#and when that happens it means something is wrong

[kiwriteswords]

Hiya! May i please request protective Aaron Hotchner? Thanks Ki!

To the Ends of the Earth [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: LOVE PROTECTIVE HOTCH!! Thanks for requesting!!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, reader was taken advantage of by a powerful figure, protective!Hotch, mentions of sexual assault/harassment, mentions of physical altercations, blackmail, canon-typical violence, angry Hotch, protective!Derek Morgan, Hotch's POV, Reader defending herself, established relationship, Strauss is a nightmare boss sometimes, Aaron "I must make sure justice is served" Hotchner, bureaucratic politics

Summary: When an opportunity of a lifetime turns into a nightmare for you, Aaron Horchner needs to make it right.

Aaron Hotchner was not a man given to fits of rage. His demeanor, honed by years of service and hardship, was one of controlled calm, a fortress of logic and order. But as he watched you move around the kitchen that morning, something stirred deep within him—a tumultuous blend of protectiveness and fury that he hadn't felt since the harrowing days of George Foyet.

Something was off about you. It had been for a few weeks now, ever since you returned from that high-profile assignment with the task force. Hotch remembered how proud he had felt when you were selected, the honor that lit up your eyes, the excitement that animated your every gesture. But now, the light had faded from your eyes, replaced by a haunted, distant gaze.

Your movements were mechanical, your smiles forced. You flinched at sudden movements and seemed to wrap yourself tighter in your own arms whenever the house fell too quiet. The changes were subtle, but to Hotch, they screamed of something profoundly wrong.

He watched now as you poured coffee with slightly trembling hands, the dark liquid spilling slightly over the rim of the mug. Hotch's jaw clenched. He approached you, his steps silent but purposeful.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of concern that made you pause and look up. "We need to talk."

You nodded, setting the coffee pot down a bit too quickly, liquid sloshing onto the counter. "I know," you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Hotch reached out, gently lifting your chin so you were looking into his eyes. "What happened on that assignment?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You've been different since you came back."

Your eyes filled with tears, and you bit your lip, a clear struggle within you. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with unspoken fears.

"It's... it was nothing, Aaron. I—I just got overwhelmed with the work, that's all," you stammered, but Hotch's eyes darkened. He knew you. He knew when you were hiding something painful.

"Talk to me," he pressed, his hand firm yet gentle on your arm. "Please."

The floodgates opened then, and as you told him about your boss—the respected and powerful figure within the Bureau, the one with connections that reached the highest echelons of government—Hotch felt a cold fury settle in his stomach. The man had taken advantage of you, betrayed your trust in the most despicable way, and used his power to silence you.

"He told me... he told me if I said anything, it'd be the end of my career. He's friends with—"

Hotch cut you off, his voice icy, "I don't care who he's friends with."

You flinched at the steel in his voice, and he immediately softened, pulling you into a protective embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just so, so angry that he did this to you. That I wasn't there to protect you."

Hotch held you close, his mind racing. His instinct was to protect, to avenge, to rectify. But he was also Aaron Hotchner, a man of the law, bound by rules and protocols—even if his heart screamed to break them for your sake.

"We're going to handle this," he whispered into your hair, his voice a steady rumble of contained fury. "I promise you, I won't let him get away with this. No one hurts you and just walks away."

Hotch felt your body tense in his arms, the weight of your emotions palpable against his chest. He held you tighter, a silent promise in the embrace.

"Look at me," he urged gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his once again. In them, he saw a storm of hurt, fear, and defiance—a maelstrom that made his own heart clench with an indignant rage he seldom allowed others to see.

"I... I don't want to make this into something big, Aaron. It's... it's embarrassing," you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of your vulnerability. "And I... I don't want to be seen as a victim. He's too powerful. What if—"

"No," Hotch interrupted firmly, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze was intense, almost piercing, as he spoke with a clarity that cut through the fog of your worries. "You are not a victim. And this... this man has committed a crime. His power doesn't protect him from the law—not from justice. Not as long as I'm here."

You searched his face, looking for the certainty that felt so elusive to you now. Finding it in his eyes, the relentless determination that defined him, a small, fragile sense of security began to weave through your trepidation.

"Aaron, I'm scared," you admitted, the truth sounding stark and raw between you. "I'm scared of the fallout, of what it means for us, for my career..."

Hotch's expression hardened, the lines of his face setting into that familiar mold of resolve that had carried him through countless challenges. "I understand your fear, and it's valid. But you're not alone in this—not now, not ever. We'll do this together and on your terms. We'll take every precaution, use every resource at our disposal. We'll fight this, and we'll win."

The certainty in his voice was more than just comforting—it was a bastion against the doubts that threatened to overwhelm you. Hotch stood, his posture rigid with controlled anger, a testament to his unwavering support.

"And if he thinks he can intimidate or silence you, he doesn't know who he's dealing with. He doesn't know who I am," Hotch added his voice a low growl of protective ferocity. It was the same tone he'd used years ago, a sound born of fury and pain from darker days. It reassured you, reminded you of the strength you had beside you.

You nodded, leaning into him, drawing strength from his presence. "What do we do now?" you asked, the practical part of you ready to take the next steps, no matter how daunting.

"We start by documenting everything. Every interaction you've had with him, anything that can support your case. We'll get statements from anyone who might have noticed anything during your assignment," Hotch planned out loud, his mind already sifting through procedures and protocols. "I'll talk to Strauss personally. We need to make sure this is handled by the book and with the utmost seriousness."

"And then?" Your voice was small, but your eyes were steady, meeting his.

"Then we make sure justice is served," Hotch stated simply. "And we ensure that this never happens to you, or anyone else, ever again."

The resolve in his voice was unwavering, the promise not just of a lover but of a protector, a leader. 

The next day, Hotch’s steps were purposeful as he approached Erin Strauss's office, his jaw set in a firm line, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and barely contained anger. This wasn't just another bureaucratic hurdle; it was personal, and the stakes were far higher than usual.

Knocking briskly, Hotch didn't wait for a reply before pushing the door open. Strauss looked up from her desk; her expression schooled into one of cautious neutrality.

"Agent Hotchner, what can I do for you?" Strauss asked, her tone as meticulously controlled as the rest of her demeanor.

"We need to talk about an urgent matter," Hotch began, his voice laced with a severity that made Strauss straighten slightly in her chair.

"It's about the conduct of a high-ranking official in the task force assigned to an agent on my team. There have been serious allegations made against him," Hotch stated bluntly, not one to dance around the subject.

Strauss's eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern passing over her features before she masked it with a bureaucratic calm. "I'm aware of the individual you're referring to," she said slowly. "However, you know as well as I do the complexities involved. He has significant connections, Aaron. This could become a highly volatile situation."

"That doesn't excuse his actions or absolve us of our duty to act," Hotch countered sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We have a responsibility to protect our agents and uphold the integrity of the Bureau."

"Aaron," Strauss began, her tone firmer, more authoritative. "I understand your concerns, as well as your….personal connection to this, but we must approach this carefully. Rushing into this could backfire, not just on us but on your agent as well. We risk turning her into the subject of a very public, very messy scandal."

Hotch felt his frustration mount, the protective fury simmering beneath his cool exterior. "With all due respect, Ma'am, I'm not willing to let this go because it's complicated. If we start picking and choosing which battles to fight based on political convenience—"

"This is not about convenience, Agent Hotchner!" Strauss interrupted, her voice rising slightly for the first time. "It's about strategy. It's about ensuring we handle this in a way that ensures justice without causing unnecessary harm. I am not saying we do nothing. I'm saying we need a plan."

Hotch paused, the logical part of his brain recognizing the truth in her words, even as his emotions rebelled against the implication. "I want your assurance, then, that we will pursue this. That it won't be swept under the rug because he's 'connected.'"

"You have my word that we will take appropriate action," Strauss said, her gaze locking with Hotch's. "But I need you to be patient. Give me time to navigate this minefield. I need to talk to the Director, maybe even higher. This isn't just about the Bureau, Aaron. It's bigger than that."

Hotch's expression hardened the lines of his face set in determination. "Time is something I can give, Erin, but silence is not. If we don't see action, I will take this to every authority necessary."

Strauss met his gaze, a silent battle of wills taking place in the quiet tension of the room. Finally, she nodded. "Understood. Let's reconvene in forty-eight hours. I should have more information then."

Hotch nodded curtly, the promise of action the only thing tempering his rage as he left her office. The fight was far from over, and while the bureaucratic wheels turned slowly, his resolve was as swift and unyielding as ever. Justice, he knew, sometimes required more than just good intentions. It needed steadfast, relentless advocacy, and that was something Aaron Hotchner was all too ready to provide.

As Hotch sifted through the case files on his desk, his focus was frequently interrupted by a far more personal concern. The events involving you had left a residual tension that permeated not just his office but his every thought. It was during one of these distracted moments that he heard the familiar knock of Derek Morgan at his door.

"Come in," Hotch called, setting aside the files and steeling himself for the conversation he anticipated was about more than just BAU casework.

Derek stepped in, closing the door behind him with a seriousness that matched the gravity Hotch felt. "Hotch, I've heard about what happened. How's she holding up?" Derek's voice carried a mix of concern and protective anger.

"She's coping, Derek, but it’s far from ideal," Hotch admitted, feeling the weight of his responsibilities as both a unit chief and a partner, “She's strong, but this... this isn't something anyone should have to be strong for--what happened... it’s unacceptable."

Derek's presence was reassuring, a reminder that he wasn't alone in his resolve to address the issue. "We can't just wait for the system to grind forward. What are we doing to make sure she feels safe, not just now but in the future?" Derek asked, his stance resolute.

Leaning back in his chair, Hotch considered the proactive steps they needed to take. "Strauss is handling the investigation, but we need to tighten our own security measures. I’m thinking about revising our late-night protocols and perhaps reintroducing a buddy system."

Derek nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "And maybe we should look into a refresher on self-defense for the team. It's been a while, and it might help give everyone a bit more sense of control," he suggested.

"That’s a good point. I’ll arrange for a workshop. We should also consider implementing more discreet ways for team members to alert security. Fast and effective responses could make a big difference," Hotch said, feeling a strategic plan forming.

"Like panic buttons?" Derek proposed.

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed, his mind already running through logistics and implementations. "I'll ask Garcia to look into integrating something seamless yet powerful."

Derek’s next words struck a chord, emphasizing the culture Hotch always strived to foster within the team. "We need to make a statement, Hotch. Not just with new systems and training, but in how we handle this. We protect our own, not just out there," Derek motioned towards the world beyond their office walls, "but in here, too."

Hotch met Derek’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the shared commitment. "I agree completely. Let’s set up a team meeting tomorrow. We’ll discuss these changes openly and ensure everyone knows we’re serious about safeguarding our own."

As Derek left, Hotch turned his attention back to the files before him but with a renewed focus. The safety and well-being of his team, particularly you, now had a clear path forward. With Derek's support and the team's collective effort, Hotch was determined to transform this challenging situation into an opportunity to strengthen the BAU from within. The resolve in his heart was matched by the plans forming in his mind, and he felt ready to lead this crucial initiative.

The wheels of bureaucracy had finally begun to turn, albeit slowly. Hotch could feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere within the Bureau as whispers of the investigation started to circulate among the upper echelons. Strauss had been true to her word so far, initiating discreet inquiries that didn’t draw undue attention yet signaled a clear intent to address the allegations seriously.

However, just as Hotch was beginning to see a glimmer of progress, a new, more immediate crisis erupted. It was late in the evening, and you were at home with Hotch, the two of you trying to enjoy a quiet dinner together to take your minds off the ongoing turmoil. Your phone buzzed with the arrival of an email, and the change in your demeanor was immediate and alarming.

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noting the sudden pallor that washed over your face as you stared at your screen.

“It’s him,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s... he’s threatening me, Aaron.”

The words hit Hotch like a physical blow. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened with a fury that had been simmering just below the surface, now brought to a boiling point by this new provocation. He took the phone from your hands; his movements controlled but brisk, and read the email himself.

The message was succinct, laced with venom and arrogance. The man threatened to ruin your reputation, to make sure you would never work in law enforcement again if you continued to "drag his name through the mud." The audacity of the threat, the blatant attempt to intimidate and silence you, ignited a fierce protectiveness in Hotch.

“This ends now,” Hotch said, his voice low and dangerous. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. “I won’t let him get away with this.”

You reached out, touching his arm. “Aaron, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure he understands the consequences of threatening an FBI agent,” Hotch replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. “He thinks he can intimidate us into silence, but he’s gravely mistaken.”

Hotch’s first call was to Strauss, informing her of the new development. His words were clipped, his anger barely contained as he explained the situation.

“Erin, he sent a threatening email. He’s trying to intimidate her into dropping the charges. This is witness tampering, and it’s unacceptable. We need to act, and we need to act now,” Hotch insisted, his demeanor unyielding.

“We will start with securing a formal censure against him. I’ll also alert the Director immediately. This is serious, Aaron, and we’ll treat it as such,” Strauss responded, her voice reflecting a new urgency.

Satisfied that the Bureau was finally mobilizing with the necessary aggression, Hotch turned his attention back to you. He could see the fear and uncertainty that the email had sparked, and he knew he had to be the rock you could lean on.

“Listen to me,” he said, taking your hands in his. “I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re in this together, and we’re going to see it through. No one threatens you and gets away with it. Not on my watch.”

As Hotch spoke, his assurance, his unwavering support, you felt a flicker of hope. Despite the darkness of the situation, with Hotch by your side, you believed that, somehow, everything might still turn out right.

Aaron Hotchner had settled into the kind of focus that came with years of late nights and urgent cases. The dim light from his desk lamp cast long shadows across the paperwork in front of him, the numbers and details blurring into a singular narrative of crime and consequence. He was deeply immersed in a complex profile, one that needed to be finished before morning, when a faint noise caused him to look up. It was a sound out of place in the quiet of the late evening, a soft shuffling, a hesitant step.

The sight that greeted him was one he was wholly unprepared for. You were leaning heavily against the doorframe, your face visibly battered and bruised, your clothing disheveled as if from a scuffle. There was a black eye forming, swelling under the stark fluorescent light, and blood was trickling from a cut on your lip, dripping onto your collar.

For a moment, Hotch froze, his brain trying to process the scene before him. His files, his profile, the pen still poised in his hand—all of it faded into irrelevance as a surge of protective anger rose within him. He was on his feet in an instant, his chair pushed back with such force it nearly toppled.

“What did he do?!” The words burst from him, laden with fury and concern as he closed the distance between you and him in a few long strides. His hands hovered just inches from you, itching to reach out, to confirm you were real and standing there, yet hesitating out of fear of hurting you further.

Your appearance was a stark, visual slap to his system, igniting a rage in Hotch that was pure and lethal, a reminder of the days when he'd hunted the most dangerous criminals. His mind raced with the implications of your injuries—how it had happened, where, and most importantly, who was responsible.

Seeing you in such a state, so vulnerable yet defiant, was more than just a call to action. It was a personal affront, a challenge to everything he stood for, both as the unit chief of the BAU and as the man who loved you. Your safety had been compromised under his watch, and the violation of that trust was something he took as a personal failure.

“Who did this?” His voice was a low growl now, demanding an answer, needing to know whom to direct his burgeoning wrath towards. The protective barrier he always maintained—the one that kept his professional judgment clear of emotional interference—was crumbling fast, chipped away by each drop of blood he saw staining your skin.

Your response was shaky but filled with a fire that spoke volumes of your resilience. “It was him. In the locker room,” you managed to say, your voice a testament to both the physical pain you endured and the psychological battle you were fighting. “There are no cameras there. He knew that.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening with resolute anger. You had defended yourself, survived, and prevailed, yet the cost was written all over your face, and it was a price too steep for him to bear without retribution.

“We’re going to Strauss now,” he stated unequivocally, the protective fervor in his voice leaving no room for negotiation. “He won’t get away with this. Not now, not ever.”

He quickly grabbed a first aid kit, gently tending to your wounds with a steadiness in his hands that belied the storm of emotions inside him. Once he was sure you were stable, he offered you his arm, ready to accompany you to Strauss’s office. The walk there was tense, each step heavy with the weight of the incident and its implications.

Upon reaching Strauss’s office, Hotch knocked firmly, not waiting for an invitation to enter. Strauss looked up, her expression turning from surprise to alarm at the sight of your condition.

“Aaron, what happened?” Strauss stood immediately, her eyes wide as they took in the visible marks of the attack on you.

“She was attacked by him, in the gym locker room. There are no cameras there. It was premeditated,” Hotch explained, his voice controlled but the underlying fury unmistakable. “She defended herself and subdued him. He’s still there, unconscious and handcuffed.”

Strauss’s face hardened, her eyes now reflecting a mix of anger and determination. “I’ll call security, have them take him into custody and ensure he’s watched until he can be formally charged. This is attempted assault on a federal agent, at the very least. We’ll push for the maximum charges.”

You nodded, leaning slightly on Hotch for support, both physically and emotionally. “Thank you, Strauss. I... I defended myself, but I want this to be handled by the book. We need to make sure he never has the opportunity to hurt anyone else.”

Strauss moved around her desk, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “You did good, and I’m sorry this happened under our watch. We’ll take care of it from here. And you,” she looked at Hotch, “make sure she gets to a hospital, and then take some time off. Both of you. You need to recover from this.”

Hotch nodded, his protective instincts fully engaged as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the office. The rage still simmered within him, a fierce protectiveness that would not soon abate. But alongside it was a profound respect for your strength and resilience and a renewed commitment to stand by you, no matter what lay ahead.

That night, the world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant as you and Aaron Hotchner returned to the sanctuary of your home. The hospital visit had been thorough but exhausting, leaving both of you drained yet relieved that nothing was critically amiss. Now, in the quiet comfort of your bathroom, Hotch took on the role of caretaker with a gentleness that made your heart swell despite the pain.

You sat on the closed lid of the toilet, watching him gather supplies—antiseptic, cotton pads, and some fresh bandages. The care with which he handled each item, his movements deliberate and focused, was a quiet testament to his concern for you. As he turned to you, his expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken promise of tenderness.

"Let's get this cleaned up," he murmured, wetting a cotton pad with antiseptic. His touch was feather-light as he dabbed at the cut on your lip, the one that had stopped bleeding but still throbbed with every movement. You flinched slightly, not from pain, but from the intimacy of the gesture, the proximity in a moment filled with so much vulnerability.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this," Hotch said quietly, the weight of his emotions making his voice thick and unusually expressive. He paused, his hands steady as he tended to your wounds, but his heart was anything but calm. "I should have—"

The words trailed off as a tide of frustration and guilt surged within him. Hotch despised the feeling of helplessness, the gnawing thought that he might have prevented your pain had he anticipated the threat more effectively. It was a violation of his deepest principles, both as a protector and a partner, to see you hurt and know he had not been there to prevent it.

