.
He hated this. He hated that someone had dared to put that mark on you, hated that he hadn’t been able to stop it before it happened. But more than anything, he hated seeing the fire in you dimmed, replaced by this trembling fear he didn’t recognize in you.
You had been holding Rosie close every day. The grip on her became almost desperate, like you were afraid she might slip away if you let go, and Joel’s chest tightened at the sight.
And the moments like this, when she was lost in sleeping dreaming about butterflies, you were gripping your arms around your middle, again and again.
Joel cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle you, but enough to pull you from whatever dark thoughts were haunting you. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and gentle, like it was meant to keep the fragility of the moment intact. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that spot if you keep standin’ there.”
You glanced over your shoulder at him, the tiredness in your eyes making his stomach churn. But you didn’t speak, just offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your face before turning your gaze back out the window.
He stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. “Hey,” he said softer this time. “You’ve been standin’ there all mornin’. Come sit with me.”
“I don’t want to.” You replied, “I’m looking…whenever he comes back. I’m going to kill him.”
Joel’s breath caught in his throat at your words. The cold, steely tone in your voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t just the anger, he’d seen you angry before, it was the edge of pain buried underneath it, sharp and raw.
He studied you for a moment, the way your jaw was clenched, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself like you were holding something in. Joel sighed softly, stepping closer until he was right beside you, his hand brushing against your arm. “I know you’re hurtin’,” he said carefully. “I know you’re angry. Hell, I’m angry too- “
You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the horizon like you were waiting for some shadow to reappear. “He hurt her, Joel. Hurt Rosie. And he-” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep it steady. “He tried to kill me.”
“I know,” Joel said, his voice heavy. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, but he didn’t. Not yet. “And if it comes to it, I’ll be the one to handle it. You don’t gotta carry that on top of everythin’ else. That ain’t who you are anymore.”
Finally, you turned to him, your eyes blazing with a despair “You don’t get to tell me who I am, Joel,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what killing him means now that we are here? But do you think I care? He almost took Rosie from me. I can’t--I won’t let him get away with that.”
Joel’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words cutting into him. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasted the fire blazing for your words.
Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away again, shaking your head. “I can’t sleep well, I can’t breathe, knowing he might come back.”
Joel’s hand moved to your shoulder, grounding you. “We’ll protect her,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect you. I swear to God, he’s not gonna hurt either of you again. I won’t allow that.”
You blinked and turned to look at him, your eyes glassy with tears. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “If you hadn’t been there, Joel... if Paul had...”
Joel shook his head quickly, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the unbruised side. “But he didn’t. I was there, and I’ll always be there. No one’s gonna hurt you or Rosie again, you hear me?”
Your lower lip quivered, but you nodded, the tears finally spilling over. “I feel so stupid. I’ve faced worse before, but now... I can’t even step outside without panicking.”
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you as if he could shield you from the world. “You’re not stupid,” he said firmly.
You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of safety amidst the storm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered.
Joel kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You’ll never have to find out, darlin’. Never.”
“Never leave me, please” you whispered, your voice trembling as your eyes locked with his. The love in Joel’s gaze was overwhelming, deep and steady, like it could ground you even in the midst of your unraveling. In that moment, it felt as though he could heal every wound in the world just by looking at you like that.
He didn’t say anything right away, but his hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. His touch was so tender, it almost broke you all over again.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Always. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
The weight of his words, the sheer promise in them, weakened you. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his with all the love, fear, and gratitude coursing through you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was deep, purposeful, filled with everything you couldn’t put into words.
Joel responded with equal intensity, his hands steadying you as if anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened, and you poured every single feeling you had for him into it, your love, your fear, your desperate need for him to know just how much he meant to you.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested on his neck. His eyes stayed on you, dark and filled with so much love it left you almost breathless.
“You are my world,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty. “There ain’t nothin’ that’s ever gonna take me away from you.” He paused, “No Paul, not even Tommy” he said, finally allowing himself to be angry with his brother for not acting properly when you needed.
You smiled softly, your fingers lifted, tracing the familiar lines of his face. “You heal me, Joel,” you whispered. “In ways I didn’t think were possible.” You sighed, “I’ve slept just because you are by my side,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the vulnerability you rarely showed.
Joel's eyes softened at your confession, the lines of his face etched with worry and love. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms securely around you, as if shielding you from everything outside your small, shared world.
“I’ll always be here,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “No one’s gonna hurt you again, not while I’m breathin’. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He tilted your chin up slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that both comforted and steadied you. “You believe me, don’t you?”
You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I do,” you whispered. “I just... I don’t want to lose you, Joel. Not again. You mean everything to me. Rosie and Ellie need you. I need you.”
His lips pressed into a firm line as he kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before speaking. “You won’t lose me. Not to this world, not to anyone.” His tone carried a weight of conviction that made you believe him, despite the dark corners of your mind that tried to tell you otherwise.
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to him could ground you further. “I love you,” you said, the words spilling out with a mix of desperation and relief.
Joel tightened his embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I love you too, darlin’. More than I’ll ever be able to say.”
The days that followed, the tension between Joel and Tommy hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting. The anger in Joel’s chest refused to leave and every time he thought about Paul, about what he had done to you, about Rosie crying in your arms, about Tommy and Maria’s insistence on letting him live because he was the most capable doctor in Jackson, made his blood boil.
Joel stayed distant, avoiding Tommy whenever he could. But the inevitable day came when Tommy finally showed up at your door.
The sound of footsteps outside was followed by a knock. You opened the door cautiously, seeing Tommy standing there, his posture tense, but his face holding a mix of determination and concern. He wasn’t going to let this go.
“Can we talk?” Tommy’s voice was low, almost pleading, as he stood at the threshold, not pushing any further without an invitation.
You glanced back at Joel, who stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, jaw clenched. His posture was rigid, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel the weight of his gaze on Tommy.
“You’re here now,” you said quietly, your gaze flicking between the two men. "Let’s just talk. It’s time to sort this out.”
Tommy looked at you, grateful for your willingness to listen, but then his eyes moved to Joel. “I’m not here to argue,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of frustration. “I just want to make sure you both understand why I did what I did. Maria and I- we thought it was best for Jackson.”
Joel stepped forward then, his voice tight, filled with a simmering anger. “Best for Jackson?” he spat; his words heavy. “You think keeping Paul around is what's best? After what he did to my family? After what he did to her?” His gaze flicked to you, and his face twisted with pain and rage.
Tommy’s face faltered slightly, but he stood firm. “We can’t just murder people, Joel. We’ve got to think about the bigger picture here.”
“The bigger picture?” Joel’s voice broke through the silence, louder now. “The bigger picture is you letting him get away with what he did. You think a doctor’s skills are worth more than the safety of someone?”
You stepped in between the two men, your hand on Joel’s chest, trying to diffuse the tension that had only escalated. “Joel.” you said softly, your voice firm yet gentle.
Joel’s anger didn’t subside, but he took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he met Tommy’s eyes. “I get it, Tommy. I do. I get you don’t kill people. But this is not about you or me. It’s About her, about Rosie.” He nodded toward you, his voice softer but still filled with that quiet fury. “You failed us, and I’m not gonna forget that.”
Tommy’s face tightened, but he didn’t flinch. ��I’m not asking you to forget,” he said, his voice growing quiet, but steady. “I’m asking you to try to understand. I had to make a choice. And I’m sorry it hurt you. I didn’t want that. But we can’t just act on anger. It’ll destroy us all.”
The silence between them was heavy, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Joel’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the two brothers just stood there, glaring at each other. You could feel the tension in the room, the hurt, the unresolved conflict.
“I’m gonna kill him, Tommy” you say, leaving no room to even think about an answer. The words left your lips before you could even stop them. You meant it, if you were just speaking out of fear, anger, or something deeper. But in that moment, it felt real. It felt like the only thing that made sense.
Tommy’s face paled; his eyes wide in disbelief. He took a step back, as if your words had physically hit him.
“Don’t say that,” Tommy said, his voice shaky now. “You can’t mean that. No matter what Paul did, that’s not-” He looked to Joel, who stood silent, his jaw clenched tightly as his gaze fixed on you.
Joel’s expression didn’t soften. His eyes were filled with an intensity you knew all too well, but it wasn’t just anger anymore.
“I can’t let him hurt us again,” you continued, your voice steady. “Not after what he did. To me. To Rosie.” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the thought of what Paul done still fresh. “He can’t be allowed to walk away from this.”
“I get it. I know how much you hate him. How much you want to make him pay. But that’s not the way” he said, trying to open a door to your own feelings and make to see you beyond the anger.
You shook your head, the frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand. You knew what he did and you did nothing to stop it.” You could feel the tears threatening to spill again, but you fought them back. “I can’t just let it go.”
Joel’s gaze softened at you, and he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rage that was building inside you.
“I don’t want you to become like him,” Joel whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want you to lose yourself in this. You’re better than that.”
Tommy stood quietly behind Joel; his face pained. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He looked between you and Joel, his hands rising in a gesture of helplessness.
“Please,” Tommy said softly, the weight of his voice more sincere now. “I don’t want to lose you both. Not like this.”
There was a long silence, the tension between the three of you palpable. You could feel the storm brewing in your chest, the fury, the fear, and the loss. But looking at Joel, his eyes filled with that quiet, unshakable love, something in you began to still, just slightly.
“Joel…” You whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to hold onto your resolve. But the reality of the situation hit you, the sheer weight of everything that had happened.
Joel’s hand never left your cheek, and he pulled you closer, his body shielding you, his love steadying you. He didn’t need to say anything more. The silence spoke volumes, louder than any words ever could.
For the first time in days, the raw anger inside you began to dull, if only for a moment. And in that moment, you knew what he was trying to do.
keep you whole.
You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Joel held you, his strength grounding you in a way words never could. The storm within you hadn’t passed—it was still there, simmering—but his touch, his love, gave you a moment of clarity.
“I don’t know how to let this go,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers clung to the fabric of Joel’s shirt, desperate for something solid, something real. “I can still feel it, Joel. What he did. How he made me feel powerless. How he put our daughter at risk.”
Joel nodded, his jaw tightening as he pulled you closer. “I know, darlin’. I know.” His voice was thick with emotion, his own rage barely contained. “But you’re not powerless. You’ve got me. You’ve got Rosie. We’ll face this together. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably in the background, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but directly at you. When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant but firm. “Paul’s gone. I made sure of it. He’s not coming back here. He doesn’t get to hurt you or your family again.”
You opened your eyes, pulling away from Joel just enough to look at Tommy. “Gone where?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the exhaustion in your voice.
Tommy met your gaze, his face solemn. “Out of Jackson. Banished. He’s on his own now. That’s his punishment.”
It wasn’t enough. Not for you. But the flicker of guilt in Tommy’s eyes told you it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
“Banished?” Joel’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “That’s supposed to make up for what he did? You think that’s justice, Tommy? Letting him walk away alive?”
Tommy winced but stood his ground. “It’s all I could do, Joel. You know that. Maria and I—”
“Maria.” Joel’s voice was laced with bitterness, his lips curling into a sneer. “Of course, Maria had a say in this. She always does.”
“Don’t do that,” Tommy shot back, his tone defensive. “Don’t make this about her. She’s trying to keep this place together, same as me.”
Joel shook his head, his grip on you tightening protectively. “This ain’t about Jackson. This is about family. And you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you let him off easy.”
The tension in the room thickened, the weight of Joel’s words pressing down on all of you. Tommy opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to let you down. Either of you.”
You watched him carefully, the sincerity in his voice softening your anger but not extinguishing it. You leaned into Joel, your voice steady but quiet. “We needed you to protect us, Tommy. And you didn’t.”
Tommy’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked lost, like the younger brother Joel used to shield from the world. “I’ll do better,” he said after a pause. “I promise.”
Joel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you wanted. You gave him a small nod, your fingers brushing against his hand.
“Fine,” Joel said gruffly, his tone still heavy with distrust. “If he comes back, if he so much as looks in our direction, I won’t wait for you to make the call.”
Tommy nodded solemnly, knowing better than to argue. “He won’t,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
With that, Tommy turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I meant what I said,” he added, looking back at both of you. “I’ll do better.”
Joel didn’t respond, his attention already back on you as the door clicked shut behind his brother. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that had spilled during the heated exchange.
“You, okay?” he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the anger he’d directed at Tommy moments ago.
You nodded, though the ache in your chest lingered. “I will be,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “As long as I have you.”
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Jackson as you stepped outside for the first time in days. The cool breeze felt foreign on your skin, and the familiar hum of life around the town was both comforting and unnerving. People moved about, their voices mingling in the air, but it didn’t take long for you to notice the glances, those fleeting, pity-filled looks that made your stomach twist.
Joel had left early for patrol, a reluctant decision that you’d seen weigh on him. Before leaving, he’d turned to Ellie, handing her the silent responsibility of looking out for you. She had protested initially, grumbling about not being a babysitter, but her eyes had softened when she looked at you. Joel knew, as did you, that Ellie’s sharp wit and unwavering loyalty were exactly what you needed to ground yourself amidst the whispers of the town.
“Come on,” Ellie said now, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go to the stables. I think is time to introduce you to Shimmer.”
You gave her a small smile, grateful for her enthusiasm. “Think so? I haven’t exactly been good company lately.”
“Don’t start with that,” Ellie replied, her tone firm but not unkind. “People in this place don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. Who cares what they think? You’re way tougher than any of them.”
Her words stirred something in you, a small flicker of strength you hadn’t felt in days. “Thanks, Ellie.”
She shrugged, her usual smirk returning. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me.”
The two of you made your way through Jackson, the familiar paths slowly feeling less daunting with Ellie by your side. She talked about anything and everything, her rambling stories pulling you away from the stares and murmurs. By the time you reached the stables, you almost felt like yourself again.
As you ran your fingers along Shimmer’s mane, Ellie leaned against the stall door, watching you with an expression that was rare for her, soft and patient.
“Y’know,” she started, her voice quieter now, “Joel worries about you a lot.”
You nodded, your hand still brushing against the horse. “I know he does. I worry about him, too.”
Ellie hesitated, as if weighing her next words carefully. “You don’t have to be okay all the time. It’s fine if you’re not. But...you’re important to him. And to me. So, if you need anything, just...say it, okay?”
The lump in your throat was back, but this time it wasn’t from fear or sadness. It was gratitude, pure and simple. You turned to Ellie, her usual tough exterior softened just enough to let her sincerity shine through.
“Thank you, Ellie,” you said, your voice steady. “For everything.”
She grinned, her cocky demeanor sliding back into place. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it. Now let’s get moving before Joel gets back and freaks out because you’re not at the house.”
You laughed softly, the sound surprising both of you. For the first time, you felt like you were taking a step, however small, toward reclaiming the part of yourself that Paul had tried to steal.
Joel would come home later, his expression softening the moment he saw you standing in the kitchen, Ellie at your side, and Rosie cooing softly in your arms. The sight of you holding her, your face showing a glimmer of the strength he had always admired, eased the tension in his chest.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and warm as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His gaze lingered on you, taking in the small smile that graced your lips as you bounced Rosie gently.
“Hey,” you replied, meeting his eyes. There was still a shadow of everything you’d been through, but there was also something more—hope.
Rosie reached out a tiny hand toward Joel, her soft babbles filling the room as she wriggled excitedly. Joel couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to her head before turning his attention back to you.
“You been good today?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on your waist, grounding you in that quiet, unshakable way only he could.
“I’ve been okay,” you admitted, glancing at Ellie. “Ellie made sure I didn’t completely lose it.”
“Damn right I did,” Ellie said with a smirk, though her tone was laced with affection. “You should thank me. I could’ve let her go feral.”
Joel chuckled, his fingers brushing your cheek. “Thanks, kid. Knew I could count on you.”
Ellie shrugged, playing it cool, though her smile betrayed her pride. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy on me.”
Rosie giggled in your arms, her tiny hands now tugging at Joel’s shirt. He let out a low laugh, taking her from you and cradling her against his chest.
“You been keepin’ your mama company, huh?” he murmured to Rosie, his tone soft as she babbled in response.
You watched the two of them, a warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, despite the weight of the past days, there was this, your family. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was yours.
And as Joel wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close while still holding Rosie, you realized that no matter how rocky the road ahead was, you’d face it together.
Later that night, the house had settled into a calm quiet. You and Joel were in your bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair while you folded Rosie’s tiny clothes, setting them neatly in a small basket by the dresser.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” you called, glancing up to see Ellie poking her head inside.
“Just wanted to say goodnight,” she said casually, but the softness in her eyes revealed more.
You smiled warmly, setting down the clothes. “Goodnight, Ellie. Thank you for today.”
Ellie waved a hand, brushing off your gratitude. “It was nothing. Just, you know… don’t go all weird again, okay? Makes me feel like I gotta be responsible or somethin’.”
Joel chuckled from his spot on the bed, his gruff voice carrying a note of fondness. “You’re plenty responsible, kid. More than you give yourself credit for.”
Ellie scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she gave you a small smile, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Night, guys.”
“Goodnight, Ellie,” you and Joel said in unison, watching as she closed the door behind her.
