#angst-a-palooza

[not-neverland06]

paranormal love

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!reader

a/n: Bucky is going to be very OOC for the first half of this. Just trust the author on this one, it will all make sense in time. (Toxic relationships, paranormal happenings - you have been warned)

Summary: Moving into this house was supposed to be the blessing your marriage needed. Instead you only seem to be twisted against each other. Something lurks within these walls, something angry, something lonely. Someone wants you gone, and he’ll do whatever it takes to have his revenge on the woman who left him behind. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Okay,” you say, balancing the camera in your palm, zooming in on James’ back while he unpacks the kitchen boxes. “Wanna smile for the camera?”

He gives you a glance over his shoulder before turning and waving to the camera. He chuckles a little, glancing down at the lens and then back at you. “What are you doing?”

You sigh, placing the camera on the counter and letting it record. “Well, you know how the lady said this place was haunted?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at you. “I told you not to listen to her, that chick was off her meds.” You swat at his arm but he bounces away from you playfully. 

“Shut up,” you mutter, holding back a small laugh. “I just thought that if there were any supernatural happenings,” you nod towards the camera, “we’ll need proof if we’re going to make this a tourist trap.”

James smiles, leaning over to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Good call, babe.” You smile after him as he heads back out to the truck to bring in more boxes. Your eyes briefly dart to the camera before you shake your head with a disbelieving chuckle. 

Do you believe in the supernatural? Yes. The metaphysical? Depends on who’s trying to sell you their tarot cards. But you do know that when that woman handed you the keys after you bought the place, you’d never seen such stark relief. 

That poor old woman was terrified of living in this house alone. Of course, the old bitch didn’t tell you about all the horrific things that happened here until after you signed the deed. If you had known this place was haunted, even if it’s not, you never would have bought it. 

Sadly, all your money and savings are now tied into this home. James says not to worry, that there’s nothing wrong with the place. But he’s always been a cynic and he’s never really believed in anything so miraculous as ghosts. Besides, he’s the type of guy to argue with you until he’s purple in the face that the sky is red when he’s in a mood. 

There’s no talking him out of this. And you can’t begin your newlywed life arguing with your husband about the place you just made your forever home. Anyways, it’s not like you’ve noticed anything bad yet. 

The camera is mainly a joke to mess with James and make yourself feel better about the whole thing. You’ll turn it off tonight, be done with it, and hopefully get over this irrational fear of yours. 

12 AM

You spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth with water. You’ve noticed a strange metallic taste with all the unfiltered sinks. You're worried you might have to call a plumber or someone to check it out. You don’t want to get lead poisoning your first night here. 

You freeze, still bent over the sink, and your jaw snaps shut. Eyes are boring into the back of your head, hateful and angry. It’s not James, you would know if it was. This is something different, the hair on the back of your neck is standing up, goosebumps rolling up and down your arms. There’s a rush of cool air, like something running past you, and your head shoots up in surprise. 

You scream when you see James in the mirror’s reflection. He jumps back in shock, lowering the camera and giving you an exasperated look. A second ago you’d been completely alone and he’d been downstairs, where the fuck did he come from?

“What the hell, James?” You wipe your mouth off with the back of your hand and whirl around on him. He glares at you, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction. 

“Talk about an overreaction. What the hell is your problem?” He snaps, taking that tone with you that you know means you have to be careful. You don’t feel like getting into another fight with him. Especially not tonight. 

“You scared me,” you trail off into an awkward laugh, hoping to ease up the mood a little. He slams the camera down on the counter. Your shoulders jump and you flinch back from him slightly. “What’re you doing with the camera?” You ask, glancing down at the lens and frowning. You spot the red blinking light and realize he’s still recording, your brows furrow in confusion. 

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” His tone is short and you huff in disappointment. You hadn’t realized something as small as a little scare would piss him off. You used to be good at reading his moods. Since the wedding, though, he seems to have just gotten more and more unpredictable. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling over the floor as you kick your legs. You hate how tall the damn bed frame is, you have a horrible paranoia that something’s going to grab you one day and yank you under. James, of course, had just laughed when you told him this and then bought it. He thought it was funny, that it would help you overcome your fears. 

You still have goosebumps from earlier, the same breeze from before tickles the pads of your feet. You glance down with wide eyes, yanking your legs into your chest and scooting back from the edge. James flips the lights off in the bathroom and walks to the end of the bed. He’s dragged out the tripod and has got it pointed at the bed. 

You tilt your head with a coy smile, “Planning on having some fun tonight?”

He glances between you and the camera, a confused furrow between his brows. You scoff out a laugh as the realization dawns over him. “If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind some after-dark fun.” You roll your eyes and tug the covers over your legs. He leaves the camera and crawls on the bed towards you. “But that’s not what it's for.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over his shoulder and then turn back to him with an odd look. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into the supernatural junk?” You tuck your head into his chest, letting him pull you closer as he flips the lamp off. “You’re supposed to keep me tethered to reality, remember?” You tease, looking up at him. 

He glances down at you and shrugs. “The lady did say the master bedroom is the worst, I’m just curious if we’ll catch anything.” 

You shoot the camera a concerned look and shake your head. “I hope not,” you mutter. You snuggle in closer to him, trying to dismiss the feeling of someone watching you. You’re sure it’s just from the camera being on you. Besides, you always get too deep in your head about this stuff.

3 AM

You shoot up in bed, chest heaving as you stare down at your feet. James shifts behind you, grumbling as he flips over and steals the rest of the blankets. 

Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you simply sit there, staring at the end of the bed. You pause, holding your breath like the room might tell you its secrets. 

You’re normally a heavy sleeper, not even a fire would get you up. But something just did, you were ripped violently from your slumber. You almost want to dismiss it as an incredibly vivid nightmare. Yet, you can’t ignore the throbbing, almost freezing pain, that’s shooting up and down your left calf. 

The muscle is spasming sporadically and you can still feel the phantom touch of someone squeezing your leg. Your hip is sore from where you’d been dragged down. You’ve had pretty vivid dreams before. You’ve woken up with your feet sore like you’d been running, or your muscles cramped from twitching around so much. But this is a lot. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly pulling your legs into your chest. You slump over your bent knees, hoping to catch your breath and settle your racing mind. It’s impossible to ignore how cold your leg feels, you feel like you’re losing blood circulation. You can’t just go back to sleep with it like this, you’re gonna have to go downstairs and get James’ heat pack. 

You’re seriously starting to lose feeling in it now. You’re wondering if something didn’t drag you and maybe you’ve got a blood clot screwing your circulation up somehow. Hundreds of different possibilities race through your mind, each more worrying than the last. You can't sit up all night scaring yourself, you’re just gonna have to suck it up. 

You briefly consider waking James up so you don’t have to go downstairs alone. You hate how those stairs look in the dark, you feel like something is standing at the end, waiting to reach through the banister and drag you down. A ghost, however, sounds more inviting than making James grumpy before he has to go in for work tomorrow morning. 

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself off the bed and blindly grope through the dark for the wall. Your left leg is practically dead weight as you drag it behind you. Your hands skate along the dusty walls and you grimace, making a mental note to dust tomorrow. 

You’re trying to take it slow, to squint out as many shapes in the dark as you can. It’s nearly impossible to tell when you’re going to hit the stairs. You can only pray that you don’t go toppling headfirst down them. 

Slowly, you inch your toes forward and curl them around the edge of the step. From there it’s a long, arduous process of just trying to get down the stairs. It feels as though with each step you take, the house only grows darker. 

You wished you had taken the risk and turned the lights on. The feeling of eyes following you only gets worse as you finally reach the kitchen. The further you get from the bedroom, the worse your leg begins to throb. You can only be happy that you still feel it at all. 

Your hand skates along the wall until you feel the cool plastic of the light switch. As harsh as it is against the linoleum, it’s a stark relief from being all alone in the dark. You dig around in the moving boxes until you find James' heating pad. You toss it in the microwave and pull yourself on the counter, drumming your fingers while you wait for it to warm up. 

He hates you. He hates that you live in his house. He hates that she’s gone. Bette, he’ll miss her, the way the old woman’s face would screw up in terror always brought a sick satisfaction to him. 

You press the warm pad to your leg and hiss through your teeth as feeling begins returning to your calf. He has to admit, he hadn’t meant to grab you quite so hard. He just wanted one good scare, to either get you out of here or show you who's in charge. Your leg has turned an odd color in the shape of his handprint and it makes his lips curl up. 

There’s a loud ringing from upstairs. It grates on his already frayed nerves and makes anger roll off of him in violent, tangible waves. Your nose twitches, your face screwing up as you look around. There’s a suspicious glint in your eye, one your little husband doesn’t share with you. 

