#and when he STILL survives... just. imagine this with me.

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,” Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. “Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[nothanksofficer]

0.2 we are all sinners (cont'd imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo

pairing: bo chow/reader and remmick/reader/bo

warnings: nsfw, more smut, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation, vampire dreams. THIS IS A SEQUEL, PLEASE REFER TO LIST BELOW.

summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences. concept ver: 0.1 0.2 story ver: 1.0

Continues right after where 1.0 left off.

You're hyperventilating as Smoke and Sammie try to block the way so that the vampires outside don't see you anymore.

“Well, ain’t that just rude,” Remmick snarks. “You get away from her, you monster.” “What’s wrong? Can’t a man just talk to his wife?” Bo smirks.

Before you can collapse onto the floor, a familiar pair of hands grab you. Annie’s. 

“Don’t let him get to you, Y/N. That ain’t Bo anymore.” “You can’t trust him, you hear me?”

But despite what the rest of the group might think, trust is the very last thing racing in your mind as Remmick and Bo stare you down like you’re their next meal.  

“You’re the devil,” you hear Sammie say. “And you’re the one who called me,” Remmick replies eagerly. “I sensed you, you know. You and your music.” Remmick takes a step forward, quick to put his hands up when Smoke aims the gun at him. “I want to see my people again. Regain the community that was taken from me. I might be trapped here, but with your gifts, you can bring them back.”  “Don’t listen to him, Sammie. He’s evil,” Annie warns. She’s still holding onto you, her grip the only thing keeping you grounded at this point. “Am I? I’m just trying to bring everyone together. To create the family this world never let you have. And look!” Remmick rests his hand on Bo’s shoulder. “I’m already halfway there.”  Bo winks at you once more, and you can see a slight trail of drool on the corner of his mouth. You flinch, but you can’t tear your eyes away, even as Remmick licks his lips at you hungrily. “Isn't that right, darling?” “You can’t keep us apart forever,” Bo hums, staring at you like he already knows what you’re thinking. “Sammie belongs with us...Y/N belongs to us.”  “No. You can’t have ‘em. Either of them.”  “That’s a shame. Because we ain’t leaving until we do."

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation, ears ringing. You barely make out bits and pieces. Of the clan and their plans for all of you. Of Mary trying to convince Annie, too. It’s not until Stack joins in that Delta and Sammie move to close the door. But by then, there was no unhearing the tempting words of the devil. 

“Because we’re not leaving without y’all. We family. Ain’t that right?” “This is the way. Together. Forever. And I ain’t doing this shit without you. There is no me without you.”

In another world, it would’ve been you who let the vampires in. You, who fell to your desperation to protect the only family you had left. But in this world, you don’t have any other family to protect. Not anymore. 

But every part of you is desperately wishing otherwise. You want to pretend it’s still Bo waiting outside the window. That it’s your Bo out there sending you that slow flying kiss.

But that thought immediately disappears when you see Remmick take your husband’s side, staring after you, too.

“She’s scared of us now. Scared of me.” “She won’t be. Not for long.”

Everyone decides to gameplan and just try to survive until sunrise.

“At least one of us stays awake at all times. If anything happens, if anything so much as flinches, you alert everyone. Got it?”

You don’t know how it happens, but you end up dozing off by the bar. Annie hushes Sammie, telling him to let you rest. In the hopes that your dreams might offer you some comfort. What none of them know is that…you dream…weird.

“You still with me, baby?" You groan as you feel a familiar pair of shoulders between your legs, and your hands raised above your head. Bo chuckles, tells you to keep ‘em there unless you want him to stop. You can barely see him past your bunched up skirt as he digs into you like it's his last meal. "You taste divine." "I could just die between these thighs, if you'd let me." "Louder. Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel." You nearly break after he teases you for too long, hands climbing down to grip his hair. Only, the memory suddenly shifts and you suddenly feel hands forcing your wrists above your head. Your eyes open and leaning over you is…Bo?  “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl for us.” You cry out in fear and pleasure when you finally feel the one eating you out rise from beneath your skirts. Chin slick, eyes red, and grinning at you like he just found heaven in your taste. Nothing scares you more than seeing those damn familiar teeth.  “No one can escape me, darling. Not even you."

You’re suddenly woken up by Sammie’s shaking and someone’s screaming. It’s only when you fully get up you realize, the screaming is yours.

a/n: i tried my best and i wasnt sure how to feel abt this addition. ill see what people think before turning it into something more. anyway, notes or ideas on how to proceed would be much appreciated. that, and the gif of bo blowing a kiss...

[pixiexdusts-world]

The Edge Of Something Real

Bucky Barnes x thunderbolts!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes falls for a tough new Thunderbolts* teammate and risks everything to save her when she’s injured on a mission, revealing their growing bond.

Word count: 1,490

Notes: no thunderbolts* spoilers :)

Bucky Barnes wasn’t one for first impressions anymore.

He’d learned long ago that people were complicated, layered, and often disappointing. But the new recruit on the thunderbolts* team? She shattered every expectation from the moment she walked in.

Her name wasn’t important at first. What stood out was how she carried herself—calm, controlled, eyes like fire. She didn’t try to impress anyone. She didn’t talk much. And when Valentina tossed her into a sparring match with Ghost during her first week, she didn’t flinch. She won.

She was fast, brutal, and efficient. Bucky knew killers when he saw them. And she was one.

So maybe it made sense that he couldn’t stop watching her.

⸻

The first time they actually spoke was in the training room.

Bucky was working the punching bag with quiet precision, sweat dripping from his brow. She walked in without a word, unzipped her jacket, and started stretching on the mat beside him.

“Nice work with Taskmaster yesterday,” he offered, not looking at her directly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You saw that?”

“I hear everything.”

She smirked. “You always this chatty, Barnes?”

That made him glance over. “Only when someone impresses me.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Then you’re hard to impress.”

“Exactly.”

She let out a dry laugh, then started wrapping her hands. “Good. Wouldn’t want things to be too easy around here.”

They trained in silence after that, but it was a comfortable one. Bucky couldn’t help glancing over at her form—sharp, purposeful, never wasting energy. She didn’t just fight well. She moved like someone who survived things most people couldn’t imagine.

And that… he understood.

⸻

Weeks passed, and the team started gelling in that broken, violent way the Thunderbolts* were known for. The missions were ugly, high-risk, and rarely clean. But she never hesitated. She kept up with the chaos, stood her ground with Yelena and U.S. Agent, and even earned Taskmaster’s rare nod of respect.

Bucky watched her more than he admitted. Not just in combat, but in the little things. How she patched her gear herself. How she didn’t talk about her past but carried it in her posture. How she always volunteered to scout ahead alone.

She was a lone wolf. Just like he used to be.

So when she got hit—really hit—during a botched extraction in Prague, Bucky’s reaction surprised even himself.

She was bleeding, her shoulder torn open, pinned down by gunfire.

“I got her!” he shouted before anyone else could respond, already breaking formation.

He reached her under heavy fire, shielded her with his body, and hauled her behind a wall.

“You’re an idiot,” she grunted, wincing as he checked the wound.

“Probably,” he muttered. “But I’m your idiot now, so shut up and let me stop the bleeding.”

She blinked at him, stunned—not just by the pain but by him. For once, she didn’t argue.

⸻

Back at base, after stitches and silence, she found him alone, cleaning weapons.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

Finally, he met her gaze. “Because you’re not just another soldier to me.”

She swallowed hard. “Then what am I?”

Bucky set the gun down and stood. There was a storm in his eyes, the kind that carried decades of regret—and something else, something fragile.

“You make me remember I’m still human.”

She didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. The look in her eyes said it all.

So did the way she stepped closer, reached for his hand, and didn’t let go.

⸻

They didn’t talk about it much. Not in words. Their connection grew in looks, in quiet touches, in the way Bucky stood a little closer to her in the field. In how she learned to read his silences.

They started sparring more—sometimes as an excuse to be alone, other times because it was the only way they knew how to connect. When she knocked him down one afternoon, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him.

They stared at each other, breaths shallow.

“Gonna kiss me or keep pretending we’re just teammates?” she whispered.

Bucky chuckled, voice low. “Depends. You gonna let me?”

She didn’t answer. She kissed him instead.

It was sharp and slow and messy in all the ways that made him feel alive again.

⸻

Of course, nothing stayed easy for long.

During a covert mission in Madripoor, she got separated from the team—and vanished.

They searched for hours. Then days.

Valentina declared her MIA. The team prepared to move on.

But Bucky refused.

“She’s not dead,” he snapped. “I know she’s not.”

“You’re letting feelings cloud your judgment,” Taskmaster warned him.

“Good,” he growled. “It means I’m not a damn machine anymore.”

He found her two days later, trapped in a holding cell underground, barely conscious. He broke the lock with his metal arm and carried her out himself.

Her voice was weak. “Took you long enough.”

“You knew I’d come?”

She smiled faintly. “You always do.”

⸻

After that, something shifted. She didn’t push people away as much. She let him in, piece by piece—her real name, the reason she joined the team, the life she lost before this one.

And Bucky? He opened up in return. Told her about the nightmares, the guilt, the weight of being someone the world used and feared in equal measure.

They weren’t perfect. But together, they weren’t alone anymore.

One night, as they lay in bed in some safe house far from war, she whispered, “You think we deserve this?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. “But I want it anyway.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest.

And for once, neither of them dreamed of blood.

[five-rivers]

chromatophore

@jackdaw-sprite

For Dannymay 2025, day 6: transformation. I'm late!

.

The ribbons were the first sign, a vibrant magenta against the dark greens, snowy whites, and subtle blues.  It wasn’t a color often seen in the Far Frozen, even if it was common among other polychromatic denizens of the Ghost Zone.  There were hundreds of them, tied together in huge, arcing loops.  

The sight made Danny pull up short.  

“What is it?” asked Tucker over the Fenton Phones.  They liked to come with him to his check-ups.  They seemed to think that if they didn’t, he’d skip his appointments.  

(Just because he missed one–)

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “There’s something about the color magenta in the Far Frozen, but I can’t remember exactly what…”

“Can you remember approximately what?” asked Sam, also in the Specter Speeder.  

Danny hummed uncertainly.  “I know that doors colored magenta are dangerous, and Frostbite told me not to go through them,” he said, finally.  “But this is a lot more than coloring a door magenta.  I don’t know if it means something different.”

“Great One!”

Danny rotated around the axis of his navel to see a yeti approaching.  That was odd.  They usually didn’t meet him this far out.  Not after the first couple times, anyway.  

“Hi!” he called, waving.  “What are all the ribbons for?”

“Stay there!” shouted the yeti.  “I will come to you!”

Danny nodded, then relayed the yeti’s words to Sam and Tucker, who couldn’t hear him from inside the Speeder. 

“Great One,” said the yeti, by way of greeting, once he got closer.  “My apologies.  We knew you would come soon, but we did not know from which direction, so I was set to watch.”

“Icespear,” said Danny, now recognizing the yeti.  He was one of the Far Frozen’s warriors, and one of the only ones who would still watch when Frostbite was training Danny in the arena.  “What’s wrong?  Why is all this stuff here?”  Danny gestured at the ribbons.  

Now, while he would like Icespear to tell him that it was all in preparation for a festival or something similar, Danny sincerely doubted that was the case.  

“The Far Frozen is under quarantine,” said Icespear, tiredly.  “Two weeks ago, one of our merchants caught the white death, and it has since spread rapidly through the village.”

“The white death?” asked Danny, alarmed.  “That sounds bad.”

“It is,” agreed Icespear, “though it is not quite as dire as you imagine.  Many ghost illnesses have the word ‘death’ or something similar in them.”

That… sounded like something ghosts would do, honestly.  

“I guess my appointment is canceled, then,” joked Danny.  His smile felt weak on his face and quickly fell off.  “How bad is it?”

Icespear’s muzzle twitched up, exposing teeth.  “Bad.  For most, even if they were willing to break the quarantine, they couldn’t.  The white death lowers core temperature.  Some of the worst off are freezing solid.”

“Is there anything I can do?  I mean, I’m not a doctor or anything, but if there’s something I can get you…  Aspirin?  Antibiotics?  Cough syrup?”

If it came to it, Danny would be… Well, saying he’d be okay with robbing a pharmacy was vastly overstating things, but if it meant the difference between someone in the Far Frozen surviving or fading, he’d do it.  

“Yes.  In fact, I have a letter for you from Chief Frostbite.  If you will read it, I can answer any questions you have.”

Icespear reached into the sash that held his kilt-like garment in place, and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Danny.  Danny slid his thumb under Frostbite’s blue ice seal and opened the letter, drifting back towards the speeder so Sam and Tucker could try to read over his shoulder.  

“He wants me to try and get this plant, then?” asked Danny.  “It’s a cure?”

Icespear shook his head.  “Nothing quite so miraculous.  It is only an ingredient, but we have all the others.  It is only that moly tinctoria is the most difficult of the ingredients to get, since the Painters consider it sacred.”

Danny nodded.  People were always weird about sacred things.  “So, how do I get it from them?”  He scrunched up his nose.  “They probably won’t sell it for anything within my budget, so am I going to have to fight them for it?”  That felt worse than knocking over a pharmacy.  Pharmacies had insurance and stuff.  Sacred stuff usually couldn’t be easily replaced.  

“Oh, no,” said Icespear.  “No, we’d prefer to have good relations with them.  When we tell them what it will be used for, they will be willing to let us harvest it.  However…” Icespear sighed.  “They require that anyone who is to touch their sacred herb undergoes a purification ritual, and we yetis are unable to do it.”

