#and that i only have until the age of 25 to fix things before there's IRREVERSIBLE DAMAGE

[thekombuchagirl]

CODE ZERO

Summary: It was an ordinary humid sunday of June until it wasn't. Of all things you expected to happen in the summer of '25, preventing the spread of another epidemic wasn't one. Locked in the pantry of a cafe with a masked stranger, all you could hear outside were animalistic groans and the occasional crackle of breaking bones. Just when you thought that the last moments of your life would be sitting across an intimidatingly hot man, a table flips, literally.

Pairing: discharged soldier!yoongi x fem journalist!reader

what to expect? gore, zombies, banter in the face of death, explicit language, yoongi walks around in a tank with a manbun for a whole day, reader develops a liking for smashing skulls halfway through the story, sexual tension that can be cut with a knife and eventual smut

Age rating: 18+ mdni!

a/n: hi

P R O L O G U E

In all the twenty six years of your life, you have had seen thousands of doors. But never in all those years, had you paid such close attention to any of it. As your eyes remained fixed on the door of the pantry, you could faintly feel the heat of the body that was pressing to your back and the rough hand that was covering your mouth. All you could hear was the erratic beating of your heart and the growls from the other side of the door. The sounds playing in your ear kept getting louder and louder as if you were still outside and about to be caught in the clutches of whatever those things were. You could not even hear your heartbeat anymore. It was just animalistic growling and the sound of bones cracking. Just when you thought that the door was about to burst open, a murmur of assurance warmed your ear.

"It's alright. You're safe now."

Your eyes shot open. The dark ceiling felt like a familiar void. You closed your eyes again. You've had nightmares since you were a child but it never felt as real. Your heart was still beating so fast that it felt like it would come out of your throat any moment. Your throat was dry and you could barely swallow. Reaching out for the glass of water that you always keep on your end table, your hands came empty. That's when you realised that your back was against a solid plain, a floor. You sat up in a blink only for your eyes to meet a familiar pair of dark brown ones and a door behind him; the door from your nightmare.

Only, it wasn't a nightmare. No matter how many times you would close your eyes, it would always open to meet the same pair and the door. Those eyes watched you with nothing but boredom and the door felt like a layer of paper separating you from the things out there. It was real. The end of the world had begun and it just had to be when you were on your first solo trip. It just had to be when you were about to quit your job over a call. It just had to be when you were finally beginning a life that you wanted.

The stranger sitting in front of you was staring at you like you were a diaper commercial and he hated kids. His mask was hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He looked... unfazed, especially when he lowered his mask, yawned nonchalantly before looking at you again and deadpanned,

"Good sleep?"

"This is a notice to all residents that the outbreak of an unidentified disease that is wrecking havoc in the town has been now recognised as a violent outbreak. We recommend all residents to stay indoors and prevent any interaction with any infected person. If you come in contact with any infected person, immediately quarantine yourself in a closed space. We will be sharing further updates through radio channel 204. All entries and exits to the town are being temporarily restricted. Please wait for further instructions-"

"We can't get in touch with Yoongi, should I go out and-"

"No, Jimin. If he doesn't come back in two days, we will go out to look for him together."

"Whatever you say, RM," Jimin nodded at him, smiling at his freshly sharpened knife.

[notafunkiller]

sparks fly

Summary: While you are looking for Rebecca, you unexpectedly meet her brother, Bucky Barnes, your new gorgeous neighbor.

Pairing: neighbor!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: fluff, age gap (the reader is 25, Bucky is 33), teasing, no mention of y/n

Word Count: <1K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967​ for being my beta readers and for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

It started in the most random way. One morning, you want to announce Rebecca and your other neighbor, Elena, there might be some noise next week cause you need to call someone to fix your leaking faucet, but you are shocked to see a strange man when the door opens.

You and Rebecca don't know each other well since she didn’t seem much around and you moved there just 2 months ago.

You are embarrassed and surprised, especially since you are still wearing your pajamas. Bucky is trying not to stare at your legs or chest and be respectful meanwhile you are ogling him. From his bare feet and his pink shorts to the white tank top that you’ve never expected to look so good on anyone and his perfect man bun, you find him really attractive. He’s a tall, big man -huge-, with the bluest eyes ever.

And he’s so nice and friendly. You run into each other a few times before you invite him over for dinner. Since you are going to live across each other, you want to know a little more about him.

Bucky has been staying in Rebecca's apartment since she got married, so just a couple of days. He returned to New York after being abroad for a year. The fact that he owns an advertising agency doesn’t surprise you since he is a creative person and a known photographer apparently (you googled him), but he’s surprised when he finds out you’re a copywriter.

You slowly create a routine and spend every Saturday evening eating and watching films together while discussing work and random things.

"I would love to have a cat one day," you say with a smile.

"You can, Tisha loves animals."

Your landlord is a nice person indeed.

"Only if you get one with me." You’re not serious, though. You wouldn't "blackmail" him like that. You haven’t gotten a cat until now because your previous landlords made it clear that it’s not allowed.

"Let's go."

You laugh, shocked by his serious tone. Is he messing with you? "Are you serious?"

Bucky gives you a confused look as he finishes his last bite and drops the fork on his plate. "Why would I joke about it?"

"So you are a cat guy!" You jump excitedly from the chair. You knew it!

"Is this a thing?"

You snort, mimicking his tone "Is this a thing? Of course it is, silly. You passed my test.”

The look on his face is priceless, but you can’t judge him.

"I am confused."

"If you hated cats, then you’d be a red flag."

"You kids and your slangs." He shakes his head amused.

"Do you need an extra explanation? You roll your eyes, but, truth be told, you like it when he plays the old man card. He is not old after all. 33 is definitely not old. "People, men especially, who hate cats are absolutely the worst."

"Not animals in general?"

"Nope." You shake your head. "It's a different thing."

"Oh, please go ahead." He gestures with his right hand for you to continue.

"Cats people love all animals usually. Many puppy lovers, unfortunately, especially men as I said, hate cats. As in... when you ask people what animals they like the most or you talk about cats, they are offended and say they are dog people in that awful way, you know? They shit on cats and mention how dogs are better, despite it not being a competition, because they always wait for you and love you unconditionally. How cats are these horrible little creatures because they can’t be tamed."

"Ohhhh." His lips form an "O" as he finally starts to understand. "Because cats are independent and they hate that, don't they?"

"Finally, grandpa!" You high-five him.

And in less than an hour, you two get home with the two female cats that chose you instantly when you got there by licking and crying after you. They slept in your lap the whole ride home, even when Bucky stopped to buy them some food, and the next day, as two proud and happy parents, you made sure Alpine and Miss Bubbles are vaccinated and trimmed.

[revivemyreverie]

“Watch yourself. After all, you may be decent at dancing, but your foul attitude could be easily burnt away.”

Twisted from: The Evil Queen’s Red Iron Shoes

Coppelia Waltz

コッペリア・ウォールス

CV: ???

Technical Info.

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Demisexual

Birthday: 05/25

Age: 18

Height: 5’7 (170)

Hair Color: Charcoal Black

Eye Color: River Grey

Hand Pref.: Left

Homeland: City of Flowers

College Info.

Year: 1st

Class: 1B Set 27

Club: Track and Field

Favorite Subject: Art

Other.

Hobby: Flower Arrangement

Likes: Weddings

Dislikes: Forgiving others

Favorite Food: French Toast

Hated Food: Sunflower Seeds

Specialty: Ballet

UM: Iron Vengeance

The lower part of your body becomes bound to an unseeable fire. Until your begging finds value, you’ll dance in a hot hell forever.

The Dancing Plague

There was once a little girl, in a little village, who was born with no feet. Despite her obvious disability, she still dreamed of dancing in front of a large crowd, with flowers being thrown at her graceful figure. The other ballerinas in her class, however, thought differently.

“All you do is sit on your wheelchair without any legs to stand on, and that’s where you’ll be until you die of old age!” They’d pick on her without fail. “Hurry and give up, us real ballerinas need no stumpy girls like you!”

Brought to tears by their cruelty, the little girl fled the studio and sped into the woods. She wheeled on the mossy grass for hours and hours, losing herself in both the trees and her tears. Suddenly, the girl heard a tune like no other, and drew closer to the sound. That is when she saw it—a fairy dance.

Countless humans danced hand-in-hand, even as their feet were dyed red. But the faeries, oh the faeries, how gracefully they danced! Like flowers in the wind, they scattered and reformed and flew so freely!

It was only until one noticed the child that the music stopped, and they gathered around. And yet, the girl was not met with hostility.

“What is a mortal so young doing in the woods?” One asked.

She cried out her woes to the faeries, describing how terrible the other students were, and how she just wanted to learn to dance. The fae, finding sympathy for the little human, quickly thought up a way to fix her problem.

They lifted her from her wheelchair and flew her to their lair. On the first night of her visit, the ballerina was granted a pair of silver slippers, able to lift her off the ground. She cried and cried that night, so joyous to finally dance.

On the second night, the faeries taught her their peculiar dance. Like the humans she saw in the circle, she twirled and jumped without end. But unlike their tired bodies, she proved herself relentless, refusing to stop unless her steps matched her teachers’. Soon enough, she was dancing just as gracefully.

On the 3rd and final night, the fae taught her a magic spell. Still being the tricksters they always were, they giggled and snickered as they whispered an incantation in her ear.

“But why do I need such a spell?” She curiously asked.

“To punish those naughty children,” one fae answered, “and to give you a sense of retribution.”

So on that night, when she left the forest and came back to the dancehall, she whispered out that little spell, cursing her classmates to a fiery pain. Without any dancers to take their spot, the adults dragged the little girl from her seat and onto the stage.

There, with her classmates wailing backstage as their feet burned the same bloody red as the humans in the forest, the little girl danced. Her iron shoes glistened on the stage, as the crowd stared in awe at her beautiful performance. And even past the thundering applause of the audience, and flowers being thrown to her feet, the little girl could only think of one thing—

That her dream finally came true.

❤️‍🔥…

“Do you have any final thoughts, Miss Waltz?” The reporter pointed the mic in her face, grinning.

The child thought, before looking up to her horrified mother, who had built her metal shoes herself. Then, to her sickened upperclassmen, who taught her the magic of vengeance and the dance that wowed the crowd.

Smiling, she turned back to the camera, concerned parents rushing behind her.

“I’d just like to thank everyone who supported me, and helped me achieve my dream! This really feels like a fairytale come true!”

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 5 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.4k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Y/N slipped into Michael’s cell, the soft clink of the door echoing in the dimly lit space. Sucre, who was sitting on the bottom bunk, gave her a nod and a knowing smile before standing up. “I’ll give you guys some time,” he said, patting Michael on the back before slipping out into the hallway.

            It’s been a few days since the shower situation and the tension between Y/N and Michael was palpable, but it was not just attraction. It was a shared understanding of the pain and weight of the world that seemed to settle heavily on both their shoulders. Y/N sat down on the edge of the bunk, resting her elbows on her knees, while Michael leaned against the wall across from her, arms folded. The flicker of a weak overhead light cast long shadows on the cell walls.

            “So,” she began, her voice soft but carrying a hint of exhaustion. “Tell me something about your life before this place.”

            Michael’s gaze softened as he thought back to a time before prison walls, before the plan to break out. “Before all this,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful. “I worked and,” he began to tell her about missing the phone call of Lincoln and how if he did answer it, they could be in a very different position. He talked about his regret and how he owned Lincoln for all of this. “He’s innocent, Y/N. Like you,” he said. “Wrong person, wrong time. All a scheme. Caught in the crossfire.”

            Her heart changed a little because she did lie. She was not innocent. She killed those men. However, Y/N listened quietly, her eyes fixed on his, sensing the deep bond Michael shared with his brother. There was a rare vulnerability in his tone – one that didn’t often surface in the harsh environment of prison.

            Michael continued, his voice steady but laced with determination. “Now it’s my turn to do the same for him. He’s innocent, Y/N. He didn’t kill that man, but they’re going to take his life for it. Breaking him out – it’s only the way I can replay him for everything he did for me.”

            She could see the weight of responsibility Michael carried, the depth of his loyalty to Lincoln. It was impossible not to admire the way he was willing to risk everything for his brother.

            Michael came and sat next to her on the bunk, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.

            “I get it,” Y/N said after a pause. “It’s funny how people we care about the most can put us in these impossible situations.” She let out a humourless laugh. “I hired a divorce lawyer, but Sebastian keeps pushing back, delaying things. He’s trying to control me. I just want to be free of him, but every time I take a step forward, he drags me back.”

            Michael looked at her intently, his eyes narrowing in thought. “He’s using the legal system to keep you under his thumb.”

            “Exactly.” She sighed. “I just want to be done with him. The more I think about our relationship, the more I realise how fucked it was. I was groomed. I was manipulated.”

            “How did you meet?” he asked.

            “I ran away from the foster home and,” she looked down and bit her lip, “I was an addict. Dilaudid and he was the boss of my dealer. I did a favour for my dealer, and I got sucked in. I was fifteen. I got married at twenty-one and he was thirty-five. However, we lived different lives if that made sense. We may have lived together, but we had separate bank accounts, separate hobbies, separate lives. I was there for a fuck or to run a job for him. It was not love, it was control.”

            Michael listened. “What kind of jobs did you do for him?” he asked, looking in her eyes and Y/N glanced away.

            “Michael,” she whispered.

            “Y/N,” he responded, squeezing her hand.

            “You will never look at me the same way,” she whispered.

            His finger tucked under her chin and he dragged it up for her to look at him. “Did you kill those men?”

            Y/N had tears in her eyes, but his hold on her was firm and all he needed was to see the vulnerability and seeing the tears in her eyes.

            “They were bad men,” is all she whispered. “Rapists, murderers, torturers,” she continued. “I had to.”

            His hand dropped and he stood up and pinched his nose.

            “Michael,” she tried, wiping the tears from her eyes.

            “How many men have you killed in your life?” he whispered.

            “Michael,” she whispered.

            “Tell me. We are about honesty, Y/N.”

            Y/N got up and wrapped her arms around her chest. “It’s better for you to not know,” she said with confidence. “Better for all of us.”

            Michael paced back and forth in the small cell, his mind racing. The gravity of Y/N’s confession hung heavy between them, thicker than the walls that kept them trapped. She watched him with a mix of guilt and fear, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest if to shield herself from his judgement.

            “Michael,” Y/N repeated softly, trying to close the growing distance between them. Her voice wavered slightly, but she stood tall, her gaze locked on him.

            Michael stopped, his hands still pressed to his face as he processed everything she’d just told him. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

            Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her own secrets bearing down on her. She had known this moment might come – when her past, as murky and violent as it was, would surface between them. And yet, seeing Michael’s reaction, the hesitation in his eyes, it hurt more than she’d expected.

            “Do you hate me?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper, vulnerable.