He gazed at your face, noting the bruises that marred your skin, each one a stark reminder of the violence you endured. It pained him to see these tangible signs of trauma on someone he cared deeply about. The instinct to shield you from harm was ingrained in his very nature, honed through years of leading a team that faced danger daily. Yet here, in the quiet of your shared space, the reality that you had faced such danger alone was a bitter pill to swallow.

As Hotch looked into your eyes, seeing the trust and understanding there despite the shadows of the recent ordeal, he felt a renewed surge of resolve. His role was not just to protect but to support and ensure such a breach never occurred again. This incident, while closed legally, would prompt him to reevaluate his own vigilance. The emotional undercurrent of this moment, the blend of regret and protective fervor, was a powerful catalyst for Hotch. It reinforced the essential truth that his duty to protect you extended beyond the physical; it was emotional, a bond forged in mutual respect and shared trials.

The silence that followed his unfinished apology was filled with a heavy understanding. He knew you didn’t blame him—you had faced the situation with incredible resilience. But he held himself to a standard that was often unrelenting. Hotch needed to articulate this, not just for you to hear, but for him to acknowledge it openly.

“You shouldn’t have had to handle this alone,” he continued, his voice firmer, reflecting his internal commitment. “I’m here, and I will do everything in my power to ensure you never feel that isolated again. We’ll increase security protocols, and I’ll personally review them.”

His promise was not just words; it was a vow, a pledge of his ongoing commitment to your safety and well-being. Hotch knew that recovery from such events wasn’t just about physical healing—it was about restoring a sense of security and normalcy. He was prepared to lead that effort, standing by you as both your staunchest ally and your devoted partner.

"Don't," you interrupted gently, placing a hand over his. "Don't do that to yourself. You couldn’t have known. And you were there when it mattered. You’ve always been."

He looked at you, really looked, as if seeing you anew, and nodded slowly. "It's over now," he reassured you and himself more than anyone. "He's in custody, and he's not getting out anytime soon. Strauss is making sure of it."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past weeks begin to lift ever so slightly. "It’s hard to believe it’s over," you admitted, allowing yourself to lean into his care, into the promise of safety his presence provided.

"It is, though. And we're going to make sure you're safe, that this never happens again," Hotch said, his voice firm with conviction. He finished bandaging a smaller scrape on your cheek, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary, as if to impart comfort through his touch.

You reached up, your hand brushing against his. "Thank you, Aaron. For everything. I don’t know how I would have handled all this without you."

Hotch’s hand covered yours, his grip warm and reassuring. "You're not alone in this. You’ll never be," he said, his gaze holding yours. "We’re in this together, remember?"

As you nodded, a silence fell between you, comfortable and healing. It was the kind of silence that spoke of shared struggles and mutual support, of battles fought and won together. Hotch finally stood, helping you to your feet.

"Let’s get some rest," he suggested, his tone lightening a bit as he led you toward the bedroom. "You need to heal, and I need to make sure you stop finding trouble," he added, a hint of humor glimmering through the residual tension of the day.

You chuckled softly, leaning against him as you walked. "Deal," you replied, knowing that whatever the future held, you faced it not alone but together, stronger and more united than ever.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[arc-misadventures]

A Gift Exchanging

Jaune: Shitshitshitshitshitshit!

Ren: ...

Ren: Jaune?

Jaune: AHHHH?!?!

Ren: ...?!

Jaune: Oh... Ren... hi...?

Ren: Y-You okay, Jaune?

Jaune: No...?

Ren: Okay... what's wrong, Jaune.

Jaune: Can you keep a secret?

Ren: Yes...?

Jaune: Can you, or can you not keep a secret, Ren?

Ren: I can! I can!

Jaune: Okay... I... For the past year... Basically, the entirety of my first year at, Beacon Academy... I have been stuck in the ultimate... love triangle for the past year... between two sisters...

Ren: A love triangle... between a pair of sisters...?

Jaune: Yeah...

Ren: Well... I knew, Ruby liked you, but, Yang as well?

Jaune: Yang, and Ruby? Oh no, nonono not them.

Ren: Not them? Then who?

Jaune: It's between them.

Ren: 'Them?' You don't mean... the twins...?

Jaune: Yeah... Glynda, and Salem Goodwitch. The Goodwitch Twins.

Ren: What the fuck?! Are you seriously stuck in a love triangle between the freaking, Goodwitch Twins?!

Jaune: Yeah, I know... I'm still surprised this happened...

Ren: How did this happen?

Jaune: Well, they both said they both fell for me by me just.. being myself.

Ren: ...

Ren: That makes no sense...

Jaune: Ren, you should know I don't know how half of the crap that has happened to me this year. Much less how I am stuck in a love triangle between the, Beauties of Beacon Academy.

Ren: Okay... So, why are you panicking?

Jaune: Because, the pair of them invited me to their room. And, on Christmas day no less!?

Ren: Did you forget to get them a gift?

Jaune: No, I got them a pair of matching necklaces; The only difference between the jewels in, Salem's necklace matches her eyes, and the ones in, Glynda's matches her eyes.

Ren: Oh that's nice. Then why are you panicking?

Jaune: Because, two hot babes who were fighting over me asked me to meet them in private in they room.

Ren: How does that...

Jaune: Imagine if, Nora had a twin sister, and they were both fighting over you.

Ren: ...

Ren: Ahh...

Ren: You best get going before they destroy the school...