Danny frowned.  “Why?”

“We have fur,” said Icespear with a shrug.  “Their paints do not stick to us very well, and when we do, the shape of the brushstrokes is warped.”

“That sounds sort of… discriminatory?” said Danny, making a face.  

Icespear shrugged again.  “They have always been willing to let us try.  It just doesn’t work very well, and each person can only do it once.  And, I understand that the rite is important for practical reasons as well as spiritual ones.  They are often identical here, in the Infinite Realms.”

“What happens if you don’t do the ritual?”

”I fear I do not know,” said Icespear.  “But the Painters are very insistent on it.”

“Okay,” said Danny, re-reading Frostbite’s letter.  The shakiness of the writing showed that Frostbite wasn’t feeling well, himself.  “Sam, Tucker, do you want to do this, or should I take you guys home first?”

“We’re sticking with you,” said Sam, obviously unamused.  

“Okay, okay,” said Danny.  “I was just asking.  This is probably going to take longer than my appointment, after all.  I don’t even know which way to go…?”  He looked up at Icespear questioningly. 

“That is one reason I am coming with you,” said Icespear, “and why I have this.”  He pulled out the Infi-map.  

“Wow,” said Danny, reaching towards it.  “I thought it was locked away, after, um, the incident.”

“It would be the height of foolishness to have something like this and not use it in our hour of need,” said Icespear, twitching the scroll away from Danny’s outstretched hand.  “You are still banned from using it, however.  I will be directing us.”

Danny let his hand drop, disappointed.  The Infi-map was still one of the coolest ghost artifacts he’d encountered.  “What are the other reasons you’re coming with us?”

“Security,” said Icespear, “and to make sure everything goes smoothly.  There have been disruptions in the past.  Thefts, mostly.  The plant is a valuable one, as well as being sacred.”

“Well…  Do you guys have any questions?” He turned slightly towards the Speeder, inviting Tucker and Sam to weigh in.  

“What’s in the ritual?” asked Sam.  “That seems important.”

“I’m not as familiar with it as some,” admitted Icespear.  “I was chosen mainly for my good health and fighting ability, given that I will be carrying the Infi-map outside our borders.  But it is my understanding that the main portions of it are ritual body paint, a bath, removing the paint, and incense.  It is not a physically taxing ritual, merely difficult for us.”

“Alright, then,” said Sam.  “I just wanted to make sure that it didn’t involve cutting off a finger or human sacrifice or something.”

“Sam!  These guys are our friends.  Our allies.”

“Lady Sam is wise to be cautious,” said Icespear.  “Many otherwise innocuous rites and customs could be dangerous to you, Great One.”

Danny made a face.  “But nothing in this one, right?”

“Not that I know of,” said Icespear.  

“Great,” said Danny.  “Let’s go.”

.

In a typical example of how ghosts liked to theme themselves, the entrance to the Painter’s Realm looked like an art gallery.  If an art gallery had decided to turn itself into an avant-garde piece of artwork itself, splashing multicolored and in some cases eye-searing paints all over the front, then painting over that with layered dots and curlicues.

Icespear went in right away, through the glass door, to negotiate with the Painters.  Danny stayed outside, for the moment, to help Sam and Tucker land the Speeder on the thin strip of land in front of the building.  

“Do you think those are supposed to be nazars?” asked Sam, climbing out of the cockpit and pointing at the nearest wall.

“Do I think what is what?”

“Nazars.  You remember, the eye beads.”

Danny looked at the wall, and he could see what she was saying.  The dots on the wall were concentric, solid circles of dark blue, light blue, black, white, and ghost green, in no particular order.  

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “They do look sort of similar.”

Icespear returned and motioned them inside.  Standing next to the largest painting inside, a big, abstract one, was a thin ghost whose haircut made her look like a paintbrush, which was probably the point.  

“Who is it that wants to harvest?” she asked, frowning at the three of them.  

“Me,” said Danny, raising his hand.  

She looked him up and down.  “To complete the ritual, you will come to the deepest of our depths, where we will paint you.  Then, you will go to the chamber of cleansing, where you will be sealed while you bathe to remove our paints.  When you finish, we will judge your work, and if it is satisfactory, we will allow you to harvest what is necessary.”

Danny nodded.  “That seems pretty easy,” he said.  “I mean, I got the impression that some parts were tricky.”

The ghost nodded.  “Some would say so, but occasionally, it is the simplest things that are the most difficult.”  She looked at Sam and Tucker.  “You are welcome to observe, like Icespear, but you must not interrupt the cleansing, or else the Far Frozen will have to seek out a new proxy.”

“Got it,” said Tucker, while Sam nodded. 

“Very good.  I have sent word ahead to our best artists, and they will meet us there.  Follow me.”  She looked at Tucker's PDA, and added, “No photography.”

As Tucker sulkily put away his PDA, the ghost flew briskly into the gallery, somehow looking even more like a paintbrush with her legs pressed together and her toes pointed. 

As they followed her, the gallery became… older.  At first, it was just that the exact nature of fittings on the walls began to look more old fashioned.  Then, the style of the paintings shifted.  Cigarette smoke permeated the air for a short time, then dissipated.  The walls changed, too, first just in the texture of paint, then in substance and decoration, the moulding going from minimalistic to a work of art in its own right. But that passed, too, and soon those palace-like walls became castle-like, illuminated by torches, then simpler, cruder, paintings losing perspective, then briefly regaining it in plaster painted directly on the walls.  They continued, and eventually, they were walking down a bare stone tunnel, the paintings on the walls lit only by the ghosts’ own glow.

This tunnel opened into a larger cave.  There were people there, ghosts, all of them dressed in white artist smocks, with paintbrushes in their pockets.  A stream, a tiny trickle of water, ran through the room, starting as a waterfall high on the cave wall, near the entrance, and running out an exit on the opposite side.  

One of the white-robed ghosts stepped forward.  “You wish to be cleansed, so that you may harvest our sacred herb?”

Danny flinched slightly at the word ‘wish’ (you never knew when Desiree might be around) but said, “Yes.  Um, is there something special I need to say, or–?”

A younger-looking ghost with purple paintbrush pigtails giggled.  “It's not that kind of ritual,” she said.  “The one where people talk a lot and everyone has to say exactly the right thing.”

“Oh,” said Danny, “okay.”

“But we do need your consent,” said the other ghost, “because you'll need to strip.”

“So you can paint me, right,” said Danny.  He considered the chilly temperature of the room, then the number of painters that were girls, and decided this would be unpleasant.  He looked over at Sam.  

“What?” she said.  

Danny raised his eyebrows.  

“Are you serious?  I’ve seen you naked before.”

Everyone had seen Danny naked before, courtesy of Vlad.  Yeah, Danny had done that first, but Vlad had started it.  Sort of.

Sam rolled her eyes and turned away from Danny, crossing her arms as she did so.  “Are you going to make everyone else turn around, too?”

“Um,” said Danny, looking at the ghosts.  There were a lot of 

“That won’t work, I’m afraid,” said the ghost that seemed to be the leader.  

Danny sighed.  “Okay,” he said.  He started unzipping his suit.  

“I’ll leave it to you,” then, said the thin, suited… receptionist?  She left, flying back towards the more modern part of the Painters’ Realm. 

Danny rolled his suit off his body, the plasticy fabric sticking to itself before dissipating into gaseous ectoplasm, and took off the clothing beneath it.  “It’s okay that I stay in ghost form, right?”

“You should,” said Icespear.  

“Yeah, it’s pretty cold in here,” said Tucker.  “Stay ghosty, stay toasty.”

“I’m colder as a ghost, you know,” said Danny, amused, even as he took off his undershirt and underwear.  It was cold, but nowhere near as cold as the Far Frozen.  The main discomfort was the dampness and the breeze.  And, of course, the star-shaped death scar in the middle of his chest.

Sometimes, he forgot it was there.  He never saw it, after all.  He rarely needed to take off his clothes in ghost form.  

“Yeah, exactly,” said Tucker.  

While Danny undressed, the Painters started their preparations.  About half of them had mortar and pestles, and the other half pulled dried plants, rocks, little colorful pucks, and other things Danny couldn’t immediately identify.  They crushed them, turning them into fine powders, then passed those powders on.  Some of them were, to Danny’s surprise, set on fire, making plumes of fragrant smoke.  Others were mixed with water, turning them into paints and inks.  Danny saw blue, green, white, black.  

The painters nudged him into the center of the room, to stand ankle-deep in the small stream.  Bowls of eye-stinging incense were passed under his nose, then arranged in a rough circle around him.  Then, the Painters approached with their paintbrushes, circled Danny once, clockwise, then stepped forward, past the bowls of incense.

Danny felt the brushstrokes in cold wet lines against his skin and tried not to feel apprehension.  Yes, he had volunteered for this, of course, but it was still unnerving, making him feel vulnerable, even though he had access to all the powers he usually had.  There was a sense of disorientation, too, as the room filled with smoke and frigid water swirled around Danny’s ankles.  It made his skin feel tight, electric.

At first, each brushstroke made his skin flinch, but he grew used to them, and as he learned to be more still, the Painters started to do more detailed work, layering the initial blobby shapes with finer, smaller ones.  He felt dots, spots, curlicues.  They were building up patterns, paint on top of ink, like the ones on the walls outside, the ones that Sam said looked like nazars.  On his skin, Danny thought they looked more like the spots on a leopard, or an octopus.  

The pigtailed Painter bounced up in front of him, her mortar of paint in hand, grinned, and painted a stripe across his nose, pausing to make the ends wider than the middle.  The ghosts that followed her added to her work, emboldened.  Danny got what felt like artificial blush stickers and a series of improbable freckles.  

The paint smelled.  Not badly, exactly, but strongly, dancing on the edge of unpleasantness.  For some reason, it made his mouth water, and he had to swallow.

Some Painters knelt to paint layered rings around his fingers.  One lifted one of his feet after another to paint his soles and toes, even though he had to put them back down in the water a moment later.  

But what they didn’t touch was his death scar.  They avoided it, outlined

Between the layered spots of paint and the scars, his skin was still visible, but it seemed oddly colorless in contrast, like it had borrowed some conceptual quality of invisibility without actually being invisible.  Combined with the tingly, too-tight, too-dry, almost too-hot feeling, and the sensation of the paint drying, it made Danny feel like he wasn’t supposed to be in his skin.  

Then, all at once, the Painters stepped back.  

“You must now enter the chamber of cleansing,” said the leader.  “We will seal the way behind you, and you will not be able to leave until you have removed all the paint from yourself, or failed to do so entirely.  Your friends will not be able to come with you.  Do you understand?”

“I won’t be able to leave until I’m clean,” said Danny.  “Or until I really screw things up, somehow.”

“Close enough,” said the Painter.  They gestured to the other opening in the cave wall, the one that the stream flowed into.  

Danny glanced back at Sam and Tucker.  Tucker gave him a thumbs up.  Sam’s back was still turned, but she must have sensed his eyes on her, because she waved her hand at him.  “Good luck,” she said.  

“Thanks,” he said, before walking towards the exit.  Around him, the Painters picked up the bowls of incense, then set their remaining paint on fire.  The act made him pause, but they just lined up behind him, so he shrugged and continued.  

He wanted to scrub the paint off.  It was making his skin feel itchy and weird.  

Walking down the stream, however, proved strangely difficult.  He stumbled over small rocks and his own feet, swaying into the close walls every so often, but flying seemed improper, and probably not all that much better, with how narrow the tunnel was.

Soon, the tunnel ended in a small, bulbous cave with walls worn smooth and round, like a bubble of stone.  There were niches carved high on the walls, and the Painters put their burning bowls of incense and paint in them - or did the paint count as incense, now that they were burning it?  Danny wasn’t sure.  The smoke they produced was colored, too, although not always the same color as the paint. 

Otherwise, the room was full of water, its floor completely covered.  When Danny went to stand in the middle, it came up to his waist.  

One of the Painters pulled a bundle of washcloths from one of the niches and handed them to Danny, before leaving.  Danny watched them go, wondering how they were going to seal the room.  There wasn’t a door they could close, or a rock they could roll in front of entry.  

As he thought this, the walls shuddered and pinched, the entryway sucking in on itself, then smoothing over until it looked like there had never been a door there at all, and the walls of the room had always been an unbroken circle.  

Well, that was one way to do it.  

Danny dipped the washcloths into the water and began to scrub.  The wetness, cold, clean, and thin, not like the viscous and sometimes gritty paint, was sitting against his skin. 

At first, some of the painted color dissolved and peeled off into the water, leaving clear trails, sinking in swirls, twists, and spirals.  Then, the dots shrank, the outside paint wearing away faster than the centers of the dots.  But the underlying ink layers, nearly flush against his skin, seeping into his skin, were a different story.  None of the layered dots Danny scrubbed away came off entirely.  The amount of paint coming off into the water slowed, then stopped.  Danny thought that, maybe, some of the dots got bigger when he wasn't looking at them.

Danny doubled down, leaning against one of the walls to get at his feet more effectively. 

The water was getting higher.  There must have been a source for it, other than the entrance.  Cracks in the stone? 

Danny paused in his scrubbing and considered the situation.  He floated up out of the water, hoping to get a better view of the paint spots.  They were flatter, but they were still there.  Blue, black, white, green, different shades layered on each other in a variety of orders. 