            He looked at her then, and in his eyes, she saw something other than disgust, yes, there was sadness, but also understanding. “I don’t hate you,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “I could never hate you, Y/N. But I…” he trailed off, shaking his head, lost in thought.

            “You don’t know how to look at me anymore,” she finished for him, a bitter smile pulling at her lips. She felt her stomach twist painfully, a feeling she’d grown too familiar with – rejection, isolation.

            “It’s not that,” Michael replied quickly, his hand dropping from his face. He took a step closer to her, though the tension between them still cracked in the air. “It’s just…everything’s complicated now. I didn’t know you were carrying that. And I don’t want to pretend it’s easy to hear.”

            Y/N nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to burden you with it. But…”

            “But we promised honesty,” Michael finished for her, his voice softening. He reached out, gently taking her hand again. Despite the whirlwind of emotions between them, the physical connection was grounding. “I’m not judging you, Y/N. You did what you had to do. I’ve been in this place long enough to know that survival sometimes means doing things that…you’re not proud of.”

            She let out a small, shaky breath of relief at his words. “I just didn’t want you to see me as a monster. I did terrible things, Michael, but I did it to protect my life. I did it out of love and out of anger. I was controlled to the point I became someone I did not recognise.”

            Michael’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand, the touch comforting despite the weight of their conversation. “We’ve all done things we regret. You were a victim too, Y/N.”

            Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She had spent so long carrying the guilt and shame of her past, it felt foreign to be met with empathy rather than scorn.

            They stood there in silence for a moment, the air between them settling into something more familiar, more understanding.

            “You said Sebastian’s still controlling you,” Michael said after a beat. “You want a divorce, but he’s stalling.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N replied with a sigh. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows I’m stuck here, that I can’t fight back from behind bars. He’s using every legal trick he can to keep me tied to him.”

            Michael’s mind whirred, and he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “What if we find a way to hit him where it hurts? Use his own system against him?”

            Y/N blinked, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

            “You know his weaknesses, right?” Michael asked, his eyes sharp with focus. “There has to be something – financial leverage, hidden secrets. We can use that to push the divorce through. If he’s playing dirty, you can too.”

            A slow smile spread across Y/N’s face. “You always have a plan, don’t you?”

            Michael smirked in return. “Always.”

            Perhaps Michael can help her escape more than just the prison walls…

            The moment stretched between them, their connection deepening as their shared trust grew. Without thinking, Y/N leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a soft, fleeting kiss – one that spoke more of gratitude than passion. When she pulled back, Michael’s eyes met hers, filled with quiet intensity.

            “I can’t stop thinking about the shower we shared,” Y/N admitted with a small, nervous laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly.

            Michael raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “The shower?”

            She nodded, biting her lip. “I just keep imagining…touching you and how your skin felt against me. Soft and warm,” she whispered. “I like this, Michael. Us. Whatever this is.”  Michael came and sat her down next to him. “I like us too. I want us, Y/N,” he admitted. “Whatever this is.”

            She nodded. “I liked showering with you.” Michael smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear and kissing her lips. “I want to do more than shower with you,” she whispered.

            He pulled away and his brow furrowed, but Y/N held his cheek.     

            “I mean…if we ever do this. You know…actually be together…I’m on birth control.” She shifted awkwardly, feeling vulnerable. “The government makes me take it. I thought you should know.”

            Michael blinked, taken back. “Wait…they make you take it?”

            “Yeah. A woman in a men’s prison…with rapists and…you know. The pill. It’s strange, but I guess they want to control everything, even that.” She let out a half-hearted laugh, but it was clear the while situation weight on her,

            Michael’s hand tightened slightly around hers, his gaze softening. “That’s messed up. But I get why they do it. They don’t care about anything but maintaining control.”

            “Exactly,” Y/N agreed. “But I just wanted you to know. If – when – the time comes…”

            Michael’s expression grew serious, though his eyes held a softness that reassured her. “I want that too, Y/N. I think about it, more than I should in this place, But we’re never really alone, not truly. Except for the shower which is–“

            “–gross,” she finished.

            “And not very romantic,” he chuckled.

            “It’s my first time on the pill as I’ve always had IUDs,” she admitted. “But, I did not have a choice. So, I’ve been moody as hell and so tried. My breasts are tender all the time,” she whispered.

            “I’m sorry to hear that,” he responded, squeezing her hand.

            She shrugged. Sucre came back and she glanced up to see him at the cell door. “I guess I go back.”

            Y/N got up and as she was leaving the cell, Michael grabbed her hand. “I adore you,” he whispered, and she simply smiled.

            “I adore you, too.”

-

Michael got Y/N on PI and it sounded like a dreadful affair, but she knew she needed to help with the escape. The jumpsuit was awful. The blue was adorable, but it gave her zero form, however she could not care.

            She trailed behind Michael as they made their way to the storage room. A fire happened a day prior all thanks to Michael and Westmoreland. The more this plan was panning out, the more she realised how thoughtful Michael was with this.

            As they walked to the break room/storage room, T-Bag ran up to the fence.

            “Hey, hold up a minute. Hold up here. Seems to be a bit of confusion. I’m supposed to be on this detail,” T-Bag expressed, holding onto the fence.

            Abruzzi turned to CO Patterson and then looked back to T-Bag. “I don’t think so.”

            “Oh, John. You can’t be serious. Not after our long, illustrious history we shared together. All those nights in New York City,” he taunted, and Michael looked over to him. “In California. In St. Louis.” His hand clasped the fence, rattling it a little. “They were good times, weren't they, John? Tell the badge here about 'em. 'Cause if you don't want to, I certainly could.”

            Michael than glanced over to Y/N and she instantly recognised those eyes before he glanced over to Abruzzi.

            When they got to the break room, a CO opened the door to see T-Bag dressed in PI gear walking in. Y/N shook her head in disbelief as she leaned against the door.

            “I want this place gutted. The drywall’s gotta be torn out. The studs gotta be removed,” Bellick said, glancing over each inmate.

            Abruzzi cut in, “Boss, we’ve got some toxic issues here. Asbestos to start with.”

            Bellick rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Take it up with the union. All I'm saying is, this room's your only priority now. It better be brand spanking new when you're done. If anybody's thinking about getting cute, trying to trunk one of these tools out here, Brady's got the outline of every single piece of hardware in here. And at the end of every day, every single piece better match up or you're all going to the hole.”

            Then the COs walked out and door closed.

            Michael glanced over everyone before saying, “Let’s go.” Then they moved the table and pulled the carpet to reveal the small drain.

-

Y/N went to go to the washroom during the PI time in the breakroom. Lincoln was curious because the way Michael reacted to Y/N made him curious. He walked up to his brother and pulled him to the side.

            “You and the girl. What’s up with that?” Lincoln asked, voice strong.

            Michael glanced down to his feet and then back at his brother. “Private.”

            “Michael, tell me. Do I need to worry you’re infatuated with not just the only girl in prison but a mobster’s wife? She’s just some girl, and I bet she’s using you to escape. She killed men. Rumours spread,” Lincoln stated, voice filled with emotion.

            “The thing between Y/N and I is private,” he responded. “I will say there’s a plan.” He glanced down. “She’s the governor’s daughter that was abandoned. She has some pull. But, I do like her. I really like her,” Michael whispered. “She isn’t some girl.” Then he pushed away from his brother to back to work.

-

The steam from the shower billowed around them, thick and warm, cocooning Michael and Y/N in a hazy, secluded space. The low hum of water pounding against the tile echoed throughout the room, drowning out the noise of the prison beyond. Y/N’s back was pressed against the cold, wet wall, her skin contrasting with the heat radiating between them. Her breaths were ragged, her lips swollen from Michael’s heated kisses.

            They haven’t had sex. She was too grossed out with the bathrooms and additionally, she fears someone walking into them. However, she allowed him to touch her in the shower.

            His hands roamed her body with desperate intent, trailing from her waist to her hips, then slowly, tantalizingly up her sides. His hand grasped her breast which made her moan.

            “Are they still tender?” he whispered against her lips as her hands held his shoulders.

            “Yeah, a little,” she responded. “But you can still touch them.”

            Michael nodded, cupping them before running his finger down her naval. Every inch of her was on fire beneath his touch, their bodies slick with water, skin glistening and his tattoo shone brighter than ever. She pulled him closer, as his mouth captured hers again in a searing kiss that left both of them breathless.

            Their connection was primal – suppressed emotion and tension finally coming to the surface. Michael’s lips moved with fervour against Y/N’s, his tongue tracing her lower lip, making her shiver against the cool tiles. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, and for a moment, it felt as though nothing else existed outside the steamy haze of the shower.

            Y/N’s nails raked down his chest, her heart pounding in her throat as she clung to him. Her back arched slightly off the wall, pressing their bodies even closer. The heat between them was electric, charged with a yearning that had been simmering for far too long. She let out a soft moan as Michael’s lips left hers, trailing kisses down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

            Then, suddenly, a sound broke through the fog of their passion – someone clearing their throat.

            Y/N’s eyes flew open instantly in shock, her body tensing beneath Michael’s touch. She instantly tried to cover herself, reaching for her towel but before she could react fully, Michael moved quicker He spun around, placing himself between Y/N and the intruder, shielding her naked body with his own. His muscles flexed, standing protectively in front of her as if ready to defend her from the world.

            Seth stood there with a worried expression on his face. “Help me. Please,” he muttered.

            Michael looked at him then across the room where T-Bag came through, clearing his throat while Seth walked away. Y/N quickly grabbed her towel and wrapped her body with it as she grasped onto Michael’s arm. He took a step back, shielding her further.

            “You’ll have to forgive my boy. He has the propensity to be a bit gregarious when he shouldn’t be. Fraternising in the prison showers, come on, but then I spot this,” he mocked. T-Bag’s eyes gleamed with twisted amusement as he took in the scene. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and a smug grin tugging at his lips. His gaze flickered between Michael and Y/N, savouring the sight of their vulnerability.

            “Maybe you oughta cut the kid a break,” Michael said, grabbing his own towel.  

            “Fraternizin’ in the showers. Y/L/N and Scofield. If I were to come out about this…this little relationship. So cute,” T-Bag drawled, his tone mocking. “Ain’t that sweet? Though, I gotta say, Scofield, if you think you can go around meddlin’ in my affairs, then maybe I oughta start meddlin’ in yours.”

            Michael’s eyes darkened, his entire body rigid with tension. He took a small step forward, keeping Y/N hidden behind him, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t.”

            T-Bag tilted his head, his grin widening as he pushed off the wall and swaggered closer. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. But it’d be a damn shame if word got out that you’ve been sneakin’ around with the pretty lady here. The guards might not take too kindly to that. And who knows what kind of attention it might bring from the other fellas…”

            Y/N’s heart raced in her chest, the weight of the situation crashing down on her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but Michael’s presence in front of her was solid, unyielding. She could see the tension rolling off him, his fists clenched at his sides, ready to fight if necessary. Y/N squeezed his tattooed arm.

            “You lay a land on her,” Michael growled, his voice low and steady, “and you’ll regret it.”

            T-Bag chuckled, the sound slithering through the room like a snake. “Big words for a man with a lot to lose. Especially now that I am fully invested in your affairs. But I��d be careful, Scofield. In this place, everyone’s got somethin’ to protect. And if you start messin’ with what’s mine, well…let’s just say I won’t be the only one sufferin’ the consequences.”

            Michael took a step forward, his face inches from T-Bag’s, the air between them crackling with tension. “Stay away from her,” he warned.

            T-Bag’s smile faltered for a brief second, but then he shrugged, his grin returning. “We’ll see,” he said simply before turning on his heel and sauntering out of the showers.

            The moment he was gone, the tension in Michael’s shoulders eased slightly. He let out a breath he did not know he was holding and turned back to Y/N, his hands reaching out to cup her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks.

            “Are you ok?” he asked softly, his protective instincts still on high alert.

            Y/N nodded, her heart still pounding from the encounter, but the way Michael looked at her – full of concern, of love – made the fear fade. “Yeah,” she whispered, “but that pervert as seen me naked now and I can’t imagine what he will do with those thoughts.”

            Michael’s jaw clenched at Y/N’s words, his hands dropping to her shoulders, squeezing them gently. He hated that T-Bag had seen her vulnerable like that, that someone as vile as him now had ammunition to hold over them. His protective instincts flared up even more, every muscle in his body tensing at the thought of T-Bag’s twisted mind working through what he’d witnessed.

            “I’ll make sure he stays away from you,” Michael said firmly, his voice a low promise. His thumb brushed over her damp skin, trying to ease the tension that still lingered in her muscles. “He won’t touch you. He won’t get near you.”

            Y/N swallowed hard, trying to believe him, but the fear gnawed at the edges of her mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his lips quickly before pulling away. However, with his hand on her lower back, he guided her out from the showers to the changing area, but Seth stepped in front of them.

            “You’ve gotta help me,” Seth expressed, however as Y/N glanced at the young boy to Michael he simply just led them on.

            “Michael,” she whispered.

            “We can’t,” he responded.

-

Michael walked up to the storage room for PI. He pasted T-Bag who stared at him and Michael glared back…the tension from that morning still high from him catching Y/N and him together. Bellick was inside, watching the team while Y/N stood with a hammer in her hand. Never in her life she had ever done manual trade work – she always hired people, but oddly she was quite good at it. Michael came in and saw her looking at him and he sent her a curt nod.

            “Hey! What do you think this is, a siesta?” Bellick said to Sucre who was sitting on the table. Y/N watched as Bellick pointed to a wooden board on the wall which showed he was the Fox River CO of the Month with Bellick’s photograph being the biggest, in the middle at the top, showing his importance. “You see that? Any idea how it got there?”

            Sucre glances at Abruzzi then to Y/N who smirked and scoffed lightly.

            “Work ethic. Those two words mean anything in your country? You’re on PI, so quit slow-walking me. I’m not gonna warn you again,” Bellick barked then looked at Y/N. “What are you lookin’ at, girl? How’s it feel doin’ a man’s job? Didn’t even know women could handle trade work.”

            Y/N met his gaze without flinching. “I’m quite enjoying it, actually. Breaking things, fixing things…never underestimate a woman.”

            Bellick’s smirk grew as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Getting cocky on me, sweetheart?” he mocked.

            “No,” Y/N replied evenly, her voice calm but firm. “Just answering your question. I’m here to do my time and get my job done. No trouble.”

            She glanced briefly at Michael, her tone measured. “Didn’t mean to offend.” With that, Y/N turned back to the drywall, hammering away as Bellick lingered for a moment longer before stalking off.

            As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Michael wasted no time. He quickly moved to the hole they’d been working on, covering it with the carpet and pressing down to ensure everything stayed hidden. Y/N paused for a moment, watching him, but her attention was quickly pulled elsewhere.

            T-Bag.