He has to admit, you’re smart enough to realize the truth of your situation, at least. Your husband doesn’t share the same characteristic. He seems alarmingly self-assured, not that he minds, those are his favorite types to break. 

He can hear upstairs, better than you would ever hope to. He listens as your husband picks up the phone, quietly yelling at someone on the other end. A woman, if the timbre is anything to go by. They both sound incredibly angry. He’s not interested in listening to something as trivial as this. 

He turns away from you and moves towards the stairs. He pauses at the base of them, glancing over his shoulder and really taking you in. You look so small, curled up on the counter with the look of a frightened child. 

You scream as the lightbulb above you explodes, plunging you into complete darkness. He smiles to himself, drifting up the stairs and lingering at the end of your bed. Your husband’s head shoots up in alarm and he pulls the phone away from his ear. 

The name Martha lingers on the small screen before he quickly flips it off and rushes out of bed. He blows right through the man at the end of his bed, flipping on the lights and racing down the stairs. He calls out your name, voice frantic and bordering on paranoia. 

He hadn’t thought you two would get scared quite so quickly. He’d been hoping to enjoy this a bit more. Perhaps he should slow down, and savor the long fall into madness before he claims you both. He hovers at the top of the stairs, watching as your husband comforts you. 

He’s got his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep you quiet and get you to calm down. From a distance, he could almost be the perfect husband. But that look is all too familiar, he’s seen it a hundred times before. It’s only now that he recognizes it for what it is. There is no love in your husband’s gaze, only the fear that you’ll find out his little secret. 

He goes back into the bedroom, swipes the phone off the nightstand, and retreats into the shadows. 

“Don’t,” you slap James’ hands away from you, glaring at him. He purses his lips, huffing out a sharp breath and taking a step back. Anger brews under your skin, warms you up, and makes your jaw ache from how hard you’re clenching down. 

“How can you say I made it up?” You shout, no longer caring how loud you are. Your voice cracks at the end as you take on a shrill pitch. You yank up the leg of your yoga pants, shoving your leg towards him. 

Not only has the skin dipped in the perfect shape of a hand, but it’s also turned into an unnatural shade of green and purple. It’s like no bruise or injury you’ve ever had before. James looks down at the mark like it’s a bug to be squashed or a pile of dog shit he just stepped in. 

He fixes you with a sneer and shoves it away from him. You let out a harsh breath and stumble slightly into the counter. “Would you quit fucking showing me that? It’s freaking me out.”

You throw your hands up in the air, giving him an eat-shit look. “How do you think I feel? It happened to me.”

He shakes his head and turns towards the coffee pot, pouring himself another mug. You can’t believe how dismissive he’s being about this whole thing. You have indisputable proof burned into your flesh, and he’s completely ignoring your worries. 

“We need to get you to the doctor, okay?” He shakes his head, giving you the look of a disapproving parent, rather than the supportive husband he’s supposed to be. He hadn’t even been worried for you last night, just mad that you’d woken him up for nothing. 

“It’s probably a blood clot, not a damn poltergeist.”

“James-” His phone ringing cuts you off, and your eyes narrow in disbelief as he reaches for it. It’s closer to you on the counter so you snatch it up before he can grab it. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, taking on a concerningly low tone. 

“We’re going to talk about this, you’re not getting out of this one, James!” 

He whispers your name in a voice you haven’t heard before. His face is dark, brows set in determination as he slowly extends his hand. “Give me my phone.”

You glance at the Nokia and then back at him. The fear that’s been ever-present since last night turns into something else. Anxiety and suspicion make a wicked and nauseating brew in your stomach. “Why?” You whisper, eyes narrowing on him as he takes a step closer. You stumble a step back, holding the phone out of his reach. 

You feel your hand tremble with its vibrations before it begins to ring again. You look towards it just as James lunges forward. His shoulder nearly barrels into you as he grabs your wrist. His grip is so tight you almost feel the bones creaking together. “James!” You gasp, the phone tumbling from your palm and into his hand. He shoves you back, tucking it in his pocket and glaring at you. 

“Don’t touch my phone,” you open your mouth to argue and he takes a large step forward. His foot slams against the ground and you flinch back from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Do you understand me,” he demands, slowly and his voice low. 

You nod, your jaw gaping as you stare at him. He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to meet your eye now. Dark strands fall onto his forehead and he looks more disheveled than you’ve seen him in a long while. 

He looks at his watch and clenches his eyes shut. He pauses, taking in a deep breath as he straightens his tie and rounds the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You ask, your voice so quiet you’re surprised he even hears it. 

“Going to work,” he snaps. You can’t look at him, you just keep your eyes glued to the floor as the door slams shut. You hold your breath until you hear the car going down the driveway. Ever so slowly, you peel yourself away from the counter. 

Your hand drifts, without thinking, to the imprints on your wrist. “What the fuck,” you mutter, a stunned sort of silence taking over. You can’t help but just stand there, completely dumbfounded by how quickly a simple argument escalated. 

He’s always had a shorter temper than most, but that was extreme. A door slams upstairs and you scream, leaping forward and whirling towards the noise.  “What the fuck!” You shout again, stumbling towards the knife block behind you. You can hear footsteps running upstairs and swallow around a ball of fear sinking in your throat. 

You almost call out ‘whos there,’ but that’s a little too stupid for you. You’re not planning on being the bimbo who dies first in every horror movie. As much as James likes to tease you for being a little simple sometimes, you are equipped with basic survival skills. 

You look towards the coffee maker, the port where your home phone should be is empty. You rush towards the windows, glancing out the driveway and cursing when you find it empty. You were hoping that James might still be in his car, steaming before he comes back in to apologize. But, no, he’s really gone. 

Another door slams and it feels a little petty. Despite the way your heart races and you’re struggling to catch your breath, you don’t feel like you’re in any immediate danger. The looming presence that hung over you last night is gone. James had dismissed the lightbulb exploding as an old house and bad lighting. 

You know better, despite the claims otherwise, and you sincerely doubt that there’s an actual person upstairs. And whatever it is, was smart enough to steal your phone. You slink towards the end of the stairs, just barely craning your neck so you can see into your bedroom. Except the door isn’t open like you left it. 

Light comes through the crack of the closed door. You take a tentative step up, eyes squinting as you try and get a glimpse under the door. A shadow darts past, like rushing footsteps. You gasp, leaping back and covering your mouth with trembling hands. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands, and the loose hairs from your braids blow across your cheeks, tickling your sensitive skin. Old vents, that’s what James told you. His attempt to explain the inexplicable breeze that seems to be following you everywhere you go. You’re bundled head to toe in fuzzy socks, warm pants, and a too-big sweatshirt. And still, you feel your fingers nearly go numb and you can barely feel your nose anymore. 

That’s not a poor AC system. And those aren’t feet under your door. You’re so focused on simply watching the movements under the door that you completely forget anything else. You’re blind and deaf as you watch whatever is moving about in your room. A loud clank breaks through the silence and you nearly scream. 

Your bones almost jump out of your skin as the ice machine starts going and rattles up the old fridge. You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and glaring at the white machine. “Fuck me,” you mutter, holding your chest and just barely calming yourself down. 

You’ve only been here a night, you shouldn’t be so fucking terrified. You’re ready to just go out into the backyard and wait the rest of the day for James to come back. If you could drive off, you would. But you’ve only got one working car right now and he’s taken it to work. You move to grab your laptop off the couch when something creaks behind you. 

Old hinges cry out as they’re slowly forced to work. The sound of steps going down the stairs occupies the space behind you. You can’t find the bravery to turn around, too scared to see what might be there. Something ice cold passes through you. It nearly feels like a violation, as though something was rooting through your insides like it belonged there. It couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds but it was more than enough to have you nearly vomiting up your scarce breakfast. 

The moment it’s over you feel yourself calming down. As though an instinctual intuition has been activated, you know the danger’s passed. Whatever it had been trying to accomplish with that little show, it did it. 

You turn back to your room, the lights off and the door open, looking just as you left it. You glance over your shoulder, looking into the kitchen before starting up the stairs. You give a hesitant peek into the room like you expect it to be a wreck. But it looks spotless, the camera is in the same place James left it, still recording. 

You file that away in the back of your mind. Maybe the camera picked up what happened last night, or maybe James is right. You really are just getting too far into your head. A shrill ringing goes off near James nightstand and you frown. Your phone buzzes on his side of the bed, MOM lighting up the square screen. 

You let out a short huff, quickly snatching your phone and answering. Maybe she can talk some sense into you, or, more preferably, come over to keep you company. “Hey mom,” you answer, smiling slightly to yourself. It’s been a little while since you’ve been able to talk to her. James had banned phones after the honeymoon and then you’d gotten caught up in house stuff, jobs, and the aftermath of the wedding ‘incident.’