The smoke was thicker up here, near the ceiling, and Danny found himself dozing, suddenly sleepy.  He blinked back awake when he dipped into the water. 

Oh.  That probably wasn't good.  He went back to scrubbing.  His skin felt raw, but also like it needed to be peeled off, bit by bit, section by section.  He ducked himself under the water, hoping to soothe the sensation away.  No luck. 

He reemerged.  The water was up to his shoulders, now, the whole lower half of the room submerged.  

And, Danny noticed, it was speeding up. 

The smoke was thick enough and drowsy enough that he kept finding himself with his eyes closed.  He felt worn and exhausted without having done much of anything. When he dozed, he had snatches of dreams, more impressions than anything.  Or, maybe, they were better termed hallucinations. Memories of brushes on his skin, which turned into fingers, poking, prodding, scratching. 

He didn't need to breathe in ghost form the same way he did in human form, but he heaved in long, slow, smoke-flavored breaths, panting.  Colors scintillated behind his eyelids, more saturated, more vibrant than they should be.  

It would have been nice if someone warned him the incense was hallucinogenic.  Or maybe it was the paint, acting through his skin.  Either way…

The water reached the level of the niches, briefly lifting the bowls.  The bowls were too heavy to float for long, though.  The small waves Danny was making swamped them, and they sunk, extinguished.  

All at once, the water drained out of the room, and Danny with it.  The door was back.  He sprawled in the small stream as water backwashed into it before sloshing back out.  He pushed himself to his elbows as ghostly glows fell on him.  

Danny looked up at the Painters, Icespear lingering behind them, and Tucker far in the back, then down at his still-painted limbs.  “I'm sorry,” he said, ashamed.  He couldn’t even clean himself right.  He was such a screw up

“Whatever for?” asked the leader.  “You have completed the trial.  You have proven that you are worthy. ”

“But I couldn't get off all the paint?” said Danny, confused. 

“Well, you wouldn't be a very good canvas if the paint just washed right off you,” said the pigtailed ghost.  “We're Painters, not window-washers.”

“Not quite the way I would put it, but not incorrect.”  The leader of the Painters offered Danny her hand. 

“How do I get it off, then?”  Danny, feeling a little noodly, took their hand. 

“Time will– Oh my.”  

The marks on Danny's skin had changed, moving, contracting and expanding, reminiscent of the movement of iris and pupil.  Danny blinked at it, faintly appalled. 

“Chromatophores!” said the pigtailed ghost, delighted.  “When was the last time someone got those?”

“Over a century,” said another of the ghosts.  “You really must be true of heart.”

The leader ghost, meanwhile, ran her finger up Danny's arm, and he watched in disquieted fascination as the robes of color followed its path like they were water on a shower door.  “Your skin hasn't just accepted the color, it has incorporated it.”

Danny, a little overwhelmed, flitted over to Icespear, hiding half behind him. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing much.  You just won't be getting rid of those,” said the pigtailed ghost, cheerfully. 

Danny looked up at Icespear.  

“I am no doctor, Great One.”

Danny made a squeaky, wheezy noise and looked down at his arms again.  The patterns moved and pulsed in a way that just screamed anxiety, the colors expanding and contracting, like the hallucinated colors behind his eyelids.  Looking at them made him feel dizzy. 

He paused.�� Had the colors behind his eyelids been hallucinations?  Or were they just on his eyelids.  

“Well!” said the Painter.  “I expect you’ll want to be shown where you can harvest, yes?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Yeah, just, let me get dressed and talk to Tucker, first.”  He turned around to face his friend.  “How bad is it?”

“You look kind of like someone poured a bucket of paint over you.  Artistically!” he added, looking over Danny’s shoulder at the painters.  “Or like those really poisonous octopuses?  I bet Sam will be into it.  She loves poisonous stuff.”

Danny blushed.  He saw colors move across the corners of his eyes.

“Ooh,” said Tucker, tracking something across Danny’s chest and face.  “You’re not going to be able to hide anything, like that.  That’s worse than if you had cat ears.”

“Please don’t give the universe ideas,” said Danny.  

“But it would be hot,” said Tucker.  

Danny stared at him.  It was Tucker’s turn to blush, the tips of his ears going darker than cherries.  

“You know,” said Sam, “I’ve been waiting here not looking at anything for forever.  Some updates would be great!”

“Let’s just–” said Danny.  He shook his head.  “You know, if this carries over to human form, I’m going to scream.”  He transformed.  “Well?” he asked, not quite willing to look down at his arms.

“No, you’re good,” said Tucker, giving him a thumbs up.  “You might have some more freckles, though?”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Screaming later, then.  We’re coming, Sam!  We are coming, right?  The plants are up there, somewhere, right?”

“Yes,” said the lead Painter, bemused.  “Your friends can come, but they can’t touch anything.”

“Okay.  These plants aren’t going to turn me weird colors, are they?”

“Not permanently,” said the Painter.  

That was, probably, the best Danny was going to get.  He inhaled deeply, enjoying the lack of smoke, then let his breath rush out in a giant sigh.  He went ghost again, because even with his t-shirt and pants, it was chilly in the cave.  With the new transformation, he regained his suit.  A noise of disappointment escaped his mouth when he saw that there were black and white copies of the ‘chromatophores’ on his suit.  

He was going to be really upset about this later.  After the Far Frozen was cured.  

Tucker gave him a double thumbs up.  “Trust me,” he said.  “It looks good!”

Danny gave him a flat look.  “You said I looked like someone dumped paint on me.”

“In a good way!”

“Great One,” said Icespear, “I hate to hurry you, but we are on an errand of some importance.”

Danny blushed again, and nodded.  “Sorry.”  He shook himself, then flew up the tunnel.  

Everything would be fine.  Probably.  

[heathersdesk]

The Crimes of Brigham Young: the Briefest Introduction

If you're going to be LDS long term, one of the facts you have to accept and make peace with never trying to dispute, is that Brigham Young was a horrible person.

We don't openly talk about this as a community, so you can reach adulthood without ever having to wrestle with this too much. But that makes it all the more shocking when you discover how bad he was.

To say he was deeply flawed doesn't do it justice. Your uncle who says hateful stuff at the dinner table and disrespects his wife and children is deeply flawed. Brigham Young is so much worse than that, by several degrees of magnitude. He introduced and was complicit in extreme violence that was unnecessary and unjustifiable. By the standards of his day and ours, from the perspective of those inside the community and outside, he wasn't a good person. If what you imagine a good leader to be is the King Benjamin definition of someone who does good for his people and doesn't enrich himself from their labors, that's not a test Brigham Young can pass. At all. Not even a little bit.

There's too much history to get into, but here are the basics:

Brigham Young enriched himself constantly from other people. He gave himself the largest allowance of any Church leader in our history. He was living in finery when the rest of the Utah Territory was living in deprivation and squalor. He abused his position within the Church/consecration to make sure he never went without. D. Michael Quinn is the best authority we have on church finances and, to summarize his work, Church leadership has only improved over time in terms of leaders not abusing Church resources. But that was very easy to do because of how much Brigham Young abused them for his personal benefit.

The fact that he was openly racist and introduced slavery to the Utah Territory, undoing the work of Joseph Smith to put black and white Saints on more equal footing with each other is no secret. The Church openly admits to that one now, which is good. We need to be honest about the harm the institution has done in the past towards black people, and we're doing better on that front.

Where we still fail is the overwhelming amounts of violence and genocide our people engaged in against various indigenous tribes across the Midwest and in the areas of pioneer settlement in the Intermountain West. You may have heard of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, which is the event where John D. Lee murdered a group of innocent white travelers that were passing through Utah. What you may not know is that skirmish was part of the larger Black Hawk War against indigenous tribes that included over twenty years of violence, in which our people were consistently the aggressors. Mountain Meadows is the one you've heard of because, true to American form, we only acknowledge white wrongdoing when it hurts other white people. The number of indigenous people who were murdered in genocidal violence by the hands of our people, at the express orders of Brigham Young, is undeniable. It's well-documented history.

This is just one extermination order that exists in which senior Church leadership calls for the total extermination of entire indigenous tribes and nations. They used the Nauvoo Legion to do this.

You would think a group of people who were exterminated with orders like these would know better. But that's the trouble with unhealed trauma: it keeps you from learning from the worst things that happen to you and makes you repeat them instead.

Brigham Young didn't want to live adjacent to indigenous people in the Utah Territory and surrounding areas. He wanted their anhialation. He wanted to take their lands and their possessions. That's what he did to indigenous people who helped our people survive in terrain and elements they weren't prepared to live in. He rewarded them with violence, dishonesty, and betrayal.

There are many reasons you will hear me say that I want a one-on-one socker bopper fight with Brigham Young in a Wendy's parking lot. He has a lot to apologize for, to me and many other people. You cannot begin to understand what that means if you've never seen the scope of how much harm he did.

I love y'all. I'm sorry if I'm the one to tell you this, especially if your people were involved and you were lied to about it. You deserve the truth. That's why I'm telling you. We cannot heal from what we don't acknowledge, and so much of the way we are today as a community is a direct result of all this violence. It's why our people mistrust outsiders, attempt to solve problems with unnecessary violence, and discredit any criticism for their loyalties to the prophet and senior Church leadership. It's who our people have been for so long, there is real intergenerational fear in trying to be anything else.

But that healing is necessary so we can stop repeating the mistakes of the past.

The Book of Mormon teaches in 2 Nephi 9:40:

I know that the words of truth are hard against all uncleanness; but the righteous fear them not, for they love the truth and are not shaken.

We are comfortable acknowledging this to be true about outsiders. Do we believe it when it concerns our own? Do we actually care more about what is right, rather than who we want to believe is right?

Such examination requires faith, honesty, and courage. Truth doesn't have the power to destroy faith, only flimsy and undeserved certainty. And if your certainty was based in falsehood, then best to dispense with it so you can live more fully in the truth.

[valentiyne]

𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗍 ᥫ᭡ 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗌

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In the heart of Avengers Tower, you are unexpectedly paired with a reclusive Bucky Barnes for a quiet city mission that turns into something far too personal. As the two navigate tight quarters, hidden threats, and lingering trauma, a fragile trust begins to form in the spaces between silence.

Warnings: Mild cursing & mentions of Bucky's trauma

Word Count: 4.3k (not proofread)

Copyright © 2025 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

The day they brought the Winter Soldier in, I heard the doors to the sublevel medical bay slam open like someone was breaking in. Alarms didn’t go off, so I assumed it was fine. Mostly.

Tony’s voice echoed through the corridors, brisk and sarcastic, a tone I’d come to associate with anything out of his control. Steve’s quieter, more urgent voice followed, trailing behind like a leash trying to hold back a pit bull.

I didn’t see him that day. Just heard the noise.

He stayed below the surface for weeks, buried like a secret in the foundation of the Tower. Nobody said his name unless they had to. I didn’t ask questions. Being the second youngest member of the team had its perks: I wasn’t expected to know everything, and most people assumed I was better off not knowing anything at all.

Still, I caught whispers.

Nightmares. Damage control. Deprogramming.

Hydra.

The word sat like a splinter in the air every time it was said. Everyone felt it. Especially Steve.

I saw him, Bucky, maybe three times. Once, early in the morning, when I shuffled into the kitchen half-asleep and found him sitting at the counter. Silent. Hunched over a cup of black coffee he didn’t seem to be drinking. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him, not really. Just enough to clock the metal arm resting on the counter. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn’t bolt. That was my victory.

I grabbed a banana and walked out.

The second time, I was coming back from training. The hallway lights flickered, a glitch they said they were fixing, and I saw his silhouette at the end of the corridor. He didn’t move when I passed. Just stood there, half in shadow, watching me like I was some flickering signal he couldn’t quite make sense of.

The third time, I swear he nodded. It might’ve been my imagination. But something shifted. A blink of recognition.

But no one let him near me.

Tony said it was precautionary. “Kid, it’s not about trust. It’s about, y’know, surviving to see your twenty-first birthday. No hard feelings.”

I pretended to agree.

It was a Thursday when everything changed.

I was up early, too early, slumped at the counter with a bowl of soggy cereal. Nat was drinking black coffee and watching the news with that half lidded boredom she always had in the morning. Clint was nursing a hangover on the couch

Tony strolled in last, sunglasses on indoors like always, holding a cup labeled “WORLD’S OKAYEST GENIUS.”

“Morning,” he said, flicking the TV off with a remote I didn’t even know existed. “Big announcement. Sort of.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Even Clint, who groaned like moving physically hurt.

Steve came in behind him, face already locked in a tight frown.

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, hear me out, and don’t throw a vibranium shield at my face yet, Cap. I think it’s time Barnes sees a shrink.”

Silence.

Nat arched an eyebrow. “He already is.”

“A real one,” Tony replied. “Not whatever Soviet era hypnosis Steve is trying to pass off as emotional progress.”

Steve crossed his arms. “He doesn’t need a psychiatrist. He needs time.”

“Steve,” Tony said, almost too gently. “It’s been two months. Two months of isolation, nightmare episodes, and one panic attack that almost blew out the med bay’s glass. I don’t want to be the guy who says ‘I told you so’ when Barnes freaks out and throws someone off the balcony.”

Steve’s jaw clenched.

“He’s not ready for normal life,” he said. “And you don’t get to decide what recovery looks like.”

Tony raised his hands. “I’m not trying to start a war, Spangles. Just saying...professional help might be good for him. We’re not therapists. We’re barely functioning people.”

“Speak for yourself,” Clint muttered from the couch, raising a limp arm. “I’ve been emotionally stable since 2014.”