Ren: Again.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yeah, I better go do that...

~~~

Jaune: Glynda...? Salem...? I'm here... You wanted to see me for... some reason?

Glynda: Jaune~!

Salem: You're here~!

Jaune: Uhh...? Where are you?

Salem: Wait right there, Jaune?

Glynda: Only come when we call you.

Jaune: Oaky...? Spo, why did you call for me?

Glynda: For two reasons~!

Jaune: And, those are?

Salem: Well, we've asked you here to give you your Christmas present~!

Jaune: My present?

Glynda: Yes~!

Salem: Your present~!

Jaune: Okay... And, what about the other part?

Salem: Oh~! Well, we're proud to announce that out little lovers quarrel is over.

Jaune: It is? That's great!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: How... did you end it?

Glynda: Oh, we just remembered something our mother told us.

Salem: She told us that when we're fighting over something that we should share it.

Jaune: S-Share it?

Glynda: You, Jaune, we're going to share you~!

Salem: Together~!

Jaune: You're going to share me...?

Glynda: Yes, we want to share you~!

Jaune: But.. why?

Salem: It was either you, or my sister... And, as much as we both love you, Jaune... I can't let my love for you form a wedge between me, and my sister.

Glynda: And, that's why you were denying out advances for so long... you didn't want to form a wedge between us either... So, we came up with a compromise.

Salem: We share you. For better, or worse.

Jaune: You share me, and I get both of you? Two for the price of one?

Glynda: You could see it like that.

Salem: But, do you accept our offer, Jaune?

Jaune: ...

Glynda: Please, Jaune?

Jaune: I have one question...

Glynda: What is it?

Jaune: Couldn't we have done this from the get go?

SG: ...

Salem: Fufufufu~! We could have done that, but it is fun that we were fighting over him!

Glynda: Quite fun!

Jaune: Alright then, I have two girlfriends. Mom, and my sisters are never going to believe this!

Salem: Wonderful!

Glynda: This is an amazing day indeed~!

Jaune: So... Do I get my Christmas present now?

Glynda: Oh yes~!

Salem: Come here, and get your present~!

Jaune: Okay then what is my...?

Salem, and Glynda:

Jaune: Present...?

SG: It's us~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay... we really should have decided we became a pair of couples months ago.

Salem: We probably should have.

Jaune: Well then... let's begin ladies, and don't worry... If anything happens I'll take responsibility.

SG: ...?!

Salem: Oh... Now I want something to happen.

Glynda: Me too~!

Salem: Then we better make sure it happens then~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Uh-oh...

///

Here you go, @lar-mx Enjoy~!

Link to original post.

[wosoarsenalsstuff]

Forever a Family

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen

Y/N sat on her bed, her Barcelona jersey crumpled in her hands. It was a special one—gifted to her by Lucy and Ona on her first day as part of the senior team. The embroidered crest felt heavy now, like it was holding all the emotions she didn’t want to feel.

Lucy was leaving

Her mind spun with questions she couldn’t answer Where would she go for advice when she felt overwhelmed? Who’d make pancakes with Ona on lazy Sunday mornings while teasing her about her messy room ? Who’d cheer her on with that mix of pride and protectiveness that only Lucy had?

A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Y/N quickly wiped her eyes.“Y/N?” Ona’s voice came through the door. It was calm, like always, but there was a hint of concern behind it. “Can we come in?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. But she couldn’t ignore Ona—not with the way she always seemed to know exactly when something was wrong.

“Yeah,” she finally mumbled, keeping her gaze fixed on the jersey in her lap.

The door creaked open, and Ona stepped in first. Her eyes softened when she saw Y/N curled up on the bed. Behind her, Lucy stood quietly, looking hesitant—an expression Y/N rarely saw on her face.

Ona sat beside Y/N, resting a hand on her shoulder. Lucy walked over and crouched down in front of her, making herself small in a way that made Y/N’s heart clench.

“Y/N,” Lucy said gently, her voice warm but unsure. “We need to talk about this. About… me leaving.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. “I already know,” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “You’re going to Chelsea. Everyone’s talking about it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if it upsets you,” Lucy said immediately. Her tone was firm, but her gaze was soft. “That’s why we wanted to talk to you.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, her hands gripping the jersey. “You’re leaving. It’s gonna be different. And I—I don’t know what’s gonna happen to us.”

Ona gave Lucy a small nod, encouraging her to speak. Lucy let out a breath, sitting down fully on the floor so she could meet Y/N’s eyes.

“Listen to me,” Lucy said, her voice steady but low. “This isn’t about leaving you. You’re family, Y/N. You’ve been family since the day you moved in with us. And nothing—not this transfer, not anything—can change that.”

Y/N bit her lip, her vision blurring with tears. “But you won’t be here anymore,” she whispered. “What if you forget about me?”

Ona’s hand gently rubbed Y/N’s back, her voice quiet but sure. “Lucy’s going to Chelsea because it’s the right move for her career. But that doesn’t mean you’re losing her. And you’ll always have me here. We’re not just your teammates, Y/N. We’re your family. Families stick together.”

Lucy leaned forward, taking Y/N’s hands in hers. “When your parents left, we promised you’d never be alone again. And we meant it. Sure, I’ll be in London, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying you every day or flying back when you need me. You’re stuck with me, kid.”

Y/N sniffled, the tears spilling over despite her best efforts. Ona wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and Lucy gently squeezed her hands.

“You’ll call, right?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

Lucy smiled softly, her eyes shining with emotion. “Every day, if you want me to. And I’ll make sure you know exactly when I’ll visit. We’ll make it work, I promise.”

Ona pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “You’re not losing us. I’ll make sure Lucy keeps her promises.”

Ona smirked suddenly, breaking the emotional moment. “Besides, Chelsea’s just Lucy’s retirement plan. She’s getting old, Y/N—soon she’ll be creaking more than running.”

“Excuse me?” Lucy shot back, pretending to look offended.

Ona laughed, winking at Y/N. “Don’t worry. When she can’t keep up with the game anymore, she’ll be back here to bother us full-time.”

Y/N burst into laughter, wiping the last of her tears. “Guess I’ll hold you to that, Lucy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucy muttered with a playful glare at Ona. But her grin betrayed her. “Just you wait, Y/N. I’ll be back before you know it—retirement and all.”

And for the first time that day, Y/N felt like things might just be okay.

[fefe-the-cat]

Frithuswith (protagonist of my current wip, Adultery, Assassination)

[1] Frithuswith is immediately beloved by all. She genuinely loves everyone she meets. Major golden retriever energy, but still competent enough to be one of her kingdom's greatest monarchs.

[2] She's a queen consort. She's never alone. But if she was, she'd probably just... vibe, I guess, I don't know.

[3] Grief, specifically the kind that comes from betrayal. She just denies everything. The only reason she believed Eadgifu when she said she seduced Rastislav (her husband) was because Eadgifu was "running too high a fever to be lying" at the time.

[4] Loving almost to a fault and will make everyone aware.

[5] Definitely a good secret keeper seeing as no one found out about the attempt on Rastislav's life. But they all knew Frithuswith used her regency to usurp the throne.

[6] She meant what she said and she said what she meant. An elephant's faithful one hundred percent!

[7] She could probably lie if she wanted to, but she just... doesn't want to.

[8] She will definitely let you know. She's spunky.

[9] I... don't know, actually. Maybe all of them? I think she can adapt.

[10] Frithuswith fell for Rastislav hard and fast, and trusted him blindly.

[11] A crackling fire, a soft blanket, and an opportunity to yap.

[12] Her self-esteem is pretty high, but she's not arrogant. She knows she's flawed, but she also knows worse people can and do exist.

[13] A joke that might take a second to get. A funny one-liner or clever pun.

[14] It depends on the situation. A flustered/crush laugh is a giggle. An amused laugh is a cackle. Then there's that sad laugh. I don't know how to type it, but I'm guessing you all know what it sounds like.

[15] She overthrew her husband because he cheated on her. This question can't be answered because Frithuswith is never around someone she doesn't like. She just kicks them out or leaves.

[16] She's self-reliant but not problematically.

___

[17] The constant fear of being assassinated.

[18] No.

[19] She wouldn't have married Rastislav. She would have kicked and screamed and insisted on her father making an alliance with another country. Or joined a convent. Or run off into the woods.

[20] She just does her darndest to solve the problem. Cheating husband? Kick him out. Girl tried to assassinate him because she's a hitwoman? Give her a new job. She's very practical.

[21] Really depends on how sick. A little sniffle or an upset stomach? Leave her alone. the plague? Please hold her.

[22] She'll have nightmares, but they're more vaguely threatening and they don't happen often. If they do, she doesn't remember them.

[23] During canon. Husband gets plague, finds out husband got plague from cheating on her because mistress is an assassin, has to rule the country and figure out how to deal...

[24] I'd say overthrowing the king was a pretty heart over head decision.

[25] The story is set in what is implied to be Medieval Europe, so I think all her fears were rational and the better question is why isn't she afraid of everything?

[26] If she does, I'm not sure how important it is to the plot. Up to you guys :) She may have a few traits yoinked from autism though. As a treat. Because I'm autistic. But it's entirely open to interpretation.

[27] She doesn't really have a physical appearance. She could be anyone. But my current mental image of her is Jane from My Lady Jane (the TV show).

[28] Forgiveness is complex. It doesn't mean no longer being hurt. It doesn't mean reconciliation. It means intentionally choosing not to hold a grudge and hate that person for the sake of the forgiver. So I really don't know.

[29] Eliminate the cause, cry...

[30] Healthiest: cry, solve problem. Unhealthiest: you could put her quotes on r/rare insults probably

[31] Hmmmm... I think it depends on whether she's aware that what she did was wrong. If she knowingly did something wrong, she'd own up to it quickly and easily, but if it was an accident or only considered wrong by an arbitrary societal standard (e.g. greeting someone with a cat noise, wearing pants around the palace, etc.), she probably won't, at least not without putting up a bit of a fight.

[32] Being so trusting.

[33] Her wedding. Even if the guy turned out to be an adulterous asshole, she still looks back on it as a good day.

___

[34] She's impulsive and naive, but I don't know how insecure she is about that.

[35] Up to interpretation. I didn't give her a physical appearance, nor do I know if/what beauty standards are applicable in the setting, so it's up to everyone else.

[36] Yes, definitely. Her wedding dress and ring, probably.

[37] She doesn't get those. She has a kingdom to run.

[38] It's a castle. It's inherently safe, otherwise purposeless.

[39] Sidesleeper, probably scrunched up, likes to be the little spoon.

[40] It's the Middle Ages. She can't afford that.

[41] Wake up, get dressed by lady/ies-in-waiting, monch.

[42] Cuddle time for both

[43] She's the queen. That's not a thing.

[44] Wherever the people are.

[45] Depends on the event.

[46] Comfort.

[47] Probably, but not much. Maybe a glass of wine or mead with dinner. Maybe a couple on her wedding night.

[48] princess->queen

___

[49] Literate, good at politics (not even a period-typical misogyny thing, King John of England needed a signet ring for a reason)

[50] Really good at knowing what she wants, really bad at wanting things society wants her to want, probably

[51] I refer again to her position in society.

[52] Old English (Frithuswith was named after St. Frithuswith, Patron Saint of Oxford, that's her native language), Czech (Rastislav is named after the king of Moravia in the 860's), and probably Latin (church and stuff)

[53] I feel like they didn't sing much outside of church at that time...

[54] Just tell her what you want and she'll do her best to get it to you :)

[55] It takes three weeks for habits to be developed, so...

[56] Depends. Was it clever? Did the dirt contribute? Is she eating? Are there children present? What's the relationship between the maker of the joke and everyone else present, including but not limited to her?

[57] Nurse the woman who tried to assassinate her husband back to health.

[58] Morals

[59] She doesn't care much about if she's remembered or specifically what for, but if she is remembered, she wants it to be for something good or morally neutral

[60] I think she already did. She usurped the throne. I think that counts, except she can't break the law because she is the law, so...

OC questions

60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)

___

[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?

[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?

[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?

[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?

[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?

[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?

[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?

[9] What is their love language?

[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?

[11] What are small things that make them happy?

[12] How high is their self-esteem?

[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?

[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?

[15] How do they act around people they don't like?

[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?

___

[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?

[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?

[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?

[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?

[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?

[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?

[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?

[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?

[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?

[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?

[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?

[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?

[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?

___

[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?

[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?

[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?

[39] What is their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?

[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?

[41] What’s their usual morning routine?

[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?

[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?

[44] On a party, where would you find them?

[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?

[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?

[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?

[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?

___

[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?

[50] What are they really good and really bad at?

[51] How good are they with money?

[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?

[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?

[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?

[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?

[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?

[59] What would they want to be remembered for?

[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?

---

some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post

[wordbunch]

a/n: to all my moots and friends, no you didn't see me post this and yes im still your comfort lotr girl!!! to all others, hello & welcome to my newest obsession yes I have been corrupted. ENJOY!!!!

emperor Geta headcanons

warnings: toxic behavior obviously lol, mild nsfw-ish mentions, this man should be taken with caution by all means

this man loves like he was starved and then brought to a feast - he inhales and devours every inch of you, every texture, scent, sound, personality trait, quirk, he will eat you UPPPP in every sense of the word; he wants his senses full of you and he can't ever get enough

he is definitely a very obsessive and possessive person, observant, sharp, witty. also when it comes to prayers and sacrifices, he means business - he dead seriously prayed for a wife who was headstrong, intelligent, passionate and fearless; someone who could match him in every way, whom he could verbally spar with, word for word, but also someone who'd have his back unconditionally as he doesn't really have many people to genuinely rely on. he wanted an equal, and he was also hoping for someone either his age or even a bit older - he was afraid of having a childish partner who wouldn't properly fill in a tremendously important role

he is 110% a switch and it fully depends on what kinda day he'd had and the mood he's in

contrary to many interpretations and rumors, he isn't horny 24/7!!!! like yes he IS insanely attracted to you, but his days can be so impossibly draining and tedious so sometimes he would just rather lie down with you and have you close, than do anything else. also, he doesn't do quickies or anything of the sort; he likes to go all in and take his sweet time with you, or let you have your way with him. he enjoys being dedicated and not distracted in bed with you. all in or nothing for this man. and yes he is vocal.

one thing that makes him feel absolutely AMAZING (and you realized quite quickly thankfully)is when you draw him a bath - yes it must be YOU specifically who does it - and then either give him a shoulder rub or wash his hair, or both. he will become putty in your hands and relax more than he can explain in words. pamperrr him sometimes 🥹😭 he finds it so thoughtful that you do this for him at the end of a taxing day; after all, there is nothing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

speaking of, when Geta notices something is off with you, he won't ask if he can make you happy again somehow, he will ask you to name what you want him to do, and he will do it. you are the only person with that effect on him.

most definitely is turned on by someone who is smart and witty and perceptive. also he has very keen eyes and he can read even your slightest signals, even in a crowded room, especially in a crowded room, and he also appreciates when you can read him without him having to verbalize anything to you

the most Protective Person of all time, God forbid someone looks at you wrong!!!

showers you with gifts

you will LOVE this - he likes when you match in some subtle, or obvious, way, like the same pattern on your robes, the same gems on your jewels, anything that shows off your bond and shows that you belong to him and he belongs to you completely. 🤍

almost weekly he has night terrors and horrible dreams either about his childhood/how they were treated by their father, or about something awful happening to you. you always do your best to comfort him, knowing that you're the only one who can do that and the only one allowed to see him in such a state

so you whisper sweet nothings to him, like promises you would never hurt him in any way and that you will always do your best to protect him and love him

touch starved, touch obsessed, cannot sleep without you in the bed, cannot sleep when you are on a journey somewhere and misses you terribly; can barely wait for you to return and then grip you in his arms and just breathe you in

obsessed with your scent

very often you are his impulse control and you just have the power to center him when he's losing his grip on a situation

he is so used to being in control (or having to be), that he will really spiral when a situation is getting out of hand and he feels not powerful enough to stop or change something. he is really bad at holding it together when shit is going down, and half the time he seems to be two steps away from a breakdown. honestly, sometimes you just have to let him rage, panic, and vent it out in whatever way, and he will come back to himself- and to your embrace-shortly.

he needs your approval and appreciation like air. if you don't think he is doing a good job, if you don't think (and show) he is smart, capable, if he isn't the center of your universe, nothing else matters at all

he will combust if he doesn't have at least a hand on you at all times

sometimes he still can't believe how you love him - people who touch him usually either want something from him, fear him, despise him, or all those - your gentle touch is an unfamiliar, yet welcome sensation; he can't get enough.

let's be real he can get anything he wants from you when he looks at you with those gigantic brown eyes, but somehow he seems unaware of that (and you already give him everything anyway)

if big gatherings and constant celebrations aren your thing, he will not let you out of his sight and, as much as you need him there to comfort you, he needs you on his arm to feel happy, safe and fulfilled. you just complete each other. 💛

as much as he enjoys every single loving nickname you give him, especially if you call him 'your' anything - your love, your darling, your heart, your pride and joy - but even more he will melt if you just call him by his name, as one of the very few (if not only) person who utters it with love, softness, adoration...unlike many who spit it out hatefully like poison

Geta feels veryyyy smug and proud of himself when he does an act of service for you, such as giving you a massage or bringing you a drink - look at him, he gets served things left and right, but he remains SO devoted to you only.

well, was that something? leave it to me to humanize the worst (actually historical) person ever and give him some PROPER FLUFF🫠

[unacknowledgeable]

Serial killer reader x yan!Batfam (bc who doesn’t like seeing reader finally go batshit crazy?)

This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while, so Imma toss it out here. A slim layout of it and testing the waters ig lol

 WARNING for disturbing imagery, animal abuse, broken bones, mentions of child neglect (obviously)

Reader arrives at the manor at the ripe ol’ age of 8, near fresh off the crime scene of their mothers murder

None of the transition is handled well, which, its Gotham so what do you expect really, so no real systems are put in place to help this child not only deal with a brand new environment, but also having just watched your mom brutally murdered in front of you

Bruce is already  5 years deep into batmanning shenanigans, with Dick 4 years into being robin

Since you weren't as obviously volatile as Dick was when his parents were murdered, Bruce didn't really see letting you in on the nightly activities as necessary

You never really pushed hard for a relationship with Bruce, believing that he was distant because you were not a choice, unlike Dick.

Your mom used to get like that, sometimes. she’d always been truthful about you being an accident, would close herself off for awhile, but at least she always came back, or she use too

You had Alfred, sure, but his experience with grieving children mostly involved allowing them to swear vengeance on all crime sooo, he’s more of a “I'll try to solve your problem, even though what you're needing is someone to comfort and listen to you” 

But you can't really fix the problem of a very dead mother

So you’re never really given a space to process, and it definitely festers

So what is a small child left to do with no real outlet for the terrible things they've witnessed? Well… recreation is a start.

You were left to your own devices quite often, and the manors grounds are so so big, so it's easy to see how you got away with your… activities, for awhile

Squirrels, birds, frogs, any animal small enough to fit into your tiny little hands, all met their end by them

It isn't until you’re a few years into your new school, that you catch a bird and show your classmates just how fragile and “cute” its bones were, and the funny little tweets it made when you snapped them

And your friends try to stop you, saying its wrong and mean, that the tight grip you have on the bird is "hurting” it, that you’re crazy and horrible

So you decide to just show your friends how wrong they are, that it's just a game

Soon, the teacher comes running over at the sounds of shouts and screaming, and finds a child with a broken arm, and a robin with a broken neck

With the reader stood above them, yelling that their friends aren't playing the game right

……………………………………

Alfred is the one who comes to get you, as Bruce is busy with something and he’s just absolutely beside himself, how did this happen? How hadn't he noticed anything?