            He was leaning casually against the wal, his eyes locked on her, but it was not just a glance. His gaze roamed over her body, lingering in places that made her skin crawl. It was the same look he had given her that morning in the showers, when he’d seen her naked…with Michael. The perverse smirk playing on his lips now told her he was replaying that moment in his mind, savouring it.

            A cold shiver ran down her spine.

            Disgusting bastard…

            Sucre’s voice broke the tension. “The bulls find this stuff they’ll know we’re digging.”

            Michael nodded, standing up. “That’s why we need to ger rid of it. One piece at a time.”

            The group moved ot the yard, each of them quietly discarding bits of concrete and dirt into the soil. Y/N stood next to Michael, her hands full of debris as she leaned against the fence. The weight of everything that happened today hung heavy on her shoulders.

            “Michael,” she whispered as she dropped the chunk of concrete to the ground, covering it with her shoe. “I feel…violated.”

            Michael’s jaw tightened. “T-Bag?” he asked softly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he tapped his foot to bury his own stash.

            She nodded, her voice low. “He’s been staring. Ever since this morning…I can feel him undressing me with his eyes. I can’t shake it.”

            Michael straightened up, his gaze hardening as he looked out over the yard. “Don’t let him get in your head. He thrives on that – on making people feel powerless. But you’re not. He’s just trying to mess with you.”

            Y/N stepped forward, her expression serious, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, Michael,” she said, her voice carrying a weight of vulnerability. “But I’m not the type to flaunt myself or be exposed like that. I don’t just…let people see me that way. So, the fact that I’ve been this vulnerable with you – it means something. But T-Bag…I never wanted him to see me…us that way.”

            Michael turned to face her fully, his eyes searching hers. He could see the anger and discomfort swirling inside her, and it made his own blood boil. “I know,” he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. “I know you didn’t ask for this. And I promise you, I’ll keep him away from you. He won’t touch you.”

            “But, he has seen us, Michael. What if he tells the guards or the warden? What if this goes back to Sebastian, Michael? We might get sent to the SHU or separated or they send me away.”

            Michael stepped closer, his hands gently resting on Y/N’s arms, grounding her as he spoke. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m not going to let that happen. T-Bag runs his mouth, but he’s not going to risk tipping off the guards. He wants out just as much as you and I. We will finish the plan to get out of here. He won’t do anything that jeopardises that.”

            Y/N bit her lip, her brow furrowed in worry. “But what if he does? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to use it against us? Or worse, what if this gets back to Sebastian? You know he will hurt me…and you.”

            Michael’s jaw clenched at the mention of Sebastian. He knew how dangerous her husband was, the kind of power he held outside these walls. But inside this prison, Michael could protect her. He would protect her.

            “If T-Bag tries anything, we’ll handle it,” Michael reassured her, his voice firm, though his mind was already calculating the possible risks. “As for the guards, we’ll make sure they don’t have any reason to suspect anything. We’re careful. We’ve been careful. Trust me.”

            Y/N nodded then heard the announcement of new prisoners arriving. She rolled her eyes and sighed. New people…new ways of establishing power. Y/N turned around to see the bus arriving with Michael as T-Bag came up beside her.

            “Hi, pretty lady,” he mused bending down to sniff her hair.

            Y/N turned to him and rose a brow. “Fuck off,” she barked walking around to be on Michael’s other side.

            “Freshman,” T-Bag purred as they stared in front of them. “Mhmmm.”

            Y/N gagged internally as she stared in front of her. But Michael squeezing her wrist before walking away.

-

All the inmates were walking back to their cells. Michael was a little bit ahead while Sucre was beside her. There was a chuckle from Sucre before he muttered, “Looks like I gotta find something else to call you now.”

            “Why’s that?” Michael mused, looking down as they walked.

            “’Cause you ain’t a fish no more. You ain’t the newest con in the tank…”

            However, Sucre could not finish his sentence as they stood in the middle of the room, looking up and spotting Seth with sheets wrapped around his neck, trailing behind. He was climbing over the railing.

            “Oh my God,” Y/N whispered. She watched as the man took his own life. Her eyes shifted to Michael who was focused on the man hanging there.

            He cried for help that morning. However, they chose not to. They did not realise how serious this was. Y/N’s heart dropped and all she could do was walk off to her own cell.

-

Y/N walked with Michael and the group down the street to the corner of the storage room. They were just kicked out by Patterson, the CO and had no idea why. Y/N leaned against the wall as Michael leaned next to her. Anxiety filled her as they had barely any time to cover the hole up.

            “What the hell’s going on?” Sucre said as they walked.

            “I don’t know,” Y/N muttered as she leaned against the wall. Michael leaned next to her before walking over to Sucre.

            “You gotta give us more of a warning next time,” he told him.

            “I’m sorry. He just showed up,” Sucre responded

            Y/N sighed, running her hands through her long hair before pulling it into a ponytail. Michael leaned over. “It’s going to be ok,” he muttered, mouth close to her ear.

            “I know,” she responded, however, then Y/N heard something coming from inside. “Oh my God,” she whispered looking over to Michael.

            “What?” he quickly muttered.

            “Do you hear that?” she responded, pointing behind her. “The man is having a way more joyous time than you and I are having,” she joked. “I mean he’s getting one ticket to pound town,” Y/N chuckled.

            Michael looked at her, mouth slightly open before looking behind her to try and concentrate on the sound. “Oh,” he muttered then smirking. “I guess he is.”

            “I don’t want to be this person,” Y/N started, “but if you’re having sex in a room, where there is a table. You aren’t sex against the door or the wall because they’re broken,” she whispered to Michael.

            “He is doing it on the table,” he responded.

            “Yeah, and he is gonna fall in,” she admitted.

            Then the noises got louder and Y/N put her hand over her mouth. “She is putting quite the show on,” Y/N said. “She is having a lot of fun.”

            Michael leaned closer before whispering, “Jealous much?”

            Y/N rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Scofield.” Then she pushed away from the door and walked a little further away.

            Eventually, the doors to the storage room opened and two individuals – one a male CO who kicked them out in the first place and a woman walked out, adjusting her skirt.

            “The sneaky son of a bitch,” Lincoln muttered.

            “You think he found the hole?” Sucre muttered.

            The group of them walked back into the storage and Michael went straight to the hole and crouched down before shaking his head. “Another inch and he’d have found it. We need to find something to cover this hole A.S.A.P.”

            Everyone agreed in that moment.

-

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95

[theworldvsyoshiko]

So, as I settled in today to prepare for succubus things, I decided that I should take a look at the Steam workshop to see if any weird new Rimworld mods have come out in the past month or so. There were a few mods that probably merit checking out sooner or later, but nothing immediately applicable.

And then I found this.

This ideology addresses two of the biggest issues I had when I was playing Yoshiko. It gives you an on-demand source of new children (via ritual rewards) and it lets you banish them once they become adults. Mood changes are reflected in all of this as you'd expect. After some testing, it also seems pretty reliable to keep an 'older' character around by resetting their age with various methods such as dark rituals. I can have my main character hit 18, eat somebody's youth to reset her age to 13, and she's happy again and exempt from banishment.

But, I did have to do that testing. This is a new mod, so I needed to make sure it wasn't gonna implode. I set up a scenario that starts you off with 13-year-olds, picked out my starting location and stuff... and then started with the wrong character. Like not even on a full run. The wrong character for testing. I wanted somebody with a bazillion skill ranks so they could set up a little base without me having to mess around in godmode. I was trying to get a hyper-competent Succubus or Nekomata.

Instead I got this weird chicken:

Harriet here isn't bad by any standards. She's got decent proficiencies and her traits are great. She's awful at Construction and Plants, which are a real slog to start a settlement without, and also Medical, which is only a nice-to-have until somebody gets an eye shot out. With Very Diligent Student and Great Memory, though, she can pick up just about anything long-term. In the short term she kinda sucks, but she's a little better off than Yoshiko. ... on a personal level, at least. Yoshiko had robots helping her out, which counts for a lot. Harriet's gonna have a lot less food poisoning though, which also counts for a lot.

Harriet's a Lilim, which is... mostly to her advantage.

It's kinda a much more low-key version of succubus. Still unaging past 18, still ridiculously pretty, still delighted by violence, but no blood-drinking, no soul-eating, and no giant demon form henshin. A bit more combat-focused otherwise, though. On the other hand: while Talons means they're better at unarmed combat, it lowers their Manipulation, which is probably the second-most-important stat in the game. (Although I think CE offsets that a bit.)

Since I was testing the ideology anyway, that's safely in place.

Adults have fucked this world up, and it's gonna take a team of teenagers with attitude to fix it.

Features of this ideology include:

Anybody over 18 is fucking dead to these kids. Anybody over 25 has a -70 social modifier with them. They would rather hang out with a 17-year-old who just murdered their best friend than somebody in their late twenties.

Anybody over 18 will be expected to leave the group in short order. There's a ritual for this. If the ritual goes poorly enough, the newly-minted adult might get pissed off and start attacking children. This goes by physical age, not chronological age, so Harriet herself can cheat with a Biosculptor Pod or the Chronophagy ritual. And she will. She starts off with the former, because she's probably gonna hit 18 before she can research either of these.

They have five different styles: Childish, Bushido, Steampunk, Corsair (pirates), and Ocular. Who has time for a cohesive aesthetic when you're going through puberty. let's be fucking steampunk samurai pirates. There are overriding priorities on this stuff, so I might have to shuffle them around to get more than the first one or two to show up.

They have rituals that can summon other children to join them, cause a transport pod with a baby to crash nearby (don't think about it), or enrich the learning of all the kids who participate. I can pretty much recruit kids on demand.

Apart from their intense distrust of adults, these kids are generally pretty moral. However: I twisted the usual ideology rules to give them a gladiator duel ritual. You can't tell me that a settlement of vindictive children wouldn't make adults fight to the death for their own amusement.

[mielwriting]

Natlan Archon Quest Act 1, 2 Reaction

Had to split it into multiple parts cause it's so long...

That empty expanse between Sumeru and Natlan that doesn’t have any people or wildlife is jarring. I only realized AFTER I got there that there was a teleport waypoint past all that that had automatically unlocked, but I couldn’t see it cause it was hidden by the archon quest symbol. 

Can’t believe the Traveler and Paimon didn’t wanna ask how the Echoes’ Chief suddenly recognized us. 

Love the cutscene of the Traveler switching between elements. 

Kachina reminds me of Bennett. I expect us to learn about his origins in 5.X

There are fantasy giraffes?!

Nice to see them calling him Dvalin, not Stormterror

*running away from the researcher guy cause I don’t want to be forced into a conversation and he literally starts chasing when you get too close*

Oooooooh so when Neuvi said “Natlan is plagued by wars” waaay too many of us assumed wars between the humans, not wars vs the abyss. 

So if someone who isn’t an Ancient Name Bearer makes it to the Night Warden Wars, does their name become an Ancient Name for future generations to potentially receive?

“Danger is the nature of war” Mualani says. But Kachina told us all ancient name bearers are required to compete - even kids like her. I can see how this mentality might have been manipulated by others to force Vennessa’s tribe into oppression. 

Also what the fuck? Not sure I’m buying the whole “not a single Natlan person wants to leave” after hearing they force people to fight like this. Mondstadt (& Liyue to a lesser extent) continues to be the only nation I’d feel safe in. What the hell. 

And yeah sure the archon can resurrect them. But like. That doesn’t fix the trauma. It’s still fucked up. 

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE REVIVING

Citlali was introduced in the trailer by her strong insistence on not participating in the Pilgrimage. I can see why. I already like her. 

This whole situation sounds like the recipe for burn out (literally too. Death). 

Kinich cannot be older than 25. And he’s just casually stating he’s died before… 

You people need therapy

Also what’s up with Ajaw? He’s such a bully. What the hell man. 

I say that now but I assume his situation of “I am mighty and I will conquer the world!” (and everyone treating them like a kid) is like King from Owl House. 

Though of course, I only started sympathizing with King from Owl House because of character development. Something that Genshin Impact rarely gives its playable characters. 

Anyway, this whole “ancient names are forgotten if the bearers fail”. Is that a conscious effort to erase these people from records, or is it more like an Irminsul erasure?

“Feast until the bill gives the Archon a heart attack” finally, an archon with mora!

Kachina “I can’t keep using my age as an excuse”. If only Lisa or Alhaitham or Venti were here to teach her the importance of giving yourself grace and letting yourself rest. 

“I have to prove I’m not trying to avoid the wars” babygirl you are 9 years old

Kachina you have a 7 or 8 Pilgrimage losing streak?! Do these things happen once a year? How young were you when you first participated…

Kachina always prepared with her backpack… she’s like Dora but with gifted kid issues…

All these other playable characters with their “trauma” from “near-death” experiences”. Try actually dying a few times; then you can cry PTSD!

But of course, being raised in the US, I recognize this is partly the influence of a very individualistic culture. 

And about the whole revival thing. That’s Chekov’s Consequence-Free Traumatic Death Scene! Place your bets now; who’s gonna die in the archon quest, and then be revived?

So, what if someone with a (not pyro) vision wins the competition? Do they become pyro archon, overriding their previous elemental vision? 

Does this mean Mavuika has 3 names: her regular name, her Goetic name, and her Ancient Name? 

Is it possible for people without a vision to be gifted an Ancient Name? 

Oh my god you send a team of FIVE to fight the entire abyss?!

So you CAN have a vision that doesn’t match your tribe’s element. Atea, of the Peoples of the Springs, has a pyro vision.

[wifeofsnowbaird]

You put a spell on me

[A/N: I was too lazy to wait for the end of the poll. also i haven't watched the show and wikipedia is kinda holding me up so don't get mad at me for messing smth up, i'll go on the fan wiki tho, they always have everything.]

[EDIT: guys I forgot about the civil war 💀💀💀 I finally fixed it tho so yay]

Part 1/Part 2

Masterlist

[Billy the Kid (Tom Blyth's version) x desi!oc]

Warning: description of blood, slight violence, flogging, racism, flogging, slaves, smut in maybe part 6?

Summary: Sheila was a slave taken by a British couple at the age of 12 for her singing. She was brought to America even though they had the 13th Amendment where slavery was abolished. She saw a friend of hers, who was brought with her, getting flogged and that was her last straw, proceeding to run away. Until she sees the most notorious outlaw in the South, then she settles to free her friends from the British couple that came to America for money.

It was July.25, 1878, Lincoln County, New Mexico. Sheila woke up to nothing but harsh screams coming from one of her friends as she was beaten and whipped. She felt worried because the girl was new…Unlike Sheila who had been with the owner since she was twelve, merely because his wife liked her singing when they had come to visit British India.

Her friend, Catherine, was a sad sixteen-year-old, mourning the death of her parents. They had threatened the owners of telling law enforcement what was happening but they knew that they wouldn't do anything about it.