Tony didn’t laugh. His expression turned more serious. “Look, the guy deserves help. And whether you want to admit it or not, he trusts you too much to say when he’s drowning.”

Steve didn’t respond. His knuckles went white against the countertop.

I felt invisible in moments like this. Half kid, half soldier, not old enough to be part of the “real” conversations, but too embedded to look away.

Tony finally broke the silence. “I’m scheduling a consult. He doesn’t have to go. But the option should be there. That’s all I’m saying.”

Steve walked out before he could finish.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept hearing something, soft thuds in the hallway, a door creaking open. I sat up in bed, listening.

Then came the screaming.

Muffled. Low. Pained.

My heart raced as I crept out of bed, careful not to make a sound. The hallway was dark, save for the faint emergency lights that ran low along the walls. I followed the noise toward the lower guest quarters, near the elevators they kept locked down.

Then, silence.

I almost turned back, until I saw a flicker of movement through the small window of one of the rooms.

His room.

The light inside was dim, but I could make out the shape of Bucky Barnes, sitting up in bed, both hands clenched in his damp sweat filled hair, shoulders shaking.

He looked… lost.

I didn’t knock. Didn’t speak. Just stood there.

Eventually, he looked up.

Our eyes met through the glass. For a moment, it felt like time paused.He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

But he didn’t look away.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t violent. But he looked haunted.

Like something inside him had broken loose and clawed its way to the surface.

My chest tightened. And then, like a coward, I turned and ran.

The hallway seemed longer in the dark, lights flickering as my socked feet pattered against polished floors, arms tucked tight to my chest like that might keep the fear from spilling out. I didn’t stop until I was back in my room, door closed, back pressed to the wood as I slid down and sat on the cold floor.

I didn’t tell anyone.

Not because I wanted to protect him, necessarily, I didn’t even know him, but because I knew what Tony would do if he found out. And I knew what it felt like to constantly have nightmares. Nightmares of my life before the tower. Tony would punish Bucky.

Back to isolation. Back to sublevel lockdowns and reinforced doors and whispered speculation.

And even though I barely understood the man, I knew he didn’t deserve that.

So I stayed quiet.

Even when I passed him in the hallway two days later, coffee mug cradled in my hands as I headed to the lounge. Even when I felt his stare crawl across the side of my face. I didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even glance at him.

The team meeting was held in the main briefing room. Floor to ceiling glass walls, too many touchscreens, and chairs that cost more than my education.

I stood up front beside Tony, who was tapping through holographic files like he was picking a playlist instead of choosing who might die next week. Steve stood beside him, arms folded, stern as ever.

Behind me, I felt eyes burning a hole through the back of my skull.

I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

Bucky.

I shifted my weight, fingers curling into my sleeves, trying to ignore the electricity crawling up my spine.

Tony flicked a file closed and clapped his hands once. “Alright, kids, here’s the breakdown. We’ve got a recon mission in Prague. Quiet op, surveillance only, don’t get noticed, don’t start a war. Clint and Nat, you’re our shadows on the rooftops. Steve, Bruce, you’re handling the eastern perimeter. No Hulk unless provoked.”

Bruce made a face but nodded. Tony scrolled to the last file.

“Thor and Strange are off world, Peter’s on a field trip, and Spiderbaby's aunt gets real pissed when I drag him out of algebra. So that leaves… our in house intern.” He looked at me. “You’re staying home.”

My mouth parted.

“What? Why?” I said, voice sharper than intended.

Tony shrugged like it wasn’t personal. “Peter’s not here. I’m not sending you alone.”

“But you’re sending Clint and Nat!"

“They’re walking death machines. You’re barely twenty.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Didn’t say you were. But I don’t trust you not to try and impress anyone and get shot in the face.”

Steve’s voice cut in. “She’s trained.”

Tony raised a brow. “And?”

“She’s ready.”

Tony scoffed. “Oh come on, Steve. We’re not doing this.”

“She’s not a rookie. She’s been here longer than Peter. She’s already done the work. What’s the point of letting her train with us if you keep treating her like furniture?”

My heart beat so loud I barely heard them over it.

“She’s not ready.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“She’s not regulated, Steve,” Tony snapped, the easy charm dropping from his voice. “She’s not licensed, she’s not on any agency’s roster, and if something goes wrong overseas, guess who gets blamed? Not you. Not me. Her. I’m not throwing her into a war zone to prove a point.”

Silence.

My face burned. I wanted to scream. Instead, I clenched my jaw and stared straight ahead.

Then a voice from the back of the room, low and smooth and cold like metal on ice:

“Send her with me.”

I turned so fast it made me dizzy.

Bucky stood in the shadows near the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Tony.

The entire room stiffened.

Tony blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You won’t send her alone. Fine. Send her with me.”

Steve looked between us.

Tony exhaled through his nose and muttered, “And here I was thinking today would be boring.”

The car ride was quiet.

Painfully quiet.

The kind where the air feels heavier with every passing block, every streetlight flashing ghost-like across the windshield. The city blurred outside , neon signs, rain slick pavement, crowds of strangers who had no idea the kind of chaos that sat just beneath the surface.

I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands clasped in my lap. Every so often I glanced at him...Bucky, behind the wheel, eyes focused ahead, his expression unreadable. His fingers, both flesh and metal, tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel. It might’ve been nerves. It might’ve been habit.

But he hadn’t said a single word.

Before we left, everyone had looked at me like I was walking into a lion’s den. Bruce gave me a protein bar. Natasha handed me a small blade she said Tony didn’t need to know about. Clint whispered, “Be cool. He’s not gonna kill you. Probably.”

But it was Steve who stopped me just before the elevator doors closed. His hand caught my arm gently, his expression lined with concern.

“If anything goes wrong,” he said under his breath, “if he starts to go sideways… you call for backup.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, though the words throbbed in the back of my skull now like a warning bell.

Sideways.

The word hadn’t left me since.

I snapped back to the present as the car slowed in front of a glowing tower of glass and chrome. A hotel. Fancy. Too many floors. Too many places to hide.

He pulled up to the valet with practiced ease and shifted the car into park. Then, finally, he spoke.

“We’ll stop here for the night.”

His voice was low and rough, like it hadn’t been used in hours.

I looked up at the building, heart thudding.

“Why here?”

His jaw tightened slightly as he glanced up at the hotel’s facade.

“Thief’s in there,” he said. “Probably in the casino. Last ping from the tracker Tony set up puts them inside this place. Room’s booked under a burner name. You and I check in, keep eyes open. Tomorrow, we move.”

I blinked. “You want us to stay in the same hotel as the guy who stole the crystal?”

He looked at me. “We’ll be less noticeable in the crowd than on the street.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

Fine.

We stepped out of the car together, the bellhop eyeing Bucky’s duffle bag like it might explode. I moved quickly, forcing my limbs to act like this was normal. Just another mission. Just another hotel.

The hotel glowed like money.

Warm gold lighting, sparkling chandeliers, and soft classical music piping through the air vents, the kind of place that catered to high stakes gamblers and people with clean shoes. Bucky looked like he didn’t belong, but no one dared to stop him. His face was carved from stone, eyes flat, jaw locked like he was chewing on a threat.

We walked up to the front desk, and he dropped the forged ID and Stark’s burner card without a word. The clerk, a woman in a navy blazer with a name tag that read Michelle, clicked her perfectly manicured nails against the keyboard and hummed.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “We’re nearly full for the weekend. We’ve got a luxury suite with a king bed and pullout couch, or… two single bed rooms. But those are on separate floors.”

I watched Bucky’s jaw tighten.

“No connecting rooms?” he asked, voice like gravel.

Michelle shook her head with an apologetic smile. “Afraid not.”

He exhaled through his nose like someone punched him in the ribs. Then turned slightly toward me, lips thinning.

“One room,” he said under his breath, like the words tasted wrong. “We’ll take the suite.”

Michelle beamed and swiped the card.

I stayed quiet. It wasn’t my call.

We made it to the elevators with a faint chime following us, the kind that sounded fancier than it needed to be. Once inside, Bucky jabbed the button for the twelfth floor hard enough to make the panel beep twice.

“You can have the bed,” he muttered. “I’ll take the couch.”

I glanced at him. “I don’t mind...”

“Not up for debate.”

I swallowed the rest of my sentence and looked at the scrolling numbers above the door.

Then, just as they started to slide shut, a hand shot between the gap.

The doors bounced open again.

A man stepped in.

Late 30s. Slick suit. Sunglasses indoors. He reeked of cologne and overconfidence, and he didn’t hesitate before sliding in right beside me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine.

I stiffened. My eyes flicked toward Bucky instinctively.

Bucky didn’t say anything. But I saw it, the side eye, the slight twitch of his fingers at his side. His stance widened almost imperceptibly, like his whole body tensed.

“Evening,” the man said with a too-wide grin, eyes flicking between us. “Y’all here for the convention?”

My stomach knotted.

“There’s no convention,” I said carefully.

He blinked. “You sure? Coulda sworn I saw signs..."

Then I felt it. The quiet shuffle.

Bucky’s hand came to rest at the small of my back. Firm, steady, not pushing, but guiding. He shifted, smoothly placing his body between me and the man, like he was just readjusting himself.

I stepped back, behind him without protest, pulse quickening.

The man kept talking.

“You two together?” he asked, leaning around Bucky slightly to try and make eye contact. “Not judging, just..."

Bucky turned his head, slow and deliberate.

“Yes,” he said flatly. No inflection. Just a word dropped like a hammer.

The man held his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath.

The elevator kept climbing. The silence turned sour.

When we reached the eleventh floor, the man stepped off. He gave a lazy wave and muttered, “Well, enjoy the suite,” before the doors closed again.

Bucky didn’t move until we were alone.

Then he finally exhaled and muttered, “That guy rubbed me the wrong way.” His hand finally moved from the small of my back, and for some reason, I missed when it was still there.

“You think he was our thief?”

“Doubt it. Too loud. But I don’t like surprises.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the twelfth floor.

We stepped into the hallway in silence, the plush carpet muffling our steps as we made our way to the suite.

“Seriously though,” I said after a moment, voice quieter now. “Thanks. For, y’know… doing the whole ‘bodyguard’ thing.”

He didn’t look at me. Just slid the key card into the door.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Just stay behind me when things go bad.”

The hotel suite was big. Sleek, modern, and too quiet. A king sized bed sat centered against the far wall, sheets crisp and undisturbed. There was a velvet couch near the window and a minibar no one dared touch. It all felt staged, like a showroom, not a place people lived.

I stepped in first, tossed my backpack near the foot of the bed, and rolled my shoulders with a sigh. The tension from the elevator hadn’t left my body yet, still simmering under my skin.

Bucky followed close behind, but he didn’t slow down.

Instead of dropping his own bag, he went straight to work.

He moved silently, gliding from one end of the room to the other, checking every door, every cabinet. He opened the bathroom door, flicked the light on, then off. Looked behind the shower curtain. He opened the closet, pressed the wall, then shut it again. He moved to the dresser drawers, slid them open, checked under the bed. All without saying a word.

I stood in the center of the room, watching him.

“You expecting someone?” I asked, trying for lightness, but my voice came out too soft.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he crossed the room to the window, a tall glass panel that overlooked a tangle of glowing rooftops and streetlights far below. With quiet precision, he undid the lock and opened it just a crack. A breeze slipped through, cool and metallic.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t turn around.

“I always need an escape route,” he said, like it was obvious. “In case they come back.”

I blinked. “They?”

He was quiet for a beat too long. The wind stirred the curtains.

“Hydra,” he said finally. “Or anyone who thinks I belong to them.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

I looked down at the carpet, heart tightening in my chest. The weight in his voice wasn’t just fear, it was preparation. Like he’d already played out the scenario a dozen times in his head. Like he expected it.

“You’re not theirs anymore,” I said quietly.

He still didn’t look at me.

“You’re safe here,” I added, firmer this time.

He let the curtain fall back into place and locked the window again.

“Maybe,” he muttered, more to himself than me.

Then he stepped back, eyes finally meeting mine, not hard or angry, just… tired. Like the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

I rubbed my hands down my arms and nodded toward the couch. “Still want it?”

He looked at it, then at me.

“You can have the bed,” I offered again. “Seriously.”

He moved toward the couch and dropped his duffle bag beside it.

“I’ve slept on worse.”

There was no bravado in it. Just a simple fact.

I didn’t push.

I went to unzip my bag, letting the soft sound fill the space between us, and Bucky crouched down to remove a small pistol from his boot, setting it within reach on the end table before slowly lowering himself onto the couch.

He didn’t turn on the TV. Didn’t pick up a phone. Just leaned back, metal arm across his chest, eyes on the ceiling.

I pulled my bag toward the bed and started digging for my pajamas, acutely aware of the man sitting a few feet away on the couch. His presence filled the room like gravity, silent, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Still, I moved like I would at home. Carefully casual.

I disappeared into the bathroom to change, pulling on a pair of pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, faded from too many washes, fraying slightly at the drawstring. I topped it off with one of Peter’s old oversized Stark Industries t-shirts, stolen during laundry roulette a few months back and never returned. It smelled like soap and nostalgia.

When I stepped back into the room, towel drying my damp face, Bucky looked up from where he sat on the couch, one brow lifting in visible judgment.

“Nice shirt,” he said, voice edged with dry sarcasm. “Very intimidating.”

I blinked, then glanced down. “Oh. Yeah. It’s Peter’s.”