He rushes through the necessities, assuring that all damages will be paid for, agrees to have you transferred to a different class then the boys whose arm you broke instead of being expelled (the wonders of unimaginable wealth)

The drive back to the manor (manor, not home, never home) is quiet, the silence is suffocating, for both of you, 

You’re mostly confused, you never really hid your “games” while at the manor, at least not on purpose, you'd just always wash up before going inside, not wanting to get anything dirty

And Alfred is angry, mostly at himself, he prided himself on his ability to see everything, to always know, but this? He was completely blindsided.

So yes he's angry, not really at you, but you don't know that, you can only see the slight shake of his shoulders, the white knuckled grip on the wheel, the frown pulling his wrinkled face and the furrow of his brow

And all you hear is the quiet, ”Never do such a thing again”, as the car pulled up the driveway to the manor

That very night, Bruce brings Jason to the manor

And the urgent conversation Alfred planned on having with Bruce fell to the wayside

That's some of what I’ve got so far lol, there's… a lot more honestly. The brain worms are hard at work. Hope you enjoyed!

[aventurineswife]

Gepard, Sampo, Ratio, Aventurine and Boothill react that reader has turned into a child by someone or something

From Giant to Child, You Are Still You

Tags: Gepard x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Protective Characters, Humor, Can be ready Romantically or Platonically, Lighthearted, Transformation Chaos, Caretaking, Humor, Character Bonds.

Gepard stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight before him. You—his steadfast companion—had somehow been transformed into a small child. Clutching a plush toy you seemed to have conjured out of nowhere, you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tiny hand reaching out for his.

“What happened to you?” he murmured, crouching down to your level. He couldn’t hide the worry etched into his features. He was a soldier, trained to face terrifying monsters, but this? This was entirely out of his depth.

You tilted your head, giving him a toothy grin. “Gepard, you look funny! Your armor is so shiny!”

He couldn't help but chuckle despite the situation. “Well, at least your spirit hasn’t changed.” He reached out, gently patting your head, careful not to startle you. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to reverse this transformation. Until then, he swore to himself he’d protect you even more fiercely than before.

For now, though, he’d carry you on his shoulder and let you tug at his hair, your laughter bringing a rare lightness to his heart.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Sampo’s teasing voice broke through the silence as he crouched down to inspect the tiny version of you tugging at his coat. “My favorite customer has shrunk! How did this happen? Was it some experiment gone wrong, or did you just decide being an adult wasn’t worth the hassle?”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “It wasn’t my fault! Someone did this to me!”

Sampo smirked, ruffling your hair in an almost brotherly way. “Relax, kiddo, I’ll get you back to normal…eventually. But in the meantime, imagine the opportunities! You’re smaller, sneakier—this could work in my favor.”

You glared up at him, your tiny stature doing little to make it intimidating. “Sampo, this isn’t funny!”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s a little funny,” he chuckled, scooping you up into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. Besides, you’re too adorable for anyone to resist now.” He winked.

Despite his lighthearted tone, Sampo kept a close watch on you. As much as he liked to joke, the thought of you being in danger in this vulnerable state didn’t sit right with him. Whoever caused this had better be ready for a reckoning—Sampo Koski style.

Ratio stared down at you, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. “This has to be some kind of joke,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How, exactly, did you manage to turn into a child? Was it a poorly thought-out experiment? Some unstable phenomenon?”

You blinked up at him, hugging his leg for comfort. “I didn’t mean to! Fix it, Ratio!”

He sighed, kneeling to your level. “This complicates things. I can’t have you running around in this state. You’ll break something—or worse, touch my research.” His sharp tone made you shrink back, but his expression softened when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly, awkwardly patting your head. “I’ll figure it out.” He picked you up, carefully cradling you as if you were made of glass.

While he worked to reverse the transformation, Ratio found himself unexpectedly entertained by your childlike curiosity. You tugged at the straps of his vest, asking endless questions about the glowing gadgets in his lab. To his surprise, he found himself answering, even if the explanations went over your head.

For all his protests, Ratio’s protective nature shone through. He kept you close, determined to return you to normal—but not without muttering under his breath about the trials of babysitting.

The opulent suite was alive with the faint hum of energy panels and the clinking of Aventurine’s rings as he flipped a coin lazily between his fingers. Seated at a velvet chaise, he seemed the epitome of nonchalance, but his sharp eyes flicked over the room with calculated precision. He never truly relaxed.

Until you came bursting in—or rather, toddled in.

The sound of small feet padding across the marbled floor drew his attention, and the coin stopped mid-air as he caught it deftly. His smirk faltered.

"Well, well," he said, sliding off the chaise and crouching to your level. His voice was syrupy, teasing, but there was a hint of genuine confusion behind it. "What do we have here? Did you get lost on your way to daycare, darling?"

You tilted your head up at him, your now tiny face scrunched in distress. "A-Aventurine, it’s me!"

His smile froze. For a moment, his flamboyant mask cracked, and genuine alarm flickered across his features. Then, in true Aventurine fashion, he burst out laughing, though it was an uneasy sound.

"Oh, you must be joking!" he exclaimed, standing abruptly and running a hand through his hair. "No, wait—this isn’t a joke, is it?" His eyes locked onto yours, scanning for some sign of trickery.

"I don’t know what happened!" you wailed, tugging at his pant leg. "One minute I was normal, and now I’m—this!"

Aventurine crouched again, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his chin. "Fascinating. You’re—what? Cursed? Experimented on? Fell into some eldritch goo, perhaps?" His words were light, but his tone betrayed his rising concern.

"I don’t know!" you replied, stomping your tiny foot.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No need to throw a tantrum. We’ll figure this out. But first—" He scooped you up with surprising ease, spinning you around as if assessing a new casino trinket. "Look at you! You’re adorable! Almost makes me wish I could shrink down and start over myself."

You scowled, your childlike pout only adding to the adorableness. "Aventurine!"

He sighed dramatically, setting you down on the chaise. "Fine, fine. I’ll help you fix this. But you owe me big time, darling. Babysitting isn’t in my job description."

Despite his usual carefree attitude, Aventurine’s actions were swift and decisive as he began making calls and weaving his web of connections to find out what—or who—had caused this. Every so often, he glanced your way, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Guess it’s my turn to be the responsible adult..." he muttered under his breath.

The sound of spurs clinking against the metallic floor echoed through the dimly lit saloon-like cantina. Boothill leaned against the bar, his hat tilted low over his white hair, a toothy grin flashing as he polished one of his pistols.

Then the sound of soft, uneven footsteps reached his ears. They were far too light to belong to one of the Galaxy Rangers or any of the usual drunks who frequented the place. He straightened, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

When you stumbled into view—half your usual size, your tiny hands gripping the edge of a table for balance—Boothill froze.

“...Sugar?” His voice was rough, skeptical. He crouched slightly, his red scarf brushing the floor. “The fudge happened to you?”

“It’s me!” you squeaked, tears welling up in your now much smaller eyes.

Boothill blinked. “No kiddin’.” He stood straight, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the back of his head. “Well, ain’t this somethin’. You look like a calf that wandered outta the pen.”

You glared at him, though the effect was more precious than intimidating. “Boothill, stop joking! This is serious!”

He let out a low whistle, crouching again so you could see his shark-like grin. “Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket. Just...how’d this happen? Someone shrink ray ya? Drink somethin’ funky?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, stamping your little foot. “One minute I was fine, and the next—poof!”

Boothill’s grin faded, replaced by a contemplative look as he reached out, ruffling your hair gently with his mechanical fingers. “Alright, darlin’. Don’t you worry none. We’ll get ya fixed up.” He stood, drawing one of his pistols with a dramatic flourish. “But first, let’s figure out who’s behind this. You reckon it’s the IPC? Wouldn’t put it past those varmints to mess with folks like this.”

You shook your head, sniffling. “I don’t know…”

Boothill sighed, holstering his gun before scooping you up in one arm. “Guess you’ll just hafta stick with ol’ Boothill for a bit. Hope you ain’t too squirmy, kiddo.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, Boothill’s protective side shone through as he carried you out of the cantina, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. “Don’t fret,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Ain’t nothin’ out there that can outdraw me. We’ll get ya back to normal in no time.”

You buried your face in his scarf, finding comfort in its warmth. Boothill’s grin returned, this time softer, as he adjusted his hat.

“Reckon you’re lucky to have me, huh?” he teased, spurs clinking as he strode confidently into the unknown.

[kedreeva]

A couple months back, my neighbor wanted to get some Spitzhauben hatching eggs for his wife, so he asked me for help finding some good ones, from a good breeder. So I dug around for a bit, since Spitz are a bit of a rare breed, and found a few options that looked decent. One of them happened to be in Michigan with us, maybe a little over an hour from us, so I arranged to go pick them up in person to avoid the stresses of shipping on the eggs.

I picked up a dozen (baker's dozen, she added a few extra just in case), and a half dozen of the Marans eggs for myself (she gave me a discount because fertility hadn't been tested yet, as long as I promised to report growth/hatch rate and update about what comes out) because she claimed to have good quality and her eggs looked to be decent quality. She was really nice, very chatty, and the eggs looked great in person, too.

12 of the spitz eggs hatched, and 3 of the BCM. The BCM chicks looked great but they were being stressed OUT by the quail chicks they were in with, so I snuck them into the brooder with the spitz when I closed up the neighbor's birds one evening while they were out.

I've visited them a few times since, and they've been looking good, but they're finally to an age where on the BCM you can tell sex- perfect ratio, one rooster, two hens.

Now, I used to keep and breed BCM a long time ago. I had wanted to get into showing (never got around to it for several reasons), and I'd dealt with several lines. My original line that I'd mixed from a couple different people always produced REALLY stellar roosters- big lads with sweet, docile personalities that were 100% ready to die for their ladies, whom they always treated well. For roosters, those are all REALLY important qualities. The ideal is a rooster that treats his ladies well, is willing to fight to the death to defend them if something comes after them BUT--- importantly can tell the difference between a predator and a human who is messing with the hens (picking up, moving, treating w/ meds, whatever). Ideally, if a hen makes a noise of distress, the rooster come BOLTING to her at top fucking speed ready to kick ass, but stops dead if he sees it's just a human. And I HAD that- I used to sell the roosters to folks (SELL them, I never had to give away a rooster) as flock protectors, and I would get people coming back to buy another after their guy died defending the girls while free ranging. It's sad, but it's also one of two reasons to have a rooster.

And I see all the time people posting about their mean roosters, about how to handle roosters that are mean to humans, or people telling others oh the rooster is just young and roosters are mean when they're young and they'll mellow out when they get older, just keep putting up with it. Power through.

NO! There is almost* NEVER a reason to tolerate a nasty rooster- one that's mean to the girls, or to humans. This BCM rooster is only a few months old, but you can already see the purpose that's been bred into him. I picked up one of his girls and she went :( and he came RUNNING over to see what was wrong, looked me up and down and went nah that's cool, and then checked on all the other girls. Just in case. I went to move them from their cage to the big play pen that's set up for them, and I thought oh this is going to be a circus, trying to catch them all. The Spitzhauben were acting insane, like I was trying to kill them by looking at them. I braced the carry bin on the edge of the door, expecting to reach in to (try to) grab each bird and put them in. But no. This rooster walked over, got in, called the others, and they all chilled right out, came over and jumped into the bin with him. He's in the playpen right now just watching over all the others. If someone gets into an argument, he runs over and gets between them, and then checks on them both after. When he lies down, the others come lie down with him. On him.

THIS is what a good rooster looks like. Not in a year, not in two years. Right from the getgo, the instincts are all there. Hormones shouldn't eliminate/supercede this behavior- they shouldn't turn a bird into an asshole. They should instigate a second set of rooster behaviors- dancing/courting, tidbitting, and mating attempts. Running girls ragged, pulling feathers, causing injury, attacking people- these are all poor breeding and/or handling problems. These are things that can (and SHOULD) be selected against when breeding fowl

*The "almost" never is that a breeder starting out may not have a choice when it comes to shitty personalities- they may find themselves having to tolerate the least shitty for a few generations, until the personalities show improvement. In this case, most (good) breeders know better than to dump the wash outs on the unsuspecting, and will instead do hard culls for food or sell to folks raising food or who are aware of the personality problems. In any case any tolerance should be an in-progress tolerance, not an endgame result.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: hello. i am late again. i almost gave up but we are here. for better or for worse. i will most likely go back ad edit the second half again ok love u guys mwahmwah

Previous part || Series masterlist

Only after hours, nay, a full day of hunching over his desk, eyes red-rimmed and burning, four crushed cans of energy drinks next to him lending to him the nervous energy of a chihuahua, Bucky realises that there’s no beating it.

He absentmindedly takes another sip of the RedBull, flinching when the taste registers. Either he’d reached his threshold or the medicine flavour had begun morphing into something else entirely. The caffeine didn’t even work on him, so really, he was just placebo-ing himself into having energy. 

Every site he’s visited has had a vastly different interpretation; ones that don't match what he thinks has been happening, or the context past his past provides. Others are simply blatantly wrong based on the additional research he, in his infinite wisdom and totally accurate self-assessment tendencies, has been gathering in the last 3 days. 

The Star. Six of Cups. The Hanged Man.

Bucky knows he could ask someone in real life about this, someone who possibly had more experience than a simple website whose code broke every time he tried to scroll to the bottom. However, that would mean that he had to tell them his dead sister was probably haunting him out of her spite and hatred for the very fibres of his being.

Also, Bucky may be haunted by his dead relatives, but he’s not haunted enough to actually leave his room over it. 

Video consultations were also an option, but he’s convinced that if word got out that Bucky Barnes was half-convinced ghosts were following him around, it would make headlines for a mighty long week. 

Therefore, he resorts to shady, online websites that demand he pay up before giving him the results of the readings they’ve done for him. 

The “lady” that he paid to talk to using Steve’s credit card on mistytarot.com types for a very long time before a message comes through.

The thought bubble disappears for another half an hour, and Bucky thinks hat either she is a complete scam, or it’s run by someone who is about as technologically proficient as Steve was. 

But a message does in fact come through, and it’s enough to have him be covninced that the 20 bucks he blew on Steve’s card was worth it. 

Lady Lilia 

Considering that you think you’re being haunted, The Star could represent the absence of hope. Do you feel like you’re being trapped in darkness? As if you are being abandoned by the universe and with no room for healing?

B. Barneswell i forgot about it until now

Lady Lilia If your sister passed away a long time ago, the reason The Six of Cups may have presented itself is because you may be feeling like you're ensnared in the past, constantly reliving moments that hurt or confuse you, rather than finding peace. 

A frown grows on his face. 

Lady Lilia If you’re haunted by a person who used to be in your life and it is reminding you of past mistakes, The Hanged Man could be because feel like you're stuck in a cycle of stagnation, unable to move forward, as if these spirits are keeping you suspended in a state of emotional paralysis. 

However, if the cards were upright–

Bucky slams the laptop shut, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, his phone lights up with the fifth missed call in the last ten minutes, but considering that he keeps that thing on silent, he never even noticed.

Shoving aside whatever he may be thinking for the moment, he checks the caller ID, only for feelings of confusion and despair to be immediately replaced with annoyance, or disgust even. 

He calls back anyway, preparing for the worst. 

“Did you drink all my RedBull?” Clint booms the second he picks up.

“No,” Bucky lies smoothly.

“Fucker, I know it was you. Pay me back. With interest.”

“No.”

Clint switches to whining. “You know I need that shit to stay awake at night. Some of us don’t have superhero cocaine in our system.”

“I don’t care, go to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Say, did you drink every last one?” Clint instantly switches to a curious tone for a second. “Because one of them’s not like the others.”

Bucky looks at the cans that littered his bedroom floor. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you what it is over the phone.”  

“Why?” 

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly allowed in the country, but–”

Bucky cuts the call and tosses it onto the bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, softly exhaling while contemplating whether or not to continue the chat. Steve wouldn’t miss another 20 dollars, he had the wealth of a small prince with all that army back pay bullshit. In fact, Steve should ideally be funding more of Bucky’s endeavours. 

There comes a knock at his door.

Bucky immediately leaps off the bed, sprinting to the door, because he fuckin knows that knock, goddamn it–

He throws open the door before you get the chance to full body slam against it.

“Oh.” You blink, relaxing away from your stance. “Hey. How’d you know–”

“You do this every week,” he breaks in. “You do this multiple times a day.” 

“Don’t you dare say I’m predictable,” you warn, raising a finger. “I’ll start crying right here, then you’ll have to deal with that. You wanna see snot running down my–”

Bucky slams the door shut again, waiting to turn around. 

“Can you take me to the doctor?” Your voice is muffled through the solid wood.

It’s enough to make him hesitate, hand on the doorknob.

“What’s wrong with you?” he inquires.. 

“Nothing, I’m perfect,” you reply instinctively, before course correcting, “Wait, no, I’m sick.”  

He lets his head drop against the door. “Go to the fucking infirmary.”

“The infirmary told me to go to the hospital. Can you just take me?” you bug. “They won’t discharge me unless I have someone with me to drive me back.”

“You have a head injury?” Bucky asks, before following it with, “Actually, that tracks.”

“Rude.” 

“Ask Nat.”

“Nat’s in Lagos.”

“Ask Sam.” 

“Yoga.”

“Clint.”

“Really.”

“Glad to know I’m your first choice,” he mumbles, opening up the door. 

You send him a blistering smile. “You’re my favourite choice.” 

______

“You gotta take this turn,” you instruct, too close to the actual crossing. 

“The nearest hospital’s five minutes away, what the hell are you talking about?“ he points out, eyes on the road. 

“We’re going to the one on King’s Road,” you read off of Google maps. “Take that lef-– well, you missed that. Now you gotta make a u-turn.”

“What’s the problem with Chastain Park?” he demands. “King’s Road is half an hour away.”

“This one’s got all my files,” you insist. “Otherwise I gotta start over and it's so much effort.”

“Aren’t you in a database?”

“Yeah, but not a medical one.”

Bucky lets out something akin to a growl and a groan. “What's the time?”

“Like eight thirty?”

“What’s the time,” he emphasises, because he most definitely had another email due from another lady on the internet who he had sent his cards to a few hours ago. 

“Fine, it’s eight twenty two,” you shoot back.  “Did that make a big difference?”

“Yeah, it did actually,” he fires indignantly, “My life is radically different. You have no way of knowing.”

“Liar. You’re a lying liar, who lies.” You scoff. “And details are for losers.”

“Losers can drive all the way back to drop you off at the infirmary and let them deal with you.”

You relent, flashing him a grin. “This won’t take long.”

“You say this every fuckin’ time,” he groans, before complying and taking a u-turn anyway.

“You’re fucking joking,” he states. 

“No, it’s actually called lying,” you correct casually.  

“Is this an abandoned hospital? What the fuck?” Bucky asks, staring up at the huge decaying building.  

The outside looks run-down, with cracked, weathered brick walls and broken windows. The entrance is blocked off with rusted gates, some sections of which have fallen over. As the car rolls up, the air is thick with a musty, damp smell, mixed with a faint odor of decay.

“Yes,” you say simply, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out all the supplies you had from last time. “Video time. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Bucky mumbles. “I’d have showed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “You famously never do.”

That’s fair, but also, that was the old Bucky. The new Bucky circa this week is a bit more… invested. He feels the need to gather some more information, and unfortunately, the only opportunity to do that is here.

So for the time being, he decides he will hang on. For purely selfish reasons. 

“Just tell me next time,” he grunts. 

You observe him for a second like you're about to call him out on something, but instead you simply say, “Okay.”

Bucky grabs his usual stuff– the spirit box, a lapel mic, while you levitate the camera. 

“Hello?”

You both look beyond the camera at the same time to someone stalking up to you.

“Who’s there?” demands a middle aged woman with straw blonde hair, wrinkles decorating sunburnt skin, and a navy blue jacket. 

“Uh–”

“Who are you?” she asks, cautiously stopping a few feet away.  

“We’re here on a video shoot,” you inform. “Just wanted to check the place out.”

“Oh, you’re one of them camera folk,” she says, ponting her flashlight at you. “Those ghost hutner types.”

“That’s us,” you agree, flinching from the bright light. “We're from The Graveyard Shift.”

“Who are you?” Bucky cuts in, because why should only the both of you explain. 

“I’ve been working security here for the last thirty years.” She shines her flashlight at the musty place. “Name’s Brenda.”

“Why does an abandoned hospital need a security guard?” Bucky inquires. 

“Management just underwent a shift. White collars are setting up a mall here, so they bought up the whole place, fired everyone and now they’re gonna build an all year ski world or something in there.” There’s a tick in her jaw as she draws it out. “Whole damn place is cursed. They better hope it only burns down.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving Bucky a sideways glance. “Anyway, we’re gonna go check out the place. See if we can find some ghosts.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, alright. Everyone who was collateral damage in the buyout is still in there.” Her voice is distant, arm coming to rest on her hip.  “You’ll have to hit up specific rooms. Y’all got a floorplan?”