The other slaves ran to her screams but were faced with fear and did nothing besides revel in their powerlessness. Sheila sat there, her damp brown skin and greasy raven hair clinging to her shell of a body. She knew how this would end, knew that they would be feeble against the man–Edward J. Mason– but she was ready to clean Catherine’s wounds and reassure her that she would be alright.

“Oh, look at my slave, Sheila, so obedient! You never have to hurt her, Edward!”

The sadistic gray-haired man chuckled, kissing his wife.

“ And aren’t I glad, Penelope! We chose her when she was twelve, it has been seven years since, of course, she’d love us, this is why I love Indians! They always gift us with beauty and trust.”

They both glanced at the gaunt, starved girl before chuckling. The Mistress patted Sheila’s head and reached for a rake beside her, beckoning to the other slaves. 

Penelope Mason was a woman no different from her husband. Many wives were afraid of their spouses but Penelope was a wife who had nothing but pride in her bones. The rake in Penelope’s hand was covered in blood, meant to whip the slaves that threatened their control and most times Sheila could willing block out the screeches and screams, but now she just felt angry, ready to beat the couple with no morals. 

But she was stuck being useless to defend them.

Fear is a burden that was attached to her like a drug, and only withdrawal held her back from screaming her heart out.

Until she found a boy with the brightest blue eyes. 

From what she’d heard, he was an outlaw.

Billy the Kid was infamous because he was the man who killed a sheriff months ago, and chased out of the state. It was a mystery how he gained the courage to return to New Mexico.

“ Who’re you?” The man questioned, his vibrant cobalt eyes gazing at her with hostility.

Sheila didn’t want to think more about the dominant color in his entire posture and frame. His clothes were darker than sin and brighter than the sun, but his eyes were the only thing she could pay attention to, causing her to ignore their proximity.

“ I am a slave, belonging to the Mason family.”

He tilted his head, shocked eyes analyzing their surroundings.

“ I didn’ ask what you were forced to be, I asked who you are.”

“ My name is Sheila, is that what you want?”

“ Huh, I’m Billy, but considerin’ the poster you were starin’ at a min’ ago, you already know that. But...how did you...No, how dare they have slaves!”

The dividers were made by @wandanatromanova

[lulaypp]

Lulaypp's Foliage of Lost Fics #2: Aren't We All Fluffy

A/N: This was my first fluff. From 2020? Pure fluff. I remembered it being a bit of a pain to write XD This was inspired by the lovely Gem, who shared several polar bear images and captioning them as Batfam. Somehow that gave me the great idea to write pure fluff with polar bear-ed Bat boys. And I never finished it until now (even so I think I intended for it to cover the next morning? But I thought Nah). Among the stuff that I will be putting here, this might be the oldest? A close second otherwise. Up there among the earliest fic I have written (even if incomplete).

Details of Fic: 3.5k words, Batfam Fandom, Pure Fluff, Characters Magically Transformed into Animals, Potential Touches of OOC (I wrote this ages ago so... :P I tried fixing those too glaring)

---------------------------------------------

Dick woke up from his sleep fumbling with his newly acquired furry paws. He blinked at the clock by his bed. 11:25. Everyone else should already be awake at this time.  

Dick dragged himself off his seemingly ginormous bed, padded his way to the door and nosed it open. Bruce had insisted that they left all the doors to their rooms slightly ajar for convenience and emergencies, as the door handle might prove difficult for their paws. 

It had been an accident of sorts. All the boys of the Bats had been chasing one single magical villain. All of them had been zapped. And before they knew it, they were all not just polar bears, but polar bear cubs. 

Luckily, it was winter. Their thick coats would have been unbearable in the summer heat.  

Dick scanned the hallways for any signs of his brothers. 

The door opposite to his was wide open. Tim's. He crawled over to it and peeked inside. The room was empty. He turned to Damian's room beside his own; also empty. Then, he turned to the last one, the door still left just slightly opened.  

He pushed through it with his head and looked around. Despite being occupied, the room was relatively barren. The cupboards were empty and the walls a normal standard cream colour, the duffel bag on the floor being the only sign of life aside from the bundle of fuzzy fur, curled up on the bed. Jason was bent on not claiming the room as his even though he occupied it every time he stayed at the manor and no one else ever used it. Dick didn’t know whether it was some stupid Jason-being-stubborn-thing, or was it born of something else. 

He carefully climbed onto the bed and approached his sleeping brother. In the dim light, his coat appeared grey, highlighting the white clump of fur on the top of his head (no one understood why that part of him retained after the transformation). He looked so peaceful and, admittedly, adorable. 

But sadly, Dick needed to wake him up. Alfred and Bruce had apparently let them oversleep.  

He nearly used his voice before he remembered that he was not human. So instead, he pawed at Jason's leg. No movement. He did it again, harder this time. Still no response. Dick did a bear equivalent of a frown. He remembered Jason being someone who woke up easily. Changing tactics, he tried gentling batting the other bear's ear— in a way he had always seen animals do. The ear twitched a little before the Jason made a small sound, curling up further. Dick tried poking next, softly prodding his paw into his brother's fuzzy chest, while nosing his head.  

That got him a response. Jason's eyes slowly opened and blinked at him sleepily. Before they turned alarmed. He jumped back, flopping on the bed, paws flailing. 

Dick laughed. Or it would have been if he wasn't a bear cub. Instead, it sounded like a light, stutter high pitched growl. Jason though, was not amused. He gave Dick a glare before standing up on his paws and jumped off the bed. Dick followed.  

Together, they crawled out of the room and headed towards the stairs. He was about to start a conversation before he was reminded of his lack of ability to humanely do so. He frowned.  

Beside him, Jason seemed to drag his paws across the carpet, his eyes half closed. Dick's mind supplied him with a brilliant idea. With what could have been a mischievous smile, Dick let himself fall behind before crouching, coiling his hind legs. Then he pounced, tackling Jason, who could only let out a startled yelp.  

Unfortunately, Dick chose to do this at the top of the manor's long flight of stairs. 

The two polar bears tumbled down, and Dick let out a squeal of glee, clearly enjoying their fall down the carpeted steps. Jason on the other hand was mildly terrified. His untrained paws attempting to find something— that was not his brother— to hold on to. 

Before long, their decent down the stairs came to a halt as they finally reached the ground floor. Dick quickly got up and started to run in small circles, wearing an expression resembling a wide grin.  

The other bear was not really angry with their tumble down the stairs, but that didn't mean he was particularly happy either. He struck at his brother, sheathed claws softly batting the other's nose with a growl.  

Dick was taken aback, joy disappearing from his face as he stepped back. He looked up, expecting to see rage. But, while Jason was snarling, there was mirth in his eyes. 

The younger bear slammed into Dick before they ended up playing a game of chase all the way to the dining room. 

- 

While he did adore animals, that never meant he wanted to be one. Sure, there were times when he wondered what it would be like, but that had only been a mere thought. 

Damian marched into the dining room and saw Alfred pouring coffee in a mug and Father flipping through today's newspaper. This would have been a normal sight if there wasn't a small polar bear seated at one of the chairs, seemingly contemplating the cutleries. Drake. Damian crawled until he reached his chair before standing up and climbing onto the seat with as much grace as a tiny polar bear cub could muster. 

"Damian," Bruce greeted him, swiftly snatching his mug of coffee away from Tim's reach. 

Damian supressed the urge to reply vocally, instead just giving a nod. He refused to talk while still in this form. He had tried it yesterday and the result had been horrendous.  

Alfred placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Drake, and one filled with chickpeas masala and bread for him. 

While Damian tried to figure out the best way to eat without the use of cutleries— for he knew he would only end up making a fool of himself— Drake was trying to manoeuvre a single spoon of eggs into his mouth, clutching the silverware with both front paws. Damian was confused as to why Alfred would provide them with the silverware, as they clearly would have problem using them. 

"I have contacted Zatanna," Father spoke up, folding the paper and placing it on the table. 

Drake paused his activity to look up at Father questioningly. 

He seemed to understand as he promptly replied, "She would be arriving tomorrow evening." 

Drake gave a nod before getting back to his task, the spoon clumsily clanging against the plate repeatedly. 

Damian looked down at his food. Unlike Drake, he knew that he would not be able to use the cutleries with his new paws.  

Some minutes later, Damian had decided to tediously eat using his claws and paws while Father, who already finished his meal, was watching Drake still attempting to scoop up the scrambled eggs—he managed two mouthfuls so far, which was impressive. Alfred was just coming towards the table to retrieve the empty dishes, when there were sounds.  

Thudding, quick heavy footsteps and low, muffled growling. 

It didn't take long for them to figure out where did the noise come from as a bundle of light grey tumbled into the dining room. Richard and Todd; hopping, swiping at each other’s faces, teeth snapping at fur. Playing. The two of the seem to notice where they were and started to untangle themselves from each other. Richard immediately bounded over to the chair next to him leaping and falling half on top of the seat, his hind legs hanging down. 

Todd walked up to the table, climbing onto the chair several spaces after Tim's as Alfred brought out two plates of eggs. 

Todd didn’t hesitate to shove his face into his food, jaws snapping what he could into his mouth before chewing. 

Richard on the other hand merely took one sullen look at his meal before turning to Father, who happened to be looking at him. He then used his puppy eyes, fore paw pushing his plate in Father's direction. 

For a moment, Damian thought his oldest brother's actions were based on the difficulties of eating with their paws. 

That was until Father spoke, "Alfred is the one who cooks and serves, Dick. If you want cereal, you are going to have to ask from him." 

- 

After breakfast, Bruce had to go to the Wayne Tower to attend some meeting that Tim was initially supposed to go to and the cubs, minus Tim, gathered in the living room. Damian stood on his hind legs in front of the window, watching Bruce's car driving away. Dick was on the coffee table, attempting a handstand. Jason was settled on the arm rest of the sofa, thinking whether he should try seeing if could read a book. He didn't want to accidentally ruin his books while flipping the pages with his furry, clawed paws.  

Yet, he was growing bored. One could only watch Dick Grayson fall on head over heels so much before it stopped being funny. As minutes pass, Jason was starting to doubt his previous conclusion, maybe Dick was not trying to do a handstand. Falling off the table seemed to be the goal. 

Suddenly, Tim came running into the room, tripping over his paws and crashing into Dick. Damian looked part horrified part amused and Jason wished he had a camera to capture the scene that had just unfolded. 

Dick picked himself up, shaking his head, while Tim seems totally unfazed, perking up with a cheerful expression and looked at all of them before pointing at the window. The three other bears blinked and stared at him in confusion. Tim ran to the window, stood on his hind legs and tapped the glass pane with one paw while the other makes a circular motion. 

They really needed to come up with a way to communicate effectively. 

Tim seemingly rolled his eyes. He walked back to them, pointed individually to each of them, including himself, before he made what Jason could only interpret as a running motion then pointed at the window. Jason looked at the window, trying to get a clue. It was snowing outside. The four of them are polar bears. 

Then he understood. Tim wanted them all to go outside into the snow.  

With that, he gestured Dick and Damian to follow him with his head. He led the to the front door and pat on it with a front paw. That somehow manage to finally make the others understand, Dick grinning excitedly before disappearing back into the hallways. 

It didn't take long for him to return with Alfred, who unlocked the front door, saying, "Now young masters, I know that you are all now more than prepared for the freezing temperature, but do be careful. Stay safe and try to not lose each other."  

The door opened and Dick dashed out into the snow followed by Tim. Damian ran after them.  

Jason launched himself on top of Tim, paws batting his ears, while the younger bear tried to nip at his leg. They rolled about in the snow for a while before a white ball of Damian crashed into them. They landed in a heap before Dick belly flopped himself on top of them. 

- 

After playing in the snow for some time, the boys were called in for lunch. It started out as rather uneventful. Bruce was still at WE and Tim knew that the second meeting he needed to attend would probably finish at three.  

They all ate silently at first. Or he would be silent if he could get the fork to move right. 

Damian was daintily plucking his salad with his paw while Jason decides to just bite into his steak, his plate occasionally shifting about. 

Dick had managed to convince Alfred to cut his into smaller pieces and was chewing on them individually.  

Tim was still struggling with his fork when suddenly a white paw pulled his plate away. He looked up in surprise and saw Damian reaching over— tiny body half on top of the table— and pulling the plate towards himself, giving him what resembled an exasperated look. Using his claw, he cut Tim's piece into smaller parts before pushing the plate back to Tim who was still stunned (and really, why didn’t he think of doing that?). He was barely aware of Dick making a happy proud noise as Tim look from the food to Damian, who was wiping his paw on the napkin. In the end, he let out a sound that hopefully sounds like gratitude and used his fork to finish up his lunch.  

Not long after, they all converged into the kitchen, initially to just wash their paws and mouth. Due to reasons that was difficult to pinpoint, what Dick and Damian almost ended up doing was a full-blown circus act in the middle of the kitchen causing Alfred to immediately shoo them out.  

"I heard that Miss Cassandra is coming over today," Alfred told them while as they tumbled out of the kitchen doorway. "She should be arriving at any moment. Why don't you all greet her?" And with that, he turned back to the kitchen. 

Dick looked at them as they all head to the den, eyes glinting at the idea.  

Jason's scowled and shook his head. The elder cocked his head to one side questioningly but did not push, instead turning to his two younger brothers. 

Tim gave a shrug, not seeing a problem with the idea while Damian nodded. Having Cass over had never not been fun. 

Dick grinned, which really could look like a snarl in their condition, as they reached the den. 

Jason shook his head again, causing Dick to frown, his right eye twitched in what looks like a raised eyebrow. Jason gestured his forelegs wildly, at all of them, at himself and at the doorway, which Tim honestly felt like brought more questions than answers. 

Damian somehow seemed to understand as he gave a nod before pointing at Jason then upwards. 

Tim got even more confused as Dick joined in the non-verbal conversation, shaking his head vigorously, doing some incoherent flailing of his own. 

It was cut short however as suddenly someone landed on the table behind him, startling everyone. Tim turned to the newcomer and saw that it was Cass, her mouth pulled into a grin. 

"Brothers," she said simply.  

Dick let out a strange, excited sound as he jumped over to tackle her. Catching the cub, Cass gave him a hug as she jumped down from the table.  

"Brothers, bears. Adorable."  

Damian let out a half growl while Jason only huffs a breath, rolling his eyes and crossing his forelegs. Dick on the other hand seemed to take it as a compliment, excitedly wiggling in Cass's hug. 

She placed him on the floor and waved them all to follow her. They followed her to Bruce's study and down to the Cave. After a few quick glances around the Batcave, probably to check for their father's presence, Cass continued further until they reached the training mats and turned to them with a wide grin. 

"Practice," she spoke. 

Dick and Jason perked up (the latter seemingly have lost his earlier hesitance) while Damian seemed to back away. Tim gave him a questioning look which was responded with a shake of his head. 