An older voice than you’d been expecting answers on the other end, saying your name in a confused tone. Your brows furrow and you frown, “Mrs. Barnes?”

“Honey,” she sounds strained, like she really hadn’t been expecting you to answer. James must have taken your phone by accident. It makes sense, they’re both the same model, but you put a little pink charm on your Nokia so you’d stop making this mistake. Yet, when you look to your left, you see your charm lying on your nightstand. When had you taken that off?

“Where’s James?”

“Um,” you’re still a little thrown off by her voice and take a second to answer. “Work, I think he took the wrong phone,” you laugh a little, disconcerted that it’s not your mother’s comforting voice. 

“Must have,” she answers, she sounds like she’s a million miles away, her tone distant. “Well, um, just tell him to call me back.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, concerned by how off she sounds. “Is everything alright?” You know things have been tough for her since her husband passed on. James’ sisters have been helping her adjust, but the wedding had taken him away from his family for a little while. He hasn’t actually shown any signs of wanting to reach out and it makes you feel guilty, like you’re keeping him away from her. 

Mrs. Barnes, a living saint you swear, has been nothing but kind as she welcomes you into her family. This is the first time she’s ever been so distant to you. You act more like her family than James does nowadays. 

“Has, uh,” she coughs, clearing her throat. You can almost hear what sounds like Francesca on the other end, hollering at her. The sound of James’ older sister’s voice makes you smile a little wider. “Has James said anything to you?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head in confusion, even if she can’t see you. “About what?”

“Oh, crumbs,” she huffs and you have a feeling whatever she was about to say was important, but someone is snatching the phone away before you can hear the rest of it. You’d been so focused on her voice that you hadn’t even heard James come back in. 

He glares down at the phone, face pale and eyes wide like he’s expecting something horrific. When he places it to his ear and hears his mom’s voice, his shoulders slump in relief. You narrow your eyes at him, disoriented by the strange behavior. 

“Mom,” he interrupts her rudely, “I’ll call you later. Okay?” He hangs up before she can answer. He tugs your phone out of his pocket and tosses it next to you on the bed. “Answering my phone now? What are you, my secretary?”

You slip your phone into your back pocket, not looking at him as you get off the bed. “I thought it was mine. I think my charm broke off.” You put some distance between the two of you, glancing down at his phone and then back at him. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

He flinches like you’ve just accused him of something far worse than being overly protective of his phone. “I don’t like you digging around in my phone. That’s a problem now?” You open your mouth to argue, but he just keeps going, cutting you off, “You’re so goddamn paranoid. First the ghost, now this,” he gestures vaguely at you and you scoff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. 

You two are devolving far quicker than he had anticipated. It must have been a fragile relationship, to begin with. James slams the door and you slump down on the bed, you almost look like you want to cry. 

He goes down the stairs, watching through the window as your husband lingers on the front porch. He calls someone, his mom, and starts yelling at her as he gets to his car. Looking away from the window, he sighs. 

He’d been close, if James hadn’t come home he probably could have pushed you over the edge immediately. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or happy that his game gets to go on a little longer.

You come back down the stairs, eyes rimmed red and shoulders slumped in defeat. You brush through him, not even noticing the chill he leaves behind in you. You have the camera in your hand and a cord in the other. He grins, excited to finally have you see the truth of what happened last night. 

You plug the camera into your laptop, scrubbing through the footage of last night. He leans over your shoulder and watches as goosebumps rise along your skin. You sigh, tugging a blanket over your shoulders, but he knows that won’t do anything to help you. 

Nothing will unless you leave. But your husband has made it clear that you’re not getting out of here until he has actual proof anything supernatural lurks inside these haunted walls. Right here, in your lap, you have your proof. A phantom wind blows up the sheets of the bed, an unexplainable tug of your leg that drags you halfway down the bed. It’s violent and he almost feels sorry, he really hadn’t meant to hurt you, only scare you. 

His fingers drift over your leg and you jump, whirling around, wide eyes looking right through him. He can’t help but admire the way fear makes them shine. You’re quite pretty when you’re terrified, he couldn’t say the same for the hag that used to live here. 

You’re slow to turn back to the computer, but when you do, there’s a slight curve to your lips that he appreciates. “I fucking knew it,” you whisper, slamming the screen closed and getting to your feet. 

You’re giddy, he can taste the satisfaction overpowering the fear. You round the couch, taking in a deep breath and shaking out your arms. Your face sets in determination and you start working on clearing out the moving boxes. 

He doesn’t feel the urge to mess with you any further. He leaves you in peace, lounging in your armchair and watching you work. He’s got a nice surprise worked up for you tonight, no need to take today’s playtime any further. 

You’re efficient, only occasionally getting distracted as you smile at pictures of your wedding day. You put those up on the mantle, beside some family photos. It’s clear how much you value your familial bonds, even your husbands. You put it front and center in the home, reminding him of how it once looked. 

There’s a stark sense of deja vu as he watches you work, a nauseating feeling of what could have been. He can practically taste the newlywed bliss you’re going through. Even with your husband being a piece of work, you still value him, love him. He’d once known that love, hell, he’d reveled in it. 

But the curtain always has to come down. The magic’s never real. He’s doing you a favor by showing you the truth of it all. His gaze drifts away from you cooking dinner and he looks towards the pictures on the mantle. 

James’ mother reminds him of his own. He always wondered what happened to her, what her life was like after he was gone. Neither of them ever got what they wanted. She died wondering what happened to her only son, and he died without getting to say goodbye. 

He thinks of Bette, and feels that familiar white-hot rush of anger, your scream comes a moment later. He glances towards you, confused, before he follows your eyes and sees that he’s accidentally shattered the frames of the pictures. 

You gasp, sucking in shallow breaths as you stumble into the counter, brows furrowed in terror. He clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, and tamps down on the anger overwhelming him. 

The door opens and your socked feet go rushing towards it, you nearly slip on the hardwoods, arms spinning wildly as you right yourself. James flinches away from your frantic hands as you grab his jacket and drag him inside. “The fucking pictures,” you stutter out your words and point frantically towards the mantle. 

James grimaces, tugging at your hands and looking towards him. He doesn’t see him, of course he doesn’t. But he does see his little accident. James scoffs, face screwing up in anger, he turns towards you. His face is set like a disappointed parent. “You broke them? Our wedding pictures, seriously. All because of a stupid fight?”

He jerks away from you, storming towards the glass and kicking at it. “You didn’t even clean it up,” he says your name, tone increasing in anger. You stare at him, disbelieving and open-mouthed. 

He sits back on the armchair, thoroughly amused. He hadn’t even had to do anything to turn him against you. Your sweet James has just been waiting for a reason to get mad. “This is fucking petty, even for you.”

“What, James,” you stumble over your words, taking a hesitant step towards him. He thinks you’re pretty when you’re scared, but not like this. He doesn’t appreciate the way you approach your husband like he’s a rabid dog. You shouldn’t be scared of him, not yet at least. He hasn’t even had his fun with him yet. 

“It wasn’t me, I swear-”

“Not this ghost shit again, seriously-”

“I have proof!” You shout, your voice is desperate as you try and make yourself louder than him. You run towards your laptop, and ignore the burning smell coming from the oven. He gets up, drifting towards it and turning it off before either of you can notice. No point in having the house burn down. Where would that leave him?

You plug the camera in, turning the screen towards him. James doesn’t make a move yet, simply glaring at you like you’re a bug to be swatted. “Please,” you beg, pathetic and needy. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches you both. It’s all so familiar to him, he feels like he’s watching his unfortunate disaster of a marriage play out through you. 

You scrub through the times, cussing as you pass over the clip of you getting dragged. There’s a frantic look in your eye as you hit play. It almost makes him feel bad for what’s about to happen. 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” James snaps. 

Your face falls and you move the mouse forward and back, looking like a madwoman as you try to find the right moment. You won’t, he made sure of that. Nothing but static plays when you get to the parts that would prove your innocence. 

James tugs at his tie, shaking his head in disappointment. “Not only did you fuck up all our pictures, you didn’t even have dinner ready.” He shoves past you, heading up the stairs and muttering to himself. He pulls out his phone, lingering on a contact he shouldn’t before pressing call. 

You stay still in the living room, looking at the shattered glass and then the oven. “I made your favorite,” you whisper. You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing hard as you kneel down to try and pick up the remnants of your wedding photos. 

3 AM

He sits on the bed, glancing towards the blinking red light of the camera. There’s a clear wall between you and your husband, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. You lay curled up in yourself, like a child afraid to seek comfort. He pities you, truly. 