“No, figured we’d just wing it.” You pause. “Hospital wing it.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies on instinct. 

“You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in there if y’all dont know where youre’ heading. It’s a maze,” she continues, ignoring your brilliant joke. “I can show you the rooms, but I can’t guarantee that it has ghosts in there.”  

“Uhhh—” you begin. 

“It’ll cut down your time in half.”

“Deal,” Bucky says immediately, sticking out his hand for a shake.

Brenda sticks out her hand too, only to wince immediately, following it up with a curse.

“What’s wrong?” you interject.

“Damn back’s killing me,” she mutters. “You’d think death would stop the pain, but it’s not let up yet. Come on then.”

Both of your eyebrows knit together at her statement, but she leaves no room for a reply as she marches inward, one hand on the small of her spine. 

Bucky elects to use his phone flashlight, as if he keeps that shit charged above 40% at any given point of time. If anything is not going to make it out of the night alive, it was that thing. 

The air inside is stale and heavy, filled with the scent of mildew and old, rusted metal. All three of your footsteps echo in the silence, reverberating through empty halls with each cautious step. The moonlight  in conjunction with the flashlight casts long, unsettling shadows. The faint taste of dust lingers in the back of Bucky’s throat that he cannot get rid of. 

“Y’all gonna sleep in here tonight?” Brenda pipes up, swinging her flashlight around.

You look at Bucky with a grin that’s alarming.

His face immediately pulls into one of “What the fuck”

“No, we aren’t,” you announce instead. “But do people do that often?”

“You’d be surprised,” she comments. “You’re not the first folks we’ve had here with those fancy shmancy gadgets.”

“That explains how you have a tour all planned.” 

“We get a bunch of you every couple of months.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Bucky cuts in.

She pays him no need. “Y’all run a podcast?”

Bucky looks personally affronted. “No, we do not.”

“We run a YouTube channel,” you offer instead. “It’s for ghosts and stuff.”

“I see,” she considers, tone thoughtful. “So, this will go up online?” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky murmurs.

“Have you caught ghosts before?”

“Not even one–”

“Several,” you chirp. “And we have a witch cat. Her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “Since when is her name Alpine?”

“I gave her a bunch of options and she told me she liked that best.”

“The cat can’t talk.”

“To you. She and I chat shit everyday,” you dish back. “She hates that stupid fern in your room, she says it smells.”

That fucking fern was not even his idea. But Sam got it for him when he moved in, so there was a zero percent chance it would be leaving any time soon. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“Y’all got a large following?” Brenda interrupts.

“Building towards it.” You look at her before looking at Bucky. “Once we hit a sizable amount and Bucky becomes an official internet boyfriend, we’ll stop the series.”

He sends you a withering look. “We’ll be doing this till I die.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves you,” you dismiss. “You’re a pretty boy and extremely irritable. They think you’re hilarious.”

 His nose twitches, and he feels the need to clear his throat. 

“Your camera records ghosts?” Brenda asks again. 

“We’ve got a bunch of devices. We’ll catch it,” you sound confident. 

“Great, because here’s the first stop,” she says, pressing her shoulder onto a double door.

The door groans as she pushes, its hinges protesting with a long, rusty screech, the cold metal heavy under her hand. A stale gust of air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of rot as the door finally gives way.

She steps back with a small huff, stretching her back with a small, “Shit.”

The pale blue walls had turned greenish, wallpaper peeling away. Counters were covered with a thin layer of dust. Old tools laid unused on the surgical table, once stainless steel but now rusted. 

“A lotta deaths happened in this operating theatre,” she imparts after a bout of stretching. “They thought this place was cursed for a while.” 

The sterile, tiled walls are cracked and chipped, and the old surgical lights hang dim, their bulbs long burned out. The air still lingers with antiseptic that’s long since turned sour.

Bucky feels a little too acquainted with this setting. 

He doesn’t even realise his silence is palpable until you nudge his side, drawing his attention sharply back to you. 

“You doin’ okay?” you whisper.  

“Fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the tools and towards you.

It only twists his stomach a little. It makes him think of how different his reactions used to be even a few years go. 

“Old, dingy hospitals may not have been the best idea,” you admit to him, using the flashlight to shine a light in the corner. 

It occurs to him a second later once he forces himself to compartmentalise. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low. 

“Yeah,” you reply, slowly looking around. “Just looks like my nursery.”

A small crease forms between his eyebrows. 

“Not gonna lie, mine was way prettier. Lot more mould on the walls,” you continue, tone light. “You know, timeless decor.”

His nose lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh. “Leviathan not into blood stain wallpaper?”

“Couldn’t afford it. Fuckin’ place kept referring to itself as Hydra’s sister org but had none of the budget,” you say, swiping a finger across the dust. “You’d think that at least some of the people that left would give alumni donations, but no.”

Bucky snickers at jokes literally no one else would laugh at. It feels good for once, not to feel the need to censor himself to make others less uncomfortable. 

You take a step forward, camera following behind you. 

You shine the flashlight around the room, noting all the surgical trays piled together. 

But something flashes on the ceiling. 

You swing your flashlight toward it immediately, only for the table beside you a few inches away to start rolling, making a loud whining noise as it did, snapping your attention towards it.  

By the time you finally bring the light back up towards the ceiling, it’s gone. 

“What the–” you mumble. 

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up from where he was scrolling through his phone. 

“Could’a sworn I saw–” you frown at the empty space now, only an old defunct looking camera staring back at you. 

“Red eyes?” Brenda inquires, looking at you. “Yeah, that happens.”

Bucky glances up at you, and then the wall. “Probably just the lens glare.”

You scrunch up your face at her. “How’d you know it was red eyes?” 

“That’d be the spirit of ol’ Doctor Damon, chief of neuro,” she says. “You’ll find him here or his cabin, but that’s a few floors away. He never liked climbing the stairs.” 

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges monotonously. 

“When he worked here, he spent so long in surgery that his eyes were always bloodshot. One day he just dropped dead from exhaustion,” Brenda explains. “So his spirit walks around here, red eyes, wheeling surgery tables waiting for the next patient.”

“What’s he doing on the ceiling?” Bucky questions, going back to his phone. “He did his surgeries suspended midair?” 

“Are you trying to gatekeep the ceiling?” you scoff. “Have you never seen Spiderman hanging upside down for fun?” 

Bucky finally lifts his sight from the phone. “The doctor is not an insect superhero, he would have no reason to be hanging upside down–”

“How would you know if he’s a superhero or not? What if he was bitten by a bat?” you challenge. “Like a bat…guy. Batman.”

He jeers. “Then he’s got a stupid codename.”

“Oh, and Captain America is poetic genius.”

“At least Sam has a codename, where’s yours?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe you should have paid attention when your mother was screaming it las-”

“Shall we move on?” Brenda asks calmly. 

“Yes,” the both of you reply simultaneously. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at you, almost as if she’d seen it all in her lifetime. 

“Besides, sometimes you can see him sitting on one of the operating tables. He doesn’t just hang out on the ceiling like… bat…man,” she explains, leading the way back out. 

“See?” 

“See what?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “There’s nothing to see. That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You shove him lightly. 

Bucky bites back a grin.

_____

The morgue is silent. 

The ceiling is low and chipped, streaked with stains of old water damage, the paint fallen away in patches. 

Against one wall, old, disused morgue drawers stand open and half-broken, the once-sleek stainless steel now speckled with rust. Some of the drawers are bent out of shape, while others are stuck, sealed tight from years of neglect. Inside some of the open drawers, tattered, yellowed tags hang loosely from the handles, swaying gently as the chill air moves through the room.

“This room’s self explanatory,” she says. “Sometimes, you can hear spirits still trying to claw their way out of the drawers but they never open.”

“Skill issue,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, oh my God,” you whisper-yell, still mouth pulling into a thin line to stop from laughing. 

“What?” Brenda asks, suddenly from near the drawers. 

You had no idea when she even went there. 

“Nothing,” you reply, before thoughtfully asking, “Bucky, truth or dare?”

“No.”

“Dare it is.” You shine a flashlight at one of the closed drawers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get in one of them for a few seconds. Let’s see if the ghosts come at you.”

“You're deranged,” he replies, incredulous. 

“It’s for science,” you insist. “How else will you know for sure?”

“I’m sure it’ll be comfortable,” Brenda quips. “Like a coffin.”

The both of you look at her together in silence.

She shrugs. “It’s what I’ve heard from them.” 

You look at her for a second more, before turning to Bucky. “Anyway, if you want I’ll come lie in there with you.”

“How does that make it better?” he exclaims. “I am not lying in the morgue.”

“Even if I’m in there with you?”

“That’s even worse–”

There’s a loud knock from one of the drawers on Brenda’s side. She looks down at it, almost like she was expecting it. Soon, there are further loud thuds that come from inside the remaining drawers. 

“Hey, Magda,” she calls, before more knocks come from inside. “You’ve got visitors. Say hello.”

You grab the spirit box from behind Bucky’s ear and hold it in the direction of the wall. Nothing registers.

“Animals,” he answers the question hanging in the air calmly. 

“The spirits?” Brenda replies. “They’re not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, a few of the drawers start rattling on their own accord.

You look at Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he carps. “I’m not gonna go lie down in there, if that’s what you want.”

“Come on, take one for the team,” you whine. 

“You take one for the team.” 

“I’m literally the one pulling all the weight around here. You do it.”

Bucky doesn’t agree with you on the last part, but the first one is undisputably right. He makes a mental note to start contributing a fuckton more if he plans on continuing on in the series. 

The rattling around comes to a halt eventually. 

“If none of you want to get in there, should we move to the next one?” Brenda points to the door. 

“Yes, please,” you confirm, sending Bucky a glare.

She leads the way up the stairs while you both follow, bickering and shoving lightly.

Once upstairs, Bucky glances down the hall, only to  see a large double door that is noticeably different from the rest you’ve seen so far. There’s a fading rainbow drawn on the front, little footsteps painted onto the floor leading towards it.

Bucky hesitates, steps faltering. “Is that the children’s ward?”

“Yes,” Brenda looks over her shoulder briefly. 

For a second, he wonders. Whether it was worth a shot. He hadn’t heard from her since the incident at the house, and the tarot cards have been suggesting nothing but reasons to believe she may actually be there.  

“Are we going to check that out?” he asks. 

“No, there’s nothing there,” she shrugs it off. “No spirits. I’ve asked the others too.” 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sure?”

You shoot him an odd look that he refuses to meet. 

“Yep. Next stop’s the other way.”

Bucky spares the doors another long look, before traversing down the hallway with you. 

“Why do you wanna go to the children’s ward?” you query, voice low. 

“Just thought it was worth checking out,” he replies, voice steady.  

“We can always make a run for it and go check.”

“No,” he says, giving you a curt shake of his head, “it’s alright.”

“We’re right down this way,” Brenda calls, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Coming!” you call back before spinning to Bucky. “Hey.”

“What?” he responds, moving at his own brisk pace. 

You tug him back with you with force. 

“What are you doing–’ he hisses.

You link your arm with Bucky’s, pulling him along with you as you walk, shutting him up. He eyes your elbow looped with his and the proximity with which you walked beside him and all of a sudden, the back of his neck feels quite warm, extending down to his chest.

“I think Brenda’s a ghost,” you tell him casually.

Bucky stops in his path, drawn very much back to reality. 

“Keep walking,” you grit through a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Why else is she totally chill with the ghosts here-”

“Because there aren’t any. It’s animals.”

“Why is she saying coffins are comfortable? Why is she talking to the ghosts and knowing exactly where they are and aren’t?”

“I can make shit up too, look,” Bucky comments enthusiastically. “Oh, down the hall is the isolation room. You’ll hear heavy breathing because that’s where the tuberculosis patients were–”

“That’s one of the isolation rooms,” Brenda’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s next up.”

You yank your arm away from Bucky when he blinks, a bit surprised himself. 

“Are you dead?” you whisper-yell.

“Only ‘cause the government declared it,” he sighs. “Do you know what a fuckin’ pain it is to get undead.” 

“Come on.” Brenda beckons to the both of you with her flashlight. 

With a slight shove, the door to the room swings open easily, but the smell of old paper and mildew floods your senses. 

The bed is now a rusted, sagging frame, the thin mattress long since torn and discolored with age. The once-clean sheets have yellowed and frayed, with remnants of old stains. Thin, brittle blankets lie in a heap on the floor.

The walls are bare, save for a few faded medical charts and broken instruments that were left behind in haste. The small window that once offered a faint glimpse of the outside is now cracked and filthy. The weak, filtered light that struggles through the dust-covered glass barely illuminates the room. 

“Patients who were highly contagious were quarantined here. Some of them died without family by their side, so you can still hear their cries. Some of them have problems breathing, so sometimes you’ll hear it through the vents,” Brenda explains. 

“I bet,” Bucky drags out, sending you a “I fuckin’ told you so” look.. 

Down the hall, something makes a loud sound, almost like something had crashed into the floor. 

All three of you turn towards it. 

Brenda’s face flickers for a moment before turning back to its regular calm. 

“I think someone’s angry,” she decides. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” you offer.

“I’ll be okay, I’ve known these people all my life. We’re friends,” she comforts. “Oh, sometimes if you look out the door, you’ll see shadows of people in the waiting room down the hall. They’re just old families lingering around, hoping for better results but they always leave upset.”

“Is there no way to get them out of here?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Unless you find a way to fix their disappointment, I doubt they'll leave. They’ll stick around until something improves or changes.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the implication. If that were truly the case, and not just something he concocted in the deep, self hating crevices of his mind, then he had to figure out which part of the fucked up mess that he was had pissed his sister off enough to come back to let him know she was disappointed. 

You nod at her and she nods, spinning on her heel to exit the room, but not before she stops for a second, hand on the doorframe as she catches her breath, and one hand on her spine.

“Are you okay?” you sound genuinely concerned.

She flashes you a thumbs up, leaving without so much as another word. 

“She’s gonna come back with some bullshit about the hospital canteen staff dropping their pans or some shit,” Bucky remarks.

“Yeah no, that was me. I just wanted her out of the room so we could discuss something,” you wave it off quickly. 

Bucky stares at you.

“What? I dropped a cart. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, listen–”

“She’s not a ghost,” he states resolutely.  

“But what if she is,” you insist, a wicked grin on your face. “Imagine saying we got a ghost tour. By a ghost.”

“I can imagine saying that, yes. I have a very wide and limitless imagination.” 

“Ugh, what if we’re meant to help her find her way back?” You peer over his shoulder to see if she’s walking back. 

In the distance another crash sounds through the empty hallways. Bucky stares at you.

“I’m just making sure, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone” you insist, dismissing it. 

“You could've just closed the door,” he says, extending one hand behind him to slide it closed.

“Don’t do that,” you blurt out.

He stops, eyebrow raised.  

“I don't like when doors are closed,” you shrug it off. “Anyway, back to the point. We should totally figure out how to help her exit this realm.”

He slides the door back open slowly, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“EVen if she were a ghost, which she’s not– she seems happy here. Maybe,” Bucky comments, taking a seat on the worn out bed. “I can’t really tell.”

“She can’t be. Imagine being forced to roam the same hallways over and over again till the end of time.” you shudder. “Sounds miserable.”

Bucky shrugs, poking at the pillow, watching a cloud of dust fly up from it. “Routine sounds fine to me.”

“I’d hate it,” you counter immediately. “I hate routines. Fucking inescapable once you get stuck in one.”

Bucky watches you curiously as you shift up and down the small room. “How do you get anything done?” 

“I can get things done without a routine.” The camera follows your command, checking outside the window or the door occasionally facing Bucky. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he replies, checking the time on his phone. It’d been a while since Brenda had gone to investigate.

“And having a routine totally makes you an easy target. Haven’t you watched any assassination movies?”

“No. I didn’t like bringing work home.”

You look at him in surprise before your face splits into a smile. 

Something makes a noise from the wall adjacent to the door. 

You both look at each other, and he gets off the bed to go see what the deal is. The door is adjacent to the wall, giving him a clear look into the hallway that was still empty. 

A faint wail sounds through the vent above his head. You take quick steps towards where he was, and the camera follows suit, pointing at the grill on the wall.

You stand underneath it, spirit box raised as close as you could get it, but the damn thing picks up nothing. 

Another noise comes through, almost like someone was wheezing, before the vent rattles, stopping altogether.

You stare at it, before taking a gigantic inhale and exhaling obnoxiously, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a wheeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky stares at you like you're insane. 

“Well, you can’t just back down,” you argue. “I’m gonna breathe louder than that thing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

You give another gigantic inhale and exhale, rattling all the bones in your body, and the faint noise from the vent stops too. 

“We win,” you beam 

 “You’ve completely lost it.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I totally won.”

“That’s not what I–” Bucky starts but stops himself when you grin at him devilishly. 

He sighs, asking instead, “Should we go looking for her?” 

“I guess so,” you shrug. “We’re not exactly cut to be her saviours right now. I’m pretty sure she knows the layout of the hospital better than we do if she’s been haunting it for fifteen years.”

“Where did you get that number?” he demands. 

“Does it matter?” you urge. “Didn’t realise you’re a valid ghost only if you have a certain number of years in haunting.”

Bucky ignores you, taking off down the hall. 

“If you had to haunt a hospital or a ship, what would you choose?” you quip, matching his pace. 

“Hospital,” he answers without thinking much.

“Why?”

“I spent a lot of time in them,” he tells you, voice clear. “Steve’s mom was a nurse. We’d meet her there a lot when he got his ribs broken or his nose busted.”

The memory, though faint, is enough to pull a smile from him. 

“He also used to be sick a lot, so I used to come pick up his medicine for him,” he adds. “They used to know us by name because we’d be there nearly every second day.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Every hospital in the state of New York has a chart for Steve even now.”

“Fuckin’ guy just dosn’t learn.” Bucky shakes his head with affection-laced irritation. 

The hallways stretch out endlessly, dim and wide. A few doors line the walls, some ajar, revealing only darkness inside. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the soft sound of you and your footsteps.

Bucky looks over at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you hum, small smile still on your face. 

“What would you haunt?

“Ship, I guess,” you reply. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Should be your next job.”

“You gonna come with? We’ll turn it into a vlog.

“Fuck no.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time to really consider it,” you sing, not really offended. “Way to let me down gently, Barnes.”  

“What? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” Bucky clarifies still, pausing before letting out, “I get seasick. Can’t be on water for more than five minutes before I’m throwing up all over the place. You want that in your vlog?”

It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, that in turn makes the corner of his lip curl.

“We could always–

Right in front of him, something moves darts across the wall at the end of the hall.

It cuts you off mid-sentence too, the both of you glancing at each other before turning towards it again.

Against the glare of your flashlight, another shadow darts across the wall. 

“That’s what she was talking about,” you whisper, slightly in disbelief that she wasn't wrong. “Shadow people. Do you think they got to her?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, continuing to walk on ahead. 

“Um, hello?” you scramble to catch up with him. “Where is your self preservation?”

“Against what?” he asks stoically. 

“That,” you say pointedly at the wall, when another figure darts across the wall and disappears out of sight. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a shadow, the fuck’s it gonna do?”

“Haven’t you heard of shadow demons? Succumbing to darkness?” you chastise. 

Bucky stops walking, standing solidly in the middle of the hallway.

“Okay,” he says, refusing to budge. 

The hall goes silent, no movement other than the steady rise and falls of your chest. 

You stare at him. “Now what.”

“I'm waiting for them to do something,” he says. “I’m waiting to succumb to the darkness.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you bite, dragging him along with you. “And I’m tired, we’ve been walking for like, eight hundred hours. Let’s go.”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” he reminds you, taking a turn into the corner that the shadows disappeared into. “You did this to yourself.”

“Fine, next time I’ll bring an electric scooter with me.” You huff. “And I won’t even let you use it.”

“Where’d Brenda fuckin’ go?” Bucky mumbles, eyes squinting into the darkness to see if there are any clues.

“Where are you guys going?” Someone pipes up from behind you, sending the hairs on his neck up. 

The both of you spin around instantly, arms clenched in a fighting stance. 

“Sorry, it's a habit to take the scenic route back.” She chuckles, unfazed. “Not a lot to do when you’ve been here so long.”

The both of you lower your hands slowly, letting out an exhale.

“Y’all ready to head out?” she inquires, coolly. “I think it’s time we all get some rest.” 

The walk back is relatively quicker, ater she leads you down a path she calls a shortcut. 

The only thing that slowls you down are the occasional stops you had to make for her back ache.

Right by the entrance of the hospital, she holds onto the door frame again in the midst of explaining who was haunting the basements. 

After a particularly hard exhale and a clamour to stand back up, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat to ask, “Have you tried this stretch?”