The room fell quiet again, the air filled with a comfortable stillness. Joel shifted, standing to walk over to where you stood. His hands settled on your waist, his touch firm but gentle.
“Got somethin’ I wanna ask you,” he said, his voice low.
You looked up at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”
Joel took a deep breath, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for the right words. “You know… maybe we could…” He paused, seeming almost unsure, then continued, his voice quiet but filled with a flicker of hope. “Maybe we could find a farm. Somethin’ out there, for us to live together. Rosie could grow up there, maybe Ellie could come too.”
A small smile crept onto your face, the idea warming something deep within you. The thought of a place away from the constant need to survive, a place where Rosie could learn what it meant to grow up safely, it was more than you’d ever thought to hope for.
You squeezed Joel’s hand, meeting his eyes. “I’d love that,” you murmured, imagining the life you could have together on that farm. “But maybe… let’s give Rosie a bit more time. Let her grow a little. She’s just starting to get to know this world, and Jackson’s safe for now.”
Joel’s face softened; his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel completely at home. “Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Ain’t no rush. Just… it’s good to have somethin’ to look forward to. Somethin’ better for her. For us.”
You leaned into him, letting the silence settle over you, both of you holding onto that shared vision. A little farm, a life of peace, a future beyond the fight, one that you could finally believe in.
“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you, Joel. Always.”
He let out a breath, his shoulders easing, and a quiet smile formed on his face. “Guess I’m the luckiest damn fool in this world, then.”
His words made you smile, and you closed the small space between you, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you. The warmth of his embrace felt like the safest place in a world that had taken so much, yet somehow, you had found each other. And that was more than either of you had ever thought to hope for.
His lips brushed over your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, each kiss tender and deliberate, as though he wanted to mark every part of you with the love he felt.
“We’re gonna get married,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, as if speaking it aloud made it more real. His fingers traced soft circles on your back, his touch reassuring and protective. “Then we’ll make that farm happen. A place for Rosie, for us. Maybe some chickens, a couple of goats. We’ll figure it all out.”
You laughed softly, the sound light in the quiet room. “Chickens and goats, huh? You planning on becoming a farmer, Miller?”
“Don’t see why not,” he said with a small grin, his eyes twinkling with a rare spark of humor. “Figure I can learn, long as you’re by my side.”
Your hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “That sounds perfect.”
His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you.
You smiled, lifting your head to look at him fully. “Dream as much as you want. Just know that wherever you go, I’ll be right there with you. Always.”
His jaw clenched slightly, emotion flickering across his face before he leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“You’re my whole damn world,” he said quietly, his voice thick with sincerity. “Now get some sleep, baby. You deserve it,” Joel murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.
You felt the exhaustion finally catching up, the weight of everything settling down now that you were safe, here in his arms. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a calming rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep.
With your eyes closing, you whispered, “I love you, Joel.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “I love you, too. Now rest. I’ve got you.”
And with those words, you let yourself drift, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly where it needed to be.
A few weeks later, the world outside your home didn’t seem as suffocating as it once had. You found yourself stepping out more often, though each time felt like a small battle. The whispers of pity had dulled into occasional glances, but you didn’t care much anymore. What mattered was reclaiming pieces of yourself, the parts that had been shaken to their core.
Joel had noticed the shift in you. It wasn’t just bravery returning; it was something darker. There was a hunger in your eyes, a quiet, burning thirst for vengeance. He didn’t need to ask to know what you were thinking. He had seen it in the way your grip tightened on your gun when you joined him on patrol for the first time, in the way your eyes scanned the horizon as though searching for someone. Searching for him.
Paul.
“I don’t know if this is the best idea,” Joel had murmured that morning, watching you strap on your gear with determination. Rosie was with Ellie, safe and sound, but Joel couldn’t shake the unease in his gut.
“I need this, Joel,” you replied firmly, your voice leaving no room for argument. “I can’t sit in that house anymore, feeling helpless. I need to do something.”
Joel hesitated, but he couldn’t deny you. He knew the feeling of needing to act, of needing to take back control. So, he let you come, though he kept a protective eye on you every second.
Now, as the two of you rode along a quiet path outside Jackson, the sun dipping low in the sky, you felt the weight of your riffle against your shoulders, silent reminder of the decision you’d already made in your heart. If Paul was out here, if by some chance you found him, you wouldn’t hesitate. You couldn’t.
Joel glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his jaw tight. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low.
You turned to him, your expression guarded. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” he pressed gently, though he already had a good idea.
You hesitated before answering, your fingers gripping the reins of your horse a little tighter. “About what I’d do if I saw him out here.”
Joel’s hand twitched on his own reins, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what’s that?” he asked, his tone careful.
You looked straight ahead, your voice unwavering. “I’d finish what he started.”
Joel’s breath hitched, and he pulled his horse to a stop, forcing you to do the same. He turned to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “You really think that’s gonna fix this? Killing him?”
“It’ll fix the part of me that still wakes up at night hearing Rosie cry,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “The part of me that can’t shake the image of him grabbing her, hurting her.”
Joel’s face softened, but his eyes remained steady on yours. “I get it,” he said quietly. “God, I get it more than you know. But that path? It doesn’t end. You take that step, and it stays with you. Forever.”
You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You’ve done it,” you whispered. “You’ve done what needed to be done.”
“And it’s carved pieces outta me I’ll never get back,” Joel said, his voice rough with emotion. “Pieces I don’t want you to lose, too. Not when I’ve fought like hell to keep you whole.”
“Have I ever told you about how my sister really died?” You asked, stopping on your tracks.
Joel froze at your words, his brows knitting together as he watched you. The rawness in your voice, the way your shoulders tensed, told him this wasn’t something you’d ever shared before, not with him, not with anyone.
“You don’t have to-” Joel started, but you cut him off, your tone firm yet fragile.
“No, I do,” you said, gripping the reins tightly, your knuckles white. “If I don’t say it now, I don’t think I ever will.”
Joel dismounted his horse without a word, grounding himself on the dirt path, his full attention on you. He didn’t try to stop you again. He knew you well enough to know that this was something you needed to let out.
You took a shaky breath, your eyes fixed on the horizon. “She wasn’t just sick,” you began, your voice trembling. “She didn’t die because we ran out of medicine or supplies. She died because someone decided her life wasn’t worth saving.”
Joel’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as he listened, his heart sinking at the pain in your voice.
“We were desperate, starving. I’d gone to trade what little we had for anything that could help her, food, medicine, something. But the man… he said no. Said it wasn’t worth it for someone who was already on their way out. I begged him, Joel. I begged him with everything I had.” Your voice broke, tears threatening to spill as the memory clawed its way back. “He just walked away.”
Joel took a step closer, his chest tightening at the sight of you, so strong yet so broken by the weight of the past.
“When I got back, she was already gone,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I’ve hated myself ever since for not doing more. For not forcing him to help her. For not-” You stopped, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks.
Joel reached for you then, his hands gently cupping your face, pulling you to him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You did everything you could. Don’t carry that blame, not for a second.”
“You looked up at him, your tears reflecting the fading light. “She was Ellie’s age, and I’ve carried it every day, Joel. And now, with Paul... I can’t let him walk away like that man did. I can’t let him think he can take something so precious from me and just go on living.”
Joel’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing away your tears. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. “More than you know. But listen to me, you’re not the same person you were back then. And this time, you’re not alone. You have me. You have Rosie. Ellie. We’ll make it through this together, but not like this. Not by lettin’ that hatred eat away at you.”
You let out a shaky breath, his words sinking in, though the fire inside you still burned. Joel leaned his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t let him take any more from you than he already has. Don’t let him steal the light I see in you every day.”
“If it has to be done,” Joel paused, “It’s gonna be me the one to do it for you.” He finally said.
You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat as the gravity of his promise hit you. His hands remained steady on you, grounding you, while his eyes held that unyielding intensity, a mixture of love, pain, and determination.
“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want you carrying that. Not for me.”
His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly. “It ain’t about what I want to carry,” he said firmly. “It’s about what I won’t let you carry. You don’t deserve to live with that weight, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it off you.”
Your heart ached at the sheer depth of his devotion. You reached up, your hand resting on his cheek, feeling the familiar scruff beneath your palm. “You think I can’t live with it, but I’m not sure I can live with you doin’ it either,” you admitted, your voice cracking.
Joel exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “I know you’re stronger than you think, darlin’. But I also know what it’s like to live with somethin’ like that. I won’t let it twist you up inside. You’re the one thing in my life that’s still pure. You are carrying my secret already.”
The weight of his words settled over you like a blow. Your hand faltered slightly against his cheek.
“You’re carrying the only thing I can’t tell Ellie yet” he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.
“Ellie’s carryin’ that guilt without even knowin’,” Joel said, his voice cracking. “And you’re carryin’ my guilt. I see it in your eyes, darlin’. You’re strong enough to hold it, but it doesn’t mean you should have to and I can’t let you to carry this responsibility.”
Tears welled in your eyes as you cupped his face, your hands trembling. “Joel,” you breathed.
He shook his head slightly, his forehead brushing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. “That’s my burden to bear,” he said quietly. “Not yours. Not Ellie’s. You didn’t ask for this, darlin’. I brought it to you, just like I brought so much else.”
Your hands steadied on his face, thumbs gently tracing the lines etched deep from years of pain and survival. “You think I can’t handle it,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “but I can. Joel, I’m not breaking under this. You’re not dragging me down—you’re keeping me standing. We’re carrying this together, even if you can’t see that yet.”
His eyes closed briefly, his breath shuddering as he let your words settle over him. “I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to push away the weight of his guilt. “I just don’t want to lose the parts of you that make me believe there’s still good in this world. You’re my light, darlin’. I can’t let this world take that away from you like it’s taken so much from me.”
You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’ve lost pieces of yourself to protect the people you love, Joel. But you didn’t lose your heart. You didn’t lose the ability to care, to love. That’s what I see every day. That’s why I love you.”
Joel’s hands slid up to cradle your face, his eyes glassy as he gazed at you. “You make me wanna believe we can have somethin’ better. You and Rosie… Ellie…” He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
“And we will,” you whispered, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.
For a moment, the room was filled with the quiet hum of your shared breath, the weight of Joel’s secret and his pain hanging between you like a fragile thread. Then, as if finally surrendering to the truth in your words, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair. “But I’ll never stop tryin’ to protect you. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be.”
You nodded against him, your own arms wrapping around his waist as you clung to him. “And I’ll protect you, too, Joel. Always.”
……………………………………….
The next morning, you woke to the quiet sounds of the house, birds singing outside, the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. But as you blinked awake, a familiar sense of unease settled deep in your chest. You turned to find Joel already up, getting dressed in his patrol gear, his movements steady and practiced.
But there was something about the way he moved this morning, something that made your stomach twist. The sense of calm you’d felt the night before had faded with the dawn, replaced by a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered. “Joel,” you called softly, watching as he fastened his boots.
He turned toward you, his expression softening when he saw you awake. “Mornin’,” he said with a small smile, though there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.
You frowned, pushing the blankets aside as you slowly got to your feet. “You got patrol?”
Joel nodded, adjusting the straps on his jacket. “Yeah. Gotta keep an eye on things, make sure no one’s out there stirring up trouble.”
The unease inside you only deepened as you stood there, watching him. You wanted to say something, to voice the feeling that gnawed at you, but it was hard to put into words. You’d been through so much together, and you knew the risks. But there was something in the air this morning, something different.
“Be careful,” you finally said, your voice low. You moved closer, your eyes searching his face. “Please.”
Joel’s eyes softened at your concern, and he reached out to touch your arm gently, his fingers warm against your skin. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
“I know,” you murmured, but the unease refused to leave you. It settled deep, a cold weight you couldn’t shake. “It’s just… I don’t know. I have a bad feeling, Joel.”
He gave you a reassuring smile, though there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that made you wonder if he was hiding something. “You’re just gettin’ anxious, that’s all. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”
You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press further. He could see it in your face, the doubt, the fear, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
“Look, I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll be careful, promise. I told Ellie to check on you when I get out there. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
You nodded, though the worry still clung to you, heavy in your chest. You watched him grab his rifle and head for the door, your heart tightening as the unease only deepened.
“Come back safe,” you whispered, though he was already out the door, the sound of it closing behind him leaving you with nothing but the silence of the house.
The day passed in a haze; your every step weighed down by the gnawing feeling in your chest. Rosie was a constant, her small hands gripping onto your fingers as you walked through the house, but even her giggles and soft coos couldn’t shake the sense of dread that clung to you.
You tried to keep busy, shifting from one task to the next, preparing food, tidying up, organizing things in a way that felt normal. But it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Joel, to the way he’d left this morning, and to that unsettling feeling that something was going to happen.
Rosie’s tiny laugh broke through your thoughts, and you turned to her, forcing a smile as she looked up at you with her bright, innocent eyes. “What’s so funny, huh?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, but the sensation of unease lingered, like a shadow you couldn’t outrun.
You carried her around the house, humming softly to calm her, but the tension inside you only seemed to grow. You tried to focus on the present, on her needs, but your mind kept returning to Joel, to the patrol, to the feeling of something wrong.
You spent hours moving through the motions, your hands busy with Rosie, but your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t shake the weight of the silence. Even the usual comfort of Jackson, the rhythm of life, the sense of safety felt distant. You wanted to believe that Joel would come home safely, that everything would be fine, but every part of you felt like it was bracing for something.
Every time you heard a sound outside, whether it was the wind brushing through the trees or footsteps in the distance, you jumped, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew it wasn’t rational, but the dread wouldn’t leave.
You glanced at the window once more, eyes scanning the horizon. The day stretched on, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being stuck in limbo, waiting for something you couldn’t see or name, but could feel settling deeper into your bones.
By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the house, your nerves were frayed, the silence between you and Rosie growing thicker. She had fallen asleep in your arms, her little breaths gentle against your chest, but even her calmness couldn’t settle your mind.
You tried to push everything aside, focusing on her, but as the evening wore on, the darkness began to close in. The sounds of Jackson, usually comforting, seemed muted, everything felt distant, like you were separated from the world outside, and the only thing that existed was the growing ache inside you.
You forced yourself to sit down on the couch with Rosie, running your fingers through her hair, trying to lull her back to sleep. But all you could hear in the back of your mind was the warning, something was wrong, and you couldn’t ignore it.
The clock ticked on, and the hours seemed to stretch impossibly long. Joel should’ve been home by now.
Your eyes drifted to the door, and for the hundredth time, you found yourself wondering if he was okay. You could feel the weight of the night pressing down on you, the silence now suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on Rosie, the bad feeling wouldn’t let go.
You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
And then, it came, the knock at the door.
The sound shattered the quiet like a thunderclap, and your heart leaped into your throat. For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the door as the sound of it echoed in your chest.
Rosie stirred slightly in your arms, her small body shifting against you, but you didn’t move, didn’t speak. The knock came again, more urgent this time, and it felt like the world was holding its breath.
You slowly set Rosie down on the couch, her sleepy gaze not yet aware of the tension in the room. You walked toward the door, each step heavy, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.
When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, your hand resting on the cold metal of the doorknob. Your chest tightened with each breath, and you could almost feel the weight of whatever was about to happen bearing down on you.
With a swift motion, you swung the door open.
Standing on the other side was a familiar figure, one you didn’t want to see right now. Tommy’s face was grim, his posture stiff and anxious. The second his eyes landed on you, he froze, his expression darkening further.
You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it trembled nonetheless.
“Where’s Joel?” The question was simple, but it felt like it would crush you to ask it out loud.
Tommy looked down, unable to meet your gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. His silence was enough. You could feel your chest tightening, your breath coming shallow.
“Tommy…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You needed to know, needed to hear him say it wasn’t what you feared. But the way he held himself, the way he refused to look at you directly, it told you everything you needed to know.
“He’s… he’s not coming back right now,” Tommy said, his words falling like a weight in the room.
Your breath caught, a sharp, cold wave crashing over you. “What happened?” you forced out, each syllable like a blade.
Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he glanced over his shoulder as if searching for something he couldn’t find. “He… got caught up in a situation. We’re trying to find him, but-” He stopped himself, eyes flicking to the ground. “He wasn’t alone.”
Your heart skipped a beat. You barely heard him over the rush of panic flooding your mind. You reached out for the doorframe to steady yourself, the cold wood grounding you as everything else around you seemed to blur.
“Where is he?” you managed to ask, barely able to hold back the tremble in your voice.
Tommy looked at you, his eyes softening with regret, and then he finally spoke the words you were dreading to hear. “I don’t know yet. But we’re looking. We’re gonna bring him back.”
But it didn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.
The dread you’d felt all day was now a full-on tidal wave crashing through you. And the silence between you and Tommy stretched on, thick and suffocating, as your world began to unravel again.
You looked at Tommy, but his expression was distant, haunted by the same dread that clung to your own heart. His eyes were hard and red, but there was a flicker of something beneath them, something that looked like guilt, like he had already resigned himself to the possibility of losing Joel. And you couldn’t bear that. You couldn’t let it be true.
The world around you seemed to fade away, the noises of Jackson growing muffled, distant. It was just you and that empty space in your chest.
Where is he? Why can’t they find him?
“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “He can’t be-he can’t be gone.”