He remembers the happiness of youth, the rush of being married to the person you believe is the love of your life. He will never forget the pain of realizing the person you’ve given everything to turning into someone you don’t recognize. 

His hand drifts over the swell of your cheek. Your lashes flutter, nose wrinkling at the cold brush of his touch. But you don’t flinch away from him, instead leaning into him and looking almost happy by his touch. 

He looks to your husband, eyes narrowing on his relaxed form. He sees the phone lying near him and his face sets in determination. He’s not going to let you fall into the same trap he did. And he certainly isn’t about to let another soul cramp the already stuffy walls of his home. 

It’s been quiet around the house. Less strange events and more strained dinners between you and your husband. You’ve taken to bringing the camera everywhere with you. But anytime a light bulb explodes or a frame topples over, the video goes static. 

You should have given up the hunt for evidence but you can’t give it up. You just need James to see, you need him to believe you. Or, at the very least, you need some assurance that you’re not going crazy. You’ve begun to consider the possibility. 

The bruise on your leg is gone, the constant chills that rack you are still very much present, but there’s nothing else. Everything that happens can be explained by the age of the house. You’ve only briefly discussed it with James’ sisters. Elizabeth gave you the number of a medium she knows. 

James had gotten angry when he found the business card after her visit. He didn’t like her filling your head with more nonsense and indulging you. You didn’t like how dismissive he was. It’s been a few days since the fight and you still have no desire to reconcile with him. 

It’s becoming easier to simply ignore his presence around the house. You know it’s not healthy. You’ve only just begun the marriage, you don’t need to have communication issues tainting it before it’s even on its legs. 

Still, it’s as though something’s keeping you from him. Every attempt at speaking with him is interrupted, thoughts of apologizing just to placate him are struck from your head quicker than they come. 

You stand up from the kitchen table, placing your pictures to the side. You’ve finally gotten new frames for them all, you only need to put them back up. You have no problems putting up the family pictures. Yet, the moment you make to grab the wedding picture of you and James, you grow inexplicably tired. 

Your eyelids flutter shut and you sway on your feet. Your bones grow heavy like you’ve been working all day. But you’ve only been up a few hours, and you had so much more to do today. You try and fight forward, leaning on the table and reaching for the portrait again. You almost feel like you’re nudged back, moved towards the couch. 

A short nap, you promise yourself. Just long enough to get your energy back. 

He followed him to work. That’s never happened before. He’s never been able to follow someone out of the house. He tried, with Steve, he tried to make every aspect of his life hell. But he couldn’t. 

Yet, with this one, he has no problem following him. Maybe it’s the odd resemblance they have. A haircut and a shave, they could be identical twins. But then again, he hasn’t seen his face in a long while, perhaps he’s misremembering it. 

It’s difficult to maintain this control. Half of him lingers in the house, with you, the other half is here. He’s being drawn closer to James and further from you. He doesn’t know if that’s conducive or an interruption to his plans. 

He only vaguely sees you, in his mind’s eye. He leads you to the couch, lays you down, and keeps you away from the reminders of James. He’s gotten good at keeping you both separated. It was easy to begin with, all he’s doing is showing you the truth of the man you married. If only he could really show you. 

James phone rings and he focuses on him once more. It’s Martha again. He hasn’t figured out the truth of their relationship, he’s sure he already knows it. He’s lived this life once, knows the truth of why a husband would act like this. The late-night calls, the constant misdirection of anger. 

He’s paranoid, terrified you’ll find out the truth. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. The perfect housewife at home, and the mistress who fulfills his every desire. At least, that’s his theory. He still needs to be completely sure. 

He ignores James, focusing once more on his connection to the house. He finds you right where he left you, deep in your sleep and completely oblivious to the world around you. He kneels before you, sweeping some hair off your cheeks and tilting his head as he takes in your restful face. 

You look so peaceful when you’re like this, a slight curl to your lips as you wander through dreamland. He wished he could keep you like this, wished he could completely get rid of James. But without him, you wouldn’t be able to keep the house. You’d leave it, leave him. He can’t have that. He’s been lonely for so long, he needs you, craves you. 

6 PM

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

Chewing fills the cavernous silence of your dining room. Forks scrape across porcelain, shallow breaths as you both dance around the tension that threatens to tie a noose around your marriage. You reach for your wine, hoping for another heady swallow. Just like before, you’re dissuaded from it. 

You grow tired at the thought of drowning your sorrows in the alcohol for another night. You clench your eyes shut and take a deep breath, moving the glass away from you and turning back to the roast you made. 

James’ brows furrow as he watches you. “Everything alright?”

You hum, “Tired.” He scoffs and your face falls flat. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he cuts more aggressively into the meat. "Something wrong?” You demand, sucking on your teeth as you anticipate his answer. You’re sure it’s going to be the same broken record he’s been playing since the honeymoon. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, tone dismissive. He pauses, taking a deep breath before laughing sardonically. “It’s just funny.” You hate how he does this, drags out his answers, and forces you to take the bait. 

You’re not playing this game of his tonight. You won’t do it again. You can’t keep going in circles with him, can’t keep indulging him in these childish tantrums. He waits, eyebrows raised and pretty blue eyes boring into yours, demanding attention. 

Those damn eyes. You wish he was just a little uglier, maybe then you wouldn’t have been so blind to how fucking awful he really is. You almost resent his mother and sisters for this. They could have warned you off, told you the horror stories of his past before the wedding. Instead, they’d warned you after it was too late and your entire life was entangled in his. 

“I work all day, come home, want a peaceful meal. What do I get?”

He falls silent again and you let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, James,” you drawl, bored of this already. Your patience for him is practically nonexistent nowadays. You used to be able to endure these conversations with him, or at the very least soothe him. But you’re tired of feeling like a babysitter and not the wife you’re supposed to be. “What do you get? A homecooked meal, a clean house, someone to come home to. Tell me,” you demand, slamming your hand on the table and surprising him. “What the fuck do you get?”

“A nagging fucking wife who does jack shit all day and complains about being tired! I work for us, so you can stay home and live out your little housewife fantasies!”

Your jaw drops and you suck in a sharp breath. You can’t even form words, nearly laughing at the audacity and ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “Oh my god,” you can only scoff, shaking your head and leaning back in your chair. You smile and roll your eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” He stands, leaning on the table and trying to make himself bigger than he is. It only paints him in a more pathetic light. 

You cut him off before he can say anything else, scooping up your plate and storming into the kitchen. “You’re the one who insisted I quit my job. You,” you turn and gesture towards him, a disgusted sneer on your face, “wanted a fucking housewife. I was just the dumbass that listened to you. You have no right to throw that in my face. You wanted this, James!”

“Yeah, well,” for a moment you think he’s speechless. His jaw opens and closes, nothing but air leaving his parted lips. You should know better by now, he’s always got some bullshit to spew. “I didn’t think you’d be so incompetent at this.”

You drop the plate in the sink, leaning on it for support and closing your eyes. You take in deep breaths, trying to cool down the heat racing under your skin. Your blood’s pumping so hard you’re surprised a vein hasn’t burst yet. 

“Fuck this,” you push off the sink, shoving past him and moving towards the front door. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, watching as you grab your coat and your keys. 

“Going for a walk,” you tell him shortly, slamming the door behind you. You just need some time away from him, away from the suffocating shadow that seems to linger behind him all the time now. 

You pull the business card Elizabeth had given you and dial the number. You don’t know if this anger is coming from whatever the hell lives in that house or if this was always coming. But you’re not going to just roll over and let this thing ruin your marriage. 

7 PM

You’re out for an hour. He’s upset the entire time. He wants to drive James’ head into the corner of the counter over and over again until there’s nothing left but unidentifiable mush. It’s the same fight he used to have. It always started over something so stupid, he could never say anything right. 

No matter how many times he thought he finally figured Bette out. Every time he thought he had avoided some trigger for her, a new one formed. It didn’t matter how perfect of a husband he was, he would never be enough because he wasn't him. He wasn’t Steve, the man who could do no wrong in her eyes. 

He stands in the corner and watches as James paces for a while before he finally leaves, taking his keys and his phone. He takes the car and leaves you stranded here at the house. 

He knows that James could fix the car sitting idle in the garage. He could fix the car. It’s just another way of keeping you under control. James gets to decide when and where you get to go out, you don’t get a say. 

You seem relieved, though, when you come back and see James gone. You’re happier without your husband, it’s both good and bad. He needs you to resent James, needs you to hate him. But that could prove tricky for him in the future. 

“Thank you so much,” you’re on the phone, you’ve got something lumpy in your jacket. One hand lays under the buttons of your coat, stroking idly. “Yeah, Thursday sounds great. Thank you, again, for coming on such late notice.”