In front of them, Jason and Cass were already in a hand to paw battle, with Dick occasionally jumping in to give playful swipes to either of his siblings. 

Tim looked back at Damian, who still appeared uncertain. After several years of back-and-forth squabbling, they seemed to have gone past the point of mutual understanding and respect to where they are now. Knowing that his brother's hesitance came from not wanting to make a fool of himself during training, due to him being an entirely different creature, Tim didn’t push him. 

Instead, he shoved. 

While Damian was distracted by Dick successfully doing an impressive summersault to a avoid Cass's kick, Tim walked a little bit behind Damian before running at full speed and ramming into his brother. Damian let out a squeak as they tumbled into Dick. The eldest sat dazed and confused as Damian turned to him, teeth bared into a snarl, and pounced onto him, attacking with sheathed claws. 

And that was how Bruce found them as he entered the Cave after an impromptu quick dinner. All five of his children, tumbling and fighting on the training mat. He pulled his phone out and sneaked in a quick picture, before he approached them. Cass already met his eyes when he appeared but chose to ignore her father in favour of pushing Jason off Tim. 

Bruce could feel his heart melt just by looking at all his children having fun together. It had been a while since that had happened. While they all were in good terms with one another, they also had varying and shifting schedules and lived in separate places. The only times he could actually be sure to see them all together was during Alfred's birthday. Even then there were times when things went wrong. 

It took a minute and a lull in their playfight for Dick to notice the new presence and he let out an excited noise before running to Bruce making unintelligible sounds, which Bruce assume that his eldest is trying to tell him a story of sorts. He responded with giving Dick's furred head a pat and turned to the rest of his kids.  

"I take it you are having fun," he said. "I hope I am not interrupting but Alfred wants me to tell you that dinner would be ready in an hour and that he would prefer it if you hit the showers before that." 

They all picked themselves up from the mats and were about to rush to the stairs when Bruce called for Cass. She motioned her brothers to go on upstairs as she headed back to Bruce, a question in her eyes. "You are staying home tonight." 

Her eyes widen slightly but he continued before she could protest. 

"Your brothers are all currently benched until they are reverted back to normal, and I need someone to make sure none of them heads out into the streets. You are staying to supervise them." 

Cass frowned, "Have case." 

"I am sure I can look into it for you. Please?" 

She didn’t seem keen with it, but she nodded anyway.  

"Thank you, Cass." Bruce gave a nod and a squeeze on her shoulder before walking to the computer. 

- 

Dinner went well. Other than several snappy growls from Damian, Tim's cutleries clattering to the floor and Dick trying to convince Cass to feed him. 

Just as everyone cleared their plates, “Movie night!" Cass declared. 

Dick let out an excited rumble of agreement and when no one disagreed, they all went to the den. 

It took a while for them to agree on a movie, but they ended up with Ice Age— Tim insisted on it out of irony. The movie started as they settled down on their chosen seats. Dick squeezed himself beside Cass on the sofa, followed by Damian who fit himself between his brother and the armrest. Jason and Tim shared the large armchair, the thing being the perfect size for them.   

And it was several hours later when Bruce peaked around the corner and saw his children asleep in the dark den. Dick was curled up on the sofa with Damian sprawled on top of him. On the armchair that was usually reserved for Bruce, were Tim, head hanging of the edge of the seat— it looked painful— and Jason, who had his chin perched on his brother’s shoulders. Cass had a blanket wrapped around her and one hand nestled in Damian’s long fur. She was the only one awake, shooting a smile at Bruce when she noticed his presence. 

He approached silently and gave a kiss into Cass’s hair. ‘Thank you,’ he tried to convey. 

His daughter immediately pushed into it in an almost cat-like manner before settling in under the blanket again. Damian, head in Cass’s lap, let out a little rumble, burrowing his face into the fabric. 

Bruce gave all his sons a gentle stroke on the head— after deciding not to fix Tim’s position as it might jostle him awake— before leaving for his own room upstairs, the image of his children snuggling together safe (even if not quite themselves) warming his heart. 

- 

(Deleted Scene) 

They spent the morning running around, play fighting, pouncing on each other and even tried to have a snowball fight at one point. 

It was a bit after noon when they heard the sounds of a car crunching the snow on the driveway. In unison, they all turned and saw Bruce's car. They ran to it. The car stopped not far from them, and Bruce stepped out, a concerned frown on his face as he eyed the crowd of bears in front of him.  

"Is something wro-" 

He was cut off by Dick launching himself at Bruce head, causing him to fall into the snow. Damian followed suit as Jason and Tim joined in as well, piling onto Bruce. 

[royalreef]

@paleobird inquired: Name: Ava Ostrom Age: 25 How well do we know each other?: Decently well! Do you have a pet name for me?: Not at the moment. Do I have a pet name for you?: I don't think so! Are you attracted to me?: You're very pretty, yes! Why do you want to marry me?: Uh... political reason, I guess? Big wedding or Small wedding?: Whatever works for you! Do you see children in our future?: Hm, I'm not so sure, but... maybe Spouse Application - Accepting

It comes like an old, familiar friend, that tickle in Miranda's gums, that sweet, low simmer in her gut. It's been such a long time. Miranda almost forgot what it felt like, what sweet relief it brings, such a fond kindness it extends out to her and runs through her veins until they come back hot, until her heart remembers to dance. It's a kindly relative in that way, a favorite nanny, someone who brings snacks and toys for her little hands, not yet grown into itself, someone who runs their face all over hers and tells her all her favorite stories while getting her to promise not to tell anyone else. Not to let anyone else know, because then this couldn't happen again, because the troubles would start and Miranda's kindnesses would vanish.

Rage is such a strange animal. It comes to Miranda more often than it should, so often that the fact that she knows it by name should be cause for concern, would have left her community speaking behind her back and concerned for the points of her teeth. But she's a royal, and royals play by different rules, of course. It matters less, when you have more to defend, more to call your own. Loyalty too is highly prized, far moreso than rage is feared.

And if Miranda's rage is kin with her cruelty, well, that too can be overlooked. That much is expected, really, a hazard of the job, something to keep in mind but not to fuss over too much. It's only really important when it spills over, after all. When it becomes too much, when it starts to impact her duties, her purpose, the thing she was designed for. Then, maybe, concern is warranted, but if it keeps its manners about it, then it can stay as a polite house guest. It's been here before, after all, a family friend. It knows the way around the grounds already.

Miranda doesn't sneer. She doesn't bare her fangs or flatten her fins or growl like an animal. Miranda doesn't do anything at all.

All Miranda does is watch Ava. Her eyes, pointed forwards to direct herself towards those who wait in front of her, focus on Ava's face. It might be tempting to say that it's like she's never seen Ava before, but it's not really that kind of look. It is prying, intense, a categorization of her features unlike anything that Ava might have endured thus far, but the difference is subtler.

It's that Miranda keeps going. Her eyes — a stark and violent blue that never feels quite like they should be as bright as they are, gruesomely tropical and evocative of shallower, warmer waters than any warmth she actually holds in her gaze — fix deeper on Ava.

Miranda does not speak. She does not seem to breathe, her body struck with a stillness so abrupt that she does not look real, like motion is something that forgot her where it shouldn't have, a void surrounded by the world itself. Miranda just stares. She stares down and into Ava, the weight of her gaze pushing her deeper and deeper, inescapable, suffocating, wrenching free everything about Ava and laying it plain under her flensing gaze, pulling her apart and laying her plain to the air.

The world around them goes quiet, obeys instruction that it was clearly given. The world around them flees, turns darker by proxy, as Miranda pins Ava down, transfixes her into the singular space, the weight of her awareness greater than that of her family line, greater than duty, greater than the kingdom at her back and the ocean far above her. There is nothing else to do but to be reduced down into the smallest single fraction of yourself against such an event horizon, to forget how to run, to forget anything that might have helped you. Nothing would save you now. Nothing would help. There is only Miranda, and she sees all of you for what you are.

"Let me be perfectly clear."

It is not Miranda's voice. It is, but it is not, because it is not a voice that Ava would have heard now or ever again, not without a price to be paid, not without something to be lost. The voice is smooth and it is deep, unruffled as dark water without a ripple and without end, a dark and stubborn pool that invites all in, to be dragged down beneath the surface without recourse, without recovery. It is the voice of authority. It is the voice of a command which cannot be ignored. It is the voice of a thousand years and a thousand lives, of something grander than anyone could imagine, of beauty so intoxicating that no one would remember the intestines spilling out hot and writhing afterwards.

It is not magic, and it is not a siren's call. It needs no parlor tricks, no miserable attempts at forced control, no mockery of the power it holds. It simply doesn't need any of that. The voice that comes out is the voice of the ultimatum which orders creation by its own drum, because the voice is entirely what it says it is, because there are simply people who could command the stars to fall and they would listen.

It is the voice of the Crown Princess.

Princess Miranda does not move her lips, does not shift her chest enough to speak, does not inhale and does not exhale. The voice comes, willed from her, while she is taken by the stillness which the Earth revolves around, the fixed point in space which commands all to dance around it. It is the ultimate stillness of an ambush predator, the kind of stillness so resolute and perfect that alterations in her position do not seem natural, that she may as well have been a statue fixed in each and every place forever, and that all Ava did was forget between blinks what it was.

"If you wish to come to me and insist that you know me, and insist that you wish to pursue me as a political union — then I will treat you as such. Do I make myself understood?"

[omgkalyppso]

12, 22 and 25 for the end of year asks 🎉

Thank you for the ask!

12.Talk about a new friend you made this year

Two long-time mutuals were new friends this year! I made fanart of @razrogue's oc in february (asked permission first) and that kicked off some conversations, and I invited @boghermit to a digital dnd game that was supposed to be a "one shot" that I thought would run 3 sessions in april but we're on like session 10+.

Idk that I have any completely new friends. Have some mutuals I've been talking with more lately, and perhaps next year we'll be no-filter enough to be friends, lmao.

22.Favorite place you visited this year?

I went to my late grandparents' mother's cottage twice this summer. It's a little over two hours up the river. I made a goo/gle d/oc of some photos from one of the visits that mutuals could ask to see if you like. I shared it with some of you already.

25.Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

Several. And more, counting the dnd npc's I made up in role as DM. I'll restrict myself to three per media.

In world of warcraft I created and max-levelled more than my usual amount of pc's / oc's during the mists of pandaria remix event. Two of my favorites were a couple of nightborne elves, a rogue named Draughr (I decided this is his code name), and a warlock named Akumyssra. They're divorced with three kids. They were together all during the time Suramar was bubbled and sequestered from the rest of the world, and resentful of one another. I hadn't decided between them which was the parent who nearly sold a child to servitude because of the mana sickness / addiction / arcwine situation, but it was what was irreparable in the circumstances. Their children don't know and it is this unknowing which would allow them to fix things between them in the future Maybe. I also enjoyed crack shipping Draughr and Mudmug, which would further splinter his relationship with Akumyssra either because he was the one who fucked up fatherhood and is now having at least casual relationships or because she is the one who fucked up motherhood and not only are the children technically in the custody of an elf whose name they might not know for years, but he is also having such a good / easy time of it while she can't do anything but suffer for the sake of her magic.

I also started thinking of a daughter for my oc Borgakh and Lor'themar Theron. I was caught up in the tragedy of their romance for ages - and enjoying it - until they gave him a canon wife in Thalyssra. So now, instead, their relationship suffered after the battle for lordaeron, started getting better during battle for azeroth, Borgakh discovered she was pregnant just barely before going through with the ritual to go to Shadowlands, and I hate that they get married around the same time as Lor'themar's canon marriage, I wish it could happen at another time, but it's fine, whatever, and now they have this two year old daughter around the start of the war within.

I spliced some orc, elf and dracthyr sprites together to come up with a what-if concept to help me picture her as a babe and child.

I hadn't settled on a name. Here's the short list: Rok'aria (aria pronounced like the musical movement), Anravenna, Kel'diel, Kel'ariah (ariah pronounced like Karliah), Marzul, Arzula.

.

I came up with my dungeon meshi oc this year. Aelfwin.

Their backstory is up in the air because I don't know how dungeons work or how I'll feel about the story once I've finished the anime / once I crack and read the manga.

At this time, my two floating story ideas for them are: 1) post-canon in a large monstrous form, Alfie tunnels into the eponymous dungeon, from a different dungeon. 2) au where Alfie joins the party around the same time as Senshi.

.

In bg3 I have a few fun oc's that made their fic debuts this year!

Blbxrl - a Fimbrul Devil loyal to Mephistopheles in Raphael's service

Yakrayat - a Rakshasa Demon imprisoned in Avernus, presumably by Haruman in service to the Archdevil Zariel

^ Both featured in A Hopeless Dove.

Upton O'Goode has been conceptualized since at least 2023, but they finally had a little cameo in Upon The Hill.

[kristal]

Scared Shirtless (A illustrated Legacy of Kain OC origin story)

A origin story for Cambriel, my Legacy of Kain (Zephonim) OC. Also Crossposted to Archive of Our Own for easier viewing.

Mature rating and setting written in First Person (Cambriel's POV) until the end, where it swaps to 3rd.

Content tags:

Violence, Blood, Death, Horror, Don't trust vampires. Mention of bugs/insects

Characters:

Cambriel (OC) , Zephon, Raziel (for a bit), unnamed Zephonim

SUMMARY:

Being a human in Nosgoth during Kain's crusade is suffering. Being a human tailor no less. Supplies are low, your family's prized source of sericulture is dead and gone. Things are starting to get desperate... But this lonely tailor suddenly gets a mysterious benefactor one night. And Cambriel quickly learns that this becomes the one client he wishes he *never* agreed to.

My name is Cambriel. I’m a tailor and a weaver. Sericulture and tailoring been my family’s trade for centuries even before the vampires came. It is a delicate art that was passed down to me, and… i'm the last. My family and my apprentices I had trained years prior had all been killed long ago by those monsters. 

I’ve been told that I should train another…but i’ve already lost 3 of them in my 25 or so years of business in this village to those blood sucking vultures. It’s honestly been a miracle that i’ve made it this long. As life is fleeting in this world. Making it to the age of 35 and not being horribly slaughtered or enslaved is a miracle…But I rather not talk about my losses and instead focus on my stitchwork... It helps me keep my mind at ease between all the chaos outside.

Materials have become harder to come by for my village. Deliveries are rare due to vampire raids outside the village’s walls. Cotton is scarce as more and more crops fail each year. It’s gotten so dire that we’ve started to use scraps of older clothing. A tear along the seam? An easy fix with a needle and thread. A hole? I’ll patch it. I’ll try to make it match, but beggars can't be choosers. 

I wish I could get my hands on fabrics other than cotton…but it’s become impossible. My loom has been collecting dust for about half a decade now. And my family’s trade secret of farming silk moths had failed twenty years ago. I tried my best with what I had. I tried to keep their favourite food alive, but all it took was a disastrous crop failure to seal their fates. 