“What?” Brenda asks, eyes curious. 

“Learnt it in physio. Doesn’t cure it, but it helps,” he explains, craning his neck to the sides, before taking a step ahead towards her.  

You watch him in thinly veiled delight as he shows her exactly what joint to bend and in which angle, and the degree to which she had to pivot.

He even uncomfortably guides her shoulders in the strangest yoga session you’d ever witnessed. 

“Should help,” Bucky mumbles, taking a step away. 

She raises her shoulders and drops it, lips pursuing and bows raising in a look that seems impressed. The small hunch she carried wit her seems to have disappeared too. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky doesn’t wait for a thanks or anything, taking a step away from her and towards the exit. 

“Now that you’ve fixed her back ache, how do we fix her haunting the place?” you ask lowly. 

“She’s not a fuckin’ ghost, she’s fine,” he whispers back. 

“Nothing about what she’s said tonight is normal,” you argue.

The night is clear and cool when you step out, the musty scent of the building dissipating almost immediately.

“Just say bye, we’re fuckin’ leaving,” Bucky shoots. 

You sigh loudly, giving him a glare at his lack of helpfulness before plastering a smile on your face and turning around. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Brenda,” you say, turning around to stick your hand out. “We sure couldn’t have–”

But she’s gone.

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the disturbance, before turning around fully. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I told you she was a ghost,” you gush. “You fixed her back ache and now she has crossed over to the other side.”

“Shut up,” he replies, looking all over the place for a sign of where she could have disappeared to. 

“You did it, Bucky, you helped a lonely spirit,” you cheer. 

“I did not.”

“Hey!” Someone shouts from afar, commanding your attention to the gate again.��

“Not again,” Bucky mumbles, eyes snapping shut. 

“More ghosts,” you point out excitedly. “Come on, Charon, ferry those spirits–”

“You ferry your own spirits, I’m going to sleep,” he interjects, fully intending on ignoring the person at the gate and simply getting in the car.

“What are you guys doing here?” A man pants, jogging up to the both of you before Bucky had the time to leave. 

“We were just taking a look around,” you say, sticking your hand out, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “We heard the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies, taking in your appearance. “Podcasters?”

“No,” Bucky replies instantly. 

“We were just leaving,” you cut in. “We already got a tour by this ghost, and Bucky totally sent her to the afterlife.”

“I did not,” he seethes. 

“She disappeared after saying ominous shit this entire evening, what do you call that?” you challenge. 

“Going home,” Bucky responds, frustrated that he was clearly not afforded the same privilege.  

“Uh–” the guy holds up his finger. “--not to intrude, but you got a tour by a ghost?”

“Yes,” you bubble over with excitement. 

“And this ghost… did they have a backache?”

Bucky’s interest piques, the irritation giving way to intrigue . 

“You know her?” you puzzle.

“Uh yeah, that’s Brenda,” he admits sheepishly. “She’s very much alive.”

Bucky would have sworn he had never been this elated in his life, but unfortunately he realises very quickly that he simply does not care.  

 “She said she was a security guard here– wait, who are you?”  you tilt your head at him, seemingly not upset at all. It reduces Bucky’s non-existent triumph even more. 

“Travis Dowell, Labyrinth Inc. representative,” he says, shaking your hand. “We’re–”

“--the company that bought the place,” you complete, eyebrow raised.  

“Yeah.” He nods. “Brenda was a security guard here for nearly thirty years. We had to let go of her when we bought the hospital. We’ve been trying to turn it into an apartment for years, but there’s a lot of red tape that we have to get past because of healthcare reasons.”

“Yeah, she told us that it got bought,” you follow along. 

“Hospital was in the worst financial situation possible. There was just no way out.” He shrugs. “But she was super attached to this place. She didn’t take the redevelopment plans well, so she’s taken it upon herself to make sure it never happens, I guess? I don’t know, she spends a lot of time here convincing people that it’s haunted so that people don’t build anything here. She’s got an apartment close by so she knows when someone’s around. You’ll probably find her there, if you want.”

“You guys know about her?” Bucky questions, crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sorta ignore her. Her schtick’s annoying, but it’s not the reason we haven’t demolished this place yet. Once all the zoning issues get cleared up, the building’s coming down. And besides, all the PR’s just gonna have people pay a shit ton to stay here. You know, novelty of it being haunted, and all that.” 

“How’d you know we were here?” you ask pointedly. 

“We’ve set up motion sensors in the place?” he replies. “You may have seen them. The red lights in the operation rooms. We know she takes people there.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” you turn to Bucky who simply shakes his head lightly. 

“Yeah, she really goes the extra mile.” Travis shifts from one leg to the other. “There’s raccoons in the morgue that start running around if she hits the door. What else… oh yeah, she’s made a hole in one of the isolation rooms to make noises through the wall.”

Bucky wonders what will happen of all the footage now that none of it was essentially real. It made sense why she kept trying to find out where the video was going to be posted and how many people were going to view it now, as if a large number of views were going to save her beloved building. 

“So you’ll just let her do whatever until the demolition happens?” you question. 

“If it gets her to stop vandalising our office downtown.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t make a difference to us either way.”

“Right. So the real horror…” you say. “...is capitalism.”

Travis stares at you, before raising and dropping his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Alright.” You blow out an exhale. “Well, was anything about tonight real?”

“I mean, she really does have back pain,” he adds helpfully.

You turn to Bucky. “Net positive, then.”

Sure. Why the fuck not.

“Okay, Travis, thanks for this. You’ve been an immense help,” you say aloud, hoisting the camera onto your shoulders. “You can watch us on The Graveyard Shift, if we can figure out what to do with all these videos now.”

“Sorry about that,” he replies, shoving his fists into his pocket. “Good night.”

You watch as he turns and jogs away to his car that was parked a bit closer to the gate than yours was. 

Bucky plucks the camera off your shoulder and places it under his arm, even though he’s well aware you can carry fifteen of them at once.

“That was fun,” you tell him, seemingly over it already. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” he replies. 

Bucky should be glad then, that he didn’t bother with the children’s ward, if nothing about tonight was real–

“Travis, wait,” you shout all of a sudden. “What about the shadows?” 

“What shadows?” he calls back, confused. 

“The shadow people moving across the hall from the isolation room?”

He raises his eyebrows. “We haven't heard reports of that.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hell yeah,” you reply, knocking into his shoulder. “Haunted hospital, baby.”

When you walk into the dining room, you don’t really expect anyone to be there that late at night.

But fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail and an oversized t-shirt perched at the kitchen counter catches you off guard, dulling the arguing between you and Bucky as you argue the logistics of Brenda having a hand in the shadow demons. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Nat keeps her mug down on the counter before hopping off the chair. You note that it’s the same one you got her a few weeks ago from the flea market, the blue ceramic one.

“Oh, hi!” you smile wide, when she pulls you into a hug. “I thought you were in Lagos.”

“I was,” she replies, pulling away. “Got done early.”

“Of course you did. Overachiever.”

In the end of the common room, Bucky can hear the faint sounds of late night infomercials play through the TV. Clint’s legs hung off the couch as he lay snoring in front of it, blanket dropped on the floor in a heap. 

“Hot chocolate?” she offers. 

“I’m good, we went to the drive-through before coming back.” You beckon with your shoulder towards Bucky. 

She finally turns to him. “Hey.”

Bucky gives her a curt nod, glad that she’s back safe. 

“Why were you out so late?” She gives him a onceover, before raising an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Hospital date.”

“Video shoot,” he says at the same time, glaring at you. You shrug. 

Nat’s lip trails up into a smirk. “Put on your big boy pants and finally admit your crush?”

Bucky drags a palm down his face. “I do not have a crush.”

“If you say so,” she concedes innocently, eyeing him over the rim of her hot chocolate.  

“Are you all in on this? Do you have a quota to reach?” he groans. “Why’s everyone asking me this?”

“Who is ‘everyone’?” you sound delighted. 

“If you don’t want people to call you out on our shit, maybe don’t walk around with heart eyes,” Nat comments.  

Buck’s look is ice cold, but Nat just gives him a wink when you laugh. 

“Hey, I needed to talk to you about something.” She turns to you. “You free for a second?”

“Always,” you reply in earnest. 

Nat leads you a few steps away, hand on your shoulder.  

Bucky takes his seat at the counter, stealing a sip from Nat’s mug. Of course, it was fantastic. Overachiever.

He tunes out intentionally, focusing on the fact that Clint was splayed out on the couch with the TV on a low volume. He knows for a fact the blonde was asleep, and probably would wake up with the worst neck pain in his life, but this was the life he chose.

After watching Clint nearly fall off the couch twice, he looks away, not intending on prying on your conversation but vaguely watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns at what he sees. Nat’s face has turned solemn while she talks to you in hushed tones. Your eyebrows were pulled together, arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky feels a shift in the air, but he’s not sure what exactly has gone down. 

Nat finally tells you something surely, and you nod. She cups the side of your face and you force out a smile at her, before her hand drops.

The both of you make your way back to him. He turns his gaze back to the counter. 

“You owe me a hot chocolate,” Nat tells him, before giving him a quick kiss on the temple and stealing her cup right back. 

“I barely drank any,” he retorts, eyes still trained on you.

The TV clicks off and she drags a half asleep Clint back down the hall to his bedroom while the man rubbed at his shoulders, trailing behind her obediently. 

Meanwhile, you grab a glass of water from the tap, drinking it slowly as you head towards the elevator.

“G’night, Buck,” you tell him, passing by him.

“Hold on,” he says, voice less gruff than before as he watches you, face tight, “What’s going on?

You observe him for a few long seconds, but he gets the sense you aren’t exactly looking at him. Your eyes are slightly glazed over, and your mind is… elsewhere. 

“What do you do when people refuse to let go of something you’ve already escaped?” you ask finally.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together tighter.  

“Do you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you?” you say, voice strange. “Like there’s nowhere to go?”

“Where is this coming from? What’d Nat tell you?”

It seems to snap you out of whatever funk you were in, at least partially. “It’s probably nothing.”

His frown only deepens. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Bucky stares after you as you press the button to the elevator. He isn’t really sure what to make of the what you just shared. He isn’t even sure he should ask Nat about it later on considering that she didn’t want him listening in now. 

He watches the light above the elevator light up before a ding sounds through. 

“Just so you know–”  

Bucky’s eyes snap back to you, one step in the elevator. 

“I had a codename, too,” you tell him. “I just never liked it.”

Bucky is only left staring as you disappear into the elevator, leaving him in silence. 

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[niwaart]

DIFFERENT WORLD, DIFFERENT FAMILY.

(Introduction, part1....)

Y/N woke up to a sound... not a completely quiet sound... which had a lot of meanings... and not good ones at all... Well let's think positively.. Why didn't Dick come to her room this morning? Maybe he's still asleep... or maybe he's preparing some kind of surprise? No... today isn't her birthday or even Mother's Day... that's okay, maybe he's with Jason planning a new prank? Yeah yeah... so why didn't Bruce wake her up?... Maybe he's busy with some case... or maybe he's making breakfast for the kids... that's right... no need to worry...

She stood up from the bed slowly and gracefully... If Jason was planning a prank with Dick then that meant she had to be careful not to fall for it... It's easy, expect the unexpected and you'll be fine... (almost)... She walked to the door after making sure the door didn't hold any traps, she walked out of the room but there was an uneasy feeling inside her... Like something was wrong... But no negative thoughts! Only positive ones!

“Okay Y/N you can do this, don’t freak out, this is just a prank..” Y/N walked through the hallways, while noticing some paintings missing… Where were the pictures of her with her kids? And her husband? Dick or Jason can’t take them, they know they are precious… Something is wrong… Something is wrong this morning. Out of panic, Y/N ran downstairs screaming “Dick!! Jason!! Bruce!! Where are you!!!"

When she reached the basement she saw breakfast ready on the dining table her tension eased for a second before it returned again and more so to find that there was a strange man in a formal uniform inside the kitchen of her house... Who is this?... Her shock was not enough yet as she looked again at the dining table and saw that there was a small child... This is not Little Dick or Jason... Who is this?... And beside the small boy there is another boy who looks older but is very thin and looks tired... Who is this?... And at the top of the table there is a man... Wait... It's Bruce! "Bruce! What's happening? Where are the children? Who are these?" She said in panic while Bruce who stopped drinking his coffee when she entered looked at her with suspicion and confusion

“I can’t believe it, Father… Why didn’t you tell us that you brought a strange woman… It’s not your habit to bring one of your relationships home.” The little boy remembered in a tone that was familiar to Y/N.

“No… I don’t remember bringing anyone home with me… Who are you?” Bruce stood up from his seat cautiously, who knows, maybe you’re a villain in disguise. Y/N looked at Bruce carefully… Now did her husband always look so old? With so many wrinkles? And the signs of fatigue under his eyes looked like they were from years ago and not just last night… No… Take her husband, in a split second she wanted to pull out her weapon… A small dagger from the top of her leg, but she was surprised that her weapon was not there…

“Are you looking for this?” The young boy pointed to the dagger he was holding… whenever he could… Y/N instinctively stepped back and got into a defensive stance. “Who are you… where are my kids… and what are you doing in my house… let me warn you that I am not an easy person to play with… and you better answer honestly and quickly because I am not very patient with strangers.”

The skinny boy was watching all this wearily as he drank his coffee uninterested... The strange man in formal clothes approached... He looked like a butler with his gait

“Excuse me, miss, but do you know where you are right now?” The butler looked at her in confusion at her words.

“Alfred, don’t interfere, and stay away, she might be one of the bad guys.” The man who looked like her husband Bruce replied…

“Father, can I hold her?” The little boy said as he asked his father’s permission

Y/N prepared to attack and defend herself, she will not spare anyone who takes her children... It's okay her husband will be fine, but her children are a red line and anyone who crosses it will die. Bruce looked at Y/N with a strange, unreadable expression... Was he thinking? Was he planning? Y/N didn't understand what he was thinking... He was just like her husband, unreadable... "Okay, Damian, hold her, but don't hurt her, and stay careful." Bruce's lookalike said to the small boy... Damian? Did he just say Damian? Y/N looked at the child carefully... Is this Damian? Her child? No, Damian is 22 now, not a child... But.. But... He looks like Damian when he was a child!

Damian smiled widely, "This will be so easy." Damian ran towards Y/N who was lost in thought and tried to attack her neck with the plan of making her pass out but what surprised him was that the next second he found himself face down on the ground pinned... What?

Bruce, the skinny boy, and the man named Alfred were surprised.. while Y/N was shocked by the movements of the boy who looked like her son Damian a moment ago... those were the movements of her son Damian when he first came home... "You.. who are you... where is my family... where are my children and husband.. " she said while keeping Damian still under her. "You little one.. what's your mother's name?.." Bruce stepped forward carefully to make sure she wouldn't do anything to Damian. "Leave the boy alone... what do you want? And children are you talking about? You're in Wayne's house now... my house.."

Y/N wanted to tighten her grip but she didn't want to hurt the little boy who looked like her son. She just held him down so he couldn't move. "I know I'm at Wayne's house, this is my house, and I own the place, don't you dare even call it your house." Y/N looked seriously at Bruce who was worried about the little boy. Behind him stood the skinny boy, Alfred. "You!! Let go of me now!" Damian tried to get himself out from under the strange woman... How was she able to stop his attack? And pin him down so well he couldn't move a bone!

Bruce looked at the woman in shock… Her house? How so? She must be lying… Wait… The ring… The ring the woman is holding… It’s the same ring as his dead mother’s… How…! “You… Who are you?… How did you get my mother’s ring?” Bruce looked at the woman in shock, did she steal his valuables? How dare you!… Y/N looked at the man in shock… His mother’s ring? No, that’s her mother-in-law’s ring. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother-in-law’s ring you son of a bitch! Where are my kids!!” Y/N was sick of all this, she didn’t want to waste any more time, her kids must be waiting for her now… Scared and wanting to go home…

Before Bruce could say anything, the skinny boy stepped in front of Bruce. “Wait a minute, who are your children?” the skinny boy said. “Tim no…” Bruce couldn’t finish his sentence until the boy called Tim stopped him again. “Calm down Bruce.”

Y/N looked at the skinny boy… Tim? Timothy? No… No, her son Tim isn’t skinny, he has a distinctive mark on his cheek… So no… that’s not her son either. “What do you mean who are my children?” Y/N looked at Tim with confusion and impatience.

“I mean their names, what are your children’s names, maybe we can help you find them. And don’t say that we kidnapped them, you’re in a different world now. This is not the same world you were befor.” Tim said calmly, not saying it was a beautiful day, not saying anything unfriendable. Everyone looked at Tim in shock.

“What do you mean, is this a joke? I swear if I get even a scratch on one of my children, I’ll dig your grave with my own hands!” Y/N said. In disbelief, while Damian was still struggling to get out of her grip and Bruce was waiting for him, Tim looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean by that, Tim? How did you figure that out?” Bruce asked questioningly, Tim calmly answered him as he held up Y/N’s dagger, “With this dagger, if you look closely, you’ll notice Arabic letters written on it, and this is Damian’s handwriting without a doubt, and it says ‘Happy Birthday, Mom’ and there’s a little Robin sign on it, and the other thing is how she showed up in the house out of the blue, no one could just walk in like that with the heavy security in the house, and also she stopped Damian like she was used to his movements, which means she knew Damian from before.”

“I don’t know this woman!!” Danian said angrily. He was tired of being like this! “Get away from me!!” Damian tried to struggle again to get out, but it was no use.

Bruce looked at the dagger thinking, it was really his son's handwriting, and there was Robin's mark, which meant she knew their true identities at night, and also it wasn't the first time someone came from another world, so it could be true. Y/N thought about it, first the missing pictures in the house, and her children but... younger and with some differences, and her husband but with wrinkles that made him look old, and a strange man unknown until now. She looked at the little boy below her. "Damian?... You're Damian? Talia al Ghul's son? Ra's al Ghul's grandson?"

Damian sighed in annoyance and anger, “How do you know my mother and grandfather?” Y/N was surprised for a moment… so it was really Damian, her little son, and not a lookalike.

"دايمان، أنت هو حقا! طفلي! ... " Y/N said in Arabic which surprised Damian.

《Damian, you are him! My son!》

“You… how do you know…” Damian said in shock. Y/N immediately let go of him and helped him up and adjusted his clothes. “You’re the one who taught me, kiddo. I’m sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you somewhere?” Y/N said apologetically as she gently held his hand. Damian was still in shock. Bruce was convinced that Y/N was from another world now. “So I guess it was just a misunderstanding? Well, if you don’t mind, I don’t want breakfast to get cold, so everyone have a seat now.” Alfred said, who was followed by Tim to sit in his seat, while Y/N took the dagger and handed it to Damian. “I don’t think you remember this, but this gift is my most precious thing, and of course it’s a useful gift.”

Damian took the dagger and examined it. It looked like the one he had now… but this one looked old… as if it had been used hundreds of times. Damian let out a yelp when Y/N suddenly picked him up. “Hey! Let go of me! Now!!” Y/N ignored Damian as she placed him in his seat and sat next to him. Tim who had been enjoying it from the start, from Y/N pinning him down to holding him like a little baby, laughed. Damian, his face red with anger, and probably embarrassed, mumbled curse words in Arabic.

“Hey, I can understand you, don’t forget that.” She pinched his cheek but he slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me!” Y/N laughed at Damian’s reaction. “Oh my god, you remind me of when you were sixteen.. You were always so intolerant of me, and mean, but I got used to you.”

Alfred placed breakfast in front of Y/N as she silently thanked him. “But Damian is sixteen now..” Bruce said looking at Y/N in confusion. “Uh… Well… That’s true.. Given his size, but in my world Damian is twenty-two now.”

Everyone looked at Y/N in shock except for Alfred who was bringing the green tea as requested by Y/N. “Yes, and Timmy? You’re 20, Jason’s 16, and Dick’s 12.”

Tim wasn't much surprised... when he knew that in another world he was twenty...it is only two years older than now... but what surprised him the most was that Dick is only 12?!! And Jason is 16?!! How?! "Wait, can I ask Bruce's age in another world? And Alfred too" Tim said very curiously... his hand itching to get his notebook to record.

Y/N looked at Tim with a gentle smile, he was like her child in her original world. Curious. “Bruce is 54... As for Alfred... Well... There was no one named Alfred..”

This time Bruce was the one who was surprised, how did Bruce live in your world without Alfred?... "And what is your relationship with the Wayne family?" Bruce looked at his mother's ring on Y/N's finger.... Could it be that she...

"I am Bruce Wayne's wife, Y/N."

[angelixxsweetheart]

Something about...(Jinx x fem gamer!reader)

"You made me lose the fight!"

(NSFW mentioned!)

part 3/3(?) of the oneshot/scenario series

men and minors dni (wlw friendly space!)

word count: 2050

warnings: teasing, nipple play, oral (giving), dominating

Its been *hours*. For hours you have been stuck at the same bossfight. almost the final boss. Just so close to completing the game you have been playing for months because you keep on getting stuck on the same spot. Now, you finally finished that part, but here was the next fight you were stuck in.

"Come on, toots!" Your girlfriend, Jinx, cheered you up as you rested between her thighs, feeling her gentle touch wrapped around your waist as your eyes were glued to the screen infront of you. Blocking, attacking, blocking. Almost the same pattern of the enemy that you have been studying in all the countless fights you have lost against the boss.