Tommy’s silence was enough of an answer. You felt your knees go weak beneath you, your vision blurring, and for a moment, the world seemed to close around you. You barely caught yourself against the nearby wall, your body trembling violently as a cold sweat broke out across your skin.
“No”you gasped, shaking your head. “No... No, no, no...”
Everything around you shifted, the edges of reality blurring like the melting colors of a fading drawing. The walls seemed to warp, stretch. Your breath was quick and shallow, heart pounding in your chest.
Tommy’s voice reached you, but it felt like it was coming from miles away. “We’re gonna bring him back,” he repeated. But his words felt wrong, distant. The hollow tone of them echoed in your mind.
And then it all snapped into place.
A flash of bright light, too bright. A sharp pain in your chest. Joel’s face. Blood. The unmistakable scent of the forest. A scream, raw and panicked, splitting through the air.
You felt yourself falling, your vision spinning. The world kept shifting, twisting in strange angles you hadn’t seen before. Memories of Joel, his soft brown eyes, his smile, his touch. They all merged into one blurry mess, until they were impossible to separate. You reached out instinctively, your hands clawing at the air. But there was nothing there to hold on to. Just emptiness.
Was it real? Was he really gone?
A jolt of pain sliced through your head, and you gasped, your whole body seizing with terror. You could hear your voice, but it was distant, like someone else was screaming your name, calling for you to wake up.
"Wake up!"
Your eyes snapped open.
The room was still. The silence was deafening. Your chest heaved, each breath sharp and jagged as you fought to understand where you were. Everything felt wrong, like it didn’t belong. The cool air caressed your face with calloused fingertips.
You were still in your room.
But where was Joel?
Was he really-?
You turned, heart drumming against your ribcage as your eyes scanned the room, your pulse ringing in your ears. And there he was. Joel. Alive. But he wasn’t moving. His form was just an indistinct shadow in the moonlight, still and silent as the night itself.
Your breath caught in your throat as you reached for him, hands trembling.
“Joel?”
You whispered his name, too afraid to speak louder, afraid that it would shatter the fragile illusion you were holding on to. Your hands brushed against his arm, and the relief that flooded you was instant.
His skin was warm. He was real.
But as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed something odd.
Joel wasn’t looking at you.
The way his body was turned, half-covered by the shadows, the slow rise and fall of his chest... it wasn’t like him. Something felt off.
And then the silence broke. His breathing was ragged, strained.
Your heart stopped in your chest.
A voice, barely a whisper, weak and broken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
And with that, everything slipped once again.
Was it real? Was this a nightmare you hadn’t woken from yet?
You couldn’t tell anymore.
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The Catalyst
Summary : In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, grief, cursing, non-sexual nudity. Lots of Angst. Fluff in the beginning and end. Multiversal Travel.
Word count : 8.9k
Note : This story is meant to resemble a What If? episode. It is an exploration of what would happen to you and Bucky if the other died. I will refer to the main universe (MCU) as Earth-616 because Marvel is stupid and has decided that it’s not earth-19999 anymore. The fic is inspired by the song of the same title by Linkin Park. Also, I hope this story makes sense? Enjoy!
Earth-616…
The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft gurgle of water and the occasional drip from the faucet.
Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, bare and bruised, watching you with a tired smile.
The gash on his forehead was deep, an angry red against his skin, and his chest was peppered with smaller cuts and scrapes, remnants of yet another mission gone south. You stood in front of him, tilting his chin to clean the wound.
“You’re lucky this didn’t need stitches,” you murmured, focusing on your work.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bucky said lightly, though you could tell he was exhausted. “I’m practically indestructible.”
You glanced up, narrowing your eyes at him, not finding any solace in his self-deprecating humour today. “No, you’re not, James.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave you that lopsided, charming smile, the one that always made your heart flutter— even when you were mad at him.
“Alright, my love,” you closed the tap. “Bath’s ready.”
Bucky stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. Before you could move away, he pulled you back toward him.
“Come take a dip with me,” he murmured.
You looked up at him. “I drew this bath for you—”
“Please,” he interrupted.
You hesitated, only a moment, before nodding. “Alright,” you said. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for almost dying.”
He gave you a faint smile as you undressed.
The water enveloped you in warmth as you both sank into the tub. Bucky settled behind you, his legs bracketing yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You leaned back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Your fingers absentmindedly traced his metal arm, feeling the ridges of the plating.
You closed your eyes, but the memory of his bloodied face lingered in your mind. The fear you felt when he walked through the door earlier that day—bruised and battered but alive—still held onto you.
Bucky’s lips pressed softly to the back of your head, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his voice soothing your worries
You swallowed hard, finger frozen on his arm. “You just really scared me tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, arms wrapping tighter around you.
“Just… be more careful, please?” you said quietly. “There’ve been too many close calls lately. If something happened to you…” Your voice cracked as you drew in a shaky breath. “If I lost you, I don’t think I’d know how to put myself back together.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, grip strengthening on you. “Don’t even think about it.”
You tilted your head back, resting on his collarbone. “I mean it, James,” you whispered. “You’re everything to me.”
“You’ll never lose me,” he said, his conviction absolute. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”
“You’d fucking better,” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “Or I’ll find a way to drag you back myself.”
Bucky chuckled softly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”
“Good,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Maybe that’ll keep you in line.”
He kissed the back of your head again. The water lapped gently around you, the warmth easing the knots in your muscles, soothing the subtle throb in your heart.
After everything you’ve both been through, you were just happy he was here— alive.
•
Somewhere in a distant reality…
In this universe, Bucky Barnes didn’t cry at your funeral.
The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, soaking through the black suit he wore, but Bucky didn’t shiver. He didn’t flinch when the first heavy shovelful of dirt struck your casket, the dull thud echoing in his ears like a death knell. He stood apart from the others, an immovable statue at the edge of the grave, his hands limp at his sides, trembling ever so slightly— His face might as well have been carved from stone.
The sound of weeping surrounded him—your friends, your teammates, people you had saved. Each sob seemed to pierce his skin, sharp as broken glass, but still, Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cry.
Bucky didn’t cry when the ground swallowed you whole.
He didn’t cry when Pepper, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, rested a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t cry when Sam placed a folded flag in his hands, whispering, “She was a hero.” He didn’t cry when Clint, voice hoarse, muttered, “She saved so many lives.”
He didn’t cry when Tony, uncharacteristically subdued, raised a glass to your memory that night, his hand trembling just enough to make the liquid ripple, Bucky stayed silent. He stared at the drink in his hand until it blurred into nothing.
But when he sat in the shadows of his apartment later, something deep inside him twisted.
He couldn’t stop replaying your death in his mind. Your final words, whispered through cracked lips and choked breaths, were for him. “You’re going to be okay, James.”
You had died saving them— saving the world. You had grabbed the infinity stones away from Tony, you had snapped so he didn’t have to. You did it because you couldn’t let anyone else make the sacrifice— you did it because Morgan needed a father.
But Bucky needed you.
And you were gone.
He had no more tears to give. He had shed them in the days leading up to your funeral, in suffocating quiet of the aftermath. He had cried until there was nothing left inside, until grief turned into a cold, sharp knife that carved your initials into his chest and refused to let him rest.
So he didn’t cry anymore.
But when the world fell away—when the comforting murmurs of others faded and he was left alone in the silence of the apartment you had shared—something inside him broke.
Bucky didn’t cry anymore, but that didn’t stop him grieving.
Bucky grieved like a soldier.
It was disciplined, bordering on mechanical. He scrubbed your presence from the apartment with clinical detachment, packing your things with military precision. Your clothes disappeared into boxes he refused to label. Your toiletries vanished from the bathroom like they had never been there.
He didn’t touch the photos, though. He left them right where you’d placed them. He didn’t move the jacket you always left draped over the back of the chair, didn’t even bring himself to wash the cup you’d left on the counter.
At night, when the apartment grew unbearably still, he would sit in the dark and trace his fingers over the curve of your handwriting in the little notes you’d leave him—Don’t forget milk! He would fiddle with the frayed fabric of the worn shirt that still smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He held it in his hands for hours, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Every mission after that was a blur of adrenaline and violence. As soon as he got pardoned, he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, his mind a haze of desperation and anger, his body moving like a machine, like no part of him remained human.
He fought like a man trying to outrun himself.
He didn’t care if he made it back, didn’t care if he took a bullet—or fifty. Every blow he took was nothing compared to his own pain.
But nothing— none of the wounds, none of the cuts he sustained— brought him closer to you.
And when the fighting was done, in between missions when the world didn’t need him, he disappeared, abandoning your shared apartment because it made him think too much of you. He retreated to a remote cabin deep in the woods, a place so far removed from humanity where no one could find him.
No one, except for Stephen Strange.
—
It had been nearly six months since your death when Strange appeared on Bucky’s porch, his portal crackling in the fresh mountain air.
“Go away,” Bucky growled, not bothering to glance up from the knife he was sharpening. He had gone hunting again, determined not to rely on anyone else for his survival.
Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the glowing portal and onto the weathered wooden planks. His expression was grim, his tone desperate. “James Buchanan Barnes.”
“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice was rough, his patience worn thin.
“It’s not about what I want,” Strange replied. “It’s what the multiverse needs.”
Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes still sharp but exhausted. He’d been running on empty for months now. You weren’t there to steady him, to breathe life into the fragile space beneath his ribs when the nightmares were too much to bear. You weren’t there to wake up next to him. You weren’t there to pepper him with kisses when he thought he wasn’t good enough. You were gone.
“The multiverse can save itself,” he muttered, turning back to his blade.
Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”
Bucky let out a scoff, his hands gripping the sharpening stone. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly, his words landing like stones thrown into water.
The desperation in his voice made Bucky pause. He set the knife down with care, leaning back in his chair to glare at the sorcerer. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Strange wasn’t the type to hold back words, but even he seemed to hesitate. And then he said it—the name. Your name. The one Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks.
“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, feeling like an arrow had struck his chest.
Strange pressed on, undeterred. “A version of her exists in another universe. But she’s… no longer her.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
With a flick of his hand, Strange conjured an image: glowing strands of the multiverse weaving together, spinning until a vision appeared.
It was you—but… not you. Not his version of you.
Your face was twisted, your body cocooned in violent energy. Behind you, planets crumbled, swallowed by the raw power radiating from you.
Bucky reached out, his hand floating near the image that magic had willed into life.
He couldn’t fully grasp it—this alternate reality where you were alive, suffering, destroying. It didn’t make sense, how this could exist.
You were gone. You died in his arms.
The heart that beat for him— he felt it stop beneath his fingertips.
How could he possibly wrap his mind around this? That a fragment of your soul—some version of you—was out there, breathing, enduring.
Alive.
His throat tightened as he tried to speak, to force out even a single word, but he choked on his own tongue.
The multiverse. Or whatever Strange had called it. A few years ago, he’d have laughed it off as some nonsense, he wouldn’t’ve believed it. But after being snapped out of existence and then willed back into it by a handful of glowing galactic stones, Bucky Barnes, man out of time, knew better.
Now, he’d believe in absolutely anything. Especially if it meant he was believing in a world where you still existed.
“She’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice laced with dread. “A being of grief, capable of destroying entire worlds. If she’s not stopped, she’ll collapse the multiverse.”
Bucky stared at the image, his chest tightening. Was this really you, destroyer of worlds, of universes?
You couldn’t be capable of this.
You were kind, you were incapable of harming an innocent soul. He remembered the day a poisonous spider had wandered into the room. You refused to kill it, carefully guiding it out to the garage.
But now, as the memories came flooding back, doubt began to settle.
He had seen glimpses of another side of you, when you were alive. The fiery rage that consumed you after losing an old friend. The anger you brought into battle, wielded like an iron fist. It had been terrifying—a force of nature that no one could stand against. It was how you wielded the infinity stones long enough to do what needed to be done.
Now, looking at this image Strange had conjured, he wondered if that force had finally consumed you.
“You want me to go after her,” Bucky said flatly. He was certain of it.
“I want you to stop her.” Strange nodded. “Talk to her. You’re the only one she might listen to.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Strange’s gaze was unyielding. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.”
The words hit Bucky like a hammer to the chest. He turned away, gripping the porch railing until his knuckles went white. “I can’t lose her again.”
Strange stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. “She would want you to do it.”
Bucky’s voice rose, his eyes filled with tears he would not let Strange see. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“No,” Strange admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens if no one stops her. Entire universes will fall. Countless souls will die. If you won’t do it for her, then do it for them.”
—
Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, the room blanketed in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional creak of his wooden single bedframe as he shifted nervously.
In his hands, his gun seemed to glow under the moonlight filtering through the window.
He turned it over and over, fingers brushing the worn grip, the faint scratch on the barrel— one he remembered you making during a standard recon mission. You had scratched it, accidentally catching it with your knife.
You apologised profusely, and he said it was no big deal.
He then teased you for being too attached to your weapons— how your knives had little personal inscriptions, how you had cared for it like it had a soul. He, on the other hand, said that he felt indifferent to his weapons— said he didn’t want to get too sentimental.
You laughed, saying he was too dramatic. "It's just a tool, James. You’re the one who decides what it’s for."
Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to use it for.
Strange’s words looped in his mind like a broken record: You’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.
The thought of pointing a gun at you made his heart drop.
He once promised to protect you, to be your safe haven. And now, a sorcerer had tasked him with destroying you in another universe. How could he ever make peace with that?
How could he pull the trigger on you?
But then another thought struck him: Strange was right. You would want him to.
You would forgive him if he had to kill you.
You always forgave him, no matter how many times he swore he didn’t deserve it, because you would understand that this needed to be done. If the situation were reversed, you’d do what needed to be done— because that’s who you were.
You were good— everything he aspired to be.
If you were alive, if you knew you had turned destructive— you would kill the Catalyst yourself.
As the hours dragged on, Bucky tried to think of another way, to fantasise a different ending for the sick story he existed in. What if there was a chance— however slim—to reach that version of you without violence? To pull you back from the brink and remind you who you were?
He knew he had to try, but he also knew what failure meant: countless lives lost, entire universes wiped from existence.
If he failed, this universe would be gone, along with all the memories of you. Along with your legacy.
Your sacrifice would be in vain.
He couldn’t let that happen.
The gun in his hands felt heavier now, the future hanging like a noose around his neck. The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally stood.
He had made his decision.
He didn’t bother to pack much—just his knife, the gun, and the dog tags he always carried, the ones you had once traced with your fingers when you thought he was asleep.
He knew he needed to do this mission.
Not for the world, not for the universe.
The multiverse could burn, for all he cared. He’s doing this because he knew you would want him to.
—
When Strange arrived at the cabin, the swirling portal casted an eerie light over his mostly empty living room.
Bucky’s face went grim. He didn’t say goodbye to the cabin, didn’t look back at the life he had built in solitude.
He never liked this cabin. Never liked this new life— he only went here because it was what you always wanted. You wanted to be away from the city, one with nature. You always wanted to build the rest of your life here. Back then, Bucky had agreed— but now it was just a reminder that he was living a hollow existence without you.
He stepped through the portal.
The overwhelming surge of energy as he entered the alternate universe was nothing compared to the pain his heart endured.
The world he had stepped into felt like the aftermath of a nightmare.
The sky was a sickly yellow, streaked with ash and smoke. The sun, barely visible through the haze, poured a dying light over the desolation below.
Buildings lay in ruins, their remains clawing at the sky. The ground was a wasteland of debris, littered with the wreckage of battles fought long before he arrived.
Ultron's remains were everywhere. His drones twisted, mangled, scattered across the landscape, half-buried in dirt or wedged into crumbling walls, some buried under concrete slab. Their empty eyes stared at nothing— stared at Bucky with emptiness.
Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle and took a cautious step forward. The air was thick, stinging with the stench of burning metal and organic decay. He moved carefully, scanning his surroundings.
This wasn’t his world, but it was familiar enough for him to navigate through.
“Strange,” Bucky muttered under his breath, though the sorcerer had closed the portal. He pushed through, putting his Winter Soldier mask on “What the hell did you send me into?”
—
It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. In this universe, Ultron had won, but not by slamming Sokovia into the Earth like an asteroid. Instead, his drone army had swept across the world, decimating everything in its path.
He found more evidence in a hollowed-out bunker near the remnants of what would have been Central Park. His name was scrawled across a rusted memorial wall alongside hundreds of others. His dog tags—this world’s version of them—hung from a nail driven into the cracked concrete.
Bucky stared at the tags for a long time. He could imagine the moment you had hung them there, your fingers shaking, your heart breaking.
This was the universe’s cruel twist: in this world, he had died in the battle against Ultron.
He had been the one ripped away from you.
The rest of the story came from whispers, fragments of information he gathered from the few survivors he encountered. Most were too broken, too terrified, to speak more than a few sentences, but they all spoke of one thing: the Catalyst.
“She wasn’t always like this,” one man had said, his voice trembling as he huddled in the corner of a makeshift shelter from scrap metal. “She used to be a hero. Fought against Ultron with everything she had. But when he killed Barnes—”
His breath hitched, knowing the mask obscured him from this civillian’s view.
“—She lost it. Hunted Ultron down, tore him apart with her bare hands. But then she… she took his parts. Built something with it.”
“Built what?” Bucky pressed, his stomach twisting.