When the last of my silk brood died, many did not make it to pupation for me to harvest their cocoons or even breed them. The last of my moths died mid metamorphosis. They were so small… It had created it’s cocoon, but it never emerged. I tried finding more in the wild, but it was impossible. They were wiped out decades ago along with their food source. I just had to accept it. So I placed that small silk cocoon inside of a glass jar. Sealing it shut to keep its remains away from the elements and potential scavengers as a memento mori of my family’s history.

I hate to admit it; But their sudden loss hurt me more than losing my apprentices.

So I was left all alone to my own devices. The sounds of my sewing machine stitching together patchwork patches. I was at ease in my home, my monde.  

Every night I had a strict regimen. I locked my doors, shut my windows with shutters and locked them from the inside as soon as the sun started setting in the smoke filled skies. Vampires lurked in the night and I refused to answer my door. I’ve heard the yells and screams of unfortunate victims who had fallen prey to them. I’ve even had one slam against my own door as I covered my ears in my bed or pushed the pedal of my sewing machine harder. Hoping the noise would drown out their screams. I wished that the nights were not full of such terrors. 

But everything changed after that one night. 

It was just after 10 when I heard a loud knock upon my door. Such knocks at this hour only spelt trouble. I ignored it at first until they knocked again. 

And again

And again…

“What is it?!” I yelled at the stranger on the other side of the door as I walked over to my desk and grabbed my sharp shears for protection.

“You’re a tailor, are you not?” The stranger spoke. 

“I'm closed. Come back tomorrow morning.” I replied with a yawn.

“No. It’s urgent. ” The stranger interrupted me. “My lord requires your services. I need it by tomorrow night.”

“ Tomorrow night?! Do you realize that ill need–” 

“I brought the materials.” They interrupted me again. “It is in this parcel. Along with the commission fee.”

I raised my brow. They caught my attention with the mention of a commission fee.

“Fine. Leave it hidden by the door.” I demanded the stranger. “I will take a look at it in the morning, and it will be done by dusk tomorrow. Just get out of here, before they arrive.”

“Of course, of course…I’ll watch my back. I’ll be back tomorrow night.” I listened as the stranger dropped the supposed parcel onto the ground and walked away.

-----

I awoke at dawn and opened my door…This stranger was true to his word. There was a small wax paper parcel wrapped with twine thread. A small letter slipped underneath the twine as I took it into my home. I placed it upon my work desk and carefully opened it. Cautiously peeling back the wax paper as my eyes widened in shock at the sight.

It was silk.

My eyes and my hands couldn’t believe it. It was perfect. I’ve never seen silk this perfect…It had no imperfections and it had a golden sheen when it was caught in the light. Inside was also a spool of white thread and some gold coins. Who the hells was this mysterious benefactor? I thought as I eagerly opened their letter, which contained their request.

“Please embroider my master’s coat of arms onto this silk.”

That was it. Nothing else was written except a drawing of this mysterious benefactor’s sigil. I didn’t recognize it at all. Was this from another colony far away in Nosgoth? I shrugged as I got to work.

I didn’t complain. Embroidery was a simple task I missed doing. I had to stop to conserve my threads as it got harder and harder to get materials. I was finished by mid day as I placed that luxurious silk back into the wax paper and tied it back together. Just before dusk, I placed it back outside of my door before I locked everything away.

The clock struck 10, and once again there was a knock again at my door. I grabbed my shears and held it tight. 

“It’s by the door. The parcel.” I yelled at the stranger as I heard them pick it up and unwrap the package. As I heard them let out a gasp.

“It’s perfect! Your stitches are so clean…my sire would be impressed at your work” 

Sire? How odd.

“Hey.” I asked the stranger outside. “Where did you get this silk…?”

There was a long pause. 

“Would you like to know?” the stranger’s voice seemingly changed at such a question. I felt my heart skip a beat and sweat between my fingers holding my shears.

“My master has a whole collection of fabrics, threads and silk. Would you like to see? ” The stranger asked me. “ I can bring them to you. My master has been looking for a tailor after all.” 

“Has he?” I was still on edge with this stranger and his master. “…then bring them. If he pays as well as he did yesterday. I will do any of his requests.”

I wish I didn’t say that. I wish I could take that back. 

“Perfect!” the stranger giggled with glee as I heard their heel turn in the dirt and begin walking away from the door. “I’ll return tomorrow night with his requests, Cambriel.”

Wait…

How the hells did he know my name…?

-------

Every night for two weeks straight at 10, they would knock bringing more silk, cotton fabrics and precious thread for his projects. Their master’s requests got more and more complicated as the deadlines grew closer. My hands ached. My eyes twitched at the lack of sleep as I tried to keep up with their demand. I tried to take small rests, but my anxiety was running wild.

Whatever this….person was. Or their master…I wish they would let me rest. As i’ve caught a glimpse of them–or someone peeking through my window rafters in the night. Watching me sew for their master or toss and turn in my bed. Whatever it was, it was watching my every move at night. It had gotten to a point where I was beginning to hallucinate. Days and nights weaved together as the clock ticked away. I’d see bugs on the side of my vision or a crawling spider on the fabric. I’d try to swat it away but it never leaves. 

Shirts, coats, pants, garments, drapes, some capes… the list goes on and on as I place my head down on the kitchen table, between my arms only for a moment’s rest. 

Only a moment…

I still have 5 hours…

---------

“...Cambriel.”

SLAM!

“Cambriel, this is highly unprofessional of you to not talk to us.” 

SLAM!

“After all we’ve given to you, I thought we were friends.”

Huh…?

I raised my head, blinking in confusion as my blurry vision finally made the connection of the noise of splintering wood to my front door being bashed in. 

It’s 10 at night. It was them.

Adrenaline shot through my veins in panic as I reached out and grabbed a sharpened pair of scissors–my only way to defend myself as the door was finally breached. Falling to the ground with a thud as the moonlight poured into my home. I finally saw who this mysterious stranger was.

“Oh, Cambriel. it’s not smart of you to avoid us.” The stranger stepped into the room. He was lithe, had short, jet black hair and stood tall. His ears pointed and his hands only had 3 digits. Oh gods…

It was a vampire.

I was dealing with vampires.

A second one walked in standing taller than the other and barely wearing some strange type of armour. It barely covered his skinny chest and connected to a shoulder plate. 

“I’d even brought my sire–”

Fight or flight. I didn’t dare listen to that vampire or let him finish. I dashed towards the staircase, knocking down anything in my path to potentially slow them down as I ran into my room and quickly shut the door. 

I began pushing my drawer over to the door when a voice was heard right behind me.

“You don’t need to do that, Cambriel.” The mysterious voice laughed. As I turned around. watching that second vampire from downstairs easily open and crawl through my window. How the hells did he get up here?! I thought I locked it. I– 

“You’ve just trapped yourself in with me. Human.” The vampire smirked. “You should be proud to get my attention. It’s rare for you human cattle to show talent.” He teased me.

“Step back!” I threatened weakly with my scissors. The days without sleep had taken a toll on me as I watched him walk closer towards me. I blinked and he was suddenly in front of me, grabbing my wrist and slamming my body towards the wall as the scissors fell towards the floor.

“Do you really think a pair of scissors would hurt poor old me, Zephon? One of Kain’s sons?!” He hissed. “Come now, you’re a smart human. You should know better than to threaten your patron, and your savior.”

“What the hells are you talking about, vampire?” My eyes narrowed at his words.

“Oh! Good, I must have arrived early. Lucky you.” Zephon smiled. “This village is going to be razed to the ground. And all you humans who can still function will be used for blood letting, breeding and if you’re lucky, slavery.”

“How the hells is that lucky?!” I hissed at him as he rolled his eyes and grabbed my neck. Pinning me to the wall with a ‘shush’ like one would to a troublesome child or pet.

“But that’s with the other clans. I see your potential, Cambriel. The others do not and would waste it. You would make an excellent tailor for my clan; the Zephonim. And we have all the tools, fabrics and threads you need…” His spare hand reached beside my head to ‘pull’ something from behind my ear. Like a child’s magic trick.  “...and some friends.” 

He opened his palm to reveal a white silk moth. Fully formed and healthy. My eyes were wide in shock, tears forming at seeing one alive after so, so long. The sounds of glass breaking and screams outside my window shook me back into reality. The other vampires like Zephon had warned have finally arrived, and began their carnage in the village. 

“Time is running out, Cambriel. What will it be?” His claws are still holding my neck in place.

“You can either die here, become a slave to the other clans…or join us Zephonim. We will take care of you. Your every whim and request granted. I will promise you protection and that you will be a slave no longer. I will elevate you.” 

It was a deal with the devil. I bit my lip in frustration, peeling some of the dried skin as I debated internally on my lack of choices. 

“....I’ll go with you.” I mumbled.  Resigning to my fate to a vampire.

“Excellent choice, Cambriel.” Zephon applauded as he finally let go of my neck. “To get out of here, you must believe in me with what I'm about to ask of you next.”

“What is it?” my voice hoarse as I rubbed my sore neck, now marked by Zephon’s claws as I watched him carefully. 

“Put this on as a blindfold.” As he pulled out a familiar piece of silk from a pocket. It was the same one he first worked on weeks ago. That cursed piece of silk that damned him into this situation. I grit my teeth as I put it on to block my eyesight. The rest of the loose silk covered the rest of my face.

“It has my sigil on it. The other vampires will know not to touch you, unless they want me to execute them for killing his new favorite.” I stood still. Listening to him as he placed his clawed hands upon my shoulders. Leading me forward towards something.

“One. Two. Three paces forward Cambriel.” Zephon whispered close to my ear as I followed his words. I felt a breeze hit my chest. “Now turn.”

“Where are you moving me towards?” I asked him.

“Hush.” He placed one of his claws upon my veiled lips to silence me. The lieutenant looking towards the window. “Remember what I told you, to trust me for a moment? Well…”

He shoved me back, the back of my legs tripping and–

Oh gods!--

FWUMP!

“I lied.”

----------

The sickening noise of a body hitting the ground caught Raziel’s attention as he looked over to his left towards the tailor’s home. …It was indeed the poor tailor’s. Cambriel’s head had cracked open and blood pooling out from his fatal wounds after hitting the cobblestone path leading to his home. 

“Did you really have to do that?” Raziel groaned as Zephon crawled out of the home's window to look down at his handiwork.

“Well yes , and no.” He laughed as he crawled his way down. “He barricaded the way out. I'm not going to show him the way with a blindfold on–or have him whine or complain as I take him home. So having him temporarily dead is just easier to carry back.” 

Raziel rolled his eyes at his brother, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled loudly. “Right…May we begin with the rest then?” looked over to the village below.

“Of course, brother dear.” Zephon looked down at Cambriel’s broken corpse as he grabbed the tailor’s arms and hauled him up. “I held my part of the promise. The rest of those humans I don’t want. So you can keep those and do what you’d want with them. As i'm sure you’d like more blood for your banks.” The skinny vampire chuckled as he inspected the tailor's fatal head injury, fresh blood still dripping down from his crushed skull as the Zephon patted down his bloodied hair.

"As for you.." Zephon mumbled to the corpse. "You're going to have a bit of a headache, But you're going to one of my star fledglings~" He giggled as he began dragging Cambriel back towards his new home.

----------

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (25)

Tony Stark's daughter (OC) x Bucky Barnes epic slowburn

Compound, part of Book III: Power (see previous or series)

Summary: Samantha wakes to find new friends at Avengers HQ, but her uncontrolled abilities make things...awkward.

Warnings for illusions to nudity/suggestive language and some cursing. A/N: Tandy and Tyrone are around Samantha's age in this, so that's way younger than canon-MCU, but their backstory is closer to the original comics. Rated Teen/15+ ONLY, please. WC 3.7k

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE—April 2039

 “They called it Regulating,” Bruce announced, rewinding the faint footage from the second floor of the Wakandan Annex Lab, “according to the recovered video research from Aldrich Killian—well, the military, really.” He smirked, looking quickly back at Bucky, adding, “Tony thinks I wasn’t listening, which I wasn’t for part—you get it, he’s very long-winded.”

“He’s not the only one,” Bucky grumbled, eyes fixed on the screen. Bruce played it again.

Two grainy figures in the corner of the frame, Bucky and Samantha, scuffled as she tried to avoid riding the motorcycle. The light Sam emitted grew brighter until his own figure was blotted out and smack—the video fell gray. The moment passed, and the absolute white that replaced it lasted much longer. Eventually, the white faded to reveal Sam standing with her arm out, legs apart and planted. She remained standing only a few seconds longer before collapsing. Her body tumbled in the receding water, covering her in mud, Bucky’s legs slid into the top of frame before catching against the earth. The picture went blurry as the fog of the freshly evaporated sea descended. There was, however, a clearly visible, irregular line where the thick glass of the building’s window had melted in the bottom corner near Sam.

Bruce stopped the footage. “Except when Extremis soldiers couldn’t Regulate, their bodies incinerated themselves and anything around them. This—” he waved his arm through the projection, “—she’s controlling—well, aiming it, I think. And she survived obviously, which means this is something new.” The doctor, jumpy with unanswered questions, uneasy since Bucky first told him they were coming back with ‘complications,’ shuffled over to another desk to pull up a different file. “I keep trying to get a signal to Tony’s suit, but it’s always garbled so far. Shuri didn’t seem to know much about Sam’s physiological alterations.” Banner rubbed his temple. “We are gonna need more than a little—I mean, the bullshit this girl did to herself…”

Bucky turned towards Banner’s ominously lowering voice. He had not heard Hulk’s deeper octave come out of Bruce in years. Bucky watched his friend hold his breath as he willed the sickly green hue to bury itself deep inside again. Bucky could relate to the bloom of anger and the sting of helplessness when faced with the problem of Samantha Stark.

Banner slammed a flesh-colored fist down, rattling some equipment. “I shouldn’t have sent her to Wakanda.”

“Doc, I think she did part of this before we left.” And the rest is probably my fault, he added internally. “It’s not something you could control.”

Bruce peered up at Bucky over the thin rims of his glasses. “In which case, biologically speaking, Sam Stark has been gone for a while.”

Bucky swallowed hard.

He knew that to be true, deep down, but he couldn’t shake Tony’s face, resigned to walk into an ocean with a king out for blood, all for hope that his daughter would remain safe. Bucky had already failed him because there was no Sam to protect, not the Sam Tony knew. Someone, something else lay in the infirmary, and it was his fault. It was Bucky’s choice to take her out before Shuri could come up with a plan. He took advantage of Sam’s interest in replacing his arm instead of her own health. He paid so little attention to her when she needed to be pulled back from the edge; Sam thought it more important to fix her scars then to live, thought fixing Bucky’s scars and self-confidence was worth what was left of her life. How could he have missed it? Bucky Barnes, the King of Self-Sacrifice, the epitome of a life forfeit, overlooked the signs of giving up. 