You hang up, placing your keys and phone in the bowl by the door. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” You open your jacket, revealing a bundle of matted, dirty fur underneath. Somewhere in all that mess is the scrunched face of a pissed-off cat. 

You coo to it, stroking its head and ignoring the fact it looks like it wants to rip your hand off. You bring it to the kitchen sink and he watches as you take the next few hours to wash its wounds and properly groom it. 

He never cared much for cats, or any animals, really. He never had the time or the energy to try and take care of something other than Bette. She was practically a full-time job to cater to. But he enjoys how peaceful you look being able to take care of the cat. He enjoys how much sympathy you display, even as the little bastard rips and tears at your pretty skin. 

He looms over your shoulder, stroking his phantom fingers over the cat's wet fur. It’s enough to scare it into submission. Its claws release your skin and it shrinks back into your hold. He grins, backing away and leaving you to it. 

You frown down at the cat, murmuring soothing words to it as you look around the kitchen. Sometimes he thinks you see him, thinks you can truly see through all the walls and witness what’s left of the man he was. He knows it's foolish, a ridiculous hope. 

You’ll never be able to see him. Even if you could, you would only think of him as a tormentor. He was a blight on your home and marriage, why would you ever care about him?

3 AM

You feel eyes on you. Not the unfamiliar eyes you’ve been feeling, you know these. Intimately. You stir from your light sleep, squinting through the dark. Minimal light comes in through the blinds, but it's just enough for you to see the figure standing beside you. 

You gasp, flinching away from James. He just stands over you, glaring down at where you slept. Eyes devoid of anything. “James?” You whisper. Alpine, the cat you snagged from a neighbor’s dumpster, leaps off the bed. 

She hisses at James, skirting around him and running out of the room. Your brows furrow in confusion. You look back to James, muttering his name again. He gasps like he was dragged out of a coma. 

He stumbles on his feet, tripping over them and nearly nosediving into the bed. You instinctively steady him, guiding him onto the bed beside you. “What are you doing?” You hiss at him, holding his face in your hands and looking him over for any explanation of what was just happening. 

You’ve never even heard him talk in his sleep. Let alone, sleep with his eyes wide open and staring at you. It was beyond disturbing. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes, they’re soft as he looks at you. Soft in a way they haven’t been for a long time. 

His hand comes up to cup yours, the other almost hesitantly running across your cheek. “James?” You ask again, caught off guard by the odd display of affection.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. You’re ninety percent sure you’re still dreaming, he’s never apologized first before. It’s always been you to broker the peace. You’ll sacrifice being right if it means he’ll stop giving you the cold shoulder, he’s never done the same. 

You try to ask him what he’s talking about, but he’s surging forward before you can speak. His lips are chapped, dryer than you’re used to. He doesn’t give you much time to process anything. His hands drift to your waist, dragging you into his lap as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You’re taken aback by the taste of metal on his tongue. It’s coppery and bitter, not at all like the mint toothpaste you both use. 

He’s not kissing you like you’re used to. He’s not trying to devour you or suffocate you by shoving his tongue as far as it goes down your throat. This is gentle, sweet. It feels like you’re being savored, not claimed. You don’t mind it, in fact, it would be nice if you weren’t so disturbed. 

He’s not acting like himself, he barely looks like he should, and he tastes wrong. This isn’t your husband kissing you. You want to pull away, you try to. But his fingers are digging into your waist and your lips are firmly locked. You can feel the chill of his hands through your pajamas. They’re like icicles, you’re sure there’s going to be a mark from them in the morning. 

“James,” you manage to mutter, pulling away from him just enough to catch your breath. “What’s,” you trail off, tongue growing too heavy to speak. Your words slur together, become one nonsensical jumble stuck in your throat. 

He shakes his head, biting his lip and slowly lowering you back onto the bed. “I’m sorry. I thought this would work.” You narrow your eyes, you have barely enough energy to shake your head in confusion. Your lips part to ask another question. He leans down, pressing one last gentle kiss to you before your eyes roll back and you’re asleep again. 

“I told you I have it handled,” James practically pouts as he sits in your armchair. You used to use it to crochet, it’s got the best view of the backyard and you like to watch the bunnies that live under the porch. But more and more, he stays there. Every second he’s home, he seems to live in that chair. 

Bette had given it to you with the house. You hadn’t really thought anything of it, but with how he’s been acting lately, you can’t help but wonder if its’ connected to whatever secrets live in these walls. Most people would be haunted and their husbands would get worse, you seem to be experiencing the opposite. 

He’s kinder, he’s bringing you flowers and cooking you breakfast. You’re woken up with praise and gentle kisses. Then he’s back to normal by lunchtime. He’s miserable at dinner, only to wake you up in the middle of the night with saccharine apologies. You’re so sick and tired of living in this whirlwind of love and misery. You just want some goddamn answers. 

You need to know the truth of what’s happening to you. Is this just how James is? Is this the house? Is there even anything wrong with the house?

You’re hoping the medium will be able to answer that for you today. Mystic Wanda, the name doesn’t give you much hope but Elizabeth told you she’s one of the best. 

Alpine runs against your legs and James glowers at her. “I told you I wanted her out of here.”

“Tough,” you respond bluntly, eyes trained on the front door. He’d thrown a hissy fit when he saw her the morning after your weird make-out session. You hadn’t bent, though, and you know he’s still upset you’re no longer blindly giving into his whims. 

The doorbell rings and you leap off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. Wanda’s eyes widen in amusement and she smiles at your eagerness. “Please, come in, and thank you again for coming on such short notice.”

You usher her inside, offering to take her jacket. She passes it to you, eyeing the interior of your home and giving you an appeasing smile. “Well, Elizabeth is a good friend of mine, she told me you were having an emergency and I wanted to help.”

James scoffs from the armchair and she glances over at him with a bemused look. You glare at him over her shoulder. “James, I presume?”

“Oh,” his eyes widen in faux amazement, “did you divine that?”

Her eyebrows raise and you know she’s unimpressed. “I could tell from the attitude. Your sister warned me you were a cynic.”

He mutters a bitter, “Whatever,” under his breath and goes back to ignoring her. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you take her by the elbow, guiding her into the kitchen and away from him. You peer over into the living room, ensuring he can’t hear you. Wanda waits expectantly for you to begin speaking. 

“He’s why I wanted you to come.” You tell her, fiddling idly with your wedding band. “He’s not himself lately.”

“More volatile?” She guesses and you shake your head, laughing bitterly to yourself.

“Less, actually. But he’s unpredictable. I never know when he’s going to be this sweet stranger or the miserable man I’ve grown used to.”

Her brows twitch and a confused smile graces her lips. “Most people aren’t upset when their husband gets better.”

“I know it’s odd,” you admit, sighing and looking down at the countertop. “But, I just need to know I’m not going crazy. I’ve been dragging this around everywhere,” you push your camera towards her. “Every time something happens, the feed cuts out. I’ve been dragged down my bed, harassed, made to think I’m losing my mind.”

You run a rough hand over your face, feeling the aches of this whole experience settle wearily along your bones. “I just need some clarity. That’s all.”

“Well,” she reaches for your hand, squeezing it in hers and giving you a comforting smile. “I can certainly help with that.”

Wanda sits in the armchair, having booted James out of it. He seems a little bit more cognizant as he sits beside you, a little more scared. You keep a wary eye on him while Wanda closes her eyes and “connects” with the house, as she put it. 

She breaks the silence abruptly and it makes you jump. “This chair came with the house?” You nod silently but you have a feeling she already knew the answer. She hums, running her hand along the arm of it. 

“It was his before it was stolen by the man he called friend. He lives in it, watches you from it.” You feel your heart racing, panic steadily rising within you. It’s like a physical caress, the fear trailing down your spine. “He wants something, too many things,” she sighs and shakes her head, frustration playing along her fine features. “It’s hard to discern the truth of it all.”

“But he’s real?” You cut in, imploring her to tell you what you’re desperate to hear.

She gives you a resigned smile, but there’s no happiness in it. “I’m afraid so.” She shouldn’t be so apologetic, this is all you wanted. To know you weren’t crazy, to have James hear it too. But when you look to him for some satisfactory celebration, his face is slack. 

“James?” 

Wanda leaps up from the chair, taking a step towards him. Your husband is gone, any sign of awareness or thought is completely gone. He looks devoid of life, like he’s been a living corpse for weeks. “James?” You call again, voice threatening to break. 

His jaw snaps shut and you jump back, rushing off the couch and stumbling towards Wanda. She grabs you, tugging you behind her, and takes in a deep inhale. “It’s him,” she whispers, eyes wide with fear. “I’ve never encountered one so strong before.”

You glance at her and then back at James. There’s fury playing on his features, and again, those eyes you don’t recognize yet somehow feel familiar. “I think you should leave,” he demands, his voice low. 