His expression shifted, subtle but noticeable, a twitch of his mouth, a slight tilt of his head.

“S'you two dating?”

The question caught me off guard. Not because he asked, but because he sounded… cautious. Not jealous. Just curious in a way I didn’t expect from him.

I snorted and walked toward the bed, flopping back onto the mattress with a bounce.

“God, no,” I said. “Never.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not my type,” I added, smirking slightly. “Way too sunshiney. And he talks too much. And he uses the word ‘bro’ unironically.”

That earned me the faintest twitch of a smile from him.

Just a flicker. There and gone.

I settled back against the pillows, curling the covers over my legs as the city buzzed faintly through the closed window. Bucky leaned his head back against the couch cushion, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“What is your type, then?” he asked after a moment.

I looked at him, surprised again. But this time, I didn’t deflect.

I thought for a second.

“Someone quiet,” I said finally. “Maybe a little broken. But trying. Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I need to talk just to fill the silence.”

His eyes flicked over to me, unreadable.

Then he nodded once.

“Huh." The bed was softer than I expected.

I curled beneath the hotel comforter, one arm tucked under my cheek as I watched the soft light above cast faint shadows across the ceiling. The curtains were mostly drawn, the room dim, but not dark, not really.

That was by design.

Bucky hadn’t turned the lights off.

He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, the tension still written into the lines of his back like he hadn’t exhaled in days. His metal fingers tapped slowly against the armrest, a soft, metallic rhythm in the quiet.

I blinked over at him, groggy but aware. “You’re not gonna sleep?”

He shook his head once. “Not yet.”

“You can sleep, y’know. I won’t let anyone stab you in your sleep.”

A faint snort, the closest thing I’d heard to a laugh from him all day.

“I’m keeping watch.”

I frowned, pushing up slightly on one elbow. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, "Because someone should.”

I let the silence stretch, watching him from the bed. The steady clink of his fingers on the armrest continued. There was no fear in his face, not in the traditional sense. But there was wariness. A wired kind of stillness, like he didn’t trust the world to stay put while he closed his eyes.

“…You’re safe here,” I murmured again, softer this time. “We both are.”

He didn’t look at me. Just said, “That’s what the last place said too.”

That one hit something inside me.

I settled back onto the pillow, watching him in the dim glow of the room. His shoulders were still squared, eyes fixed on the door.

“You really gonna sit up all night?”

“Better me than you.”

I wanted to say more. Something comforting. Something wise. But the truth was, there was no quick fix for that kind of wound. He wasn’t just watching the door. He was watching the ghosts he knew might show up, because in his life, they always had.

“…Alright,” I whispered after a moment, letting my eyes fall shut. “But wake me up halfway. We’ll take turns.”

No reply.

But a few seconds later, the soft ticking of his metal fingers stopped.

I was just starting to drift, muscles loosening, the steady hum of the city below sinking into the silence of the room, when his voice broke through the dark.

“Hey, kid…”

I blinked my eyes open and pushed up slowly on my elbows, squinting toward the couch.

Bucky was sitting forward again. But this time, his hand moved with purpose, reaching under the hem of his jacket. I watched, confused, as he unbuckled the holster strapped across his ribs and pulled his pistol free. He turned it in his hand once, checking the safety, and then reached toward the small nightstand beside the couch and laid it down with quiet care.

The sound of the metal against wood was soft, but final.

I sat up straighter in bed, blinking. “What are you doing?”

His expression didn’t change. But his jaw flexed.

“If you wake up,” he said slowly, “and I’m not… me, you know what to do.”

The air left my lungs in a quiet rush.

“What?” I asked, a little sharper than I meant to.

He didn’t repeat it.

Just looked at me.

And then, like I was stupid for even asking, he said flatly, “You know what I’m asking.”

I stared at the gun. Cold and matte black. Sitting right next to his elbow like some grim insurance policy.

My throat went tight.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I’m not..."

“If something happens-"

“I’m not going to shoot you, Bucky.”

My voice cracked at the end. I didn’t mean for it to.

He looked down, jaw grinding like he wanted to argue, but what was there to say? He wasn’t asking to be dramatic. He wasn’t even scared. He was just prepared.

And that made it worse.

“I trust you,” I said after a long beat, softer now. “And if something does happen, I’ll handle it. But I’m not going to kill you just because you had a nightmare.”

He didn’t respond. Just leaned back again slowly, eyes dark and unreadable in the low light. He didn’t pick up the gun, though. He left it there. Between us.

“I don’t sleep easy,” he muttered.

“I know,” I whispered.

And with that, I laid back down. I didn’t sleep for a long time. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the vents and the low creak of his leather jacket as he shifted, maybe trying, and failing, to find peace.

The gun stayed where it was. A silent agreement neither of us fully acknowledged.

Bucky hadn’t moved in minutes. He sat leaning back into the couch cushions, one boot still on, head tilted slightly to the side.

I was almost sure he was still awake, until I heard it.

A soft, low sound. Snoring.

Just barely.

Like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but his body finally gave in.

I turned onto my side, curling in a little tighter, the sound of his breathing slow and steady in the dark. There was something strangely comforting about it, the weight of someone else’s presence. Someone who didn’t expect anything from me. Someone who might actually understand what it meant to live half on edge all the time.

And somehow, despite the mission, the strange hotel room, and the pistol sitting six feet away, I felt my eyes start to close.

Sleep came easier than I expected.

For once, neither of us woke up.

[womshame]

Yandere Teachers x Mother Reader. Part 2

Summary: All she wanted was a simple parent-teacher meeting. A few minutes to talk about her son’s progress, nothing more. But when three different teachers — each charming, each dangerous in their own way — set their sights on her, Y/N’s world spirals into a nightmare disguised as devotion

They took her somewhere deep in the woods.

A cabin. Secluded. Prepared.

Inside, there were three rooms—one for her, one for Eli, one they said was “shared.”

Every detail was already arranged.

Her clothes were there. Her photos. Eli’s toys.

It smelled like lavender and cedar and captivity.

“You can scream if you want,” Brooks told her. “No one’s close enough to hear.”

She didn’t scream.

She waited.

Plotted.

But days passed. Then weeks.

And nothing changed.

They brought her food. Gave Eli books, toys, games. Took turns watching over him—never rough, never cruel, just… constant.

Like wardens who believed they were family.

Sometimes, they tried to talk. Gentle, patient.

“We can make this work,” Callahan said one night, sitting across from her at dinner. “You’ll see.”

“I’m not yours,” she replied.

“You’ve been ours since the first meeting,” Rivera murmured. “You just didn’t realize it yet.”

Brooks was the most volatile—moody, pacing, sometimes silent for hours, sometimes watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

But even he never hurt her.

Not really.

Because they didn’t want to break her.

They wanted her to adapt.

And Eli… God, Eli was adjusting faster than she expected.

He laughed. He played.

He called them by their first names.

He trusted them.

“Do you like it here?” she asked him one night, quietly, as they sat on his bed.

He nodded. “I like when they read to me. Mr. Callahan gave me a puzzle.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What about going home?”

“This is home, right?”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

⸻

They never locked her in. Not fully.

But they didn’t need to.

She had nowhere to go.

And somehow, slowly, it became harder to imagine running again. Not because she wanted to stay. Not because she forgave them.

But because every path out led through them.

Through the eyes that watched her with devotion. Through hands that brought her food and kissed her son’s forehead. Through a house that now echoed with her life.

And somewhere deep down, something inside her began to crack.

Not in surrender.

But in inevitability.

Because they were never going to let her go.

And maybe—

Maybe she didn’t have the strength to keep pretending she could escape.

Not anymore.

Spring came quietly to the woods.

The air softened. Trees blossomed. Eli played outside more, chasing bugs and birds and light, his laughter echoing between the trees like it belonged there.

Y/N stood on the porch most days, arms crossed, watching him.

Watching them.

They took turns like clockwork. Callahan packed lunch, Rivera taught Eli how to tie knots and climb trees. Brooks read bedtime stories in a voice that still made her heart clench in unfamiliar, involuntary ways.

It was all… peaceful.

Too peaceful.

That was the most terrifying part.

She stopped trying to fight them.

There was no point.

Even when she said no, they stayed.

Even when she told them she hated them, they brought her flowers.

Even when she cried in silence behind closed doors, they waited just outside — patient, persistent, loving in a way that felt like being smothered with silk.

She stopped marking days.

Stopped counting how long it had been since she’d run.

Her phone was gone. Her sister never came. No police. No headlines.

Just the sound of birds, the scent of pine, and the low hum of domestic life unfolding in a home she never chose.

But her son smiled.

He was happy.

She couldn’t take that away.

So she learned how to be quiet.

How to nod.

How to survive.

•

One evening, Rivera was the one cooking.

Y/N sat at the table with Eli coloring beside her. Brooks was fixing a shelf in the hallway. Callahan came in from outside, brushing pollen off his sleeves.

He looked at her like he always did — as if she were the answer to every question he’d ever asked. The solution to every lonely ache.

“You should come sit with me later,” he said softly. “The stars are clearer tonight.”

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t press.

•

Later, Brooks sat beside her on the couch, watching Eli sleep across the room.

“He dreams about you,” he said.

“Don’t they say kids always dream about their moms?” she muttered.

“No. He dreams about all of us.”

She didn’t look at him.

He brushed her hair behind her ear. His hand was warm. Familiar now. She didn’t flinch.

“You still think we’re the bad guys,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“You will love us, eventually.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’ll learn how to live with you.”

He smiled, as if that was close enough.

•

Rivera was the one who kissed her first.

Not forceful. Not rough.

Just a soft press of lips one morning, after breakfast, while she stood by the sink rinsing Eli’s plate.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him.

When he pulled away, he looked her in the eyes. “I’ve always wanted to be your first.”

She wiped the plate again, even though it was already clean.

•

At night, they didn’t fight anymore.

Not for space. Not for time.

They shared her like she was a room with three doors and one bed.

Sometimes only one stayed near. Sometimes two. And once, all three — quiet, reverent, as if her silence was a kind of blessing.

She never told them she loved them.

They never needed to hear it.

Her presence was enough.

•

Months passed.

Or maybe longer.

The cabin changed.

Eli’s drawings filled the walls. Her clothes now hung next to theirs. A toothbrush beside each of theirs in the bathroom. A single calendar, shared. Birthdays circled. Dates noted.

Callahan kissed her cheek each morning.

Brooks learned her favorite tea.

Rivera cut wood while humming her lullaby.

Together, they built a life around her.

Not perfect.

Not sane.

But theirs.

•

And maybe that was what scared her most.

That some small part of her — the part worn raw by years of loneliness, of exhaustion, of wanting something stable for Eli — had stopped resisting.

Had stopped mourning what was lost.

Because what she had now wasn’t freedom.

But it wasn’t chaos either.

It was order.

Affection.

Devotion.

Three men who would destroy the world to keep her close.

And a child who no longer remembered life before the woods.

•

The last line she crossed was the smallest one.

It was a soft “good night” murmured toward a man who had once stalked her.

A hand taken without flinching.

A smile—faint, tired, but real—as she leaned into Callahan’s shoulder during a quiet movie night, her son curled up beside them.

And when she looked out the window, the forest no longer looked like a prison.

It looked like a promise.

•

They’d won.

And maybe, just maybe…

She wasn’t entirely sure she’d lost.

[comatosebunny09]

bunny why are you simmping over sylus can you explain why you like him

Darling…where do I begin?

1. He’s hot. Beautiful. Otherworldly. Unfairly gorgeous. Even his scowl is entrancing. And that waist…

2. That voice. God, that voice (EN). It’s killer. It the thing of fantasies (mine). It’s the perfect amount of gritty yet airy. Just imagining it steeping a few decibels while he tenderly instructs me to do things makes my skin all tingly and my face warm.

3. He’s rich. The very definition of filthy rich. You need a break from the world? He buys you a private island. Student loans? What the fuck are those? Here’s a full ride to a university for you to get your fourth degree. You dreamed of owning a bookstore? He’s already bought the entire block for you to start your business. He’s security for someone who’s known struggle for most of their life. For someone permanently in survival mode, always pushing things they need to the back burner to prioritize other things because tomorrow isn’t promised.

4. He’s healing. As someone who’s always on their feet, always checking on and taking care of everyone else, he’s the voice that tells me to sit the fuck down. He’s the one saying, “Let someone else take care of you for a change.” It’s refreshing to not always have to be the provider, the glue that holds people together, the mother hen keeping everyone in good spirits. It’s exhausting, because who takes care of the person who takes care of everyone else? Sylus. Sylus does.

5. I feel like he nurtures that need for independence while also being a failsafe in case you need it. Like, he won’t hold your hand when you’re learning how to roller-skate for the first time because you insisted you learn how to do it without him. He’ll let you fall and get banged up a few times. He’ll be there to say, “I told you so” when your knees are all scuffed up. But when he sees you crying, he’ll be there to pat you on the head and give you band-aids and take you out for ice cream after giving you shit for being hard-headed. That’s just an example, a really silly one, but essentially, I’m saying he lets you do your thing and doesn’t step in until you really need or ask for his help. He knows you’re prideful, and he doesn’t want to wound that by being overbearing.

6. I love that he’s a contradiction. He looks all scary and has this tough-guy exterior to ward people off. And yeah, he’s dangerous. He’s capable of extreme brutality and cruelty. But for the person he cares about, he’s like a Doberman (they’re big-ass babies). He looks like he’d kick puppies with his striking white hair and uncommon red eyes, but he has a soft spot for kids, animals, and the elderly. He puts up a front because he’s been hurt before. Betrayed numerous times, even by the people he cared most about. But he’s still trying to be vulnerable despite what the world’s given him, you know? Specifically for the people he holds close to him.