His gut coiled uncomfortably remembering his life after Hydra before Steve found him in Romania. Bucky spoke to no one unless absolutely necessary. He bartered to live in a shitty apartment by doing maintenance for the landlord. He helped tenants move their furniture and heavy boxes in and out for a little cash in order to buy food. He rotated between food stalls at different markets so that no one saw him enough to recognize him. Most of his downtime was consumed by writing in notebooks, writing everything he could remember about who he was and what he had done since. At night, he planned his escape if Hydra should find him. He even had three plans for his own termination, if the choice was be captured again or die. That life was what he had ‘woken’ up to, and it was barely a life at all.

Bucky tasted acid at the memory. Bruce remained hunched over the metallic table, steadying his breath.

“So,” Bucky tossed into the silence, “we wait until she wakes up?”

“Yeah,” Bruce threw up his hands, “then what?”

Bucky had no answer for the doctor this time.

Sam heard music in the darkness. Her mouth was unbearably dry, the fibers of her skin and muscle braided tight down the length of her throat. It wasn’t just her head that throbbed, but her whole body felt shrunken, clenched against her skeleton. Her brain was filled with fog and fire. 

Sam opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. This was not the Palace.

“Hey,” Sam heard off to her right, turning to see a young blond woman rise from a chair against the other wall. “You’re ok.” The infirmary of New York Headquarters was quiet, as it was when she came to wake Sam Wilson, as it was when she recovered from glass cuts and electric burns when she was four. The music was much faster than those times, heavier, full of angst and screaming but at a low volume.

The air in the room: she could feel it flow across her forearms. The sheets beneath her calves: she could feel each fiber of thread. The input of feeling overwhelmed her, and Sam didn’t realize she was squirming until the voice put a firm hand against her stomach.

“Calm down,” the blond girl leaned over her to say, trying to catch her gaze as Sam’s focus shot to place after place in the room. “Samantha, I’m Tandy, and you’re safe here.” Her other hand touched Sam’s forehead.  

“Why—” was all Sam could push through her desert mouth. She gently tensed her abs to hint that she wanted to sit up. She kept looking around until staring only at each tiny feature of the new face. He used it, didn’t he? The words wouldn’t come out. Missy knew I would need it. Sam mimicked sticking a needle in her arm and pressing the plunger, hoping the question in her eyes made it clearer.

“Sam, slow,” Tandy tried, corralling her with skinny little arms. “Do you want me to get the nurse?” The girl stopped Sam before she could hop off the bed, trying to swat the restraining arms away before two lights stopped her.

Her own arm was red-orange and glowing. So he did use it, and I don’t feel sick anymore. Why do I feel so heavy? Why are her hands shining white? A gentle peace flowed from Tandy’s arms into Sam. The razor cuts of air and the scratch of her throat dulled.

“Are you Extremis, too?”

“No,” Tandy smiled, “something else did this to us.”

Sam’s mind went blank of her questions, filled with the warmth. How long has it been? A few days? How long did the proliferation take? Where’s my tablet? Phone? Where’s Missy?

“What do you remember?” Tandy asked calmly, her white hands growing brighter while Sam’s returned to beige.

“I—I fell in the forest.” The soothing touch smothered the fire in Sam’s mind and body, but the fog persisted. “I think…”

“You fought a ts-tsunami and won. That’s the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.” This was a different voice, deep and forceful, from a young man Sam hadn’t realized was in the corner by the door. He had dark skin that appeared to suck light from the air, out of focus; he smiled, eyeing Tandy and Sam in amusement. He reminded Sam of Lucas for a moment, but then, when the light faded from Tandy, he approached, and Sam saw genuine kindness.

“That’s Cloak,” Tandy said smiling.

“Tyrone,” the boy corrected, and his face came into focus without the odd bending of light. “She’s-s Dagger.”

Tandy stepped back towards the door, pausing her music. “Would you like to move to your room now? Or you wanna get some food with us?” 

Without Tandy’s soothing touch, Samantha felt her throat squeezing, parched. “Water,” she croaked out, “would be good.”

At a table in the large atrium outside the small, residence kitchen, Tandy regaled Sam with a slew of stories the rigorous training from Parker, Rogers, and Maximoff. They were nervous about training with Romanoff now that Nat had returned from China. Sam, for her part, noticed that the tables were no longer as shiny white as when she was very young, when the plastic was new, and there were some chips in the paint around the tall windows. The light seemed harsher, piercing. She sipped, gulped, then chugged four glasses of water before uttering a word. 

Tandy could control emotions with direct physical contact, which is what she did to Sam in the infirmary, and was working on throwing, aiming, what she described as Light Daggers. Sam could practically hear Uncle Peter’s exclamations of awe; he still called things ‘lit’ from time to time, so he was likely having a field day commenting on his young protege’s power. ‘Cloak’ referenced Tyrone’s ability to teleport inside a cloud of darkness, absorbing light and energy from around him. This was why he appeared darker and out of focus in a well-lit room; he could legitimately hide in the smallest shadow. Tandy described him as ‘the ultimate stealth operative.’ Tyrone said nothing of this himself and watched Sam for a long while before turning to listen to Tandy, a girl alive with excitement.

When they started discussing ‘the wave’ and what that meant Sam could do, however, his interest became apparent with his sudden focus on Sam’s response.

“I don’t remember,” Sam shrugged, aware of Tyrone deflating in disappointment. “I’m not kidding. The last thing I remember is falling over in the woods. Pretty sure that was…March first?” She didn’t say why she was in the woods, or what she did to Bucky’s arm on February 28th to sear the date in her mind. She thought she could see a sunset, or a sunrise, when she closed her eyes to think about it, but beyond a flash of sky behind leaves was a horrible ringing in her ears. Sam wanted Missy, who would have wiped her drives by now and scattered. She had to find her.

“Well, today is the sixteenth,” Tandy bubbled.

“Jeez, was I in a coma? Did my body try to reject Extremis?” There was a general clearing of throats in response, as if Sam’s dry mouth had spread.

“Of April.”

Tyrone assessed Sam again. It made her feel as if she were expected to break apart in front of him. Sam defied Tyrone’s expectations by remaining calm on the outside. She blinked but didn’t speak right away.

After her pause, Sam took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, I’m in wild need of a coffee then.” And a couple of shots of whisky couldn’t hurt…

Tandy laughed, jumping up to get Sam whatever she wanted.

These new friends were like nothing Samantha had ever known. They were close to her age, closer than any of the Bartons; they were being trained as Avengers, so they didn’t need Sam’s name to gain anything; and they never judged her for what she didn’t know. Because this whole ‘world of the professional Avengers’ was new to all three, everything was a bonding experience. Sam didn’t recognize most of the music they played or movies and shows they loved, but she was open to whatever they wanted to do. She knew zero celebrities, except for her obvious uncles and aunts.

After that first day, they never mentioned Tony Stark unless Sam did first, which was rare. Sam usually went very quiet when she was about to recount a story involving her dad, a mixed look rolling over her features then vanishing. She wanted to talk about him, but when she tried, Sam suddenly became a twelve-year-old girl again, the great Iron Man awkwardly standing over her, uninterested in anything she said. Sam wanted to feel good when she spoke of her father which meant she didn’t speak of him.

Luckily, Tandy and Tyrone favored making new memories, too, so her jealous, aging beauty queen mother, and his best friend shot by a Boston cop were also not discussed, nor how they became…special. Sam only found out those tidbits of their pasts while she searched for traces of Missy online. She searched as secretly and thoroughly as she could but had found nothing after weeks. It was a long process to hide what she was doing amongst genuine searches related to her training. 

Sam was tentatively mapping server locations where Missy may have pinged when her friend blurted, “can I cut your hair?” Tandy idly messed with Sam’s unkept regrowth. She hadn’t touched it since waking on the floor in Massachussetts after first injecting herself. “You’ve got a ducktail going back here, and it’s not exactly flattering,” the blond coaxed.

“Whatever you want, Dee,” Sam mumbled, lulled by the gentle touch in her hair. She hadn’t had a haircut in over a year, back when Annie insisted on a salon day for her bridesmaids. The incessant, high-pitched laughter, the gossip, and the roar of a dozen dryers had taken all of the pleasure out of someone massaging her scalp.

“Hear that, Ty? Sam trusts me with her hair.”

“You’re s-s-still not touching mu-mine.” Tyrone flipped through some news articles while eating cereal, his favorite afternoon snack. They also didn’t discuss his stutter.

Tandy’s frown was audible, even from behind Sam’s head, and Sam smirked. She enjoyed their banter, all day, everyday.

“Sam, you wanna wet your hair for me? I’ll get scissors,” Tandy said to perk herself back up. “Come on.” Her gaze shot back playfully to Tyrone. “Don’t choke on your Fruit Loops while we’re gone. No one will save you.”

Tyrone brandished his middle finger on his spoon hand. He didn’t look up.

The girls headed off to Sam’s room, since Tandy’s was farther down the hall.

“Not that you have to,” Tandy started as they bounced along, “but you might want to take a full shower. You’re a bit ripe after today’s training.”

Sam laughed anyway. Only Tandy could critique her while making Sam happier. “Yeah, you don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

“But you’re a punk who needs my help,” Tandy saluted Sam and excitedly trotted down the hall.

The door took her handprint, a newer feature. The tiny twin bed inside cradled the same watercolor blotched comforter Sam slept under since she was four. She took it to the Barton’s originally, but by eight years old, she abandoned it here at Christmas. Thirteen, the year after Sam chose Mistress as a present, that was the year Nat stopped decorating her room with lights. True to form, no one had touched it but her since. The comforter was worn thin, the corners threadbare, but it felt familiar when nothing else, not even her own body, did. 

Sam kept the habit of owning little clothing from her time in Wakanda, though the clothes were not as baggy on her now that she ate whole foods.

She’d never exercised so much in her life.

Since no fighter in the building trusted her to attempt using her new abilities, Bruce proposed Samantha’s more ‘human’ strengths be developed and tested. She spent her mornings running while Big Sam watched and timed her increasing speed and endurance. It didn’t matter that she could do it; she hated running all the same.

Afternoons were hand-to-hand combat with Natasha, a particularly humbling experience since Sam could not think of anyone she was more afraid to hit. Nat may have stopped visiting her in the hospital three years ago, but that anger did not translate to stupidity. They don’t name you Black Widow for nothing. 

Sam flopped a change of clothes onto the bed and popped into the shower, leaving the bedroom door open for Tandy to come back in. She hap hazardously scrubbed and rinsed, never much caring about the relaxing effects of washing. Sam had spent so many hours ‘relaxing’ in a regeneration cradle full of nutrient gel, she could do with never relaxing again. She was quick to throw on a towel and swing open the bathroom door simply to move on to fun with Tandy, but she was no longer alone.

It wasn’t Tandy who’d come in though.

“I knocked, but the door…” Bucky Barnes stood looking around her room, and while she’d seen him since waking up, he had never been inside her personal living space. 

Sam stumbled over the small lip at the bathroom threshold, knocking her shoulder on the doorframe. A corner of her towel fell, and in her attempt to grab the falling fabric, she clenched the wrong end, lifting the bottom of her towel up high enough for half of her backside and chest to hang out.

“Holy shit,” she exclaimed, shutting her eyes as hard as she could pinch them, awkwardly hunching to push as much fabric over her as possible.

She thought she heard him say “you’re okay,” but the damage was already done.

Sam’s glow of shame spread to her left arm—the only appendage not reinforced with vibranium—igniting the terry cloth towel she held tight. She tried not to pay attention, to hum something soothing and back into the bathroom with some semblance of dignity, but to no avail.

Her unexpected guest ripped the smoking fabric from her body and started stamping it out on her bedroom floor.

Bucky pressed something silky against her shoulder. Sam clamped her arms across herself and cracked a single eye open, hoping she wouldn’t light the whole room on fire. 

“Brought you something. Figured you’d need it.” Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor. He held out a slinky looking jumper of navy blue material. It touched her skin but still felt cool. 

Sam snatched it, slamming the door between them. 

“Banner found this fabric in the Baxter building after the Four…” he yelled through the wall before clearing his throat. “Human Torch needed clothing that wouldn’t burn up, and Bruce figured so do you.”

She took the time she spent squeezing into the legs of the leotard to calm down. “Does this mean I get to train for real? Seriously?” Excitement replaced embarrassment until she had a thought.  “Wait—you knew I’d burn my…”

“Yes, but I didn’t see anything.” When Sam threw open the door again, he rushed to the hallway door, eyes still turned down.

“What?” The elephant sitting on Sam’s chest shifted pressure to her stomach. She felt a little sick.

Bucky didn’t turn around but must have felt guilty enough to offer his best attempt at an explanation. “Bruce knows the temperature you can reach when you—he calls it Deregulate, but I—you were covered in mud. I saw nothing in Wakanda. Promise.”

In her terror, Sam sensed more was required to embarrass the Winter Soldier. “But…”

“But…I had to carry you back,” he softly admitted. Then Bucky changed the subject abruptly, adding, “your training starts with me tomorrow, and we’re going out. We’re starting slow.”

Sam’s cheeks caught fire, or might as well have. She was grateful Bucky still faced away. The tall, dark haired behemoth at her bedroom door just admitted to carrying her around naked while she was unconscious, then he chose the worst possible wording for his follow-up statement. She couldn’t process all the implications at that moment.

“Meet at the garage at six,” Bucky said, opening the door. “I know you’re not a morning person, but we have a ways to drive.” With one last look directly at Sam, he added with a smirk, “no bikes. Promise.” 

Sam vaguely recognized the Boy Scout’s honor sign in the hand he raised but was too shocked to care. Tandy stood outside, eyes indiscreetly wide.

The blond giggled before she shut the door. “Oh, there’s a story there,” she squeaked, eyes landed on Sam’s new outfit, adding, “and this is…hideous.” Tandy’s immense disappointment released in a dramatic sigh. “At least Ty has some fashion sense. He would never give you this to wear. Why the hell would you need something so unflattering?” Tandy tossed her own hair back in distain before brandished her comb and scissors, smiling.

Sam stood slack-jawed, unable to answer. Her mind raced to recall any poorly worded comments she might have let slip in subsequent conversations she and Captain Barnes had since their return stateside, but nothing stood out. He was perfectly friendly, he never looked at her strangely, and so it seemed to matter very little to Bucky personally that he had…done that. Sam concluded he was mostly sparing her the embarrassment of flaring off her clothing again, this time in front of people who might not be as indifferent. That’s…nice, I suppose. He’s a nice guy…to everyone.

“Sam, you ok? You look pretty pale.” Tandy handed her the fresh clothes she’d set on her bed, subtly nudging her to get out of the fashion faux-pas of the tight onesie.