“Armour. Weapons. Something stronger than anything the Avengers had. But it did something to her—got in her head, twisted her. She’s not human anymore. Not really. Just anger and grief and—and…”
“And power,” Bucky finished grimly.
The man nodded. “She destroyed Ultron. Destroyed his whole army. But she didn’t stop. She just kept tearing down everything in her path. Now she’s… she’s…. If you see her, you run. You don’t fight. You don’t talk. You run.”
—
That night, Bucky sat alone in the ruins of what would’ve been the Avengers tower. He stared at the fire he’d managed to build.
The image of you—this you, the Catalyst—was burned into his mind. He’d seen a glimpse of it through Strange’s portal, but now the reality of it was just starting to sink in.
You had always been so full of life, so determined to make the world a better place. How could you be the very thing tearing it apart in this universe? How could you let grief do this to you?
He clenched his fists. He should’ve gotten here earlier.
This version of him had failed you. He should’ve fought harder, been faster, or something. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have had to face Ultron alone. Maybe you wouldn’t have—
“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault.”
He knew he could not control what this universe’s version of him did. But the guilt ate him up anyway.
—
The next day, he found the first sign of you.
In the centre of the ruins stood a towering monument of burned metal, forged from the remains of Ultron’s drones. It was a grotesque structure, its sharp edges gleaming like shark teeth in the dim light.
He looked around, realising this would’ve been the Rockefeller Center— where he had taken you on a date, ice skating in the cold winter with Christmas lights surrounding you.
Bucky approached cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the details. The surface of the monument was etched with symbols—some binary, some human words.
This wasn’t just a monument. It was a warning.
She’s close, he thought, gripping his rifle tighter.
The ground trembled beneath his feet. Suddenly, a low hum rose in the air. He turned sharply, his heart pounding as the shadows moved around him.
And then he saw you.
You descended from the sky like a vengeful god, clad in sleek, silver armour forged from Ultron’s technology. It clung to you like a second skin, pulsing with an unnatural light. Your eyes glowed with the same energy, and the air around you crackled with raw power.
For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was you— but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was the face he loved, the lips that once kissed him goodnight, the eyes that soothed him after he woke up from one of his nightmares. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t entirely the person that had been his world. This version of you was twisted— destruction incarnate.
But he could not stop the leap of joy his heart made. At least you were alive.
“You’ve come to stop me,” you said, not even lifting your eyes. Your voice echoed unnaturally. It was layered, as if a hundred versions of you were speaking at once.
Bucky stood his ground, heart pounding as you, —no, the Catalyst— stood still. The pieces of Ultron’s remnants shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, stitched together into a terrible masterpiece that trapped you like a tomb. Your face—once warm and full of life—burned with an inhuman intensity, flickering like a dying sun.
“I’ve come to bring you back,” Bucky replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he took off his mask.
Your expression flickered, just for a moment. As if he was a crack in the armour.
You recognised the voice.
“You’re— ,” you whispered, your voice layered and fractured, distorted by grief and the technology that had consumed you. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You came back to me.”
The words hit Bucky like a blow to the chest. I did, doll. He wanted to say. I will always come back.
But he knew this version of you wasn’t his, so he swallowed hard, keeping his rifle lowered.
You froze, your head tilting slightly as you studied him. You weren’t satisfied without an answer. “James?”
Bucky’s heart twisted. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the person you had been, the love you had shared.
Kill me now, he thought, before I have to kill you.
But he knew the cost of that. He knew failing would mean he had failed you.
“I’m here to help,” he said softly.
You stepped closer, unsure whether to reach for him— a fragment of your old soul begging you to stop this madness — or strike him down— an instinct the Catalyst had developed. Your glowing eyes traced every inch of him, lingering on the scars lining his face, the haunted look in his eyes.
Your fingers twitched, and for a moment, you looked lost.
“You’re different,” you muttered to yourself. “The scars… the way you stand”
Realisation dawned, and with it, the fragile hope in your expression shattered. You took a step back, the electric storm around you surging to life again. “You’re not my James,” you hissed, your voice bitter.
Bucky didn’t flinch. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But I know what he meant to you. What you meant to him.”
“Why would someone else’s James come to me?” you demanded, your voice rising, the ground beneath you cracking with the force of your grief.
“Because I couldn’t save you in my world,” he said, his voice breaking. “But maybe I can save you here.”
For a moment, the storm faltered, the energy around you dimming. But then your eyebrows furrowed, hands curling into fist, your grief boiling over into fury.
“You think you can save me?” you snarled, your armour shifting as weapons emerged from its surface—cannons, blades, and glowing surges of energy. “You think you can take my pain away, make it disappear? You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”
The first blast came without warning. Bucky barely had time to dive behind the concrete of a collapsed building as a searing beam of energy scorched the ground where he had stood.
“Don’t make me do this!” he shouted, rising from cover and firing a warning shot. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off your armour.
“You came here to kill me,” you spat, advancing the attack with terrifying precision. “Just like everyone else!”
“No!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he dodged another strike, rolling into a crouch and raising his hands. “I came here to stop this. To stop you.”
“And how do you think that ends?” you snapped, the storm of energy around you growing more volatile. “I know what I am. I’ve seen what I’ve done. There’s no stopping it.”
You lunged at him, your speed too quick for him to process. Bucky barely managed to block your strike, your armoured fist colliding with his vibranium arm in a deafening clash of metal. The force sent him skidding backward, but he held his ground.
“I know you’re still in there!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “I know you don’t want this!”
“I didn’t want any of this!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that knocked him off his feet. “But he left me! He—he died, and I—” Your voice cracked, and for a brief moment, the storm flickered, your grief breaking through the madness.
Bucky scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want this.”
Tears streamed down your face, glowing faintly as they fell. “I can’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “It’s too much. It’s too—”
The storm surged again, and Bucky knew he was losing you.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
You raised your hands, energy crackling between your fingers, but instead of attacking, you froze. A look of clarity crossed your face—a moment of realisation.
Bucky lowered his rifle once again.
“You can’t let this happen again,” you said quietly.
Before Bucky could respond, you turned your gaze to the glowing core embedded in your armour—the source of your power.
“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “Don’t—”
“It has to end,” you interrupted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Promise me, James. Promise me you won’t let another version of me become this.”
“I can’t—”
“Promise me!”
His throat tightened, and he nodded. “I promise.”
A faint smile touched your lips, and then you placed your hand over the core. The energy around you flared brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
And then, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. You cried a violent shriek as you cast yourself into nothingness.
When the light faded, Bucky stood alone in the ruins, the air eerily still. Your body was nothing but ash, armour scattered across the ruins. The glowing core was shattered, its energy dissipating into nothing.
Bucky dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the spot where you had stood. He had lost you all over again.
He had failed you all over again.
—
Bucky stumbled through the portal Strange had opened for him, his body worn, his breaths shallow.
“It’s done,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. He dropped a silver shoulder piece, a part of your armour—a fractured piece of the nightmare you had become—onto the floor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, in the space between them. “She’s gone.”
Strange nodded, but said nothing.
Bucky glared at him, his grief rapidly turning into anger. “You knew, didn’t you?” he growled, “You knew she went mad because she lost me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Strange met his eyes, “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“That’s it?” Bucky demanded, his voice rising. “I’ve lost her twice now, Strange. Twice. And I—” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes.
No crying today. He’s grieved over you. He’s done.
No crying, Barnes, he insisted again.
“I wish it ended here,” Strange said quietly.
Bucky’s head snapped back sharply, his heart sinking deeper in the abyss it was already stuck in.
Strange hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “This wasn’t an anomaly,” he said finally. “In every universe I’ve observed, when you die, she becomes the Catalyst.”
He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “That… that can’t be true.”
Strange’s gaze softened, but there was no comfort in his expression. “It is,” he said. “Her love for you is not only her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. Without you, her grief consumes her. It changes her.”
“So what?” Bucky spat bitterly. “You’re saying she’s doomed to destroy the multiverse?”
“No,” Strange said, his voice firm. “Not if you intervene.”
“You want me to… to do this again?” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. “To watch her die again?”
Strange’s silence was answer enough.
“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, raking his fingers through his hair, wanting to pull them out so badly. “How many times, Strange?”
“As many as it takes,” Strange replied solemnly. “If we don’t act, the Catalyst will dismantle the multiverse, piece by piece. She doesn’t stop at her own world. Her grief is a hunger—a need to destroy everything, to erase the pain.”
Bucky sank onto a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. The thought of facing yet another version of you—of seeing your face twisted by grief again, of failing to save you again—was unbearable.
But what choice did he have?
“Are you ready for this, Sergeant Barnes?” Strange asked.
“No,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, his eyes red. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
—
Every time Bucky stepped through another portal, he braced himself for the inevitable. Some universes were barely recognizable—worlds where humanity had advanced far beyond what he’d known, some were distant worlds ruled by psychopathic overlords.
But in every one, you were the same. You met him. You fell in love with him— some evil villain decimated Earth, and this world’s version of Bucky perished in the fight.
When he was gone, your grief forged you into the Catalyst— destroyer of whatever force had destroyed earth, salvaging your victims’ weapons to make you more powerful.
Sometimes your armour was made from Ultron, like before. Other times, it was pieces of Thanos’ gauntlet, or the living metal of Ego the Living Planet. In one universe, you wielded the shattered fragments of Mjölnir.
You weren’t even close to worthy, but your grief was so powerful that you had bent enchanted Asgardian steel into submission.
Each encounter started the same way.
You mistook him for your James. There was always that flicker of hope in your eyes, that fragile moment where you thought he had come back to you.
But then you noticed the differences—the scars, the way he moved, the subtle sadness in his eyes.
And the hope turned to rage.
“Who are you?” you would demand, furious. “Why do you look like him?”
Bucky tried reasoning with you every time, pleading for you to stop, to let go of the grief that consumed you. But it never worked. The madness always took hold, and the fight always began.
In the end, you always destroyed yourself. It’s as if he was doomed to watch— doomed to be a captive audience to your death— over and over and over again.
—
The first time Bucky killed the Catalyst, it nearly broke him.
He had spent weeks, maybe months, tracking you in this icy universe. In this universe, Frost Giants took over. Bucky had been killed somewhere along the lines, and you took Loki’s staff and matters into your own hands.
When he saw you there, standing in a cloak of fur and leather, you radiated power.
And yet, behind the glowing eyes, he could still see you. The way you tilted your head when you studied him, the smallest flicker of hesitation before you struck.
He had prepared for this. Every movement, every breath, every strike was calculated, the result of months of relentless study. He’d learned how to predict the devastating surges of energy you unleashed, how to exploit the brief seconds when your guard faltered. You were stronger, faster, almost unstoppable—but almost wasn’t enough.
When he finally got to you, he only hesitated for a second before stabbing you.
No. What have I done?
A desperate wail tore from his throat as tears burned his eyes, spilling over like a shattered dam. He cried— for the first time in months— as he watched the light in your eyes fade.
Bucky knelt beside your dying body, whispering useless apologies as he cradled you in his arms. You looked up at him. You didn’t look at him with grief. Not anger. Not hatred. Maybe relief. Maybe love.
And then, as life drained from your eyes, the multiverse seemed to hold its breath.
You were gone.
Again.
He had finally convinced himself that he had to kill you. He could no longer endure your suffering. Every moment of your self-destruction had been nightmare fuel—your anguished cries, your desperate screams— It was unbearable. He loved you too deeply to continue watching you suffer.
Now, he was certain— ending your life, giving you a swift death,was the only way he could stomach this mission.
—
The Catalyst was powerful in every universe, but Bucky learned how to fight you better. Most times now, he was able to kill you, to put you out of your misery because he outmanoeuvred you, predicting your attacks like a ghost of every battle you’d ever had. Other times, he got there too late, and you destroyed yourself, unleashing a final burst of power so immense it annihilated your very existence.
Those times were harder.
Watching you choose to end it. Watching you fall apart in his arms, whispering words he couldn’t always hear.
Still, everytime, he took a piece of you.
He didn’t know why he reached out to gather the shattered remains of your armour. Sometimes it was a gauntlet, still glowing faintly with residual energy. A shard of the crystalline crown that marked your reign as the Catalyst. Sometimes it was Loki’s scepter.
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was guilt. He tucked the fragments into his pack and walked away, feeling like he had salvaged a part of you.
At first, he thought it was a way to remember you. The woman you had been, not the Catalyst you had become. But over time, the collection grew into a monument to his failure. Each weapon, each ruined piece of armour was a reminder of what it cost to keep going. To try and save you. To survive you. To kill you.
And still, he couldn’t stop.
The multiverse demanded it. The Catalyst always returned, more powerful, and Bucky would be there, each time, with the weight of a hundred battles on his shoulders and memories of the woman he loved. He’d fight. He’d win.
He’d lose you again.
And he’d carry another piece of you, knowing it would never be enough to make him whole.
So, over time, missions chipped away at him, piece by piece.
He didn’t smile anymore. He barely spoke, even when Strange tried to comfort him. His humanity felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the endless cycle of loss.
Once, in a rare moment of quiet, Strange tried to reason with him.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Barnes,” he said. “I’ve talked to Clint, Bruce, and Sam. They said they’d help.”
Bucky shook his head, his expression hollow. “It has to be me. I’m the only one she listens to. Even if it’s just for a second.”
Strange didn’t argue.
—
This time, he was so devastatingly close to saving you— it was the only time you had let him reason with you. The only time you had let him talk longer than a few seconds.
In this universe, you had taken the remains of Ronan the Accuser’s hammer, merging it with Kree technology to create an unstoppable weapon. You were a force of nature, cutting down armies and leaving entire planets in ruin.
Bucky fought you for hours, trying to get through because he saw a chance. His body was battered and broken by the end. But as he stood over you, your armour cracked and your face visible beneath your helmet, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint.
Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “There’s still a chance—”
“You’re still my James, aren’t you?” you interrupted, your hand brushing his cheek. “You love me in every universe, the way I love you.”
“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t leave me again.”
Your smile was soft, bittersweet. “I never really left, James. I’m always going to be a part of you.”
And then you were gone again, an agonising cry as you self-destructed.
He was alone again.
—
As long as there were universes to save, as long as there was a chance to save you, he would keep fighting—no matter the cost.
Today shouldn’t’ve been any different.
He stepped through the portal with his usual grim frown, expecting to face another version of you consumed by grief, transformed into the Catalyst.
But what he found instead… was peace.
The world was whole. The sky wasn’t scorched, cities still stood tall and bustling, and the air hummed with life. It felt… normal.
And then he saw you.
You were sitting at a small café on a sunlit street, your hair loose, a soft smile playing on your lips. There was no armour, no glowing energy, no storm of grief around you. You looked like the person he remembered—the person he had loved.
He died in this universe, too— he knew as much. You had his dog tags around your neck, carrying a piece of him everywhere.
It took time for him to piece together what had happened, but he eventually got it.
In this universe, Bucky had been the one who took the gauntlet from Tony. He had been the one who snapped the stones.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than pain. He watched you laugh, the sound a beautiful melody he thought he’d forgotten.
In this universe… you were happy.
For days, Bucky stayed hidden in the shadows, watching you from a distance. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He followed you through your routines—your morning coffee, your walks through the park, the way you waved at the children playing by the water fountain.
You hadn’t become the Catalyst.
Strange was wrong, Bucky thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. Not every version of you succumbed to grief. In this universe, you had found a way to move forward, to live.
And maybe… maybe he could, too.
The thought crept into his mind slowly. What if he stayed? What if he stepped into this world and introduced himself to you? Would you recognize something in him, a fragment of the love you had shared in another life? Could you fall for him again?
Could he be happy?
Could the two of you put the pieces back together again?
For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself to dream of a life beyond grief and guilt. A life with you, as he once had.
He imagined walking up to you at that café, asking if he could join you. You’d be confused, maybe a little wary at first, but he’d win you over. He’d tell you about the man he used to be, the battles he’d fought, the people he’d lost. He’d tell you how much he loved you still. And you’d tell him about your James, how similar he was to him.
Maybe, in time, you’d fall in love with him again.
But then he saw Steve coming home from a mission.
It was a perfect day— the sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the streets alive with chatter. Bucky stood at a distance, watching you in the park, his heart full of hope, something he thought he’d never feel again.
And then Steve Rogers appeared.
He walked up to you with that shy confidence Bucky had known since they were kids. You stood when you saw him, your face lit up in a way that made Bucky’s stomach twist.
Steve pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, laughing as he spun you around.
Bucky felt the air leave his lungs.
He watched as Steve kissed you, his hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you kissed him back.
It wasn’t fair.
Bucky's knees nearly buckled, as he turned away. His chest caved in, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and crushed into a million little pieces. The fragile hope he'd clung to for the last couple of days was torn from him as quickly as it appeared.
Your laughter echoed faintly in his ears, a cruel reminder that chased him as he stumbled toward the portal Strange had opened. His head hung low, his shoulders slumped.
He was no soldier, no saviour—just a broken man, haunted by dreams that would never be his.
—
When Bucky returned, Strange's eyes lingered on him for too long.
Bucky wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts like he usually was, but somehow he looked…. worse. The exhaustion ran deeper this time, as if the scars were invisible. “You stayed longer than usual in this one,” Strange observed.