7. He’s a consent king and he’s constantly seeking reassurance. As someone who’s always asking their partners if they still love me and who’s always apologizing for things they have no reason being sorry for and always like asking people to reaffirm plans and stuff like that, I resonate with Sylus. You could give that man full consent to ravage you, but he’d still do welfare checks throughout because he’s a big baby who needs constant communication.

I could go on forever about this man. 😩😩😩 Essentially, I simp for him because he’s a big stuffy bear who needs hugs and love but acts like he doesn’t like it even though he’s buzzing on the inside. Sorry this got so long.

[fandomsmadness]

Finally back on schedule with

TBHX episode 6 rant

The universe must be a sadistic entity that enjoys making me eat my words because hahahaha did I say we moved on from shock value cliffhangers because HAHAHAHA-

WHAT WAS THAT??

Shang really spent two entire episodes being the biggest red herring of a lifetime. That explains why the name was so unfamiliar. Who is his father with so much money, influence, and an interest in heroes tho? Also he got Xia Qing extra concert tickets one day to go with someone else, then another day asked her out?

Either this is very poor writing from the team who used him just to further the plot whichever way they wanted, or we're still lacking a lot more context which we now have no way of getting? Either way this is infuriating. I will resign myself to never being satisfied.

Something I really like about the Yang Cheng arc is how it's very subtly different from Lin Ling's. Everyone thought Lin Ling was Nice. In contrast, everyone knows E-Soul (OG) is not Yang Cheng, but he's an E-Soul all the same. OG E-Soul should've patented his costume or something.

But the trust value fluctuation is interesting. Are people believing in both at once? Are they forgoing the old one for the new? Why is it that both cannot have good trust value? Why is OG E-Soul losing his when Yang Cheng gains his own?

I have to give props to the animation team and VA here; for someone who barely speaks and keeps his face hidden, this ep did such a great job showing how tired and world-weary OG E-Soul is. He's past his heyday, clearly, and is relegated to being a cash cow through his once stellar reputation, until someone younger and stronger threatened that precarious balance.

And OG E-Soul comes from a time when the internet presumably wasn't booming, when a hero had to claw their way up (quite literally, did you see the guy) to fame and hold on with sheer grit, unlike now, when one video can make you go viral. E-Soul is helpless as his fans desert him for Yang Cheng and that's heartbreaking. 34 years gone, just like that. What happens to him now?

In happy news (for me lol) I theorized last episode that trust value or lack thereof was a method of discrimination in this world, and this episode confirmed it. Yang Cheng led a difficult life, and I cannot imagine the sheer joy he must feel now to have so many people believe in him. However, he dons another's name and is all too susceptible to losing himself. I fear there's no good ending for both him and OG E-Soul. It is, unfortunately, a neither can live while the other survives situation.

We're finally to the less palatable sides of the worldbuilding, and I am eating this up.

Other things of note during this ep:

- Jeopardy isn't a Lin Ling track! It's for...the young/new/imposter heroes? Temp theme song? Placeholder?

- Props to my boy Yang Cheng for asking the pertinent questions! Unfortunately we don't have an answer

- Enlighter being here was so out of pocket I screamed lmao. Look at him, working with the association and agencies and defending heroes! Bro really just said your honour my client is too broke and stupid to do anything you're implying he did lmao. How did he go from this to a sad bitter rank 249er?

- Xia Qing was a surprisingly mature person to be around, I appreciated her emphasis on being true to character so much. This is going to be important I can tell she's totally going to die isn't she

Maybe this episode didn't leave me with as many questions as the previous ones, but it does leave me with a lot of emotions and things to think about.

Can't believe this arc comes to an end next week. How on earth are they going to manage that??

[ririright]

hi dove 🫶🏼

I'm the anon who requested the hayden x young wife reader pregnancy headcanons

I keep rereading that post and I am absolutely in love with it !

I was hoping you could do a part two of that, as well as an angsty version of it—where hayden actually decided he doesn't want kids at his age, reader is understanding of that but still feels disappointed about sacrificing the chance at being a mother.

Shock and Panic

When you first tell Hayden you’re pregnant, his face goes pale, and he stammers, “Wait… are you sure?”

He doesn’t mean to sound doubtful, but the shock is so strong that his first instinct is denial.

He spends the next few hours pacing around the house, running his hands through his hair, muttering, “I just… I didn’t think—”

The Overwhelming Guilt

He knows you’re excited, and seeing the hopeful look in your eyes makes his heart ache.

But his own fear overpowers his joy, and he can’t pretend to be happy when he’s not.

He hates himself for making you feel disappointed, especially when he sees how carefully you bring up baby topics.

Overthinking Everything

Hayden is much older than you, and all he can think about is being an “old dad” who can’t keep up.

He starts comparing himself to when his daughter was little, thinking, “I barely survived the first time. How can I do it again?”

He’s terrified of letting you down, of being too tired, too busy, or too overwhelmed to be a good dad again.

Quiet Tension

For a while, there’s a quiet, heavy tension between you. He’s distant, lost in his own thoughts.

You try to bring up baby names, and he just nods with a weak smile.

At night, he turns over, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his fear but too ashamed to say it out loud.

His Daughter Notices

His 10-year-old daughter is the first to sense something’s wrong. “Dad, why are you and (y/n) so quiet lately?”

He tries to brush it off, but she’s sharp—“Is it because of the baby?”

It’s a wake-up call for him. He realizes his fear is affecting not just you but her too.

A Confession in the Dark

One night, you finally break down, “I thought you’d be happy. I thought… you’d want this with me.”

His chest tightens, and he finally admits, “I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m too old. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not a good dad to this baby?”

You tell him you’re scared too, but that you want this baby—your baby with him.

Reluctantly Going to Appointments

At first, Hayden’s hesitant about the doctor visits. He’ll drive you but stays quiet, watching from the corner.

He’s afraid of getting attached, but the first time he hears the heartbeat, his eyes well up with tears.

He won’t admit it, but he’s starting to feel something—something like hope.

Little Glimmers of Excitement

You catch him standing in the empty spare room, staring at it like he’s imagining something.

Sometimes, he’ll accidentally smile when you mention baby kicks, but he quickly hides it.

He keeps looking at his daughter, feeling guilty but also starting to see how much joy she brought to his life.

Small but Meaningful Changes

He starts texting you from work, “How are you feeling? Need anything?”

If you have a craving, he’ll quietly go out and get it without a word.

Sometimes, you wake up and find him with his hand resting gently on your stomach, even in his sleep.

The Moment He Breaks

One night, he’s watching you sleep, hand resting on your growing belly, and it just hits him.

He breaks down, whispering, “I’m scared, but I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t show it.”

He pulls you close, and you wake up to him softly apologizing, over and over.

Slowly Allowing Himself to Dream

He still has doubts, but he starts asking about baby names and looking up parenting tips.

He starts to think about how his daughter will be as a big sister, and the idea makes him smile.

He’ll sheepishly bring you a tiny baby onesie he saw at the store, mumbling, “I thought it was cute.”

Confessing to His Daughter

He has a quiet talk with his daughter, telling her she’s still his little girl and always will be.

She hugs him, grinning, “I get to be a big sister? That’s so cool!”

Her excitement helps ease his fears—she’s thrilled, so maybe it won’t be so bad.

The Protective Instinct Kicking In

When you’re further along, he’s constantly checking in. “Did you eat enough today? Are you comfortable?”

If you’re feeling sick, he’s immediately by your side, rubbing your back and whispering comfort.

If anyone makes you upset, he’s quick to defend you—“She doesn’t need stress right now, okay?”

Quiet Conversations with the Baby

When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll gently talk to your belly. “Hey, little one. I… I’m sorry I was scared. I promise I’ll be here.”

His daughter catches him doing this one night and smiles, hugging him, “You’re gonna be a great dad, Dad.”

Finally Letting Go of His Fear

When he feels the baby kick for the first time, he freezes, eyes wide, then breaks into the biggest smile.

He kisses your stomach, whispering, “Hi, little one. I’m your dad.”

From that moment on, he’s still scared, but there’s love there too—a fierce, protective love.

[oqwomyo]

Hanamaru's Birthday card translation

Part 1.

- Conservatory -

- The day before Hanamaru's birthday -

The cherry blossom trees were in full bloom. On Hanamaru's birthday... It was the peak of cherry blossom viewing. I think Hanamaru would definitely be interested in it.

- I wish tomorrow would come soon...

Imagining his smile... I left the conservatory.

- A few weeks ago -

Hanamaru's birthday is coming soon... I was looking for him in the garden. The butlers' birthdays this year... I decided to celebrate them with a flower theme. That flower that Hanamaru might like... I went out to look for it. And after a while... I noticed Hanamaru looking at the cherry blossoms.

Hanamaru: .....

When Hanamaru looked at the cherry blossoms... He had an incomprehensible expression. Although I wasn't sure if I should disturb him... I approached him.

- Good afternoon, Hanamaru

Hanamaru: Hm?

Hanamaru: Oh... Hello, Master.

Hanamaru: Sorry for taking so long to respond. Did that bother you?

- Are you thinking about something?

Hanamaru: Well, you could say that.

Hanamaru: The cherry blossoms are really beautiful... I think they bloomed a little earlier this year.

Hanamaru: The earlier the blossoms bloom, the faster they'll fall... That gave me mixed feelings.

- Would you like them to bloom later?

Hanamaru: Hmm, no, that's not quite right...

Hanamaru: ... I just remember the cherry blossoms blooming on my birthday.

Hanamaru: My first birthday was at a church... That year, the cherry blossoms bloomed a little later than usual.

Hanamaru: The taste of the cherry blossom mochi I ate with children and nuns back then... I still haven't forgotten it...

Hanamaru: And the fact that the cherry blossoms bloomed before my birthday... It makes me feel a little sad.

- I see...

Did I sound too sad..? Hanamaru smiled brightly.

Hanamaru: Well, even if the cherry blossoms aren't blooming, the mochi made from them are still delicious... I wonder if I can eat them on my birthday.

Hanamaru: And by the way... Master.

Hanamaru: This year, I'm asking for cherry blossom mochi for my birthday.

- What?

Hanamaru: Hehe, jeez. Isn't it too rude of a butler to ask a master for a gift?

Hanamaru: But at the same time... I'm sure I wanted to eat sakura mochi on my birthday.....

- Sakura mochi, huh....

Maybe, Hanamaru... He probably knew that I was worried about what to give him. Something he would be happy to receive... I was glad that he shared it with me.

Hanamaru: Oops..... I can't slack off forever.

Hanamaru: See you later, Master.

After saying that... Hanamaru left, waving his arms behind him. Then... I decided that I would make sakura mochi for him. If it was possible..... Then, on his birthday, I would like to eat mochi and watch the cherry blossoms together.... This year, with the cherry blossoms blooming earlier, it will be difficult to do... But still, I... I prayed with all my heart that the flowers would not fall off due to the wind or rain.

- (Should I make a teru-teru boozu...)

- Devil's Palace Master's Room -

- The Next Day -

While I was making a teru-teru boozu, I hoped that the cherry blossoms would survive until Hanamaru's birthday. However, no matter how many charms I hung on the window... I never thought of a real way to preserve the flowers.

- (Can I just rely on luck...?)

While I was thinking about that... There was a knock on my door.

- Come in.

- It's open.

Hanamaru: Good afternoon, Master.

- Something happened?

Hanamaru: I saw that you were decorating the window with charms.

Hanamaru: If there are many of them... I thought I might be able to help.

- I-Is that so.

I made teru-teru boozu for the sake of Hanamaru's birthday... I wonder if I can accept his help... Although it might be strange if I refuse... After thinking about it, I decided to accept his offer.

- After a while-

Hanamaru: Phew... So many talismans. Even the window might not have enough space for them.

- Thanks for the help.

Hanamaru: It's okay. I told you I wanted to help.

Hanamaru: It was interesting to make a teru-teru after all this time.

Hanamaru: Aaand... Look at the face of this big teru-teru boozu.

Hanamaru: Doesn't he look like mad Yuhan? And this one is Teddy.

Hanamaru: My~ I'm so good at drawing. My talent is scary.

Hanamaru: Of course... I think my face, which master drew, is also gorgeous.

- Really?

Hanamaru: Yes. That's why this kiddo... I suggest hanging him next to your pillow, not on the window.

Hanamaru: How about it? Don't you think you'll only have good dreams now?

- Um...

As soon as he said that... Lightning flashed outside the window. And to finish it off... It started raining heavily.

Hanamaru: Oh... It was quite a heavy rain.

- This is...

Hanamaru: Don't be so upset, Master.

Hanamaru: It's fine. The cherry blossoms will bloom next year too.

Hanamaru: It's just that Master's feelings... They were enough.

- Eh...?

Hanamaru: To do so many teru-teru boozu... I can guess what Master was thinking.

Hanamaru: Thank you, Master.

- Hanamaru...

Hanamaru: ...Heh. I showed you my cool side.

Hanamaru: ...If all of this was not for my birthday... It would really suck.

Hanamaru: ...Even if I'm wrong, please pretend otherwise. It's just simple human kindness.

- ...That's right, you're not mistaken.

Hanamaru: Uh-huh. As expected of my kind master.

Hanamaru: Even if we don't see the cherry blossoms this year... We can do it next year.