Jinx was in the mean time busy with cheering you up, encouraging you to keep trying because she just knew you would win sooner or later. Her arms wrapped around your waist as you rested between her spread legs, just enjoying the closeness of her girlfriend. She let her pink eyes roam over the form of you from behind, noticing just how fast your fingers were moving while holding the controller, how quickly your thumbs reacted to the attacks...it certainly made her mind wander.

Meanwhile were you way too occupied with the enemy, blocking and avoiding its attacks while also keeping your eyes on your own healthbar. "Yes, yes!" You then began to cheer under gritted teeth, noticing how the health bar of the boss began to only have one quarter now. You were almost done.

That was, until you could feel Jinxs hand suddenly move over your stomach, finding the hem of your shirt and swiftly slipping underneath it. You tried to ignore it, really did. But you were just too sensitive. "Jinx?" You mumbled out, eyes locked to the screen but your mind already wandering. "Mhm?" Your girlfriend only hummed out in response. "Almost done, sweets" She hummed into your ear, her body shifting underneath yours as she suddenly lightly pushed herself up.

She could tell that this meant something to you, but surely you could win this fight even while the blue haired had her fun, right?

Oh, she was wrong.

Jinx allowed her hand to wander up higher, finding the undersite of your breast and teasingly brushing over the skin. "Doing so well, toots" She hushed into your ear, completely aware of the fact that she was full on distracting you.

You tried to keep fighting, tried to avoid the growing wetness between your thighs, but to no avail. Even worse was, when the blue haired suddenly reached for your breast, squeezing the flesh and letting her thumb run over your sensitive nipple. Her other hand, in the meantime, wandered down your stomach and just tracing over the waistline of your pants.

"Jinx!" You then lightly whined out, your breathing growing heavier and it was haeder to concentrate at the sudden squeeze. "Im not doing anything", the blue haired persisted, her lips now finding the skin of your neck and lightly kissing it.

And then it happened. You allowed yourself to grow a little careless, fingers shaking a little as your body subconsciously leaned into the touch of your lover while your breathing began to grow irregular. And you did not notice how the boss was loading up its strongest attack plus how your characters health began to lower. Until the 'GAME OVER' screen flashed up.

A dissatisfied groan left your lips, mixed with a little whine from Jinxs teasing touches on your body. "Fuck..." You breathed out, your mind completely overwhelmed with the way the blue haired woman moved her hands over your body.

As much as her hands aroused you, you couldnt help but feel extremely pissed at the loss of the fight. You needed *months* to get this close. And suddenly all your effort was thrown away because of your teasing girlfriend.

"Oops", you could only hear from behind you, her significant chuckle accompanying her raspy voice as she spoke. As soon as she realized what she had done, her hands stilled their movements, but still rested on your chest "Really Jinx?", you groaned out in frustration, throwing the controller into a corner of your shared bed while pressing your body against hers. "You made me lose the fight!"

"No, I didnt. You just werent careful enough", the blue haired scoffed in return, but not without letting another soft laugh out. She had her pleasure in teasing you and getting you worked up. But this was really pushing your limits.

Swiftly enough, you turned around to face her, hands grabbing her wrists as you pinned her down against the bed. "Fuck yes, you did. You distracted me" You responded, no malice in your tone but a hint of annoyance. You were so close to finishing the game too...

"So? Must suck to be you, i guess" The blue haired only responded with a grin on her lips, not trying to fight against your grip despite knowing she could easily win and pin you down in return. And that was when you got an idea. It wasnt replaying the fight and maybe winning this time, but maybe itll help to let out your frustrations.

Your eyes ran over the form of your girlfriend underneath, legs moving to straddle her lap now as you fully pushed her against the mattress. Then you were reminded of the growing ache between your thighs, it put your focus on how kissable Jinxs lips were looking in this moment. "I think its gonna suck to be you now a lot more" You mumbled before leaning down and pressing your lips against hers.

Hungrily, as if starving, you kissed her, your hands holding her down with an iron grip while Jinx just let herself go in the moment. She enjoyed having you so riled up, an idea of where this could lead to in her mind. Then your hands let go off her wrists, instead one cupping her cheek while the other held on to her neck. You didnt want to give her a sense of control but you definitely needed to blow off a little steam after having your victory being stolen from you once more.

As soon as your head began to grow a little lightheaded from the passionate kiss and dances of your tongues, you moved your head to trail kisses over her ghostly pale neck, kissing and sucking on the skin as purple marks began to form. Jinx however moved her hands to your waist, fingers digging underneath your shirt and roaming up the path to your back. You only moved lower, your own hands finding the hem of her shirt and pushing it off. "Thats what you get for being such an ass" You mumbled against her neck as soon as your lips found it again, your hands roaming over her stomach.

The blue haired could only gasp lightly in response, a cocky smirk on her lips as another whine left them. Her fingers were bunching up the fabric of your shirt, wanting to see you. In response to that, you sat up while straddling her lap and slipped of your chest. Jinx bit down her bottom lip as her pupils dilated at the sight of your chest, reaching out with her hand to touch them. "Nope" You quickly pushed down her wrist again, holding it down. "Only looking, no touching after you pulled that shit on me" You scolded her. "Youre so mean..." Jinx whined out, letting you take off her own shirt with no hesitation while you only rolled your eyes at her pout.

Your hand found her small breasts, squeezing the flesh and playing with the nipple as Jinxs sounds began to grow a little louder. She had never been the type to hold back. "Baby, please. I didnt mean to...you just looked so pretty" She began to beg, yet her hands didnt fight your grip on her wrists. You on the other hand began to suck on her nipple, lightly nipping on the sensitive skin as you looked up to her whining and pleading. The ache between your own thighs began to grow and you could barely hold all your pent up frustration in.

So you released her nipple with a little 'pop', your hand letting go off Jinxs wrist and instead both wandered to find the hem of her pants. "Tell me why I should give it to you. You made me lose the fight", you asked her, looking down at her dazed expression and the way Jinx eyed you with so much hunger, her pink eyes lightly glowing with need. "Please, I wont do it anymore just fuck me toots..." The blue haired looked at you, biting down on her lip as you freed her from her pants and panties immediately.

Your eyes caught the sight of her cunt, dripping with wetness from your teasing and reactions. "So wet for me, I knew youd get off from doing this to me" You responded, lips moving over the curve of Jinxs breast and down to her stomach. Even if you were pissed, you still wanted to make her feel good. Make her feel worshipped and desired. Slowly, your lips found the flesh of her inner thighs as you hoisted them over your shoulders, kissing and leaving light hickeys.

"Baby!" Jinx groaned in response, feeling herself only growing wetter at your touch and almost humiliating words. And that was when you gave in, your tongue lapping at the sensitive flesh of her folds and running over her slit. The blue haireds hands immediately found the sheets and began to scrunch them up between her fingers.

Your lips trailed up the same path once more, finding her sensitive clit as you swirled your tongue over it. Gently nipping on the flesh with your teeth, you eyes were locked on your girlfriend while she was writhing in pleasure. "Oh..oh fuck, baby" She moaned out, your lips wrapping around the sensitive bud and sucking on it before you let it slip into her needy and wet hole. A groan escaped your lips as her taste overwhelmed you almost, eagerily lapping up all of her juices. Like a starved woman devouring her last meal on earth you were eating out her pussy, tasting her and drowning everything out aside from her moans and taste. Your tongue moved up her clit again while one of your hands let go off Jinxs thigh, instead easily slipping into her dripping cunt and swallowing them. "Look at that pretty pussy, so needy you had to get me off my game" You spoke in a low voice as your fingers began to curl up against that one spot that had Jinx moan and writhe in pleasure as she squirmed underneath you.

Swiftly, your tongue resolved to flicking and moving over her clit, sometimes nibbling and sucking on the bud when Jinxs moans began to grow in volume. Your fingers were occupied with scissoring and curling up inside her wet hole. "Oh fuck hah...right there, baby..right there!" She moaned out, her hips pushing into your face but your other hand pressed them down before returning to a tight grip around her thigh. "Im gonna- im gonna-!" She whined out and you could feel her walls tighten around your digits as her orgasm washed over her. Your movements persisted until you knew the wave of pleasure was over. You let your tongue trail over her cunt once more as you drew your fingers out, licking them clean and groaning at the taste of her pussy.

And then you looked down into your girlfriends fucked out face, bare chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "Hope yourenhappy now" You spoke, dropping her thighs gently down to the bed before pressing a gentle kiss against the skin of her stomach. Jinxs pink eyes found yours as you moved to rest beside her and wrapped your arms around her, reaching for the controller after another kiss was planted against her electric blue hair.

But your lover had other plans. Her hands reached out to grab the controller out of yours, holding your hands instead. "Nope", she huffed out while you raised an eyebrow.

"You think im letting you just play like this?"

I feel like this sucks its way too long and maybe ooc but hope yall are happy (love how you can tell when i got lazy)

[imorynn]

ᯓ★ ─── Through A Black & White Lens : A Bond Captured ( p.lupone )

ᯓ★ pairings : patti lupone • fem!reader ( what could’ve been but never occurred )

ᯓ★ summary : ⸺ IN WHICH you and she were deeply in love back in the 70s when you were both starring in something rather big together, but it never happened. Always something brewing beneath the surface. Constantly being around one another. Have insane chemistry and ease with one another. She fell in love with a woman; you. As did you, yet of course, nothing came out of it besides heartbreak and ache and yearning, and no one in the public knew about it — there are pictures from back then between you and her hugging, holding hands, being close to one another, and a bit of social media— this generation now thinks or teases 'surely they must've been something during these times, I mean look at them!', though some conformed with the idea of two women simply being platonic soulmates. Then in 1988, LuPone married, and that was that.

You've seen each other in award shows, and brief gatherings, and even spoke about one another during interviews if they brought up the well-known Broadway hit you both starred in. There was always positivity in one another's words. A warmth, a melancholy, a softness no one quite can put a finger on. You never really reached out to her, and neither did she — but you did send her flowers — her favorite ones after every single performance, giving her the notion that you were out there, somewhere in the crowd, but not exactly ready to see her face to face. Here and there sure, probably somewhere along the 2010s you went out for a drink with her, but never something occasional.

And that saddened her. Saddened you. You both had a very special, warm, and deep bond. The what if’s, but’s, could’ve’s, should’ve’s.

Who would have thought that you BOTH would be starring in the 2024 Marvel series, Agatha All Along: Coven of Chaos? Your character is as significant as Death. How due to this, the press tour, the interviews the pictures, the series, and palpable chemistry, images resurface — moments captured when you and Patti were younger — created a buzz during the press tour ( I also have one coming out between Aubrey plaza and Kathryn Hahn — capturing their mannerisms is so amazing 😭 ).

It’s not only another door opening to new Marvel characters, but a door reopening between two stars who shared an immense relationship back then. The photos, showing shared laughter, choreography sessions, and close, intimate interactions. This particular interview is set apart from Marvel. Something just for you two.

ᯓ★ things that should be mentioned : Patti LuPone is MARRIED, there’s no such thing as her cheating on her husband or anything — it’s FICTION ( inspired by intuition that I’m damn certain Ms. LuPone at some point was in love with a woman — ). I know it’s a rather different territory when it comes to real life, but there’s no inappropriate themes within here — just fiction, fun and something for you to fill in the lines with your own delusions :,>

ᯓ★ a/n : So — was it wrong for me to write a tiny something something for Patti LuPone instead of one of the characters SHE PORTRAYED? :,)) DO NOT SUE ME — I’m just a girl who’s in the sheer depths of being delusional. I’m enamored with this — I hope you all enjoy, comment what you think <33

The interviewer starts with routine questions about the project — its themes, the process, your experiences, your characters, the joys and challenges of working together again after all these years. But there’s a flicker of anticipation within the room, waiting to be ignited. You sense it, and you’re certain Patti does too. The energy transforms when the interviewer leans forward with a knowing smile, setting their notes aside and brings out a few grainy, black-and-white shots that’s the two of you, young and beautiful, captured in a moment of unguarded affection.

A candid of Patti, young and dark-haired, with one arm draped over your shoulders while both of yours loosely rested around her waist in that unconscious familiarity — you both serious and engrossed to something one of the members of the cast or the crew was uttering.

Y/N squinting : That must’ve been during a rehearsal break. We were always like that — always gravitating toward each other somehow.

Patti snorts but nods : Jesus, I look like I'm about to give orders to invade Normandy.

The next slides into view, Patti is mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled with mirth as she kept her eyes focused on you and her nose adorable scrunched, mouth wide open in a way that feels utterly heedless. You are caught mid-step, clearly attempting some complicated move — your arms out of sync, one leg a bit off balance. The expression on your face is a mix of concentration and exasperation, as if you have just realized you are about to miss the beat. In the corner, the choreographer is blurred but visibly holding their head in their hands, as if praying for patience.

Y/N huffs out a groan : That choreography was hell for me. I could never get that turn right. This one couldn't stop teasing me.

Patti smirks and loosely raises a finger : I remember that day, and I did end up helping you. You were so frustrated, but when you finally got it, you did it better than anyone else. *turns to the camera and raises brows with a scoff* She’s underselling herself — she was brilliant.

Then there was another image; a black-and-white shot of you and Patti during a cast party. Your head was tipped back in laughter, your smile vibrant and unguarded, while Patti leaned close with her chin nestled in her palm, watching you with hazed eyes and a grin that could only be described as adoring. Staring at you as if you hung the moon itself.

Y/N, smiling softly : I forgot about that night.

Patti hums and crosses her legs : We had one too many drinks, and by we I mean you —

Y/N : Please, you can't separate yourself and a bar from one another, you were just as up there as I was that night.

Patti shakes her head : No, and if my memory doesn't fail me which it does NOT — *ignores how you playfully scoff* I watched you. If it weren’t for the photography back in the day, you’d be able to see how flushed your cheeks were. All cheeky smiles and giggles you were. Meanwhile, sure, I'm smiling right there but I was also thinking you were going to do something stupid.

Y/N, leans in closer with a wider grin : Well I was with you that night wasn’t I? *she returns your grin with a one-shoulder shrug*

Another image; Patti, mid-rehearsal, practicing choreography with the dance captain while you stood off from a distance. She’s mid-motion, arms outstretched as he demonstrates a movement next to her. The hem of her black dress flutters faintly as she shifts, her focus razor-sharp, brows quirked in concentration.

Off to the side, almost out of frame, there’s you. Your posture is laid back but composed, script in your loosened grip, your lips slightly ajar as if caught mid-discussion with someone who is barely even visible in the shot. Yet, it’s unmistakable — your focus is not on the script, or the person you were speaking to. It's on her.

Expression soft and without a doubt fond. Smitten were your features, but you always claimed you were simply focused. Patti more than anyone knew that you gained that look when you believed no one was watching, especially when it came to her.

Patti tilts her head, brow hitching as she takes it in: Oh, God, *a mix of exasperation and amusement in her voice* Look at me. I’m practically sweating focus.

Y/N chuckled softly : You were always like that. Completely immersed. Nothing could distract you when you were working.

Patti turns, smiling slyly with a snort bubbling up her throat : Except you, apparently. Caught in the act, huh? Staring at me while pretending to care about your lines.

Y/N laughs, shaking head : I wasn’t pretending. I was… multitasking. You were impossible to ignore, Patti. You still are.

Patti rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless : Well, you weren’t exactly inconspicuous, were you? I can feel you staring, even in this photo. *motions to photo*

Interviewer : It’s fascinating to see how much this image captures without meaning to. A lot of fans speculated them. There’s a kind of… unspoken connection between you, even in the way the shot is composed.

Patti leans back, arm rested on the back of her chair while crossing her legs : That’s the thing, isn’t it? We weren’t just colleagues. There was always this… awareness. Of each other. Of what the other was doing, how they were feeling. It’s in the work, but it’s also in moments like this.

Y/N nods and adjusts posture : It’s like the work gave us permission to be connected. Even when we weren’t speaking, even when we were on opposite sides of the stage — or the room, apparently — it was there.

Patti glances at you : Well, for what it’s worth, *tilts chin up with a small smirk* you were decent at multitasking. Those lines? You nailed them.

Y/N laughs, smile widening : And you nailed the choreography, and pretty much everything. As always.

Yet there was one particular image, one said “lost” like fragments of an untold story. Snapshots of a connection so vivid and raw it feels almost tangible. The most famous of these — the one that resurfaces like wildfire following your candid admission — is electric in its intimacy. It’s not staged, not posed or polished; it’s messy, unfiltered, and so very human.

Your younger self, all sharp angles and mischief, leaning into a young, breathtaking as always, Patti. Your hand, adorned with the bold, unmistakable rings you always wore back then, cradles her face, chin nestled within the dip connecting your thumb and pointer finger. The metal of your jewelry caught the faintest glint of light even in the monochrome image, contrasting the softness of the moment. The pads of your digits press into her cheek, mushing her features with a teasing gentleness that’s somehow deeply tender as if to mold her into some jesting version of herself. Your lips are curled, caught mid-action, pearly whites lightly nipping at the high structure of her cheekbone. It’s a gesture both absurdly affectionate and completely disarming.

Patti is caught laughing, her mouth wide, the pretty rows of teeth glistening in the grayscale. One of her hands clasps loosely to your wrist as if anchoring herself to the moment, while the other disappears into the strands of your hair, disheveling them slightly. Her touch looks both instinctive and possessive like she can’t help but claim you in that fraction of a second.

Yet it’s the details that transition the photograph into a lively experience, a memory. The faintest bloom of her scarlet lipstick can be seen on the quirk of your mouth and on the collar of your shirt, a telltale mark of a kiss shared seconds before or perhaps purloined in between wisps and bubbles of giggles. The bridge of your nose is scrunched in laughter, your lashes shadowing beneath your eyes as they’re half-closed, caught somewhere between puckish and endearment. Hers, however, are open and round and alive, beaming with that unguarded, boisterous joy that Patti was known to express when in your presence. Wild, untamed, intimate.

The photo feels impossibly near, as though the photographer captured it from mere centimeters away. And yet, there’s no artifice to it. It’s candid in every sense of the word — a glimpse into something private and unspoken, a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone but the two of you.

Your head bows back with laugh while Patti’s eyes narrow slightly as if in faux irritation, but a grin tugs at the corners of her red lips. She leans forward, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, her gaze flicking from the image to you.

Y/N, holding the print of the image with a small smile, playfully wiping the corner of your mouth as if the lipstick smudge was still there : Goodness. I didn’t even know this one was out there. Was wondering when it would pop out.

Interviewer : And ? What’s the story behind it ?

Patti, seated beside you, leans over to catch a glimpse. She laughs almost immediately — a sharp, unfiltered sound that’s so unmistakably hers, cutting through the room like a blade.

Patti : Oh for crying out loud. *takes the picture from your hold, stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you with an eye roll* Was this after rehearsal? Curtain call? Or one of those cast parties where everyone got far too comfortable? Don’t remember but someone had a camera, snapping photos while we were all blowing off steam.

Y/N leans forward, propping elbows on knees : Blowing off steam is one way to put it. She was yelling at me about something. I can’t remember what — it was probably something ridiculous.

Patti : Ridiculous ? *turning to face you fully* You kept singing my lines under your breath, trying to trip me up!

Y/N grins : And it worked. She got so mad, I had to go and force her to look at me. *glances at her* She can’t stay mad at me forever. The more I grabbed her face, the more it led her to kiss me right here. *gestures to the spot*

You nor her go into the details or exactness of it all however, how it truly occurred — a lie, a twine of an illusion of something you both had fabricated, nor point out the print mark of her lips on the fabric of your shirt. That was only for you both to know. Yes, she was a bit angry that day, but the night had been a success. You managed to get her to fully see that by bringing her into your hold and smothering her with your playful and affectionate tactics. Goodness, did it work — she glowed with you. She glowed for you. Because of you.

Interviewer with raised brow and teasing smile : And the bite ?

Patti, laughs loosely and snorts : This one bites with ‘cuteness overload anxiety’. Someone just snapped the shot without us even noticing it.

Patti holds the image up to the light, her gaze narrowing slightly, like if she’s inspecting every detail : Look at that, *her tone blunt as she glares* You mauled me.

Y/N, voice low and teasing : You didn’t seem to mind that day. Besides, it was worth having you smile again.

Patti waves a hand, grinning widely : Was it not normal for women to kiss even then? God forbid we enjoy ourselves. *pauses, her tone dipping into something light, more reflective* But look at us. So happy and young.

Interviewer, senses an opportunity : Was there something more between you two?

Patti cuts them off with a sharp laugh, her head tilting back : Oh, they always ask, don’t they? *turns to you, eyebrows raised* Should we give them the answer they’ve been waiting for? Or let them keep wondering?

Y/N is quiet for a beat, letting the weight of the moment settle.

Y/N smiles lightly : I think the picture says more than we ever could.

Patti, amused but satisfied, is about to hand the photograph back to the interviewer : Well, there ya have it. Two women, enjoying life and each other’s company. Nothing wrong with that.