Bucky ignored his statement. “You were wrong,” he muttered instead. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unable to meet Strange’s. “She wasn’t The Catalyst in this one.”
Strange froze. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Bucky’s breath hitched, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s happy here, after my death. W-with Steve.” He finally looked up, the emptiness in his eyes enough to make even Strange flinch. “She moved on, and she’s... she’s still… her.
Strange’s eyebrows softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his tone measured, regretful. “But this is the exception, the rule. The Catalyst is still out there.”
Bucky let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humour. Only defeat.
He ran a hand over his face before dragging his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped under the weight of this endless mission.“I…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m never... I’m never gonna be happy. Am I?”
Strange had no answer for him.
—
Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in Kamar Taj, staring at the collection of armour pieces he had gathered from the other universes. Each shard was a reminder of the battles he’d fought, the versions of you he had lost.
And now, he had been cursed with the knowledge that not every version of you that lost him succumbed to grief.
The knowledge that you were happy in that world. That you had found love again, and it wasn’t with him. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many universes he visited, it seemed there was no version of him that could have you.
It was cruel.
You had once told him he was the strongest person you knew, but in that moment, he felt like anything but. He had fought armies of aliens, faced death over and over again, but this… this was too much.
Bucky clenched his fists, his metal hand creaking under the pressure. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out the unbearable weight crushing his chest.
Instead, he picked up one of the shards of your armour—a jagged, glowing piece from an Ultron world. He held it in his hand, his reflection distorted in its surface.
“I’m happy for you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, insincere. “Even if it’s not with me.”
Bucky placed the shard on his shoulder, the first piece of the armour.
It felt right— like the power of a thousand suns starting to surge towards him.
He didn’t cry.
He never did anymore.
Because no matter how many universes he visited, how many battles he fought, how many versions of you he saved or lost, he knew one thing would never change:
You would never be his again.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you kissing Steve, your laughter echoing in his skull.
Why should they have happiness, when he was condemned to grieve for eternity?
Why should any universe be allowed to thrive, when his own existence was empty, meaningless?
He began by rearranging the pieces of your armour he had collected from the other universes. Each fragment gleamed with a faint, residual energy— remnants of the immense power you had wielded as the Catalyst. He spent weeks forging his own armour.
What started as just your shoulder pieces extended to more.
He reforged the chest piece a version of you got from the Kree, then a gauntlet you ripped off of Thanos when the Infinity Stones had been destroyed. It grew and grew until every piece of him was covered in fragments of you.
When the work was done, he stood before a mirror, clad in the armour of his own making. It was a haunting reflection of yours, humming with fragment stolen power. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.
“That’s the point,” he muttered to himself, almost annoyed.
When the destruction started, the first universe fell quickly.
Bucky tore through its defences like a force of nature, his new armour amplifying his strength and speed. He dismantled its protectors—heroes and villains alike—efficiently. He left the cities in ruins, their skies dark with smoke, their people screaming in terror.
No one deserved peace when he couldn’t have it.
—
Stephen Strange felt the disturbance immediately. The multiverse’s fragile threads started to unravel as Bucky’s rampage spread across realities.
At first, Strange couldn’t believe it.
Bucky Barnes, the man who had fought so hard to save the multiverse, was now its greatest threat.
Strange had hoped that by guiding Bucky, he could break the cycle of grief and destruction. Instead, reversed it.
James Buchanan Barnes was now The Catalyst.
—
Strange arrived in a quiet, dimly lit apartment in yet another universe. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and rain, and the sound of your muffled sobs echoed through the space.
Yet another version of you sat on the floor, clutching a photograph of Bucky—your James—to your chest. In this universe, he was gone, just as Strange had calculated.
“Get out, Strange.” you demanded, your voice hoarse when Strange stepped through the portal into your living room. Your eyes were red and puffy, so utterly defeated.
Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the portal and onto the ceramic tiles of the apartment. His face was grim, his tone measured. He called your name to draw you out from the grief, even if only momentarily
“What do you want?” Your voice was raw, your patience long gone.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s what the multiverse needs.”
You finally looked up, your eyes sharp with exhaustion. You had been running on empty for months. You didn’t have Bucky here to hold you. To kiss you when you needed him to. To ground you in this existence. “The multiverse can save itself.”
Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”
You scoffed, turning back to the photo of Bucky you cradled in your arms. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly.
The desperation in his tone made you pause. You set the photo down and leaned back, staring at the sorcerer with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Strange hesitated for a moment before speaking.
Then he said it: the beautiful name you haven’t heard in weeks— “it’s about Bucky.”
“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice a low growl.
Strange pressed on, unflinching. “A version of him exists in another universe. But he’s not who you remember.”
“What does that mean?”
Strange conjured an image with a flick of his hand, the glowing strands of the multiverse twisting together to form a vision. It was him—but not your James. His face was twisted in anguish, his body surrounded by a swirling storm of energy. Planets crumbled in the distance, consumed by the raw power emanating from him.
“He’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice heavy. “A being driven by grief, powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. If he’s not stopped, he’ll collapse the multiverse.”
You stared at the image, his chest tightening. It wasn’t possible. Bucky was gone. He was dead.
“You want me to go after him,” you said, your voice flat.
Strange shook his head. “I want you to stop him. Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Strange’s gaze was unrelenting. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing him.”
—
In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the roles have reversed but the tragedy remained unchanged.
Somewhere, in a distant reality, Strange watched the threads of the timelines twist and tangle. He knew the truth, the one neither of you could see:
That as long as one of you lost the other, the cycle would never break.
•
Back in Earth-616…
After some playful back and forth splashing, you both decided it was time to get out of the bath.
You stepped out first, shivering from the cool tile beneath your feet, grabbing a towel. Bucky followed, water dripping from his hair onto his chest.
He took the towel from your hands and draped it around your shoulders. He wrapped the fabric tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from whatever evil may want to reach you.
Without warning, he pulled you into a hug. His lips brushed against your damp hair as you closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of his embrace.
After a while, you shifted in his arms, your hands finding another towel that hung from the wall behind him.
The corners of your lips tugged up in a playful smile as you began patting him dry, earning a soft chuckle from your supersoldier boyfriend. He didn’t stop you— he never could when you insisted on taking care of him.
So instead, he just watched you with that lovesick expression that made your heart do cartwheels.
Neither of you spoke; you didn’t need to. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, and your fingers traced patterns along the scars that marked his skin.
As much as you hated seeing him hurt, you knew that he was safe. And that’s all that mattered.
Because, in this universe, you were so blissfully unaware of the fragility of this peace, the fragility of your emotions. You remained unaware that in countless other universes, losing each other had broken you both. Unaware that in most other realities, there was no escape from the sadness that came with the death of one and not the other.
But in this one, none of that mattered. Because here, in this small bubble of love, you would keep each other grounded.
So as long as you both lived, you would stay blissfully unaware of the horrors your variants had to endure.
-end.
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"Pathetic mortals! Hear my demands," Corvina intones, feathers raised is a posture of challenge, "and despair, for the will of the night is unstoppable! Your compatriot has made a mockery of our alliance! You must," her voice shifts, a faint squawk betraying a feather-covered blush, "make her let go of me."
Maria, Halberd of Noon, peers up at Corvina. The villainess, once barely taller than her, has grown beyond all reason in the weeks since the Tremorlord ate the sun and plunged the world into an eternal and moonless night. "Is Anne being a problem?"
"Yes! I mean, uh," she tries to compose herself, "yes. Remove her, lest a worse fate befalls her! I will drop her in the ocean to freeze, see if I don't."
"Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"S-she just talks about wanting me to eat her! It's creepy! You deal with it!"
"… sure," Maria sighs. "Where is she, anyway?"
Corvina gestures vaguely towards her frankly excessive body. "Somewhere? I don't know. You find her."
Maria stares at Corvina, entirely unimpressed, and the former harpy hides her head under one of her wings. Another dozen wings flutter spasmodically along her body; her proprioception still hasn't caught up to the glut of power engorging her body. Perhaps it could be comical if it wasn't a reminder of how badly screwed they all are.
"Anne! Get out here!"
"don't wanna," the distant reply comes.
"Got you," Maria murmurs.
It's not that easy, of course. Getting to her requires navigating more of their former and future foe's body than Maria every wanted to be aware of, and Corvina keeps on reflexively hitting her with her wings (tolerable) or trying to disembowel her with whichever foot is nearest (irritating). The worst part is Maria's allergies. Harpies generate nearly as much dander as pigeons, and Corvina has not been taking proper care of herself.
Her eyes are watering and her nose is running when she finally finds Anne, Sword of the Morning, curled up under one of Corvina's wings. Several of Corvina's clawed feet hold her aloft, cradling her as delicately as a fresh-plucked flower.
"Hey, sis," Anne murmurs, shifting slightly. "Sup?"
"… wait, I thought Corvina didn't want you here?"
"Yeah. She hates me, you know that."
"But—"
"But," Anne smiles, "her body doesn't. S' a good cuddler."
"… that doesn't make any sense, Anne."
"Does. Wanna join?"
"No, Anne. I want you to stop pissing her off. We really can't afford it."
"Mmm," Anne yawns, "Can't afford to stop either, though …"
"Explain?"
"Why should I? You already know all of it, and I'm tired."
The three Guardians of Day—two, now, since the Shield of Dusk defected to the Tremorlord's forces—have never liked talking about the exact details of their powers. They wax strongest during the hours they are bound to (as does Corvina, their villainous reflection), and wane as time's passage draws them away, but …
The fact that they still have some power during eternal night raises questions with indelicate answers. Questions like, well, "where does it come from?" And "how do we get more?"
Dusk's defection came after she asserted one specific answer, and rejected it entirely.
"… you can find someone else to cuddle, Anne."
"Don't wanna. Besides," she moves to flop onto the ground and Corvina's claws close around her—wrapping tight around her waist, her neck, and her thighs, pinning her in place like the delicious morsel that she is. "Don't think 'vina will let me."
"Yeah, okay," Maria grouses, "fuck this. Just stop asking her to eat you."
"S'not my fault that she's such a prude."
The villain decides to do the classic "team up to defeat a common foe" trope but it's been taking a lot longer than they had expected,the heroes are getting emotionally attached and it's starting to get weird.
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Caitlyn kiramman x female reader
The Shadows We Share
The damp, cold air of Stillwater Prison clung to every stone, the metallic tang of despair thick in the narrow corridors. Caitlyn adjusted her rifle strap as she followed the warden, her sharp eyes scanning for any sudden movement. She wasn’t here to gawk; she was here to get answers.
Vi, walking ahead of her in tense silence, had been more than reluctant to return. Stillwater was a scar, a place where guilt and anger intersected with memories she couldn’t fully ignore. She had grudgingly agreed to let Caitlyn help her—after all, Caitlyn wasn’t one to give up once her mind was set. And Vi? She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d left something behind here. Or someone.
As they reached the farthest block of cells, the warden slowed. “You sure this is the one you’re looking for?” he grunted, gesturing to a cell shrouded in shadows.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Vi shot back, her voice sharp. Caitlyn glanced at her, sensing the tension beneath her bravado.
The cell in question wasn’t like the others. Its occupant didn’t bother pacing or glaring through the bars. Instead, they sat on a cot at the far end, back straight, head tilted slightly as if aware of their observers before they even approached.
When the figure turned, Caitlyn couldn’t help but notice how striking they were. The sharp planes of their face, the unmistakable strength in their posture, and yet, there was something else—a cold, calculating air that seemed almost suffocating.
Vi’s breath hitched. “Y/N?”
The woman blinked, recognition flickering across her stoic features. “Vi.” Her voice was low, even, as if the years hadn’t passed. “Took you long enough.”
Caitlyn watched the exchange curiously, her rifle steady in her grip. Y/N—Vi had called her that—wasn't just another inmate. There was a history here. She could see it in the subtle shift in Vi’s demeanor, the way her usual cockiness dimmed into something more subdued.
“Who’s this?” Y/N asked, her tone neutral but her gaze landing on Caitlyn with an almost clinical assessment.
“Caitlyn,” Vi muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s with me.”
The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked into what might’ve been a smirk. “With you? Didn’t think you’d take to making friends with enforcers.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Vi shot back, her fists clenching. “But you—you’re alive. How the hell are you here?”
Y/N leaned back slightly, the chains on her wrists clinking faintly. “Where else would I be? People like me don’t get to walk free, Vi. You know that.”
Caitlyn stepped forward. “And who are you, exactly?”
Y/N’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unyielding. “Someone who doesn’t need to answer your questions.” Her eyes flicked back to Vi. “But maybe you should answer mine. What are you doing here?”
Vi exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “We’re here for something else. Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”
“You didn’t expect to see me because you forgot me,” Y/N replied flatly, her tone cutting but not bitter. “Not that I blame you. You had other priorities.”
“I didn’t forget,” Vi said, her voice low, almost pleading. “I thought you were—”
“Dead?” Y/N offered, tilting her head slightly. “Close enough.”
Caitlyn, feeling the tension growing, intervened. “You’re from Zaun?”
Y/N raised a brow. “A long time ago.”
“She’s more than that,” Vi interjected, her voice laced with guilt. “She’s—she was like a sister to me. She taught me how to fight, how to survive. Vander trusted her with everything.”
Caitlyn frowned, the pieces starting to fit together. Y/N wasn’t just another criminal. She was someone Vi had cared about deeply, someone who had been part of her past long before Stillwater.
The conversation shifted as Caitlyn pressed further. “If you were that close to Vander and the others, why are you here? What happened?”
Y/N’s eyes darkened, her expression unreadable. “Zaun has no shortage of people who want you dead. I made a living off that fact.” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Apparently, the Piltover authorities don’t appreciate hitmen in their streets.”
“You were arrested for assassination?” Caitlyn asked, her voice sharp.
“Among other things,” Y/N replied nonchalantly. “Stillwater’s my penance.”
Vi shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration flashing across her face. “You could’ve gotten out. You’re too smart for this.”
“Getting out isn’t the problem,” Y/N said quietly. “Staying out is.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Caitlyn glanced between them, sensing that there was far more to this story than either of them was letting on.
Before the conversation could continue, the warden returned. “If you’re done reminiscing, we’ve got schedules to keep.”
Caitlyn nodded, but Vi hesitated, her gaze lingering on Y/N. “We’re getting out of here,” she said firmly. “All of us.”
Y/N raised a brow, her expression skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”
Caitlyn stepped forward. “It’s not simple, but it’s possible. If you’re willing to work with us.”
Y/N studied her for a long moment, her piercing gaze seeming to dissect Caitlyn’s every word. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play nice.”
Vi smirked, the tension easing slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As they turned to leave, Y/N’s voice stopped them. “Vi.”
She looked back, her expression softening slightly. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
The Escape Plan
Henlo, I do have a second part of this if you all want it. So if you do comment and like. If anyone of y'all have any requests then you can also leave those in the comments or in the submission box thingy
Okiee byeeee
#lesbian#wlw#wlw post#x fem reader#x reader#x fem!reader#caitlyn x you#arcane caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kiramman x reader#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kiramman x you#arcane caitlyn#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn kirraman#violet arcane#vi x reader#arcane women#league of lesbians#league of legends#x female reader#x masc reader#wlw fanfic#lol#reaper2187#arcane
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Biggest Fan Pt 1 - CL16
Requested by @nina-or-anna-or-nora "Heyy!! 💕 I saw you were asking some requests so I have one for an Smau!! (If you want to do it ofc) I was thinking about the reader being kinda like Sabrina or Olivia (a performer) and then Charles being like her biggest fan🤭just a super cute fluffy thing and he goes to every show he can or posts her and stuff🥹"
AN - Had so much fun writing this SMAU for you! Don't be afraid to send in requests that aren't apart of the Pizza Menu! I love Sabrina but I'm not a die hard fan so I have no idea how many outfit changes she has or the order she performs so if it's a little messed up I apologize! Also LMK if you wanna see me do this with more drivers and make it a little series of the drivers being head over heels for their girl friend!
Summary: Just Charles being in love with Y/N... and basically everyone in the F1 community!
Charles insta stories over the fall break
Twitter
Charles instagram
Liked by landonorris, youruser, carlossainz, and 2,090,513 others
charlesleclerc We're ready for you Austin ft. Y/N and all the fan gifted hats that will make an appearance this weekend tagged carlossainz and youruser
user5 I love how he makes a post for work and still finds a way to get Y/N in there
user6 your honor... it's them. It's always them!
youruser I'm ready to be back in my home soil!
user7 I constantly forget our girl is from the US charlesleclerc you mean MY girl user8 Charles will never learn to share charlesleclerc not when it comes to MY Y/N youruser alright calm it down you charlesleclerc yes maam
user9 I hate feeling single but I do love you guys!
carlossainz Will I ever get a post with just us?
user10 Carlos... they're a package deal user11 If I don't expect anything less, you shouldn't either youruser damn... catching strays carlossainz Y/N I thought we were friends!