Hanamaru: "The lifespan of flowers is short"... That's why they bloom around the same time every year.

Hanamaru: That's what Ammon said. If you think about it, all the cherry blossoms here are the same variety...

Hanamaru: They cut branches from one tree and plant them in the soil to grow more... If you think about it, they're all clones of each other.

Hanamaru: That's why they bloom at the same time.

Hanamaru: The cherry blossoms in this mansion's garden... Ammon brought them from the nearby mountains.

- Really?

Hanamaru: Yes. They must have gotten this size from growing them from bonsai-sized seedlings.

- Bonsai...

- Cherry blossom saplings...

The two words flashed through my mind.

- I see!

Hanamaru: Whoa!?

Hanamaru: W-What is it..? You scared me...

- Sorry for scaring you.

Hanamaru: Oh well, it's okay.

Hanamaru: I don't know yet... But it seems like Master has had an idea.

- Thanks to Hanamaru, thank you.

Hanamaru: Hehe... I'm glad.

Hanamaru: The idea you came up with... Can I hear it now?

- It's worth waiting until the right time.

Hanamaru: Heh... Okay. I'll wait for "that time".

That's it, thanks to Hanamaru... I came up with an idea. If everything goes well... Maybe we can enjoy the cherry blossoms with Hanamaru on his birthday.

Part 2.

- Devil's Palace Master's Room -

- Hanamaru's Birthday -

With the help of the other butlers… I made some sakura mochi to give to Hanamaru. And… I told him to come to my room. I was a little worried… I was looking forward to him coming.

*Knock knock*

- The door is open

- Come in.

Hanamaru: Good afternoon, Master.

- What a wonderful outfit.

- Your birthday outfit suits you.

Hanamaru: Oh, really~? Even if I know that, I'm happy that Master said that.

Hanamaru: And… Today is my birthday…

Hanamaru: Maybe… Am I allowed to be a little impatient?

- Of course.

I showed Hanamaru the basket with the sakura mochi and the bottle of water.

- Let's take this today.

Hanamaru: Heh, a spring picnic? Where are we going?

- To the nearby mountain.

Hanamaru: Oh, great. Eating sakura mochi in the wild is a unique pleasure.

Hanamaru: So, I'm ready to go to the mountains. Leave the basket to me.

- Thank you, Hanamaru.

So, I... I invited Hanamaru to go to the mountain where the sakura were blooming.

- The mountain near the mansion -

- A little later -

We came to the mountain we were looking for. There were many sakura trees around... And they were all blooming. Wherever we went, we were surrounded by sakura flowers.

Hanamaru: Hmm, being among the flowers feels great. It's a great day to be here.

Hanamaru smiled softly as he watched the sakura trees. To be honest, Hanamaru wanted to eat sakura mochi while watching the trees bloom… So I was sure that he was trying not to show his true feelings in front of me. Seeing Hanamaru like this… I became even happier.

- Thank you for your concern.

Hanamaru: Hm? What does this mean?

- Look here, Hanamaru.

I pointed to an empty mountain path. I led Hanamaru along it. There… There was another tree, all in bloom. Or to be more precise… It was a bonsai with sakura.

Hanamaru: This…

Amidst the greenery, one's eyes could catch a particularly bright sakura color… Hanamaru rolled his eyes slightly.

Hanamaru: Maybe… The master made this?

Hanamaru: About something in my past… I told you about admiring the sakura on my birthday…

- That’s right.

I explained the situation to him. Ever since I heard that story from Hanamaru… I wanted him to be able to enjoy the cherry blossoms on this birthday too. So I ordered a bonsai tree with cherry blossoms… The conservatory helped the flowers survive the rain and wind. And the food that Hanamaru remembered… I made cherry blossom mochi with my own hands. While telling him that… I opened the basket that contained the mochi.

- Happy birthday, Hanamaru.

Hanamaru: Master…

Hanamaru: …Hehe. Thank you.

Hanamaru, unusually for himself, was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. He must have been really happy.

- I'm glad you liked it.

Hanamaru: Master… I didn't just like it.

Hanamaru: You're so good at capturing my heart… It's becoming more and more unbearable.

Hanamaru: You've captured my heart and won't let it go.

Hanamaru: Well, I don't want you to let it go... I wouldn't dream of it.

Hanamaru said that and spread out a mat... He placed it next to the bonsai.

Hanamaru: Please, Master. Today, we'll enjoy watching the cherry blossoms.

- Uh-huh!

When I sat down on the mat... Hanamaru sat down next to me. And looking at the cherry blossoms... He began to speak with sincere emotion.

Hanamaru: But still... I can't believe that you've created such a wonderful atmosphere for me.

Hanamaru: This is something... I'm happier than I could have imagined.

Hanamaru: After all, Master did this for me.

Hanamaru: I felt the same happiness when I was watching the blossoms with the children… And now, I’m with Master…

Hanamaru: I might be happier in the future too… That’s what I think.

Hanamaru said this while smiling softly.

Hanamaru: So… Then, now…

Hanamaru: Master. Can I eat the mochi filled with love?

Hanamaru: They look so delicious… Could it be that master made them..?

- Of course.

Hanamaru: Hehe… Thank you.

While I was taking out the mochi… Hanamaru poured some green tea into a mug.

Hanamaru: Yeah, yeah… Yummy, yummy.

Hanamaru: The combination of salty cherry leaves and sweet sakura mochi is wonderful. It's cute and incredibly delicious.

Hanamaru: Washing it all down with strong tea… The sweetness becomes even more intense.

Hanamaru: And it's not just sweet… Other flavors actually enhance the sweetness…

Hanamaru: I guess it's the same with human relationships? …Master.

- What is?

Hanamaru: In other words, you don't have to be so timid… A little stimulation is also important.

- …Did the sweetness hit your head?

Hanamaru laughs when he hears my answer.

Hanamaru: Mm? Maybe Master wants more sweetness?

Hanamaru: I see, I see… Just say it quickly.

Hanamaru: If Master wants… I’ll be as sweet as you want.

Hanamaru: By the way… First, can we start with…

Hanamaru: …Your head on my lap?

- …Thank you for the offer.

Hanamaru: Eh~ you’re refusing? Really~?

Hanamaru: Master… Maybe you’re embarrassed?

Hanamaru: This kind of Master is cute too, but… Is everything really okay?

Hanamaru: It’s rare to get the chance to admire the sakura while lying on someone’s lap… Isn’t it?

- ………

Hanamaru: Hehe. Even Master’s embarrassed face is beautiful.

I’m sure it was just a joke… But to enjoy the sakura like this with Hanamaru on his birthday… When will the next time be? The desire to make as many memorable moments as possible on this day was growing within me.

- …Listen, Hanamaru.

Hanamaru: Mhm, what is it?

- If it's okay, I want to lie down for a moment…

Hanamaru: …!

Hanamaru: I see, I see. If that's the case, then you need a pillow.

Hanamaru: So, I ask you… Please use my lap.

Hanamaru teased me, but… His voice was full of tenderness. Slowly… I laid my head on his lap.

Hanamaru: Uh-huh, so good. Enjoy, Master.

- …Thank you.

I lay down on Hanamaru's lap and looked at the cherry blossom trees. While we were looking at the flowers swaying in the wind… Hanamaru and I had a wonderful time together.

[lyn31]

Love and Deepspace - What If?

Summary

On what should be her triumphant first day as a Hunter, Ever Xiang is pulled from the field by a health complication—only to find herself face-to-face with Zayne Li—her childhood friend—whose presence brings back a memory she didn’t expect to surface.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

This is an old WIP, I commission an art for my OCs last month because of queu we just start last Saturday and now it's finish Friday! So I was like this is the perfect time for it! It's nothing grand but if you’ve been reading my other works (especially the Parenthood AU), this takes place just before all of that happens :) CW: Implied human/children experimentation.

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

Here is Rose and Ever! From Beeyo on IG!

These two fools trying their best lol

I usually keep my MC vague because I want the other to imagine her however they want but ofc I have her in my mind as well and that just how she look to me 👀💕

Also you might notice I made MC name Ever, rather than Everlyn (like in my Vampire AU), because even though it's not my real name I use it quite a lot on the internet and it still feel hella weird..... So she's Ever now! Dark humor I know.... EVER chasing Ever, Ever might be destroying EVER? lol

*Ahem* Anyway sorry! Enjoy!

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

Ever Xiang—today is her day.

Well, hers and her sister’s. Rose Xiang.

Together, they're finally stepping into the world as official Hunters. After everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve survived, today should feel like a victory. It should mean something. And maybe it does—maybe it would—if she weren’t currently pacing through a hospital hallway instead of standing with her squad.

Not exactly the grand start she had in mind.

A quiet sigh slips past her lips as she pushes forward, boots tapping out a steady rhythm on the tile floor. The mission was supposed to be simple: investigate a flagged warehouse. No real threats, just intel-gathering. At least, that’s what the higher-ups claimed. And from what she saw, her team—Rose, Tara, and Lara—still had it under control when she left.

And yet.

Her fingers curl into the hem of her jacket. Even knowing that, even trusting them, she hates being away. It’s not just her sister she left behind—it’s her people. The ones who should be at her side for their first real operation.

But no. Instead, she’s here.

Because of her damn heart.

Technically, both she and Rose have it—Protocore Syndrome. A heart condition caused by the very thing that makes them choose to be Hunters. Living with an Aether Core fused into your chest isn’t exactly natural. Some days, it behaves. Other days, it reminds you that your body was never meant to contain that kind of power.

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it lands her right here—under the Bureau’s thumb, dragged off-mission for mandatory checks. Protocol. Tiresome, inconvenient protocol. She feels fine now.

Not that saying so will get her out of this any faster.

She exhales sharply, shaking off the edge of frustration as she finally reaches the assigned office. After an irritating amount of forms and biometric scans, she rolls her shoulders and knocks on the door. Then, without waiting for a response, she pushes it open.

And freezes.

What she didn’t expect was a slap of familiarity so strong it nearly knocks her off balance.

The office is pristine—too pristine. White walls, a wall-to-wall shelf of medical journals, and a desk arranged with surgical precision. But it’s not the sterile setup that hits her.

It’s him.

Standing beside the desk, leafing through a patient file, is a man with sharp features and hazel eyes that catch the light like glass—flickering between gold and green. His silver-rimmed glasses sit low on his nose, and his lab coat is crisp, not a wrinkle in sight. He looks up, expression unreadable—until recognition flickers.

Ever hasn’t seen Zayne Li in years.

They still talk, sure—but never in person. Not since they all moved away and begin to get busy with their own things.

Her childhood friend. The boy who once scolded her for climbing too high in trees. Who always looked serious, always kept a distance—except with her. She remembers the way his eyes softened when she teased him. The way he’d sigh like she was dragging him into trouble he didn’t want—but always followed anyway.

And now? Now he’s here.

Her doctor. Assigned by the Bureau.

Of course.

Ever blinks. Then, slowly, a grin tugs at her lips.

“Well. If it isn’t Doctor Li,” she drawls, stepping inside. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you in a place like this.”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. His expression barely shifts, but she catches the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I could say the same.” His eyes flick down, taking in her posture—the way she’s favoring her left side, just a bit.

“You were supposed to be on a mission.”

She shrugs, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Technically still am. Just made a little detour.”

He sighs. Classic Zayne. “Sit.”

She doesn’t move yet. “So you didn’t think to tell me you moved back to the city?”

He glances up again. “I was going to call you today.”

And just like that, it feels like no time has passed.

But Ever knows better. Time has passed. Too much.

She opens her mouth, maybe to poke at him, maybe to say something more—except the words never come.

Because the light shifts.

It’s subtle. Barely noticeable. But for a second, the fluorescent overhead catches his face differently. His hazel eyes lean green. Not just any green.

That green.

A color that slices clean through the years and hits something buried deep. A flash of memory. Not just of Zayne—but of pain. Of fear. Of being small and broken.

Suddenly, she’s not in the office anymore.

She’s back in that cold, sterile room. The scent of antiseptic in her lungs. The bite of metal beneath her skin. A monitor beeping steady and impersonal in the background.

She is small again.

A girl lost in a nightmare made of bright lights and quiet suffering.

A girl who once reached out for the only warmth she could find in a colorless world—a boy with hazel eyes that always, somehow, looked a little bit green.

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

The color is the first thing she registers.

Green.

Thick, hazy, all-encompassing. It’s not just in the air—it is the air, a filter draped over everything, heavy and suffocating. For a second, her brain misfires, tries to twist it into something softer. Someone’s eyes. Someone safe. But this green isn't safety.

It's sterilization. It's containment. It's control.

It fills her lungs like smoke, dry and acidic, and coats her throat with something synthetic. Machines hum around her, slow and detached, like the world is moving through molasses. There's a weightlessness that should feel freeing, but doesn’t. Not when her limbs don’t respond. Not when the cold doesn’t come from the outside, but from somewhere deep beneath her skin.

She could move. She thinks she could. If she really wanted to. Press a palm to the glass, curl her fingers—prove she’s still here.

But she doesn’t.

Because maybe she isn’t.

She’s slipping. Not just from the present, but from herself. Downward, inward, back into a space made of metal and silence and memories she tried to forget.

Then—

The world tilts.

A flicker. A glowing screen in a dark room. A user interface, soft sci-fi blue, names scrolling, a scene frozen mid-dialogue. Her—a version of her—sitting at a desk, watching pixels with a strange kind of ache in her chest. His hazel eyes staring back from the screen, warm in a way nothing real ever felt.