It isn’t the normal way he commands you. This is a threat, a complete assurance of power. James stands up in one fluid motion, stalking toward Wanda. She goes stiff before you and you worry she’s going to go slack the same way James did. 

“Now,” he tells her, eyebrows raised with impatience. 

“James, she can help,” you try. His head whips toward yours and you flinch away from the intense look he gives you. 

“We don’t need her help,” he whispers your name and it almost sounds like he’s pleading with you. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, you glance between Wanda and James, unsure which to follow. 

Wanda shakes her head as you take a step back from her. James’ shoulders slump with relief. “Don’t do this,” Wanda warns. “I won’t be able to come back here again. He’s growing stronger, you’ll be beyond anyone’s help soon-”

She's cut off as the light bulb above you explodes. You scream, moving instinctively towards your husband. His arms eagerly wrap around you, drawing you into his gentle hold. He runs a hand over your back and you almost miss the quiet apology he mutters into your hair. 

“Leave,” James doesn’t have to tell her again. She practically runs to the door, nearly forgetting her coat as she rushes out. You slump against him, somehow feeling defeated even after getting what you wanted. 

“Doll?” He peers down at you, pulling back slightly to get a better look. “Are you okay?”

You stare into eyes you know don’t belong to your husband and force yourself to nod. You let this stranger hold you close and ignore the sinking weight of guilt. He feels so much better than James ever did and you hate yourself for thinking that. 

Your husband is in there somewhere, being tormented by some malevolent spirit, and you’re letting him do what he wants to you. Playing house with him like everything’s normal. “Come on, let's go outside.”

You can’t do anything except listen to him. In the back of your mind, you think about how odd it is that he’s showing himself now. He usually waits until later in the day. 

How sick is it, you have a schedule for when your husband will be possessed?

He leads you to the back porch, to the rocking chairs that were there when you moved in. but he doesn’t let you sit in one. No, he guides you down onto his lap, keeping you close as you get yourself comfortable. 

James isn’t like this. He doesn’t let you love him like this. Your touch practically repulses him nowadays. But he can’t seem to get enough of you now. Holding onto you like he might not get to again. 

“Wanda said he was growing stronger,” you mutter absentmindly. He goes tense under you, but he doesn’t yell at you or get mad. He just squeezes your hand in his, idly tracing shapes over your palm. 

“I was thinking of planting some rosebushes,” he tells you, completely brushing over what you said. 

“I thought you wanted to rip the garden out and build a pool,” you tell him bitterly. The neighborhood has its own pool. You’ve been begging James to keep the old lady’s flowers in the back but he won’t have it. 

Now, miraculously, he’s giving in to your whims. You don’t know if you should be happy or disgusted. You’re sitting on the lap of something that isn’t your husband anymore. You don’t feel like you can trust your mind anymore. You struggle to differentiate between your dreams and reality. 

He laughs a little, brushing some hair out of your face and smiling at you. It’s not the smile you fell in love with, or the eyes you fell in love with, but you can feel yourself falling. Or, maybe, you’re just desperate for someone to be kind to you. For someone to love you the way a husband should love his wife. 

“I want you to be happy, Doll.” James doesn’t call you Doll.

“Maybe some gardenias too,” you lean back into his chest, letting yourself get more comfortable. 

You feel his smile against your skin, he turns his nose to nuzzle against your cheek, planting a kiss there. “I’ll buy the seeds tomorrow.” You nod absentmindedly, trying to settle the way your stomach flips. 

3 AM

“James!” You scream his name, leaping onto his side of the bed and holding onto him as tight as you can. He shoots up, grabbing you and turning you to face him. 

“What?” He demands, face pale with worry. 

You frown, glaring at him, “You didn’t hear that?” The bedroom door slams closed and you scream again, curling into his hold. 

“Holy shit!” He shouts, he tries to hold onto you but something grabs his leg. The same way you’d been dragged the first night, he’s pulled out of bed. You scream his name, the bedroom door flies open, and watch as he’s dragged into the hall. 

You leap over the bed, feet tangled in the sheets as you lunge towards the door. He’s screaming, primal sounds of nothing but pure terror ripping through the house. You pound on the locked door, tearing at the knob until you think you might rip it off. 

“James! Please!” You sob against the wood, slamming your shoulder into it until it cracks. Pain shoots down to your elbow and you flinch back, “Fuck,” the screams go quiet on the other side of the door and your eyes widen. 

“James!” You screech, your fists pound against the door until you feel the skin crack and blood dribble down your arms. Something cool brushes against your neck, like a breath. “Stop,” you plead, “stop it, give him back.”

The door swings outward, the wrong way, and you wonder how the hinges don’t break. The only light on is the linen closet. The same closest that you know has a scuttlehole. You don’t think, just run towards it. Your bare feet pound against the hardwood, shaking the whole house in your race for the door. 

You burst through, nearly stumbling facefirst into the ladder. You clench your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms as you look up to see the scuttle hole already open and beckoning you forward. 

Blood trails up the ladder and you could almost cry seeing it. You can’t waste time, can’t dawdle. You don’t know what happened to James but you know it’s not good that he’s quiet. You force yourself up the rickety ladder, pulling yourself into the attic and looking around for any signs of life. 

You didn’t realize how much junk the old lady had left behind in the house. But the attic is chock full of her past. Dusty and browned filing boxes litter old antique tables. Wardrobes, trunks of clothes from the fifties. A mannequin with an unfinished dress. There’s an entire life up here, one she seemed to have just willingly left behind. 

You frown down at something that really draws your eye, a box with a scrawled B.B. on the side. The light’s on, but it's dim and only illuminates the box. Still, you try and squint through the dark to find James. There’s no sign of him anywhere, you can’t help but wonder what the trail of blood on the ladder was. 

You lean down and pick up the box. “What’re you doing?”

You scream, your throat going sore from how much you seem to be doing that tonight. James is on the ladder behind you, a dazed look on his face as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head in confusion, trying to calm your heart from the adrenaline rush that was ten minutes earlier. 

These are different eyes. This isn’t him. Your gaze darts back to the box and you pass it to him. “Take that,” you demand. He doesn’t question you, if anything it seems to make him happy. He drops it down the ladder and holds his hand out to help you down. 

You take it, hissing at how cold his hands are. He only gives you another eerie smirk. Once you’re steady and on the ground, you back slowly out into the hallway. “What happened earlier?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

Your face drops and you scoff, “You were fucking dragged down the hall and I got locked in the bedroom. You weren’t sleepwaking, James.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and flips the lights off. You’re plunged into darkness, a slight whimper ripping its way out of your throat. You’re forced to rely on his guidance as he leads you down the hall. “You’re tired, Doll, we should just go to bed.”

You think back to the box, waiting for you in the closet. There’s no arguing with him, though. You’ll have to deal with it tomorrow morning. You can only pray that you’re not awoken so violently again. 

“Sweetheart,” you mumble tiredly, swatting blindly at the voice. There’s a low chuckle, and then the familiar press of lips against your forehead. “Wake up, I’ve gotta go soon.”

You’re slow to open your eyes, just barely making out James’ blurry shape. “James,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes to try and force them to focus on his form. “What’re you doing?” You asked, words slurring together. 

He places a tray down on the nightstand and the smells of coffee and pancakes break your dazed trance. You sit up straighter in bed, giving him a confused look. Two years of dating, and a few months of marriage, not once has he greeted you with breakfast in bed. 

“James?” you question, he only shakes his head, darting forward to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut and you find yourself leaning into the touch. It doesn’t take long for it to grow heated, his chilled hands drifting under your shirt and tugging you towards him. 

You’re finding it easier and easier to simply give in to his whims. Your legs spread over his and you melt into his hold like you were made to fit against him. “Shit, Doll,” he huffs against your parted lips, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you. His lips are a pretty pink, swollen, and glistening from your kisses. You almost want to bite them. 

You hold back the urge, leaning back and giving him a small smile. It’s enough to make his whole face light up. “You know how badly I want to stay in bed with you today?” You almost invite him to, but the foggy cloud of an abrupt wake-up finally parts. 

You remember the box from last night, what you need to do today. So, you pull back from him, his arms releasing you reluctantly. It’s so peculiar, how his metal hand is warmer than the flesh one. “Going to work?”

He hums, eyes narrowing in on you suspiciously. You reach for the coffee and take a sip, exactly how you like it. It’s pathetic that your suspicion grows because you know your husband doesn’t know how you take your coffee. 

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you haven’t had to force the words out to appease him. It almost feels genuine this time. He gives you a resigned smile, kissing your cheek and leaning back. 