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Your insta story
user12 how does it feel to be living my dream
carlossainz he's been smiling at his phone for 10 minutes because you posted him
youruser I love knowing he loves me as much as I love him
user13 his eyes
charlesleclerc that's one lucky man
youruser he really is!
user14 I love the way you guys love each other
landonorris you guys disgust me with how cute you are together
youruser you wish this was you huh? landonorris I miss when you were to shy to interact with us... kinda a meanie youruser you'll learn to survive
Twitter
your Instagram
Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbff, oliviarodrigo, and 3,092,172 others
youruser Thanks for the warm welcome home... see you in a few weeks for Vegas!
Look for a surprise tomorrow around noon YeeHaw time!
charlesleclerc Ooooo I wanna know the surprise
user18 I can't believe I have notifications on and Charles is still here before me
charlesleclerc you snooze you lose! gotta be quicker than that! youruser love you need to be a bit nicer! user18 no this is on me... I should know no matter how much I love you Charles just loves you that much more! user19 I'm sobbing at this! Charles is so unhinged when it comes to Y/N
landonorris Can I also know the surprise
charlesleclerc NO!
user20 YeeHaw time is SENDING me! For anyone confused she's talking about CST
user21 THANK YOU! It makes so much sense now that you've explained but as a non F1 Y/N fan I didn't realize she was in Texas haha
user22 I love their height difference. I forget just how SMALL Y/N is.
Your Insta Story
charlesleclerc I can't wait to watch you!!
user23 HOLY SHIT! I can't fucking wait!
user24 omg! I'm so excited for this!!
landonorris: I hope you have a ticket saved with my name on it!
youruser: I do including the rest of the grid... spread the word pleaseeee
user25: Oh to be in the US rn to experience this concert! I just know it's gonna be amazing
Twitter
Charles Insta story during the show
Max's Insta story during the show
Youruser: Max! hahaha you had me cracking up in the first slide... then tearing up through laughter in the second. Thank you so much for finding time in your title fight to support!
maxverstappen1: I wouldn't have missed it! Had to see what all the hype was about. Please invite me again
Grid Members Stories (Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Yuki, Liam, Franco)
#formula 1#f1#f1 x you#f1 imagine#formula 1 x you#formula one imagines#f1 smut#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#cl16 x you#cl16 one shot#cl16 fic#CL16 SMAU#Charles leclerc smau#formula 1 smau#f1 smau#formula one smau#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic
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reuniting with jinx <3
everyone... that was quite the rollercoaster. but, i choose to believe that jinx is alive. i'm not ready to let go of arcane for a good while, and I'll do my best to upload fics more often, especially with the holiday breaks coming up too, so reel in whatever arcane requests you have! i write for vi, caitlyn, and jinx. i do take smut requests for these characters too if you guys would like to request some...
obviously though, jinx wouldn't leave without finding her amazing gf though... right??
summary: jinx surprises you while you're grieving, and you both escape and go elsewhere.
warnings: angst at the beginning, season 2 act 3 spoilers, kissing, emotional, lots and lots of fluff, I PROMISED A HAPPY ENDING AND DELIVERED
you couldn't believe it. your whole body crumbled to the ground as vi told you the devastating news.
"I'll tell you one thing," vi tried to quip, a small smile on her face, "she went out with a bang."
vi explained that she heard an explosion sound when jinx fell down the vent, and how she guessed she had set off one more bomb. you take vi close to you, hugging her tightly.
"she really did love you, you know." vi admitted, "i think she's just had a lot come her way. and i can't say I'm the most innocent in that realm myself."
you left vi to continue staring at the fireplace, about to leave and go to jinx's workshop, hoping to take a few things to remember her by. you see caitlyn looking at the vent diagram, studying it closely. how could she possibly studying the place where your beloved girlfriend died? you knew that caitlyn had grown to not hate jinx anymore, so you decided to just leave it at that.
after leaving the kiramann mansion, you traversed back to zaun, thoughts racing through your head. had you not done enough? loved her enough? given her a reason to live? you wanted to scream as loudly as you could, and let whatever you were feeling out.
you finally made it to where jinx had her things, and you took a deep breath before entering. this was it.
the once lit-up place was darker and worn-out in her eyes. the once neon, bright-colored place seemed to be dark and empty now. like you without jinx. a tear rolled down your face as you picked up small tools and things, even parts of a flower she was making for you out of scraps. you sat on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, trying to make sense in your head of what you should do next.
"did you really think i was gone, hun?" jinx questions, right behind you. your entire body leaps at the sound of her voice. it can't be.
"jinx?" you ask, shooting your head up and turning around.
"did you really think i was gonna die that easily? now stop moping. we have to get on the hot air balloon."
shocked, you hug jinx quickly before shoving one thing you collected in your pocket. you both start running. hand in hand, you make a beeline in order to get on the next hot air balloon.
"you know what i realized? things aren't so great here, so why don't i just go somewhere else to do my thing? but, i knew i couldn't leave without you." jinx explains while running.
"how did you even get out?" is the only thing you manage to say.
"my shimmer, silly! i got the hell out and escaped through the air vents."
"and how did you get back to zaun?"
"simple hacking and tweaking of the hexgates. nothing special."
you both finally make it onto the airship, jinx holding your hand as you get on so you don't fall. she closes the door behind you.
"so. this is it. any last wishes before we leave forever?"
"my biggest one has been granted," you answer before pulling in jinx for a sweet kiss. you had missed her, as you hadn't seen her for a week or two with everything going on. jinx pulls away, explaining that you two had to go.
"you know, i've always wanted to drive one of these," jinx admits, steering the ship, "i have since i was very young." you notice a new sense of peace in her eyes as she drives the ship. she doesn't seem so... tortured anymore. in fact, she seems free of any past issues.
her newly cut hair blows in the wind, as you go up behind her and hug her waist, your head resting on her shoulder. no matter what the future held, you knew you were going to be happy. as long as jinx was there, you would be at peace.
"i love you," jinx says softly, taking one hand off the wheel to rest on top of yours.
"i love you too."
#arcane#arcane netflix#arcane league of legends#arcane jinx#arcane jinx x reader#jinx#jinx arcane#jinx league of legends#jinx arcane x reader#jinx x reader#jinx arcane x fem!reader#jinx arcane x female reader#jinx x fem!reader#jinx x female reader#arcane jinx x fem!reader#jinx x f!reader#arcane jinx x female reader#jinx x you#jinx x y/n#jinx arcane x you#jinx league of legends x reader#jinx arcane x y/n#jinx arcane headcanons#arcane jinx headcanons#arcane headcanon#arcane headcanons#jinx arcane headcanon#arcane jinx headcanon#jinx league of legends x female reader#jinx league of legends x fem!reader
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I completely agree with this. I feel like this is one of the worst parts about Veilguard. My Inky is in the South, and while I firmly believe Orlais is the devil, it's very weird that Tevinter is just super chill about my elf Rook when my elf Inky had constant micro-aggressions as well as just out and out slurs hurled at her. Also I'm going on a rant about Mythal.
SPOILERS BELOW
Bellara also seems to just...kind of ignore that I'm an elf? Davrin makes more sense. He left his clan and joined the Wardens because he just didn't really vibe with the Dalish. He'd think of himself as a Warden first, I think. Wardens don't seem to give much of a shit about your race or religion or sexuality or whatever. In The Calling, they canonically don't give a fuck about the gay couple in their little group, or that Fiona is a mage and an elf. Absolutely irrelevant. So Davrin could start to fall into that mindset because frankly, it's a nice way to live. It's just not real outside the Wardens.
So when Bellara is like oh my god our gods are evil and Davrin is like eh, fuck 'em, that's actually about the most realistic reaction we've got re: elves. Davrin is just out here like yo I'm a little busy saving the world fuck them gods. Love Davrin.
Also, in Inquisition, there's concern that knowing Corypheus's artifact is Elvhen will cause violence against elves. So knowing it's the Elvhen gods causing all of this? The consequences of that, even if an elf Rook saves the world, should be looming for a Shadow Dragon in particular. Clearly Inquisitor Ameridan's race did nothing for the elves of Orlais. It was covered up over time. His sacrifice meant nothing to the humans. This should make Solas's plans to restore the elves much, much more tempting.
The way the Crows were presented REALLY bothered me as well as someone who romanced Zev. The Crows *tortured* him, sexually assaulted him, made him feel worthless, because it was seen as necessary. Sure, Lucanis being blood family might give him a very different perspective and experience, but Jacobus is just allowed to be a Crow and start his own house when he wouldn't kill? I mean, I totally agree that prolonged, public shaming and imprisonment is worse for this individual, but like.... That's not how the Crows work. They kill stuff for money. Sure, they run Antiva and would be pretty pissed off about the Antaam taking their territory I'm sure, and they might work with Rook since Rook helped Lucanis and he's a big deal to the First Talon. But like... It should be a hard choice to work with them for Shadow Dragon Rook, because SLAVERY.
I feel like the pullback on slavery is to make Solas's actions seem more ambiguous, and to make it seem like there was some equal power between him and Mythal. But I have a very hard time believing he was never Mythal's slave. Also, a spirit of BENEVOLENCE? Get ABSOLUTELY fucked. She was fine with SLAVERY. Thought she could just slowly phase it out, maybe. Yeah, no .
Because here's the thing: slavery is evil. Whatever you have to do to stop slavery, short of participating or killing slaves, is pretty easy to justify. Maybe I'm just John Brown-pilled from living in Kansas a good chunk of my life, but killing slavers and slave owners and freeing slaves is MORALLY CORRECT. FULL STOP. A "kind" master is still a master. Sure, you can give them a chance to free their slaves and make reparations first, but waiting to vote slavery out didn't work. The US had to go to war. Haiti had to rebel (and give basically all its GDP to France for like two hundred years. Fuck Orlais AND France).
The only reason my Inky was able to befriend Dorian, at first, was their shared trauma in going to the future. That changes people (that whole quest fucked me up the first time I did it) and I think my elf Inky was looking for reasons to trust Dorian and ignore the system he participated in. She didn't have to see it so it seemed less real. He's an altus so he doesn't own the estate. He seems open to other opinions! And some part of him knows it's wrong, or he wouldn't be so awkward upon talking to Inky the first time.
But Solas's inherent and never fully overcome distrust of Dorian isn't wrong. Solas needs to see action; words aren't enough. I don't blame him.
This is the same softening we saw of the Templars in DA2 and Inquisition, but if you read The Stolen Throne and The Calling and play DAO, it's very clear that mages are oppressed by the Chantry and live in horrible conditions. The ones in Lake Calenhad are described as pale and kinda sickly looking (or something like that) because they don't get any fucking sunlight. Fiona is happy to go to the circle at first because she was a SLAVE in Orlais (Honestly Loghain's hatred of Orlais is justified even though his actions aren't). If you decide to allow the right of annulment or whatever in DAO, Zevran calls it genocide. Zevran isn't one to mince words. He doesn't pretend he isn't a killer or that he wasn't tortured.
My Inky and my Rook are both 'no gods no masters' types, which is why I think clan Lavellan sent their First on a risky mission supposedly by herself (got real sick of her shit lol). As a result, she heavily sympathizes with Solas's cause, and would have happily joined him in bringing down the Veil if he'd just agreed to spend time making sure as few people died as possible, particularly after she meets the Avvar and sees how spirits really are. She knows Solas better than anyone, and even without a full explanation, she'd know that his reasons for doing this were morally right. He freed her people. He never meant to hurt them. He can't live with his guilt. Inky (who in my game was more like 30 because I don't think she could have made decisions or led on her own at 20, nor would she have been a studied enough mage) wants freedom for everyone. She's chaotic good.
Rook is a Shadow Dragon who killed slavers a little too hard for an organization dedicated to killing slavers (based Rook). They're also chaotic good, and a bit of an idiot, bless them, who kinda sees everything as a nail because they have a hammer. They see slavery, they fight it. Fuck the consequences. Solas did the same.
So why is Rook not bringing up slavery a lot? Why is Rook only finding out that Solas freed slaves on the regular at the beginning of the game? Did Varric just decide that wasn't worth bringing up to a person whose entire life revolves around ending slavery? Why is Rook not having an existential crisis after talking to Solas and finding out the truth of his past in his memories?
Look, all I'm saying is that I don't understand why more people aren't angry with Mythal and why no one is talking about slavery and racism. The whole point of fantasy and sci-fi, and the point of Dragon Age, is to critique modern society through thinly veiled references. That's why people get so passionate about Star Trek. And yeah, yes, it's necessarily going to make a piece of media more niche, or people are going to bitch about it (especially gamer bros my dude calm down, sorry something is very briefly not about you), but it makes a game *good* and lasting
BG3 did a good job of exploring the themes of trauma and power imbalance, and while some characters I think needed more fleshing out (Wyll my beloved, I owe you a lengthy fanfic for the injustice done to you), it was particularly powerful in Astarion. The people are ready for real exploration of real issues. We always have been. Backing off was a mistake.
ANYWAY I have feelings and none of my friends share my special interest. Here you go.
Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard
In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.
About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.
How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.
So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.
But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.
We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.
None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.
The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.
Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.
Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.
Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.
And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.
Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.
This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.
Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.
And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.
I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.
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Christmas: B.E
The room is filled with the soft scent of pine and the warm glow of Christmas lights. Billie is balanced on a step ladder, carefully hanging ornaments near the top of the tree. You stand a few feet away, holding the next batch of decorations and watching her with a smirk.
“Y’know,” you say, crossing your arms, “if you need help, I could always grab a taller ladder.”
Billie glances down at you, one brow arched. “I don’t need a taller ladder. I’m perfectly capable, thank you.”
“Uh-huh,” you tease. “Because you’re doing great up there, Little Miss Five-Two.”
“I’m five-three!” she shoots back, her tone sharp but playful. “And don’t act like you’re towering over me or something.”
“Still taller,” you quip with a grin. “Want me to hand you a stool for extra support?”
She huffs, turning back to the tree. “You’re lucky I like you, or you’d be decorating this tree alone.”
“Lucky, huh?” you muse, biting back a laugh as she stretches up to place another ornament. “Maybe you’d be luckier if you had an inch or two more.”
Billie twists her head to glare at you mid-reach, but the movement makes the ladder wobble. Her eyes widen. “Oh—!”
The next second feels like slow motion. The ladder tips, and Billie loses her balance. You leap forward just as she tumbles, catching her awkwardly but still ending up on the floor with her landing halfway on top of you.
“Billie!” you exclaim, sitting up quickly. “Are you okay?”
She groans, shifting slightly to sit up. “Ugh… Yeah, I think so. Just—ow—my arm.”
“Let me see.” You gently take her arm, inspecting it with care. She winces but doesn’t pull away. “It’s not broken, but you’re probably gonna feel that tomorrow.”
“Great,” she mutters, leaning back against the couch. “This is what I get for trying to prove I can reach the top.”
“Or for ignoring gravity,” you say, brushing a pine needle off her sweater. Your tone softens as you look at her. “You scared me for a second there.”
Her lips twitch, half a smile despite the situation. “Guess I should’ve just let you do it.”
“Probably.” You stand, offering her your hand. “But now you’re officially banned from ladders.”
“Who’s gonna finish the tree?” she asks, letting you help her to her feet.
“I will,” you say, guiding her to the couch. “You can supervise. From the ground.”
As she sits down, Billie smirks faintly. “If you mess it up, I’m still blaming you.”
“Deal,” you reply, grabbing the next ornament. “But you’re not living this fall down.”
Her groan is half annoyance, half amusement. “Merry Christmas to me.”
Timeskip
The room is peaceful now, the lights from the Christmas tree casting a soft glow over the walls. The Grinch plays quietly on the TV, the muted sound of his scheming blending with the faint hum of the heater. You’re stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over the both of you. Billie is curled up on top of you, her head resting against your chest, her soft breaths warm against your neck.
You glance at the tree, a quiet sense of pride settling in. It turned out pretty well, even if finishing it solo wasn’t part of the original plan. Billie stirs slightly, and you shift your hand to gently brush her hair away from her face. Her eyelids flutter, and she looks up at you, her dark lashes heavy with sleep.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” you murmur, smiling down at her. “How’s your arm?”
She stretches slightly, groaning as she moves it. “Still sore,” she admits, her voice husky from sleep. “But not as bad as earlier.”
“Well, that’s good,” you reply, your fingers brushing along her jaw. “Guess you’ll live another day.”
She smirks faintly, her eyes sparkling despite the low light. “You’re lucky you caught me. Would’ve been a lot worse if I hit the floor.”
“I’m always lucky when it comes to you,” you say, your tone softer now. “But let’s try to keep the death-defying stunts to a minimum.”
Billie chuckles, her voice still groggy. “No promises. You know me.”
“Yeah,” you say, your lips quirking into a grin. “I do. And that’s why I’m always gonna be here to catch you.”
Her smirk fades into something more tender as she shifts closer, her nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should thank you properly, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” you reply, your voice dropping slightly. She tilts her head, closing the distance between you as her lips meet yours in a slow, lazy kiss.
The warmth of her mouth lingers, and you cup her face gently, pulling her closer. What starts as soft and sweet quickly deepens, her hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. You lose yourself in the moment, the world outside the blanket cocoon you’ve created fading away.
Billie pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours. “You’re really good at this, you know,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips.
“Good at what?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Saving you or kissing you?”
“Both,” she replies, grinning before she kisses you again, her lips soft but insistent. This time, her weight shifts slightly, and you hold her tighter to keep her steady.