And then—

Another flash.

Cold fingers around her wrist. The sharp sting of a needle. A voice, neutral, void of empathy.

"You're lucky. You survived."

But she wasn’t lucky. She just lasted longer.

Another.

A blanket too thin to protect. A girl too small to run. A boy at the door, silent, fists clenched. A red light screaming from the walls. Run.

Another.

A hand, gripping hers like a lifeline. A voice beneath falling debris.

"Keep moving. I’ll get you out."

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. No one could.

Another.

A boy kneeling, wrapping a bandage with too-steady hands. His expression unreadable, fingers trembling.

“Next time, dodge.”

Another.

Steel glinting in low light. A blade to her throat, a smirk just inches away.

“You’re not scared?”

She should be.

She isn’t.

And another.

Him—hazel eyes dimmed, back turned, walking away.

Don’t go.

She reaches, but the green drags her down—pulls her back into the dark.

Then—

The liquid drains.

Tubes retract.

Weight returns in a crash of sensation.

The softness beneath her should be grounding—a bed, maybe—but the memories don’t let go. They crawl up the back of her throat, tangle in her chest, make it hard to breathe.

She isn’t here. Not really.

And then—

Warmth.

Small. Trembling. Real.

A hand finds hers, tentative at first, then more certain. A whisper rides the edge of the silence.

“…Sister?”

The word shatters something.

She breathes. Shakily. Like it’s her first real inhale in years. The warmth of the hand—small but sure—holds her steady, stops her from falling further.

She blinks. Her lashes are heavy, crusted with whatever fluid had once surrounded her. The light overhead is too bright, too harsh. Her eyes adjust slowly.

And then she sees her.

Rose.

Perched at the edge of the bed, drawn in on herself. Her posture is closed off, like she hasn’t decided if she’s really allowed to be here.

Her silver hair clings to her cheeks in damp strands, and her red eyes—the unusual color reflects to Ever's own hair—don’t flicker with relief. Just quiet exhaustion. But behind them is something else. Something hollow.

Ever swallows hard. Her throat burns, scraped raw by more than just the tube that had been there.

“…You’re awake,” Rose murmurs, like she isn’t sure it’s true.

Ever tries to answer. She wants to say something sarcastic, something stupid. Something to make this feel normal. But all that comes out is air.

The memories won’t leave her. They cling like wet fabric. Every blink brings back a flash of something—static, green, pain. Familiar voices that shouldn’t still echo.

“Run.”

“Dodge.”

“Don’t be scared.”

The pulse she hears isn’t even her own.

But Rose is here. Real. Solid.

That should be enough.

“…How long?”

Her voice is a scrape across dry stone. Barely audible.

Rose’s fingers twitch, then tighten around hers, just enough to be felt.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I woke up first. They left us here.”

A beat.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up at all.”

That lands like a punch to the chest. Not because it’s cruel. But because it’s honest.

Before Ever can think of a response, before she can reach for that casual bravado she usually hides behind—

Click.

The sound of a door. Small. But it shatters the fragile stillness like glass.

Rose tenses, but doesn’t let go of her hand.

Footsteps approach. Quick. Hesitant.

Then the door opens fully.

A boy steps in.

At first, all Ever sees is motion—damp hair, uneven breaths, tension in his shoulders.

Then it clicks.

Caleb.

His deep indigo eyes dart from Rose to her, wide and searching. His purple hair is matted to his skin, still damp like he came from the same tank, the same nightmare. His clothes are the same sterile white. His hands twitch at his sides, unsure if they’re allowed to reach.

Rose breathes out. Not quite relief. But something close.

“…Caleb.”

The name is a thread, tugging something loose inside her.

Rose moves fast.

The bed shifts, and Ever's hand stretches outward as Rose pushes off and crosses the room in two strides. She doesn’t hesitate—just wraps both arms around him like she needs to prove he’s real.

Except—she doesn’t let go of Ever's hand.

Their fingers stay locked across the space between them. Even as Rose clings to him, she keeps that anchor.

Like she can’t bear to lose either of them.

Caleb stands there for a beat—frozen, startled—before wrapping an arm around her, tentative at first, then firmer.

“I was looking for you both,” he murmurs. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

His voice is hoarse. Ragged. He sounds like he hasn’t slept in days.

Ever watches them. Their joined hands. The way Rose trembles, but doesn’t break.

She knows him.

Not just from before.

From dreams. From flickers. From pieces.

She doesn’t know if that makes her feel better.

But for the first time since she woke up, she knows she isn’t alone.

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

Notes

Yeahh... Not as fluffy but it's necessary! God, I start to sound like my friend..... Imma just ignore that.... For anyone that is interested for more, I'm putting this story in Ao3! :)

[yandere-sins]

Ivy I came up with some theories due to platonic yan König, romantic yan Ghost, and KorTac op reader our writing, you know. Can we play a game where you check if it's true or false 👀

• Ghost definitely eyefucks his darling a lot because in the fic it's mentioned that he stares with lust, and I feel like it always gets stronger everytime due to him not being able to indulge in his darling yet! Because of his duties and ofc, König, and his darling not being from the UK military.

• You said that darling is given a lot of tasks to ISOLATE her from the others, my possible theory is that König trains her more too; to isolate and to make sure that she survives in the worst-case scenario where he can't be with her. Perhaps that is why in the fic Ghost mentioned about his lovie's eye bags.

• No soldier of Kortac has thought of König's relationship with darling being romantic, even if some might do so at first they look at the looooong list of tasks and how darling's uniform always looks neat before and after leaving König's room so there's definitely nothing romantic going on. Probably seen as overworked.

• You wrote that König invades every mission his darling his in. So König's way of being a platonic yandere is by taking advantage of his rank and power over the ones in charge of administration and deployment. Even if there are people of higher rank than König, he's talented so technically they have to keep him happy too 😭

• Also there are times when König absolutely cannot get stationed in the same place with his darling; perhaps the reason for those rare events is that there is another soldier who is more compatible in darling in battle OR, the mission requires non-gigantic soldiers 💀

• My other guess is that when König tells someone to fetch darling, it's usually lower ranking soldiers or those familiar with him. Like those from the KSK, younger soldiers, or newbies. Why? Most KorTac operators are very outspoken and direct, will definitely voice their disapproval.

Sooo true or false-

Took me a while to reply, but lets do this!!

»»———————————— ♡ ————————————««

❥ True, Ghost definitely stares a lot! His eyes are the only thing visible of his face, so when he looks at you, it feels much more intense than anything else! He also has the habit of looking after you whenever he has the brief mercy of chatting with you, and you can feel his stare even long after turning corners and leaving the building, that's how incisive it is. But really, he merely studies every single movments of yours, the swaying of your hips and cocking of your head. You have no idea what talking to you or even just smelling your shampoo does to him. The man needs as much inspiration as possible if he wants to imagine that his hand resembles you when he's overcome with need. It's not enough that he knows exactly how you look when you yawn. Ghost always needs new materials for the times he can't have you, but he needs you. So he stalks and watches you, undressing you and cutting you open with his eyes, hoping to be the only one that gets to see you even in your vulnerable moments.

❥ True! At least, Darling gets a lot of special treatment. So much so, it's uncomfortable. Do you know how many people get to fight the Colonel? Well, not that anyone wants to, but it's one person: you. Of course, he still makes sure everyone gets the training they need and should have, dutiful as he is. But you? Your training schedule is so packed and messed up, sometimes it's hard to know where to begin. Your day starts at the same time as König's, and you have to take the same runs and stretches he does. You eat breakfast with him, and after some office work, he picks you up to train your body. Is it his training plan or is it yours? Who knows. But it's not like you can ever defeat him either, König training himself to evade you at the same time while he makes sure you know how to fuck other soldiers up that come too close to you. It's a win-win, although it makes you a social outcast since he clearly favors you.

❥ Half-true, because even those who think you are trying to get with the Colonel, know you are unsuccessful in that. It's obvious that König's behavior towards you makes others uncomfortable. Because either 1. You are his overworked, underpaid, pushover assistant and have no backbone. 2. You really want to get with him, so you do everything König says and spend all your time in service. 3. He wants something from you, but you keep brushing him off, so he makes you do all the extra dirty work as punishment. However, as you said, they have never seen you two actually being suspicious around each other, although you seem to be a bit less composed and more nervous when he's close, which really could be because of any of the reasons above. So while the theories go wild, rumors spread, and a lot of the others don't want to get too close to either of you two and risk their job, at least no one knows how inappropriate your relationship with König actually is.

❥ True. As odd as he is, he can be surprisingly convincing when he puts his mind on taking over a mission. Superiors are surprised, but by all means, König has proven himself capable, and if he takes some work off their hands, why would they complain? You rarely get to decide which squad you are assigned since most of the time, it's the one that König needs to go with, not the one best suited for you. By now, no one is surprised to see you. And if they are surprised, then because they didn't know the Colonel was going to join! At least that means you get to take unscheduled breaks since König is looking out for you, but it also feels like going on a school trip with your mom.

❥ True, even though it's rare! Letting you go on a mission alone is more than just a risk—it's thousands of them. If you absolutely must and the orders are absolute and unshakeable, then you can bet your cute ass that König is in the commando central of the mission, telling you how well you are doing and to watch out constantly like a nagging mother hen. Don't you dare get along with your fellow soldiers too much. You learned the hard way just how easy it is to transfer or kick them out. And also hearing König huff into your ear angrily because you said thank you to someone refilling you water, is so damn embarassing, you almost don't want to go on missions alone anymore. Maybe you should start thinking about quitting since you just can't win!

❥ True, and it has a very simple reason you haven't mentioned yet: these young soldiers are eager to please. You rarely get to see how manipulative König can be since he's pretty upfront with you while in the workplace. But with his somewhat cold and unapproachable reputation, imagine how good these rookies feel when they get his recognition. How much a shoulder pat or a "good work" does to them. And fetching you really isn't a hard job! Not when the Colonel gives them a thumbs-up when they see each other in the cafeteria afterwards. Older, more experienced members would laugh in their Colonel's face with such a request, only taking real orders. Also, this minor work is just way below their pay grade. It's a fact that they simply don't fear him and have no personal connection to him. They'll still tell you that he wants to see you if they pass you by on accident, but they wouldn't beg and plead with you to go with them, unlike the newer soldiers. You wouldn't want such a young light to be transfered to somewhere much shittier just because of your insubordination, right?

Hope that answers your questions! ♥

[a-bit-of-writing]

10/30 - Proposal

Fandom Jujutsu Kaisen Characters: Yuji x OC Words: 577 Summary: Yuji Itadori never imagined he'd survive long enough to ask someone to stay. But on a quiet rooftop, beneath a flickering sky, he takes a chance on a future that might not exist.

30 days of fanfiction challenge

They sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, a blanket spread between them like a fragile piece of normalcy.

The city below murmured in distant tones. Cars, footsteps, life continuing in spite of everything. The cursed energy that once buzzed under Yuji’s skin was quiet tonight. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a weapon waiting to be used.

He felt human.

She laughed softly beside him, head tilted toward the stars.

“You always choose rooftops,” she said, nudging his side. “Is this some romantic hero thing?”

Yuji shrugged, sheepish. “Rooftops are nice. Open sky. Fewer people. Harder to curse up here.”

“You’re a dork.”

“And you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

She smiled, but it was softer now - curved around a history they didn’t speak of. The battles fought, the names buried, the nights spent wondering if they'd survive the next. The future had never been promised to them. It had only ever been a fragile maybe.

But maybe… was still something.

Yuji reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small box. Not velvet. Not fancy. Just a plain, worn little container he’d picked up weeks ago. It had traveled in his coat through three missions, two hospital visits, and one cursed spirit ambush. It had waited.

Now it didn’t have to.

She glanced at it, then at him, brow lifting.

“Yuji…”

He didn’t open it yet. Just held it. His fingers curled tightly around it, like if he loosened his grip, the moment might disappear.

“I know it’s stupid,” he began, eyes not meeting hers, “because this world - our world - isn’t the kind where these things last. People like us… we don’t get to grow old together. We barely get to grow up.”

He finally looked at her then, eyes raw with everything he could never say during a fight.

“But if there’s even one chance - just one - where I get to stand next to you, not as a sorcerer, not as a vessel, not as a symbol of someone else’s war… just me. Yuji. Then I want it.”

He opened the box.

The ring inside was simple. A delicate band with a tiny stone that caught the light like a sliver of moon.

“I can’t promise we’ll be safe,” he said. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. But I swear… if you say yes, I’ll do everything I can to make sure we get to that future.”

Silence.

The city murmured below them. The stars blinked above. Somewhere in the distance, a train passed, the sound a soft echo of movement in a world that never stopped.

She took the box from his hand gently, fingers brushing his.

Then she laughed.

Yuji blinked, startled. “Was that a no?”

She shook her head, eyes shining.

“That was a finally, idiot.”

And then she kissed him.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just steady and full, like an answer sealed in warmth. His hands rose, cupping her face, grounding himself in the realness of it. Of her.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. “We may not get forever,” she whispered, “but I’ll take every second with you.”

Yuji didn’t cry. Not really. But his eyes stung in that way they did when something inside you cracked open and light poured in.

The world wasn’t fixed. Their war wasn’t over. But for this moment, the rooftop wasn’t a battlefield. It was a beginning.

[dimonds456]

thinking about freehoun so bad tonight oughhhhhhhhhhhh

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

--

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.