He pets Alpine, stroking down her smooth white fur and smiling at her too. “I’ll see you both later,” he tells you, a promise. You bite your lip and nod. His footsteps echo down the stairs and you leap off the bed, the abrupt move scaring the life out of Alpine. She growls in discontent and stalks off. The door closes and you run to the window, watching the driveway to make sure he’s gone for sure. 

You race into the hall, throwing the closet door open and dragging the dusty box out. Mildew and mold cling to it, but you don’t have time to be concerned with germs. You need answers. You take it downstairs, toss it on the kitchen table, and forget all about your breakfast upstairs. 

It’s odd, how much cozier the house has become. Sunlight streams through the windows and warms your seats and couches. You no longer feel eyes in the shadows. A creak is just a creak. It’s like your fear has just been snatched from you. 

The thought is enough to unsettle you, but you ignore it for now. You’ll worry about that another day. You toss the lid of the file box inside and what greets you only further irritates you. Piles of unorganized papers and pictures, each of the more faded by time than the other. 

You pluck out the first one you see and nearly gasp. It’s James, but not James. A picture of a WWII soldier, in his uniform and posing in front of an army vehicle. He looks just like your husband, but his eyes crinkle a little more when he smiles, his happiness palpable through the picture. He’s even got a prosthetic arm. 

You flip the picture over, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, is written out in pretty cursive. Directly under it is 1942. You drop the picture, taking a few steps back and shaking your head. “No, no, nope,” you shake your head, simply ignoring the truth that lay in front of you. 

Somewhere out there, there’s an alternative version of your husband who was a WWII veteran and apparently lived in this house. Same fucking name and everything. “Oh, fuck me, this is insane.” You glare at the box, not wanting to believe anything you’re seeing. 

How could your life have devolved into this shitfest, just because you moved into one fucking house? How could one crappy ad in the newspaper have completely turned your life upside down and thrown you into the twilight zone?

You throw yourself into a chair, slumping over the wooden table and taking in grounding breaths. You wanted the truth, you’re going to get it. Even if none of it makes any sense. The next few pictures you grab are all in the same sepia tint. One of him standing in front of the garden, another before a truck, even one in the goddamn armchair currently sitting in your living room. And in each one, he looks as happy as can be. But there’s something nearly artificial in his smile. 

You look at the pictures on your mantle and frown. You can’t exactly judge him. You’ve got the same smile in all your pictures too. Just slightly off, something about it slightly forced for the sake of the person beside you.

You find one of him with a very unhappy-looking woman. She’s pretty, even if she does look a little wicked, and she also looks remarkably like you. What bizzaro world is this? She’s nearly identical to you, but she looks goddamn miserable. A hulking blond man has his arm slung around Bucky, fingers just barely grazing the woman’s shoulder. 

You flip it over and find, Bette, Bucky & Steve at the new house, 1950. Bette, the woman who sold you the house. Who told you what nursing home her kids were sticking her in. You leap up from the table, running to grab your coat and racing out of the house. 

Bucky glances down at James' phone and grins. He pulls the car into the apartment complex and picks up the call, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” The woman on the other end demands sharply. 

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting back the spirit surging within him. His left hand twitches without his permission and his eyes narrow in frustration. James was easy enough to subdue last night. He was caught off guard, terrified. 

Now, he’s pissed off and fighting. Bucky doesn’t appreciate the efforts to take control. “I just pulled in. I’ll be up in a minute.” He shuts the phone off and jerks the rearview mirror to face him. The eyes that stare back at him are not his own. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” James demands, spitting the words out like he has any sort of power over Bucky. 

Bucky grins, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

James’ face falls and his eyes widen with worry. “What does that mean?” Bucky flips the mirror back in place, glancing up to the third-story apartment where Martha waits for him. He turns the engine off, slowly exits the car, and makes his way up the stairs. 

He’s sure to take his time, enjoying how James grows more and more terrified. It only feeds him, makes him stronger, and grants him more control over him. He’s getting better at controlling him, finally had enough strength to fully take over last night. 

Before, he only had the energy to take over the body for a few hours, at most. But the longer he held influence over James, the further his influence spread. Soon, he could leave the house, without having to use James’ body as an anchor. He’s evolved past anchors and the brick walls that once contained him. He only had one last loose end before he could be with you fully. 

He knocked on the red door, waiting for Martha to answer. It didn’t take long. She threw the door open, face screwed up with rage. “Look who came back. I told you that little bitch of yours wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Bucky kept the look on his face serene. He tried not to show the rage that raced through him at her grating tone. He wanted to rip her tongue out and choke her with it. He wished he could pluck out her eyeballs and serve them to her on a silver platter. A million different ways came to him as he stepped into her apartment. 

“Hello, Martha.”

“Thanks for seeing me, Bette.”

Bette kept her hands in her lap, picking at the wrinkles of her skin. “It’s grown so thin,” she looked at you, seeing straight through you. “I used to be like you, so pretty, so young.”

Your face screws up in discomfort and you nod dismissively. “You know why I want to talk.”

Bette sighs and clicks her tongue. “Oh, Bucky,” she says his name forlornly, playing the perfect mourning lover. But you know better, she doesn’t mean a damn bit of her grief. 

“Drop it,” you snap, looking around to make sure no nurses are watching. The white sterile walls of the nursing home loom over you. Bette’s eyes snap towards you, the thin film of dementia disappears and she slumps into her chair. 

“Fine. Dammit, what the hell do you want? You already took my house.”

“Yeah, and your damn ghost. I want some fucking answers, Bette.”

She chuckles, the noise bitter and her expression cruel. “You know, you remind me a lot of Bucky. Got that same kicked puppy look to you that makes me want to smack you around.” Despite your best intentions of remaining passive, you feel your heart twinge in sympathy for Bucky. 

Bette’s got the same bitter look in her eye that James used to. You don’t see much of it anymore. Strange how much your life has changed in just over two weeks. “I thought he’d see you and finally move on. He’d finally get his damn revenge on me, I mean you look just like me.”

You can’t help but agree with her. You slip the picture out of your purse and put it on the table before you. “I saw,” you mutter, glancing down at the uncanny resemblance between you both. “I want to know what happened, Bette. I want to know why he’s stuck in my walls, why he’s stuck in my husband,” you add.

Her eyes widen and her jaw gapes. “He’s got your husband?” You nod and you’re caught off guard when she begins to cackle. “God, even dead he’s still the same pathetic, snivelling bastard he used to be.”

You can’t help but get angry, you almost want to defend him. Sure, he’s tormented you, but clearly, he had a reason to be bitter about having to look at your face all the damn time. You’d go crazy too if this was the bitch you were married to. 

“Bette,” you warn, voice low. 

She huffs and snatches the picture. “No harm in telling you, I suppose.” She gives you a wicked grin, “No one will believe you anyway.”

“I met Bucky when I was young, too young. We got married because he was getting shipped off to war. He wanted someone to write letters to, to come home to, and I figured he’d die before I ever saw him again. I could cash in on widow’s benefits. Then the son of a bitch had to go and get honorably discharged for getting his arm blown off.”

Your brows furrow in disgust. You’ve never seen such an evil old woman before. You pray you don’t turn into a wicked old hag like her when you get older. “Steve, his best friend, was discharged around the same time as him. Came to live with us for a while so he could get his life in order.”

Bette glares at you and tosses the picture back to you. You catch it before it slides off the table and she keeps going. “See, some women weren’t as loyal as I was. His lady moved on real fast, left him lonely and looking for a warm place to sleep at night. Bucky, well, he just wasn’t a man. He obeyed me like a little bitch and took every hit I gave him because he thought he deserved it. Steve never did that, always put me in my place. He was a man,” she hisses out the word and you have the sudden urge to slap her. 

“One thing led to another, we were in love and Bucky was in the way. We got rid of him, what else do you want me to say?”

You can’t even figure out where to begin. She’s fucking despicable. Not only did she not love him, he was utterly devoted to her and she fucked his best friend. Killed him to be with him. Despite this overload of information, only one question comes to you. 

“Where did you bury him?”

5 PM

You let out a loud grunt, sweat pouring down your back as you bring the sledgehammer into the brick wall. There’s a loud crack and you pause, taking a step back. A moment later a brick slips out of its place. It doesn’t take much longer for the others to follow. 

There’s a loud crash as it all comes tumbling down, decades of dust and debris float into the air. It drifts down your nose and creeps into your lungs. You drop the sledgehammer to the cement of the basement with a clatter. You kneel over, waving the dust away and trying to cough it out. 

Something rolls against the floor, something hollow that clatters against your shoe. You glance down, stunned into silence as a gaping skull stares back up at you. You stumble away from it, nearly kicking it back, and trip right into the warm chest of your husband. 

Bucky stares down at you, his face blank and devoid of anything you might be able to read. “You talked to Bette?”