“I think you’re just trying to distract me from asking about your arm,” you say between kisses, your voice low but teasing.
“Maybe,” she admits with a sly smile. “Is it working?”
“Definitely,” you whisper before pulling her back in, the soft glow of the tree and the sound of the Grinch’s laughter your only witnesses.
Her lips pressed against yours with a mix of urgency and sweetness, her fingers curling into your hair as if she didn’t want you to pull away. Each kiss deepened slowly, building a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
When you moved your lips to her jawline, Billie let out a soft, shaky breath, her head tilting instinctively to give you more access. You trailed your kisses along her neck, the faintest touch of your tongue grazing her skin. She inhaled sharply, her body pressing closer to yours as she whispered, “God…” barely audible, almost like a prayer.
Encouraged, you lingered, your lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. A small, quiet moan escaped her, the sound lighting a fire in your chest. Her hands gripped the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself as your kisses grew more deliberate, each one drawing another sigh or soft sound from her lips.
When you pulled back just slightly to meet her eyes, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. “You’re so unfair,” she murmured, her voice laced with a playful frustration, though her lips were already seeking yours again.
#pov#billie eilish#billieeilish#hit me hard and soft#wlw#wlw post#christmas#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish x you#billie ellish lyrics#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish lunch#girls kissing girls#make out
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Back To You - Part 4 | Sam Carpenter
Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader
Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing
Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.
Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .
Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist
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Present
Billy Loomis is Sam’s real dad. . .
Tara’s words and her recount of her conversation with Sam makes all the puzzle pieces fall into place.
That’s why Sam snuck into my room all those years ago. That’s why she changed so much after, and that’s why she left.
It all makes sense now, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Tara by leaving, hurt me by leaving. It also doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her to most. When I begged her to come back and she just screamed at me to stop calling without even letting me explain why I was calling in the first place.
I’m feeling so many things right now, it’s kind of overwhelming, but I try my best to stay calm so I don’t freak Tara out.
She’s been moved to a private floor since Sam left and slept earlier while I called Liam and Paige again. Now, she’s awake once more, curled into my side while we’re watching a movie together.
I really try to focus on what’s going on, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam.
She could have talked to me! She could have told me about her real dad. Why didn’t she? Did she think I was going to hate her for it? Did she think I would stop being her friend if I knew?
I wouldn’t have done any of that. Who her father is doesn’t change who she is. At least that’s my opinion. She must think otherwise, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left.
I’m mad at her for abandoning Tara and leaving me. I’m sad she felt like she couldn’t talk to me, and I’m heartbroken thinking about how she tried to numb her pain by doing every drug imaginable and sleeping with anyone who would have her.
I still love her, that’s for sure because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like this, but I’m just not sure love is enough for me to forgive and forget everything she’s done.
“Hey.” Tara’s voice and her finger poking my chin snaps me out of my thoughts.
I clear my throat quietly and look down at her. “Yeah?”
“You okay?” she asks, her kind brown eyes darting between my own.
“No, not really, Sprout.” Tara wrinkles her nose and I chuckle. She’s never liked that nickname. “But I will be, and so will you.“
“You sure?” she asks and I nod.
“I’m sure. Now watch the movie, or I’m changing it,” I tease, making her laugh softly.
“Okay, okay. . .” She looks me over one last time before turning her attention back to the movie, mumbling, “You’re so annoying.”
I just hum and scratch her head, settling deeper into the bed and actually focusing on the movie. Thoughts of Sam are still swirling around in the back of my mind, but I ignore them as best as I can.
About half an hour later, the movie is still playing and, much to my surprise, I’m actually invested in the story now.
Some shuffling and a grunt in the hallway outside makes me look away from the TV though. We’re on a private floor and no one but Deputy Vinson should be here. A nurse comes in every two hours or so to check on Tara, but she was just here before we started the movie.
Alarm bells almost instantly go off in the back of my head, but I don’t want to scare Tara, so I stay calm and shout, “Hello?”
There’s no answer.
“Vinson?”
Again, nothing.
My stomach drops. This is not good. This is not good, at all.
“Y/N?” Tara whispers fearfully, the beeping sound of her heart rate monitor next to the bed speeding up.
I swallow thickly and continue to stare at the open doorway, straining my ears to hear anything else. It stays quiet though, and with every second that passes, the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach grows.
“Y/N,” Tara whimpers and when our eyes meet I see the fear I’m feeling inside reflected back at me.
He’s back. It’s Ghostface. It has to be him. He’s returned to finish the job.
I can feel my own heart rate picking up speed, and after another beat of silence, I decide that we have to leave. We’re sitting ducks if we stay.
“Fuck this.” I swallow again and nod to myself before pushing the blanket to the bottom of the bed. “We’re leaving, Sprout.”
Tara’s eyes widen and she doesn’t protest when I disconnect the IV from the back of her hand. For a moment, she’s frozen, watching me disconnect her from all the machines she’s attached to, before springing into action herself.
With shaking hands, she removes the oxygen tube while I get up and pull the nearby wheelchair to the side of the bed.
I won’t be able to do anything with only one arm, so even though it hurts and I know I’m probably going to tear my stitches, I take off my sling.
I wince at the stinging pain that shoots through my neck and arm, but grit my teeth and help Tara with the rest of the wires. Then I make sure the wheelchair’s breaks are on before turning back to the bed.
“We have to get moving, c’mon. I know this is going to hurt, but we have to go,” I say, slipping my arms under Tara’s knees and under her back. I don’t lift her yet though, waiting for her to nod before hoisting her up.
The gasp she lets out makes me hurt for her, but I can’t stop now.
We have to leave.
Carefully, I lift her out of the bed and place her in the wheelchair, making sure I don’t bump her broken leg against anything.
My shoulder protests, screaming in pain even though Tara is easy to lift, but I don’t stop moving especially when the lights suddenly go out.
We have to leave, now!
Tara whimpers in fear and in pain, and I rush to turn off the breaks on the wheelchair before pushing her to the doorway.
He’s here. I know it.
I peek into the ominously dark hallway all while trying not to let panic take over my mind.
Fear is healthy, panic is deadly.
That’s what my father taught me, and I know if we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to keep a clear head.
The hallway is empty, and the only way out is by getting to the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I slowly push Tara out of the room, keeping my eyes and ears open for any movement near by.
Just get to the elevator.
The deafening sound of Tara’s phone ringing on the bedside table back in her room makes both of us jump for a moment.
Tara sobs quietly, and I tighten my grip on the wheelchair.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing the screen of the phone light up the room before turning back around. There’s no time to get it now, and even less time to answer it.
I push Tara into the hallway, slowly and quietly while letting my eyes dart around in the darkness for any sign of danger.
It still eerily quiet though and I don’t see anything, so I continue pushing her until we get to the nurses’ station.
That’s where a chocked gasp claws it’s way out of Tara and when I follow her line of sight, I freeze for a second.
Laying right there on his back on the ground, with a slit throat and a pool of blood around his head is one of the deputies Sheriff Hicks assigned to Tara’s floor. He’s still alive, even though only barely, and chokes on his own blood, his wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.
There’s nothing we can do to help him, he’ll be dead within a minute, but still, the sight of him, so helpless and alone, makes the blood in my veins freeze.
That could be me, or worse, Tara.
Stop! Don’t think about that, Y/N. Focus.
My dad’s voice rings in my head and makes me snap out of it. He’s right, I have to focus.
I’m about to continue pushing Tara towards the elevator, but then a thought strikes me.
I pause and look around again before letting go of the wheelchair and crouching down next to the deputy. I reach for his belt, fumbling around until my hand grazes the holster of his gun.
With a gun, we’d at least stand a change against Ghostface, but as fate would have it, the holster is empty. The gun is gone.
Fuck.
Not only does that mean that we have nothing to defend ourselves with, it also means that Ghostface has the gun.
Tara sobs into her hands and watches me get back up, only to flinch and freeze a second later when we hear a door being opened somewhere down the hall.
There’s no time to ponder over the gun and its whereabouts now. I spin around and take a hold of the wheelchair again.
Getting to the elevator now is too risky. It’s too far away, so I wheel Tara into the room right next to the nurses’ station.
We need help.
Tara whimpers and cries quietly while I close the door behind us. I don’t shut it all the way, just enough to hide us from plain sight while still being able to see what’s going on outside. Then, I fumble around for my phone in my sweatpants.
Just like with the gun though, I come up empty, and the realization that it must have slipped out of my pocket while watching the movie makes my heart drop.
No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
My hands begin shaking, and it’s getting harder to keep my panic at bay.
We’re alone with a psychopathic killer, we have no way out, no help is coming, and I’m not in any shape to fight properly.
Tears well up in my eyes and I feel my bottom lip quivering. There’s no way out.
My heart starts pounding in my ears and my hands start shaking.
Please, no. Not now.
I’ve had enough panic attacks after my parents death to know what it feels like when one is about to start, and even though it sucks having them at any time, it would be especially inconvenient right now.
I force myself to calm my breaths and blink away the tears, but it doesn’t help much.
We’re trapped.
We’re alone.
I continue to focus on steadying my breathing while also keeping an ear out for any more sounds in the hallway.
That is until Tara nudges me. I clench and unclench my fists, and look at her. She has tears streaming down her face, but she’s urgently gesturing at something she can’t reach.
I follow the length of her arm with my eyes and almost start crying with relief when I spot the phone on the wall right next to the door.
I lunge for it and start dialing 911 with shaking hands only to stop a moment later when another door opens out in the hallway.
Tara clutches the back of my sweater with her uninjured hand and bites her bottom lip to prevent any more sobs from escaping her.
I flinch when another door gets opened, this time closer by, and hold my breath.
This is it. He’s here.
I lower the phone and square my shoulders, ready to fight when the door to our room suddenly swings open.
Tara yelps and I instinctively punch whoever just walked in.
“Ow!” Richie stumbles back against the doorframe and raises a hand to where my fist just connected with his jaw. “Ah, goddamn it!”
“Richie?” Tara’s pulls on the back of my sweater to get me to step out of her line of sight while I simply stare at Richie in disbelief.
I’m honestly relieved it’s just him, and that he’s here because now we’re no longer alone, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for punching him.
“What are you doing here?” Tara asks as Richie continues to recover from the punch.
“Sam called,” he explains and as he continues to talk, I feel some of the tension in my body dissipate. “She said that you were in trouble.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and the revelation that Sam probably only called about Tara is like a blow to the stomach.
I don’t get much time to dwell on it though because a split second later, Ghosface appears behind Richie, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.
“Look out!” I shout, stepping in front of Tara again.
Richie spins just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the knife manages to cut his forearm. Ghostface goes in for another stab, but Richie manages to catch his wrist before he can bring the knife down on him.
He grunts and they struggle for a moment, but then Ghostface manages to grab the back of Richies head and slam him into the door frame, knocking him out.
“Shit!” I clench my jaw when Ghostface turns his attention to Tara and me, and quickly grab the IV stand next to us, flinging it at him.
Ghostface goes down because the monitor on the IV stand hits him in the head, and I rush to wheel Tara out of the room.
We’re almost back in the hallway, away from Ghostface, when he suddenly lands a punch on the back of my left knee, making my leg buckle. I stumble and manage to regain my footing without going down, but that little trip costs me a lot of precious seconds.
“Y/N!” Tara twists around in the wheelchair with wide eyes and even though I know Ghostface is now back on his feet and right behind me, it still catches me off guard when he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and punches me in the side, right below my ribs.
“Ah, fuck!” I grunt and grab his forearm, trying to pry it away from my neck, but it doesn’t budge. “Go, Tara!”
Another blow, this time to my ribs, takes my breath away, and even though I’m in pain, it fills me with an unexplainable rage.
Instead of trying to get his arm away from my neck again, I dig my heels into the ground and push backward until we hit a wall. Ghostface hisses in pain and I use the momentary distraction to get out of the headlock.
Then, I run to Tara, limping slightly and ignoring the sound of a phone ringing nearby. She’s crying and struggling to move in the wheelchair, and the sight of the blood soaked bandage around her hand makes my stomach clench.
I’m about to reach her, my arms already outstretched to grab onto the wheelchair, but then I’m tackled to the ground from behind.
My head hits the floor, making black dots dance in my vision for a moment and then my head is yanked up by my hair.
“Hold it right there, Tara,” Ghostface says, the voice changer eerily distorting his voice, “or I’ll slit Y/N’s throat.”
Tara freezes and wheels around in time to see Ghostface press the blade of his knife against my neck. He’s kneeling on my back and I know I have no way of escaping without getting my throat slit.
It stings when he pushes the knife down a little too hard, drawing some blood in the process, but I don’t dare to move.
“Y/N!” Tara cries and I try not to cough because of the weight on my back. “No, please don’t.“
“Tara, go!” I rasp, feeling the edge of the knife dig even deeper into the skin of my neck.
Tara shakes he head desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, Y/N, I—“
“Do you hear that, Sam?” Ghostface says and at the mention of Sam’s name my heart drops. He must be on the phone with her. “Your little sister and Y/N, begging for each other’s lives. Pathetic, don’t you think?”
Tara makes a move to wheel closer, but I pin her down with a stare to stop her. Go, I mouth, but Tara doesn’t move while Ghostface continues talking to Sam.
I can’t hear everything he’s saying because my ears are ringing, but when he suddenly gets off my back and approaches Tara with calculated steps, I hear him say, “So, the choice is up to you. Who is it going to be, Sam? Richie, Y/N, or Tara?”
Tara whimpers as Ghostface gets nearer, but she’s too injured to get away. She manages to turn the wheelchair around, but Ghostface is right there before she can even attempt to get away.
He grabs the handles of the chair and tips it forward forcefully, making Tara fall and land on the ground with a cry of pain.
No, not her. Not Tara. Please, anyone but her. She’s been through enough.
“Stop!” I groan, trying to get up, but slipping on something sticky on the floor. My shoulder stings and the side where Ghostface punched me burns, but I try to get back up again, and this time, I manage. On unsteady feet, I limp toward Ghostface who’s now standing over Tara.
He twirls the knife in his hand and raises his arm, getting ready to strike while Tara sobs.
“No!” I’m not going to make it. “Tara!”
Just then, the elevator dings and the doors open. Ghostface looks up, surprised, and dives out of the way when gunshots ring out.
My eyes widen at the sight of Sam and Dewey?! who dart out of the elevator.
“Tara!” Sam rushes to her sister’s side and drops to her knees, trying to help her to her feet.
“I’ll get Richie,” Dewey says, but then he freezes when his eyes land on me. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
I wave him off and shake my head, looking around to see where Ghostface went. “Not now, I’m fine. Go get Richie, I’ll help Sam with Tara.”
“Okay.” Dewey nods and stares at me a moment longer before dashing past me to help Richie.
The last time we saw each other was at my parents’ funeral. He used to be like an uncle to me because he was friends with my dad, but after the accident, we kind of drifted apart.
Now is no time to dwell on the past though. I push through my dizziness and the pain in my side, shoulder and leg, and limp the rest of the way to Tara and Sam.
Sam’s already managed to get a crying and whimpering Tara to her feet, but Tara can’t walk with her broken leg, so as soon as I’m within reach I tug on Sam’s jacket to get her to stop dragging Tara to the elevator.
“Stop, let me help.”
Sam’s eyes widen. “Y/N, y-you’re here?”
“Of course, I’m here,” I snap, not because I’m mad but because there’s no time to talk. “Now, let’s get a move on!”
Still in disbelief, Sam doesn’t say anything else as I scoop Tara up into my arms.
“Ow,” she whines and I quickly apologize for hurting her.
I limp to the elevator with Sam hot on my heels and lean against the wall as soon as we’re inside. My legs are shaking and my entire body hurts, but I’m not letting go of Tara until we’re safe.
Sam holds the doors open while Richie and Dewey make their way to the elevator.
They’ve almost made it when, out of nowhere, Ghostface comes back, crashing into them from the side. Richie falls to the ground, and Dewey gets pushed against the wall which makes him fire his gun.
A struggle ensues between Dewey and Ghostface while Richie tries to get back up, and for a moment it looks as though Ghostface’s got the upper hand, but then Dewey headbutts him.
Ghostface stumbles back and Dewey grabs his gun off the ground, firing it at Ghostface before he can come at him again.
He stumbles back at the force of the shots hitting him in the chest until he crashes into the glass display cabinet on the opposite wall.
He sinks to the ground and stops moving, and even though I’m not convinced he’s dead, there’s no time to make sure he is. We have to get out of here as fast as possible.
Dewey must think so too because he gets to his feet and immediately pulls Richie up as well.
“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, dragging Richie toward the elevator. “Come on, hurry up.”
They finally make it, and Richie slumps against the wall next to Sam who runs her hands over him and checks for any not-so obvious injuries.
“You okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.
Richie nods and exhales shakily. “Yeah, you?”
Sam nods. “Fine.” Then she turns her attention back to Tara who’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and is crying into my shoulder.
“It hurts, Sam,” she cries, and I press a kiss to her forehead while Sam takes a hold of her hand.
Dewey pushes the elevator button for the first floor, but before the doors can slide shut, he stops them with his hand and says, “The head. . .”
Richie frowns. “What?”