Patti pauses halfway, glances at you then at the photo, then at the interviewer with a raised brow before withdrawing her hand, the very hand that holds the photograph : For the record, I’m damn keeping this.

Y/N — you laugh softly, and for a second or so, it feels like no time has passed at all. The photograph might belong to the past, but the nostalgia, the melancholy, the warmth it stirs ? That is timeless.

─── ᯓ★

[whetstonefires]

You know I'm realizing one reason you keep seeing mdzs modern AUs where the Jiang parents are alive mainly so they can dramatically fail and betray Wei Wuxian by cutting him off financially--defaulting on his college tuition or formally disowning him etc--isn't just that people want to translate the Burial Mounds II arc into modern terms while keeping Jiang Cheng clean of it.

(Despite the fact that the internal logic of Jiang Cheng's character is largely built around him being a person who would abandon someone he intensely cared about under these specific circumstances.)

It's because it's hard to set up a modern analogue for the way that Jiang Cheng is responsible for Wei Wuxian, as his Sect Leader.

We live in a highly individualistic society. People are trying to write Wei Wuxian Tragically Wronged, and because there's a normative expectation that people in the position of parents will provide you with resources, and certainly won't withdraw them without warning, but no such assumption that people in the position of siblings necessarily owe each other support, making this work in modern setting with Jiang Cheng in his canon role would require a lot of extra work, just to get a less readily resonant result.

But I keep thinking about it. Because something that's getting lost here is, not just the nuances of character and relationship, but like...it's sort of key to the story that cutting Wei Wuxian off was, in fact, Completely Socially Appropriate.

The level on which it was a betrayal is subtle, and deeply cutting. And intensely tied up in the very different opinions each of Jiang Cheng's parents had about what obligations existed in their family wrt Wei Wuxian, and what these meant.

The level on which it was the obvious, normal course of action is blatant. That is to a huge extent why it happens: because Jiang Cheng's instinct to conform is a survival instinct, reinforced by trauma, and Wei Wuxian's choices meant he had no coherently compelling reason not to obey it, and enormous peer pressure to do so.

The fact is that Jiang Cheng was making a reasonable choice, the actual thing 'anyone would do in that situation,' unlike Wei Wuxian and Jin Guangyao's respective wildly warped ideas about what that is.

Wei Wuxian wasn't betrayed by Jiang Sect like your foster parents cutting you off because you're disobedient. Wei Wuxian was betrayed by Jiang Sect like your brother refusing to drop fifty grand to bail you out of jail.

Of course Wei Wuxian tells him not to. And of course the fact that Jiang Cheng already chose in the moment not to pay a cent because Fuck You Wei Ying still stands there glaring, a precedent that can never be taken back.

And then later he's betrayed by Jiang Cheng like your brother cooperating with a police investigation into a manslaughter you really did commit, that's being handled like domestic terrorism. And then like your brother calling the cops on you. And then like your brother helping the cops find where you're hiding.

I'm personally fascinated by the way Jiang Cheng's lifelong resentment for the way Jiang Fengmian reliably bailed Wei Wuxian out of everything informed those decisions to do the normal thing, the way he's reacting against his dead father as well as against Wei Wuxian and the actual situation.

But even without that daddy issues angle, the fact that the person who made that choice was Jiang Cheng, and that it was simultaneously the reasonable appropriate normal upstanding citizen rational thing to do and so shitty Wei Wuxian would be entitled never to forgive it is sort of. The Point.

Of the scenario, and also to a considerable degree of the entire finely tuned narrative construct that is Jiang Cheng.

[euphoria-looney]

Hold Me, Console Me, And then I’ll Leave Without a Trace, No One Noticed by The Marias

Before we start this has many ideas for authors and some are specific, so if you notice “Hey that looks like what idea I put into my post” PLEASE TELL ME, I would love to give you credit, bc I probably would have never made this without it!

and greatgooglymoogly (my friend, I don't discriminate against other greatgogglymoogly's) if you see this scroll, admire how aesthetic this post is and scroll./j

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

So Much More.

Pt. 1

All my life, I held onto this thin piece of thread called hope. It started off as a rope, almost strangled myself with it, but as time went on and as it started dwindling down, it started snapping.

So, now, the only thing that kept this “rope” connected was a thin piece of thread, too bad, it broke. Due to people who were honestly victims.

Bruce Wayne.

Everyone knows him, who cares if you love him, who cares if you hate him, I mean eat the rich, and who cares if you don’t care about him. To me, he’s a good-for-nothing sperm donor who was also my landlord.

My dear mother, (M/N) (L/N). What a diva she was. She gave me everything and so much more. She embraced me in such comfort that I could feel myself slipping when it disappeared from right under me.

Gotham City is one of the many crime-raided cities there is in the world, anything could go wrong.

Luckily for momma, she died through a natural death, unluckily for me, she was my everything. I mean really, a child no older than 4 frantically searching for something, anything. Desperation creeping in, dialing an emergency call, with terrible service and small fat fingers that didn’t even know how to operate such a stupid telephone that only worked if you used it at an angle.

May my dearest momma lay in a field of flowers, sunlight kissing her skin, that was the fantasy she told me she’d love to take me to. Something Gotham City could only be reached if there was no such thing as heroes, villains, or vigilantes.

If it wasn’t for my appearance I’d would had gone to an orphanage, th officer or whatever he was, Gorgan? Gordon? Doesn’t matter, he called him someone.

a man who seemed so formal and elegant showed up, he would be my father figure, for the time I would spend in the manor. Since, it just so happens I had a 100 percent match with a certain millionaire, billionaire. The man that showed up was none other than my light in the dim, depressing place.

Alfred, the butler for the Bruce Wayne.

Ecstatic, I was, that’s when the rope appeared, my thoughts ran rapid.

Do I have siblings? How many? How’s my dad?

Questions after question, answered with… I hope you’re hungry for…

nothing 😐-

Alfred had answered all my questions, of course I met them all… eventually,

Richard, other wise known as “Dick”

He tried to give the impression to the family as a caring big brother. Well, not to me obviously. When he first met me, his first words were “Who’s the kid?”

“Who’s the kid?” Dick asked

“This is your new sibling, [name] Wayne”

He was there, for y’know that one second, moving on Tim.

Tim

I’ve never held a conversation with him, he breezed past me.

Jason.

BFFs, before he died, then came back to life, then shut me out.

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie

Was my idol, but they stuck their head up so high that they didn’t notice me. Making her nothing more than a second thought in my head.

Duke

Sweet kid, from what I've seen in the shadows.

Damian

He really, broke me in, hell if anyone’s impacted me, it’s him.

degrading me like I was a bug infestation.

Then he stopped, saying “I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Are you kidding me?

I did everything and more for the attention of my family.

Sports? You name it. I probably did it.

Instruments? Do you even know how many medals I've won?

Singing and dance are challenging but that doesn't mean I'm not perfect to the T.

But nothing worked, it's funny you'd think, with how pathetic I am, especially with all these attempts that idiotic thin thread would've already snapped.

No.

Do you know what made it snap? [M/D] and [D/D]. (The second D- stands for darling)

The pair were everyone's obsession.

[M/D], Bruce Wayne's one true love, if this hasn't been obvious my mother was a fling/rebound of Mr. Wayne. [M/D], beautiful, kind, and the object in the family's eyes. It's quite sad if anything, she's like a caged bird.

[D/D], younger than Damian.

Oh, I haven't given you the age scale from oldest to youngest.

Dick and Barbara are the same age, being the oldest

Jason

Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra

Me

Duke

Damian

[D/D]

Out of these many children. Three are blood-related with Bruce Wayne, Me, Damian, and [D/D].

I'm getting off track.

[D/D], adored, so small you'd want to keep her in your pocket.

One thing was clear about these two. They were everything to the Wayne family.

That's when the string broke.

They came probably by force and hated the very thing I wanted, attention, and love.

I wish I could say I hate them, as they were parallel to me and my mother.

My mother, who was the other woman.

My mother, who never held a grudge.

My mother, who died in a cold, dark room.

My mother, who could never see what type of person I am today.

But I couldn't hate them. I can't. They were the only other ones who gave me that family bond that wanted for so long.

It didn't help that they seemed to deem me to be the favorite. [M/D] loved to be my 'mother' and in her eyes, I was her favorite child, of course behind [D/D] since I was normal compared to them.

[D/D] If I'm near her, maybe grabbing a snack while the family is having 'family game night' she'd somehow spot me, giving that puppy-eyed look, pulling me to join them.

I would, if it's not for the way I would feel these eyes boring on me.

'Why do you have to be here, why are you ruining the moment, who are you?'

I'd pull my hand away, shaking my head, patting her hair, before making it back to the dim, dark hallway, so empty, that you could hear each echo of the step.

As I sit here complaining, at least today's, the day. I'm officially 18.

That's right. 18 years of age and everything I just wrote down has been a recap of my life.

This is my 14th journal. For each year that I've been in the manor, I had a journal, that captured each year of my life, from my emo phase to my popular phase, and now here, the year I graduate, the year that I officially move out.

My first journal was a composition journal, Alfred had no idea what I would like, everyone else was busy according to him, he gave me this journal and told me to write everything I felt, and nobody would ever see it. It's stained definitely. My first-ever entry was: "I wish I got a pet to keep me company, at least that would be better than this stupid silence."

Okay, so maybe there were a lot of spelling mistakes. I don't need to write it down. Even trying to decipher that whole sentence was hard. Not the point I would lose interest every few months before coming back to it. Then it became a hobby. It's very important to me.

I graduated yesterday, too bad nobody was there. Alfred was too busy to come to celebrate it, since graduations are long and take a while, his job came first before anything. Today is my birthday, it's a joke if anything. The day before my graduation is my birthday. I bought this journal yesterday as a little celebration gift and to me in general to celebrate my birthday.

That should be all for my entry.

Yours truly,

[Name] [Last Name]

-

Standing up I glance at my bookshelf filled with different genres of books, split into non-fiction and fiction. Journals filled with information from books, facts that mattered, and scenes that hit me deeply.

Junk journals, bullet journals, and the sheld that mattered the most to me.

My personal journals. 15 journals including the one that I was holding my hand.

A knock broke my thoughts, I slipped the journal I had in my hand onto the shelf before opening the door.

"Happy birthday, young master. I made a cupcake batch for you. Even an edible candle." He held cupcakes to me arranged so delicately with a candle on the center cupcake.

I'm going to miss him so much when I leave. So much so that I didn't even notice the tears slipping from my eyes.

"Oh dear, young master, I'm so sorry that I missed your graduation yesterday, and of course, the others wanted to be there- they were-"

"No, it's not that Alfred- Thank you so much, for everything." I engulfed him in a hug. Something I hadn't done since I was a child.

He held me and consoled me before leaving as it seemed [D/D] had adopted another feral animal or something like that.

I smiled and nodded at him when he apologized for having to go, shaking my head in understanding.

I looked over everything in my room. I would leave everything behind, including my journals. Even the newly bought one. If I was going to leave. I wanted to at least have something that showed.

I existed.

I would leave without a trace that I had left in the first place. And even leaving all these books here, I'm sure you couldn't even tell this would be a room without the bed, just some library with random entries from this random room.

Like a coward, I'll leave a letter for Alfred. For him, and only him.

With that, I bid the manor goodbye. With whatever presents I had anyway.

Also if this is cringy, just let me be delusional and believe that I ate this shit up.

Kind of new to how to format on Tumblr, and how to make posts pretty.

Anyway I wrote this with Grammarly so if you see any mistakes with the writing, I say "boo"

Hoped you enjoyed, bc I'm brewing up the next part... and also how to make a masterlist and all that jazz.

[bunnybuunn]

Purple.

Summary: Agatha is hiding her true identity from the little!reader, but when she finds out the truth her reaction isn’t exactly what Agatha had expected.

Warnings: Age regression; none.

Agatha came to the Westview for a reason. She wanted something that would make her even more powerful, something valuable for her was here, and she knew it. The woman could feel it in her guts. 

However, her intentions changed quickly when she had found you. 

The perfect little girl, who obviously needed someone who could take care of her. Of course, you haven’t admitted it out loud, but Agatha knew from the first glance. Your demeanor was giving away everything, just as well as your thoughts. At first, Witch thought that the reason for your regression was Wanda’s control over your mind, but then she found out that she was wrong. After Agatha helped you get out from under Wanda’s control, she was surprised. You were still regressed, looking at her with those big puppy eyes of yours.

Eventually, Agatha gave up and took you home. She just kept on playing the role that she had chosen earlier—the nosy neighbor. The woman was way too nervous to show you her real identity.

Agatha wasn’t a very affectionate or loving person, but with you it was different. Everything was different when you were near her. She loved the idea of having someone who loves her unconditionally around. She also kind of liked you and your unusual-for-a-big-girl behavior. When you finally started calling her „Mama,” she knew that she can’t lose that title, and for that to not happen, she has to keep herself in check and not let her true persona show. 

Usually, she would work with the witchy stuff only after you would go to bed or when you were taking a nap. 

Today was just a casual day for both of you. You decided to take a nap, after playing outside for a little bit, and Agatha was relieved that she can finally let her true identity out. She gave you a kiss on the forehead and made sure that you were asleep before going to the basement, to work with her powers. She was really trying not to be too loud, so you won’t wake up because of the noise, but unintentionally she failed.

You opened your eyes because of the noise coming from the downstairs and almost  immediately got up from the couch. 

What if something happened with your mama? 

 

„Mama?”

 

You called out, but Agatha couldn’t hear it, since the basement was far away from the living room where you had fallen asleep earlier. You wanted to call for her again, but when you heard where the noises were coming from, you froze. 

Basement. 

She clearly told you earlier to not enter the basement without her, and you listened to your mama like a good little girl. You didn’t mean to disobey her, but the scary thoughts of her being in danger wouldn’t leave your head. You bit your lips and stepped on the first stage, slowly getting down to the basement.

What you saw left you speechless for a moment.

Your mama was standing at the center of the room, purple string coming out of her hands while she was making some objects fly or change their form. You tried to keep quiet, so you wouldn’t interrupt her from what she was doing, but you failed when a quiet gasp left your mouth.

Agatha immediately stopped what she was doing and turned her head in your direction. It was pretty obvious that the woman didn’t know what to say or what emotions to use. 

She sighed loudly, approaching you slowly. Agatha was surprised when you hadn't tried to run away.

You haven’t even moved an inch. 

 

„I told you to not enter the basement, bunny.“

 

She said, though her voice sounded more disappointed than angry. Agatha knew that that was about to happen, and she was stupid for believing that this time everything would be different. She was evil, and evil ones always end up alone. Just as she was ready to hear some nasty words from you, you went ahead and surprised her once more. 

 

„Mama, can you do that again? Use your purple!”

 

You asked with your sweet voice, feeling a little bit confused when you saw her eyes widen. You didn’t know how much those words meant to Agatha, who used to see people being afraid of her.

She nodded, and the next minute two purple strings left her hands, turning the chair into the big plushie. You clapped with your hands and went ahead to pick up your new stuffie from the floor. 

Agatha just stands there fascinated. She couldn’t believe that someone could love and trust her that much. She crouched down to give you a gentle kiss on the cheek, and then she looked at you like she never had before. Her gaze was filled with affection and some other feelings that she wasn’t ready to admit just yet. 

You got up from the floor, looking at Agatha with a little glimpse of pure excitement in your eyes. 

 

„Mama, can you fly on the broom? Like an evil witch from the movie that we watched last night?”

 

Agatha sighed dramatically, pretending to be offended by being called an evil witch. She knew that you were just comparing her to the Wicked Witch of the West from the „Wizard of Oz", and practically you were right. Of course she was an evil witch, but you didn’t need to know that, and she wasn’t planning on telling you. Maybe someday you will find out yourself, and she hoped that even then you would still love her. 

 

“No, but you know what I can do?”

 

Agatha asked, lowering her voice. You shook your head, waiting for what she was about to say. But instead of giving you an actual answer, she approached you and started wiggling her fingers, using a just little bit of her „purple” on her fingertips for the spooky effect.

 

„I can tickle you. Would that be evil enough for you, bunny?”

 

You turned around and quickly ran away, already giggling as you were making your way out of Agatha’s basement. She gave you a head start before starting to chase after you. While she was waiting, a crazy thought appeared in her head. 

What if she already found something valuable?

Something that had already made her feel even more powerful? 

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @hikyiwid

[mandalhoerian]

i've been in the far orbit of this argument for a while and I'm really baffled why people can't be understanding of each other's perspectives and i'm sorry for what you're going through...

i want to have a little break-it-down for reblog's sakes if anyone wants to put this in their blog because there is MUCH to be said about the non-MC and you are the MC angles. spoiler alert: there is no wrong answer. it's about respect & understanding.

you are the main character

This perspective is all about inclusivity and self-insertion, which is honestly such a big draw for otome games in general. The idea is simple: you’re not just playing a game--you’re imagining yourself in the game. Your avatar is customizable, so you can tweak your appearance to reflect how you see yourself, or even how you want to see yourself. It’s like being dropped into an isekai where you’re not just some regular person--you’re someone special.

and HEY, who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as this badass, idealized version of themselves? In this game, you’re a cool hunter, you’ve got skills, you’re navigating this wild sci-fi/fantasy world with monsters and powers & oh yeah, you’ve got a literal aether core in your chest. That core isn’t just a plot device, it’s a metaphor for potential, for becoming something more. The game practically screams, “Hey, this could be you! Look how powerful and capable you could be!” It’s empowering in a way, and I totally get why people love this angle. It’s fun to imagine yourself as the one charming the LIs, holding your own in battle, and rising to the challenge of this world.

For people who vibe with this, it’s about escapism and self-expression. You don’t want to read about someone else being awesome, you want yourself to be awesome. It’s the ultimate power fantasy.

key word: power fantasy. which brings me to

you are NOT the main character

The argument here is that while the game tries to sell the MC as us, it just......... doesn’t land for a lot of players. Let’s start with the fact that this is a Chinese game, and the default character design is heavily rooted in East Asian beauty standards. Which is fine. It's their game, I'm not complaining I'm just telling it as it is. Yes, the skin tones are inclusive, and I’ll give them credit for that, but the body type? The facial features? The overall aesthetic? It’s not exactly universal. I mean, take a good look at my big fat ass and tell me how I’m supposed to feel immersed when the MC looks like a dainty stick figure who’d snap in half if she ever actually tried to fight (despite all the "abs" talk.) Like, she’s cute, sure, but she’s not me. And definitely not you. (Don't talk to me about "she has to look like that because she's a hunter, remember". all of us know that's not the case. it's about beauty standards.)

And then there’s the way she acts. Oh boy,,,,,,,, Sometimes it feels like she’s actively trying to make the worst decisions possible. It’s one thing to be flawed, flaws are human and relatable, but there are moments, especially in the Sylus arc, where I’m sitting there like, “Girl, what are you doing?!” She makes choices that I would never make, and it pulls me right out of the story because it’s not even a matter of imagining myself in her shoes anymore. It’s like watching a character in a TV show make a bad call, and you’re yelling at the screen, but it’s not like you can change what happens. That's okay, though, it's not a sin. She has her own personality, her own reactions, and her own story, and while that makes for a compelling narrative, it also makes it really clear that she’s not us.

For people who lean toward the “non-MC” argument, it’s frustrating because the game is selling this experience as one where we’re supposed to see ourselves in the MC, but she’s written in a way that feels so disconnected from how many of us would act or feel. It’s hard to immerse yourself in a story when the character representing you feels so far removed from who you are or who you want to be.

so what?

Honestly, I think this boils down to what you’re looking for in the game. If you’re someone who loves the “you are the MC” vibe, then you’re probably willing to overlook or even embrace the gaps between you and the character because the customization and the overarching narrative of personal growth are enough to make you feel seen. But if you’re in the “non-MC” camp, then every time the MC makes a cringe-worthy choice or the story reminds you that she’s more of a predefined character than a blank slate, it’s going to take you out of the experience. (This was me in "No Defense Zone", I had to put my phone down and do laps around in my room out of second hand embarrassment.)

Maybe the real issue here is that the game is trying to have it both ways. It wants to tell a story with a strong narrative and a compelling lead character, but it also wants to let players insert themselves into that story. And honestly? That’s a tough balance to strike. It works for some people, but for others, it ends up feeling like a half-measure that doesn’t fully satisfy either camp.

At the end of the day, I think it’s okay to feel a little jealous of the MC because, in a way, she isn’t us. She’s her own character, living her own life in this world, and we’re just along for the ride. And whether you see her as “you” or as “another character,” what really matters is how much you’re enjoying the story. So let’s keep discussing it, but maybe we can stop tearing each other apart and harrass people over it. It’s okay to love the game for what it is—or even for what it isn’t.

Guys I may be mentally insane but ... Why do I low-key feel jealous of MC when I see clips of the upcoming cards... Especially the Sylus one..

IK SHE'S MEANT TO BE US BUT 😭😭