Certainly not alright. “Yup, just tired from the run.” She strategically layered the regular clothes over the flame-retardant fabric. She no longer questioned why they had babied her interactions so far; Sam was a hazard until she could properly control herself.

“Sit down,” Tandy demanded happily, “we’ll get coffee and show you off after.”

Not nearly as much as I just showed off. Sam lamented no longer having Missy as her personal security system. Missy would never have let this happen.

[Chapter 26: Capacity]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[micah-mohammed]

THIS ESSAY WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE IF YOU LET IT.

Ever since I was capable of deep thinking, I’ve wanted to share my insights in the hope they would help others as they’ve helped me. But I never seemed to follow through. It felt as if something was holding me back, preventing me from taking action. I thought maybe I just wasn’t that interested in writing, so I did what many others do—I chalked it up to “this isn’t for me” or “I’m just procrastinating.” And just like that, I’d fall into inaction, letting unproductive days pass by, each filled with the anxiety and resentment that lingered beneath the surface, whether I realized it or not.

The problem wasn’t some dark, magical force like procrastination conspiring against me. It was something deeper: a short-term, failure-oriented mindset. In my case, I wanted to be a writer, but I was stuck in a mindset where all I could see were potential failures. I imagined uploading my work only to see zero views, no followers, no likes—maybe even some demotivating hate comments and scrutiny. I focused on all the reasons not to act, from biased algorithms to intense competition.

You might say, “But those concerns are valid. Your first content likely won’t gain much traction, and established authors have years of experience.” And you’d be right, to a point. But here’s where the logical fallacy lies:

I was viewing results at a fixed point in time, like looking at a single dot on a graph without considering the trajectory. I didn’t see that success isn’t about instant results; it’s about perseverance over time. Every pursuit has its initial ‘test’—a period where you get little to no results despite your efforts. This test filters out those who merely wish for success from those who are willing to act and make sacrifices to achieve it. Who knows how many journals a writer must write before gaining traction, how many songs an artist must create before building a fan base, or how many paintings a painter must produce before receiving the recognition they deserve?

The result of this test determines whether you’re deserving of success. If you don’t pass, it’s likely due to a failure mindset that focuses on why things won’t work out and fixates on the initial period of no results. But if you pass, it’s because you embraced a winner’s mindset. You see the upward trajectory, understanding that the initial quiet period is just a filter to separate the deserving from the undeserving. With this mindset, you view obstacles as opportunities. What others see as demotivating comments, you see as valuable critiques to help you learn and improve.

Only those with a winner’s mindset can have hope, and with hope comes belief, and with belief comes action. Action develops vision—the ability to see the upward trajectory. Vision leads to growth, and growth breeds confidence. This confidence transforms you into an unstoppable force.

A wise man, Dr. Jordan Peterson, once said that the purpose of life is found in the pursuit of excellence. I invite you to start pursuing whatever art you admire—whether it’s pottery, painting, singing, dancing, or music creation—and do it as if your life depends on it, because your legacy does. I recommend watching the movie Whiplash (2014), which delves into the role of obsession in achieving greatness. Remember, those who don’t pursue their dreams and merely exist are like walking corpses. As Benjamin Franklin said, most people die at 25; we just don’t bury them until 75. Every day a mediocre person lives, he becomes more bitter, filled with hatred, regret, and resentment because deep down, he knows he’s not being the person he could be if he just took action. These emotions only grow stronger with age as the realization sets in that time is running out.

Whoever you are reading this, know that you don’t need to create a famous piece of art to be a winner or one of the greats. To the mothers reading this, you are already a creator—you’ve created life. To the fathers, you are winners too, having built stable, healthy, productive families. Recognize the art you’ve already created in this short life. Remember this if you forget everything else: We Are All Creators. The extent to which you are a creator is within your control. It’s up to you whether you craft trivial or profound, noble art pieces worthy of who you are. So go on now—better your life, and create, and create well.

Author: Micah I.H. Mohammed

Journal Entry: 21/08/2024

[junkartie]

I'm hearing 2 opinions on Erdogan and idk I wanted to ask you bcs I got both of them from non-natives. So the first says that he IS a good president, there is just too many outside factors trying to bring him down. And the second told me that he WAS a good a help for the country until he decided to care about some other things (colonisation ?) which eventually led to the current downfall. Maybe both are right or both are wrong, what do you think?

(can you tell I love political discussions because I don't I'm just really invested cause you're one of my fav blogs hehe)

Non natives love to defend Erdo which is why us Turks have a whole term for them. Most of it however DOES stem from the second option being true.

Erdogan was in fact a very good leader in his first few years of power, now my family personally never liked him, he technically was in power on the sidelines for 10 years until he became president 10 yrs go. He did many things like make hospitals and healthcare way more accessible, fixed a lot of roads and built bridges etc. Now you may go “jay, isnt that what a normal president is supposed to do ?” Well, yes. But the guy before him didnt do a whole lot, so him doing his literal job was enough to convince people he was good enough to keep around.

As time went on he started to take a way harsher approach. Slowly but surely the price and tax on everything went up. Religion started to be the hottest topic in turkey despite us being a secular country on paper.Slowly festivals became too loud, protests were bothersome, pride parades were sinful, gays werent considered people, music after 12 wasnt allowed, Eurovision was something too embarrassing for our country to take place in, alcohol was a luxury that only the desperate & sinful tried to buy, women were not obedient enough, the legal age to get married was too high, sex before marriage became a big topic, rapists and murderers would walk freely, femicide got to a brand new high and a whole lot more.

This all happened slowly and gradually. By the time we thought to speak up on any of this the i-don’t-even know, 60% yearly inflation rate had worn us down. A dollar was no longer 2.5 TL, it was close to 25. Nothing could be bought with minimum wage. Whatever you bought, you bought a second one for the govt in tax (a phone here costs twice the price of one in america). People who vote for him mostly do so because all media outlets are heavily censored and totally in his favor. He has control of literally everything. Literally!! He hosted a referendum where he legally was given so much power that he can change whatever he wants on a whim. He will confidently lie out of his teeth and tell his supporters that the reason everything is so expensive is because of his opposition (who have virtually no power) + its fine because even if we’re poor we’re closer to god and his supporters eat it up because they have some fucked up parasocial relationship with him.

Right now we’re screwed beyond belief. The election was rigged in his favor but despite everything he either wasnt able to end it on the first round or intentionally didnt so he could win by a higher margin on the next round. The house is fucked, the opposition lost a ton of seats to highly religious islamic fanatics who straight up advocate for sharia law. That and the president literally had an alliance with a terrorist organization who want 15 year olds to get married, theyre also in the house. Its great.

Now we wait for the 28th, but its going to take a miracle for Erdogan to lose. I have virtually 0 hope at this point. One thing is foreigners defending him, but any turk who does so deserve everything they get. I truly hope anyone who voted for him suffer a fate worse than death (at this rate, they will). It may sound harsh, but ive seen no one in power except for this absolute sorry of an excuse, cunt of a man. My teens and childhood was wasted away with terrorist attacks and a staged coup, along with a power hungry man who made every walking day of my life worse than what it could have been.

Basically, wish us the best of luck i guess lol.

[exploringcidem]

it’s *that* time of summer again. the time when my birthday passes, then it’s august, and fair week, and then the summer is over. it’s back to hoodie season & hockey season, and summer is a distant memory buried in the snow. the things i’m feeling in these moments are long gone and will stay in hibernation until this time next year. i’m trying to feel more openly, be more honest with myself, and truly heal. so i’ve been taking the time to feel these feelings this year. rather than passing them off as the norm like i always have. and i always seem to come back to the fair. that’s the big end of summer thing for me. my summer just isn’t over without it. but its more than that. for that week, it’s almost like i’m living a different life. like the me that is there during the fair is less broken. maybe because that place has been there and been home since before the trauma. but something i saw recently made me instantly think of little me at the fair. “you’re allowed to grieve the child you could have been.” i thought of the years where my dad and i would ride the ferris wheel together at the end of the fair. it was the one ride he’d do with me, because he was on the fairboard and had to help put the fair on all week. but he made that one ride with me every year. then they divorced and my fair had to end early and it had to stop. there were years after that, that i would cry. the entire ride back home to my moms. because i missed that ride with my dad. and back then, that was all i really saw him that week. he was so busy and i just wasn’t old enough to help, nor did i want to at that age. i wanted to enjoy the fun of the fair not help them put it on. but now, i’m less than a week away from 26. i’ve been to the fair for about 22-23 of the 25 in my lifetime. the only ones i think i missed were while i was in the military. so i’ve been going to them and missing that ride with my dad for probably 15-ish years. i miss it every year. but it hasn’t hurt like it used to. right now it feels fresh, and i think i’m going to ask him to ride it with me this year. he may say no, that i’m 26 and can ride alone, but i don’t think he will. i think he grieves the daughter he could have had, the way i grieve the child i could have been if i had stayed with him. he’s still on the fairboard, and i’ve been helping my dad, every day of the fair, for the last few years… there may not be many prominent memories that came out of those days together, but the ones that did are some of the most childhood trauma healing moments looking back on them… fixing the track lights with my dad so they didn’t have to cancel the races. stands full cause they didn’t realize it until it was go time, and i’m just running back and forth to get what he needs and it’s a peek of what could have been working in the shop with my dad growing up. something that heavily weighs on me, and it will always be a regret that i didn’t take advantage of what he has to teach sooner… my anxiety kicking my ass all day on concert day because there were so many people and it was over the entire population of my hometown crowded into the small fairgrounds of my hometown. i wasn’t handling it well but i kept pushing because they needed the help at the beer garden and everywhere else. i was constantly running. after the concert was over, i ran out to the track where the stage was to find my dad. he took one look at me, stopped what he was doing and pulled me in for a hug. and just stood there while i relaxed. he told me i could go home, or to the office to get away if i needed. he’s always been more accepting and supportive of mental health, but hearing that after years of hiding and denying my anxiety, was everything.

[rising-angelx]

given name. -- ahn dahye | 안다혜

known as. -- ahn angel

name origins. -- 

ahn | 안 | 安 : a surname of chinese origins; meaning content and secure

dahye takes her last name from her father, who never felt connected to his own name. he was a wanderer, never feeling the content security his name deemed. until he met the love of his life and was given his family. dahye carries the name as a reminder of him as she struggles to find her own security in life.

da-hye | 다혜 | 多惠 : based on the hanja used; da meaning better or good, and hye meaning love

dahye’s parents named her ‘better love’ symbolizing the love they will have for her will make them want to be better as people

angel | 앤젤 : a name with english origins; meaning messenger of god

angel’s aunt helped decide her english name, deciding on angel as she saw her as a gift from god when she was unable to conceive her own children. her sweet disposition as a child only encouraged the name

date of birth. -- may 12, 1998

age. -- 25

occupation. -- kpop idol; rhythm guitarist and main vocalist of tidal

education. -- high school graduate

sexual/romantic orientation. -- heterosexual/romantic; she has considered experimenting with women before but has ultimately decided that for label’s sake she is straight

faceclaim. -- cho miyeon of (g)-idle

voicelaim(s). -- hayley williams of paramore (solo work), placeholders; sungjin of day6, younghoon of onewe, and dojoon of the rose, but i imagine her voice in tidal is more like siyeon of dreamcatcher

personality description. -- 

+ passionate, creative, dependable, hardworking, protective, patient

- sensitive, jealous, stubborn, resistant to change, begrudging, passive aggressive

likes. --  cats, alone time, indie rock, heart shaped things, sofia coppola movies, deep dish pizza, vanilla scent, bunnies, cherry candy

dislikes. --  change, dancing, blueberries, the sound of mic/amp feedback, summer, tarantino, driving (no license)

interests and hobbies. -- songwriting, movies (secret film nerd), journaling

talents and skills. -- guitar, dabbles in bass as well, singing, can do the ventriloquy thing where you sing with your mouth closed and always does that on shows that makes them show a talent

family. -- 

father; ahn kang-dae (deceased)

mother; samantha ahn (bae sun-young)

siblings; none

aunt; jeanine wilde (bae sun-hee)

uncle; john wilde

relationships. -- first love & ex: soh malachi (kaiso); dated in high school, madly in love but wildly mutually dependent, their relationship ended suddenly when kai left for korea and they’re still on very complicated terms.

astrology. -- 

sun; ruler of the persona, purpose, and destiny. 

placement in taurus : there is something very solid and substantial about taurus natives, no matter what the rest of their charts say about them. when they work, they work hard, and when they play, they don't really "play" as such...they relax. taurus is a fixed sign, and they have a fair measure of tradition and steadiness in their make-up that keeps them rooted.

moon; ruler of emotions. 

placement in scorpio : doing things halfway or having meaningless relationships simply doesn't fulfill them. lunar scorpios want all or nothing. these natives seem to attract emotional upheaval, and their lives appear to consist of plenty of dramatic ups and downs. moon in scorpio people often have a strong fear of betrayal.

rising; ruler of one’s outward appearance and first impressions. 

placement in cancer : usually, these people appear unassuming enough to be quite approachable. some cancer ascendants, however, have retreated into themselves so much as to be quite the opposite. when they enter a room, they don’t walk in with a splash. instead, they move to the sides and weave their way inwards. since capricorn is on the descendant, cancer ascendant people are looking for structure and security in their partner and their relationship.

mercury; ruler of communication. 

placement in taurus : they may take their time to arrive at a decision, but they get there — they are actually quite decisive, even stubborn with their opinions. there is a placid quality to mercury in taurus natives–when they speak, they are generally not bubbling or scattered. these people have well-defined tastes, and these revolve very much around the world of the five senses.

venus; ruler of romance. 

placement in cancer : venus in cancer people are sensitive, sentimental, and caring. they can be possessive. they will generally bend over backwards for someone they love, but might keep too much to themselves and eventually feel resentful if affection is not returned in a similar manner. when they are fearful of being rejected, they can resort to some frustrating tactics to find out just how loved they are. if you’ve hurt them, they’ll have a hard time forgetting.

mars; ruler of drive, aggression, and sex. 

placement in cancer : this position inclines toward passive-aggressiveness. these people seem to resist change and to shy away from direct confrontations. they need to feel secure before they act. 

mbti. -- 

infp; the mediator

although they may seem quiet or unassuming, mediators have vibrant, passionate inner lives. creative and imaginative, they happily lose themselves in daydreams, inventing all sorts of stories and conversations in their minds. these personalities are known for their sensitivity – mediators can have profound emotional responses to music, art, nature, and the people around them. 

through these imaginative landscapes, mediators can explore their own inner nature as well as their place in the world. while this is a beautiful trait, these personalities sometimes show a tendency to daydream and fantasize rather than take action. to avoid feeling frustrated, unfulfilled, or incapable, mediators need to make sure that they take steps to turn their dreams and ideas into reality.