“You have to shoot ‘em in the head or they always come back,” Dewey explains, stepping back out of the elevator.
Sam gapes at him and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Dewey, who gives a fuck?”
A forlorn look enters his eyes and as the doors slide shut, he says, “I do.”
“No! Dewey!” I try to step forward to stop him, but as soon as I shift my weight off the wall, my legs start trembling, so I slump back and grit my teeth.
It’s too late.
The doors close and the elevator starts descending. A tense silence settles over us for the duration of the ride, but then the doors open and Richie stumbles out first, shouting for help.
Doctors and nurses swarm us almost instantly and within seconds, a gurney is brought over and I place Tara on it.
She’s okay.
Seeing her being taken care of lifts a huge weight off my shoulders and the relief on Sam’s face makes me smile a little.
She’s going to be okay.
The dizziness I felt before suddenly returns full force now that the adrenaline is wearing off, but I can’t sit down and rest until Dewey is safe, too.
He’s up there all alone. Someone has to help him.
I stumble back to the elevator but a hand on my stomach stops me from entering it.
I look down, swaying slightly, before following the arm connect to the hand all the way up with my eyes until they land on Sam’s face.
Wait. . . Sam?
“Where are you going, Y/N?” she asks, frowning.
I blink to get rid of the irritating black dots growing in my vision and try to push past her. “D-Dewey, he needs—he needs help, Sam.”
“I know,” she says, stopping me again by grabbing a fistful of my sweater. “But you can’t go up there. The police are already on their way.”
“But. . . But Dewey,” I slur. I grasp at Sam’s hand to get her to let go of me which, much to my surprise, she actually does.
It doesn’t last long though because not even a second later my knees buckle and I fall forward, right into her arms.
“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam panics and grabs onto anything she can to stop both of us from toppling to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”
I awkwardly slide down her body, bringing her down with me until we’re both on the floor and I’m gasping for air.
“Y/N, hey. . . Hey!” Sam grunts and manages to scramble out from underneath me before propping me up against the wall next to us. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What hurts?” she asks, but I can’t answer. My lungs suddenly feel like they’re on fire and every breath I take makes it harder to breathe.
“What happened? Did Ghostface—“ She falls silent when her eyes land on her hands and when I look down, I see why.
They’re covered in blood. My blood. But. . . how?
I think about everything that happened, and then dread settles in the pit of my stomach when the realization hits.
Ghostface wasn’t punching me. When he “hit” me all those times, he wasn’t punching me. He wasn’t punching me at all. He was stabbing me.
Welp, that explains why my side hurts so much. I thought I was going soft.
My eyes flutter shut and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth.
I guess no one noticed I was hurt until now because I didn’t feel anything until the adrenaline wore off and the blood soaking my clothes wasn’t visible because both my sweater and my sweatpants are black.
“Y/N, hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes.” Sam cups my cheeks and shakes my head slightly to get me to open my eyes again. “We need some help over here!” she shouts over her shoulder before looking back at me.
She’s frantic, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, and her eyes are filling with tears. Her hands drop off my face and she’s quick to push my sweater up to take in the extent of my injuries.
“Oh my God.” Her voice cracks and when she presses her hands against my side to slow the bleeding, I cry out in pain.
I gasp like a fish out of water, still struggling to get enough air into my lungs, and push at her hands.
“No, stop— Stop!” she protests, desperately pressing her hands against my side again.
“Hurts,” I wheeze and Sam nods frantically with tears dripping down her cheeks.
“I know, I know,” she says, “but I’m trying to help.”
I writhe in agony, but don’t try to push her off again. I don’t think I even could if I tried because with every passing moment I feel weaker.
My eyes are also threatening to close again and when Sam notices, she presses down harder on my side and shouts for help again.
This time, a nearby nurse notices and she springs into action. She rushes over, dragging a doctor with her and tells another nurse to bring a gurney.
I don’t focus on her though. No, I keep my attention on Sam and how she’s desperately try to stop my bleeding.
She’s crying, covered in blood, and on the verge of hyperventilating, but she’s still beautiful.
So beautiful. . .
I cough again just as the nurse and doctor drop down next to me, and when Sam takes her hands away so they can examine me, I give into the urge to close my eyes.
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Whew! I wrote this in one sitting, and only proofread it once, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made/overlooked.
Tag list: @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @bella423
#x reader#angst#sam carpenter x reader#samantha carpenter x reader#sam carpenter#samantha carpenter#scream
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Couple Questions
You and Logan answer some cute couple questions!
professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, your an english professor, logan is a history professor
read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here
a/n: not the usual update but I saw some couple questions on pinterest and thought you know what…im gonna do this because it’s cute. i may or may not also have headcanons for them lol.
What were your first impressions of each other?
You : grinning "I thought he was rude. He barely said hello when I first arrived at the mansion, just mumbled something and walked away like I wasn’t worth his time."
Logan : smirking "To be fair, I had a lot on my mind."
You : "But then I caught him staring at me in the library one day, and I thought, ‘Huh, maybe he’s not as grumpy as he looks.’ Turns out I was wrong—he’s grumpier.” teasingly nudges him
Logan : chuckling "You done? ‘Cause my first impression was that you talked too much."
You : mock gasp "Excuse me?!"
Logan : shrugging "But you had this fire about you. Didn’t take crap from anyone. Thought that was… different." pauses, his voice softening "And your laugh. First time I heard it, I couldn’t get it outta my head."
Describe the moment each of you knew you had feelings for each other.
You : thoughtful smile "I think it was when Jean told me Logan liked me. It just… clicked. All the banter, the little glances, the way he’d hover nearby even though he pretended not to care—it all made sense. Once I realized it, it was like… yeah, I like him too. It was terrifying and exciting at the same time."
Logan : scratching the back of his neck, pretending to look annoyed "She’s makin’ me sound soft already."
You : "You are soft."
Logan : ignoring her "For me, it was probably when I realized she wasn’t offended by my attitude. That’s when I knew she wasn’t just anyone. She was my someone."
Did either of you fight your feelings, or was it easy to accept?
You : snorting "Oh, we both fought it. He avoided me a lot of the time. I overthought everything —does he like me? What if I’m imagining it? What if I ruin our friendship?"
Logan : dryly "You do think too much. Me? I didn’t avoid you."
You : glaring playfully "You literally avoided the library for two weeks, and that’s your favorite place!"
Logan : grinning faintly "Alright, fine. Maybe I fought it a little. Was scared I’d mess things up. Didn’t think someone like you would want someone like me."
You : softly, brushing his hand "You’re an idiot for thinking that, but you’re my idiot."
When was the first time you said “I love you”? What prompted it?
You : "It was after a nightmare. Logan woke up in a cold sweat, muttering apologies for scaring me. But he hadn’t scared me—I just wanted to comfort him. And in the middle of me rambling about how it was okay, it just came out: ‘I love you.’"
Logan : quietly "Didn’t think I’d ever hear those words from someone. But when she said it, I couldn’t stop myself. Told her I loved her right back."
You : smiling softly "And then you called me a ‘damn fool’ for putting up with you."
Logan : shrugging "I stand by it."
Who is the big spoon, who is the little spoon?
You : "Oh, Logan’s the big spoon, obviously. But sometimes I’ll be the big spoon when he’s had a rough day. He pretends to hate it, but I know he secretly likes it."
Logan : grumbling "I don’t need a damn cocoon, sweetheart."
You : grinning "But you still let me."
What’s your favorite quality about each other?
You : "Logan’s loyalty. He’ll protect the people he loves with everything he has, even when he doesn’t think he deserves to be loved back."
Logan : looking at her, his voice softer "Her heart. She’s got this way of makin’ everyone feel like they matter. Like they’re worth somethin’. That’s rare."
You : teasingly "Stop, you’re gonna make me cry."
Logan : smirking "Good. Payback for all the times you make me feel stuff."
Who is the messiest?
You : raising her hand immediately "Me. Absolutely me."
Logan : snorting "Finally, somethin’ we agree on."
You : "Hey, at least I know where everything is in my mess. Your ‘organized’ piles confuse me."
Logan : "It ain’t hard, darlin’. One pile’s for weapons, the other’s for books. What’s so confusin’?"
Who sings in the shower?
You : grinning mischievously "Logan does. And he doesn’t even realize it half the time. It’s adorable."
Logan : deadpan "I don’t sing in the shower."
You : "Oh, so the other day when I walked by and heard you mumbling ‘Sweet Caroline’ under your breath, that wasn’t you?"
Logan : grumbling "I was hummin’ it. There’s a difference."
You : sarcastically "Sure, tough guy. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Who likes horror movies? Who likes romance movies?
You : grinning "Logan likes horror movies, obviously. He’ll sit there, all serious, like nothing phases him. But I swear I caught him flinch once during The Exorcist ."
Logan : gruffly "Did not."
You : "You did. Anyway, I like romance movies. Logan pretends to hate them, but he always ends up watching them with me."
Logan : smirking "That’s ‘cause I know you’ll cry, and I gotta be ready to hand you tissues."
You : rolling her eyes "And yet, who was tearing up during The Notebook last week? Hmm?"
Logan : groaning "Alright, fine. I might like some of ‘em. But don’t go tellin’ anyone."
You : "Oh, your secret’s safe with me. But I’ll totally remind you next time we watch Pride and Prejudice ."
Logan : grinning, pulling her closer "You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart."
What’s your favorite memory of us?
You:thoughtfully smiling “That’s hard to pick. But… I think it was when you planned that romantic getaway for my birthday—you bought me that dress. Or when you wrote that for me poem and gave it to me for Christmas.”
Logan:grinning faintly “You mean the one where you cried ‘cause I wrote you that little poem in the book?”
You:mock gasping “You wrote me a poem , Logan. Of course, I cried! I still have that dress, by the way.”
Logan:chuckling, his voice softer now “That was a good one. But for me? I think it’s our wedding. Just you, me, and those vows I wrote on a scrap of paper. You called me an idiot for cryin’ halfway through.”
You:sniffing dramatically “And I’ll call you an idiot for it again, but only because you cried first. You set me off.”
Logan:smirking “You weren’t even gonna cry ‘til I pulled out that damn lucky pen you gave me.”
You:“Well, yeah, it’s our lucky pen, Logan! What did you expect?”
Hugs or kisses?
You:grinning slyly “Kisses. Definitely kisses.”
Logan:raising an eyebrow “Really? I’d say hugs.”
You:blinking in mock surprise “Logan Howlett likes hugs? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
Logan:shrugging, smirking a little “What can I say? There’s somethin’ about you wrappin’ yourself around me that just feels right.”
You:melting a little before recovering quickly “Okay, you win that one. But kisses still come with extra perks.”
Logan:grinning wickedly “Oh, I know.”
Who finds it harder to admit they’re wrong?
You:“Oh, Logan. 100% Logan.”
Logan:gruffly “What? That’s not true.”
You:glaring playfully “Logan, you once argued with me for three hours about the best way to cook eggs—only to realize you were wrong and never admit it.”
Logan:grumbling “That’s ‘cause your way still doesn’t make sense.”
You:crossing her arms “Oh, it makes perfect sense, tough guy. You’re just stubborn.”
Logan:grinning faintly “Alright, fine. Maybe I don’t like bein’ wrong.”
You:“Maybe?!”
Who’s the boss in the marriage?
You:smirking, pointing to herself “Obviously me.”
Logan:laughing softly “Yeah, you think so, huh?”
You:“Logan, who does the meal planning? The laundry schedules? Who makes sure you actually remember birthdays and anniversaries?”
Logan:grinning “Alright, you. But who fixes stuff when it breaks? Who makes sure no one bothers you when you’re havin’ a bad day? Who makes the coffee in the mornin’ exactly how you like it?”
You:softening, smiling sweetly “Alright, fine. We’re both the boss in different ways. But let’s be honest—when it comes to arguments, you fold first.”
Logan:mock scowling “Only ‘cause you give me those damn eyes. Ain’t fair.”
Who has the best jokes?
You:grinning smugly “Me. Hands down.”
Logan:snorting “Yeah, okay. But only ‘cause your jokes are so bad, they’re funny.”
You:“Excuse me?!”
Logan:grinning “Sweetheart, half your jokes are puns. Don’t get me wrong, I love seein’ you crack yourself up, but best jokes? Nah.”
You:frowning in mock offense “Fine, then let’s hear one of your so-called ‘good’ jokes.”
Logan:deadpan “Why’d the history book break up with the science book? No chemistry.”
You:blinking, then laughing despite herself “Okay, that was actually pretty good. Damn it.”
Who is grumpier?
You:“Oh, Logan. No contest.”
Logan:shrugging, unbothered “Yeah, probably.”
You:giggling “You’re basically a walking thundercloud until you’ve had your coffee. And even then, you’ve got about an hour before you start growling at people.”
Logan:smirking “That’s true, but you’re no ray of sunshine when you’re hungry.”
Who gets angry when they’re hungry?
You:immediately “Okay, fine. That’s me. But in my defense, you always know when to feed me before I get too hangry.”
Logan:chuckling “Damn right I do. Learned that the hard way on one of our first dates.”
You:giggling “Oh, you mean the time you forgot to feed me after making me hike five miles, and I almost bit your head off?”
Logan:grinning “Yup. You didn’t even wait for the food to hit the table before tearin’ into me. Thought I was gonna lose a hand.”
You:grinning sheepishly “Hey, at least you didn’t run for the hills.”
Logan:softly, leaning closer “Nah, sweetheart. I’d take your hangry self over anyone else any day.”
#logan howlett#wolverine#fluff#x men logan#x men wolverine#james logan howlett#marvel#hugh jackman#professor logan#professor logan howlett#x men movies#days of future past#professor reader#logan howlett fluff
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(I picked a random age cause canon sucks and nothing makes sense)
My name is Jon Kent, I am the son of Clark Kent aka Superman. I am 8 years old and I have an imaginary friend. She's awesome. She can fly, turn invisible, go through solid objects, shoot beams, and so much more. She has long white hair, glowing green eyes, and wears a black and white suit she looks about 16. Her name is Dani, specifically, Dani with an I. She always says names are important and you should always respect what people wish to be identified as.
Dani showed up one day following my dad home. Mom and Dad can't see her, Mom and Dad say that means she's my imaginary friend.
I love Dani! She tells me stories from all around the world. Like the one about the man in Australia that she watched who is a Crocodile Hunter. I love those stories. She's told me stories about the boy version of her, Danny with a Y, and all the wacky things he's gotten up to. Like how his pants fell down when he was talking to his crush. Danny with a Y stories always makes me laugh.
Dani has even helped me with my powers. I was always a little bit of a loner because I'm secretly half-Kryptonian, so ensuring, I don't harm regular humans is challenging. But with Dani, I don't have to worry, I can even hug her full strength, and she's fine. She is super tough, she says she is stronger than my dad. She's taught me how to better handle my strength. We played hot potato with eggs. Mom wasn't happy when she saw the mess we made. Mom said I wasn't allowed to play with food with Danny anymore. Dani tells me mom and dad pronounce her name wrong they say it with a Y, not an I, she can tell. I say it correctly.
We always play fight in my room. Since she travels so much she teaches me all sorts of different fighting styles. I really like Capoeira, because Mom and Dad just think I'm listening and dancing to music.
Dani only visits for a week at a time. She says she is a free spirit. She always giggles when she says that. I don't know why. Traveling is where she gets the best stories so I stay strong when she leaves. Dani always makes sure I get the best strongest hug before she leaves.
Mom and Dad hear me talk about Dani all the time. They are surprised that she leaves for weeks at a time. I always tell them Dani's traveling to get more stories for me. They always say I have an active imagination about all the things I "come up with". I don't come up with it though Dani always tells me these stories. Mom and Dad just laugh that dumb parental laugh when I defend Dani.
DPxDC #5
Dani while traveling unintentionally becomes children’s imaginary friend. For many children all over the world.
Dani’s only knowledge about adults is that they’re untrustworthy:
- Vlad created her and discarded her
- The Fenton parents are ghost hunters, hunting their own son
- G.I.W
- No adults help Team Phantom
- No other hero’s help Team Phantom
So she instinctively just doesn’t let adults see her.
As she travels she obviously does want to visit other hero’s but wouldn’t trust them. She’d follow them invisibly to learn more about them and fighting styles. Following them home she’d see they have kids.
She would want to interact with the kids and learn more about having a superhero as a parent. Young kids have imaginary friends all the time so parents wouldn’t be too concerned.
She would teach the kids all kinds of things and tell story’s from all around the world. All the adventures she’s been on. Maybe even other languages.
Of course she makes friends with many non hero kids, some even villains kids. Villains kids would get a completely different perspective of the world thanks to Dani.
Down the line eventually it would come out that several different kids have seemingly the same imaginary friend. Parents like to share story about their kids. Like oh my child has this imaginary friend a little girl that can fly and phase through walls and stuff haha they are so silly missing so many hero’s powers together.
Or the parents are having a meet up and bring their kids and the kids can all see Dani. Which isn’t normal for others to see your personal imaginary friend. Kids are gremlins when they learn the truth they have fun with it messing with their parents.
#dpxdc#dcxdp#dc x dp#dp x dc#Dani phantom#Jon Kent#i dont know where I'm going with this#ages make no sense#I don't know DC well enough to do other charactors
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