You nod mutely, taking a step back from him. You wince as your heel comes down on something that cracks under your weight. You try to look down, to see what bone you’ve just broken, but he stops you. He grabs your chin, tilting your face towards him and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do?” He demands, he tries to sound strong, but you can hear the fear that trembles under the cool tone. 

Rest In Peace

Husband, Brother, Friend

James Buchanan Barnes

“It’s a bit morbid isn’t it?” You peer up at him and shake your head. 

“No, he deserves a proper burial.” You place the flowers on top of the fresh grave and stand. You take a few steps back and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “You, I mean. I just feel like your memory deserves its rightful resting place.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and you squeeze his hand. “You think Steve’s in here somewhere?”

You scoff and feel yourself growing angry on his behalf. “He deserves to rot under a bridge somewhere, along with that bitch.”

Bucky laughs pulling back from you and giving you a wide smile. It’s genuine, the first genuine smile you’ve seen on his face in a long time. “Thank you,” he mutters. You shrug, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m your wife, I’m supposed to have your back.” You reach up, pushing a wave back behind his ear. He’s finally let his hair grow out again. He complains it gets in his eyes when he tries to garden, but you love how it looks on him so he keeps it. 

His face lights up, the same way it always does when you say you’re his wife. You interlace your fingers together, pulling him away from his grave and back towards the car. You’re supposed to meet Mrs. Barnes soon, you’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your house tomorrow so the whole family can finally see it. 

Since the discovery of Bucky’s bones and the literal skeleton in the house's closet, you’ve kept family members away from you both for a while. It was a long adjustment period, getting used to the truth and each other. Accepting the fact that James was gone for good wasn’t as hard a pill to swallow as it should have been.  

You have a theory that you both were meant to be with each other, either in the forties or today. Something got messed up in the universe’s timeline and instead, you got James and he got Bette. This paranormal experience must have just been fate’s way of cleaning up what it had ruined so horribly. 

You look up at Bucky, the way his eyes crinkle even when he’s not smiling, and feel something warm spreading through your chest. You don't mind the cold fingers and chilling touch at night when it’s him you’re sharing it with. 

You place the turkey down in front of Bucky and he sends you a blissful smile. You can’t help but lean over the back of his chair and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. Janey gags, tossing a roll at her older brother. “Quit it, would you, I’d like to have an appetite.”

You chuckle, taking your seat beside him. Bucky can’t help but want to cry. This is what he’s wanted for so long. His family back, the woman he loves to love him back. It’s what he begged for. The loss of it all had turned him into this bitter, malevolent spirit. 

As much as he’d like to say he regrets or feels guilt for what he did to Bette, Steve, Martha, and James, he can’t. He tormented Steve until he died of a terror-induced heart attack at fifty. He’d driven poor Bette into the nursing home where her children would let her rot for the rest of her miserable life. Martha won’t be heard from again. 

And James, poor James. He must have had the worst fate of them all. It’s been a while since he’s heard anything from James. He searches for him now, his tiny presence lingering somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Bucky takes your hand, looks at his sisters and mother, and smiles at them. He raises his glass for a toast, slapping at James until he’s forced out of his slumber. Look, he thinks, speaking of all he’s grateful for to you and the other women. They know, he feels James looking through his eyes. 

He sees the way his family smiles at Bucky, and how much happier they look with him. They know, he tells James, they know I’m not you. James pounds futilely against Bucky’s walls. He screams and sobs, begging for you to help him. 

They don’t want you, James. They know that the world is better without you. He lets James linger in his misery, he savors his despair, lets it energize him, and then tosses him back to the abyss. James goes quietly, he gave up fighting a while ago. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway. His brief period of rebellion has fed Bucky enough to keep him subdued for the rest of his life. You squeeze his hand, “I love you,” you whisper, passing him the sweet potatoes. 

He smiles back at you and repeats the same words he’s already said a hundred times to you. This is at it always should have been. Steve, Bette, and James were all stepping stones to get him to you. He wasn’t going to let you go now. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Marvel (Winter Soldier), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rebka18]

~Rebka´s SERIREI Fic Masterlist~

Heya,i had this on the works for a long time,after years of recopilation and reading the hole tagg,heres one of my most faves serirei fics,hope yall like it.

Fluff Fics

Try by hmmeid

Astray by 3kanite

Crazy isint it? by onigirikita

Walk in by ruthwrites

Warmth by MMidnight26

Promt-a-palooza by tinkertoysdamm

serirei Fluff collection by skeilig

heartline by ruthwrites

unsaid by shamusiel

Little Things by scorbubby

Pink smoke by anonymus

Communication by tinkertoysdamm

ebb and flow by LucoLoco

Broken,repaired,new by GalacticConfectionist

Ice Ice Baby by BinaryDreams1010

Omamori by oohbrother

Any other day by Toyota_truck_month

300 paper cranes by SoHoldmetight

~Important~ by avividshadeofblue

Reigen arataka:lightweight of the 21st century by seriseppo

My MP100Oneshot Collection by anna_wd

Sometimes thats better by pearlygloom

Collect Call by SinKingSims

I've(Mostly) got it under control by LucoLoco

In the woods by MallowJum

Fathers day ,or free day by Soholdmetight

Reigen's Comprehensive Fool-Proof Guide on How Not To Be Next Door Neighbors With Your Employee (because that'd just be creepy) by Malkytop

Angst (disclaimer they all have happy ending)

Mr Brightside by tinkertoysdamm

Worth having around by azuresquirrel

Round and Round by Phia

two truths and a lie(but its all the same) by BinaryDreams1010

As if Possessed by avividshadeofblue

Past to Present by Approachingthedogpark

nice to go un-unnoticed by Binary Dreams1010

Old friend/New friend by silversinger

pay no attention to the man behind the curtain by Binary Dreams1010

Melodrama is Overrated by tinkertoysdamm

Speak Now by Phia

After the Storm by fallenmoon

Surface Tension by crookedturtle, fend

The final curtain by ketyamine

bloom by cursedwrum

The Pariah Convention by word_dissosiation

retreading paths we'ev walked before by dytabytes

The space Between by Skeilig

A heart like yours by Yessica

Is that better by SoHoldmetight

I wanna ruin our friendship by Skeilig

To Travel by Janekfan

Growth by manfish

in absentia by Malkytop

Tension by Ace_in_the_hole

Sir,thats my emotional support commoner by Thousand_springs

Aus

The Big Woo by tinkertoysdamm

You tickle my cat fancy by tinkertoysdamm

Of Kings and Men by Jadespade

You're still young,thats your fault by tinkertoysdamm

Serizawa-centric

Closing time by tinkertoysdamm

Guarddog by tinkertoysdamm

Out of body by bobmos

Castle by the sea by missydogblog

After today by 3kanite

light breaks where no sun shines by crepusculaire

Reigen-centric

The most beautifull moments in life by drembla

Refrain Boy by Scorbubby

Case fics

Do you count as missing if no one is looking? by BinaryDreams1010

What we make by crookedturtle

Like a Cheap suit,You can Wear me out by Vulcanodon

Goverment Mandated Babbysitting by Aproachingthedoggpark

Series Fics(disclaimer some contain NSFW so readers discretion is adviced only 18+ pls,the fics are all properlly tagged to)

The truth about Arataka Reigen by luvrboywrites

Severed Bonds by Liarian

Wrapped around my soul by Traumatas

A conmans guide to relationship and dating by Silversinger

When the flower Blooms by snapdragonsuplex

Rainbow Medium by BinaryDreams1010

Evicted by janekfan

Soul!Reigen by BinaryDreams1010

[sonboyadam]

Adam's birthday fic rec palooza!

hi! i didn't do anything for the Adam's birthday bc adulthood, but here's a short list of some adam centric fics that i've loved and bookmarked along the years. I chose oneshots for this, maybe i'll do another fic rec in another time. I'm doing this at work so let me know if the links are wonkyyy

things fall apart, the centre cannot hold by basicallymonsters

Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge.

I love everything this author has ever written, and this is my beloved forever, this adam pov is canon for me. It's angst and sad and so good

don't want no other shade of blue but you by the lace

It didn’t help his mood that they seemed to be taking all their cues straight from a bad how to help a friend who’s going through a breakup wikiHow article; breakup playlists he wouldn’t listen to, invitations to movie nights he hadn’t taken them up on, a bottle of Prosecco he had given to a girl who lived down the hall from him… And now they had decided to try setting him up on dates, apparently.

This oooone, im obssesed. adam tries to date after ronan ghosts him but at the end he's still a water sign you know

Mile Markers by escribo

All Adam needs is one signature on his application to Aglionby. That should be pretty simple, right?

Lovelove precanon fics, this is ppl telling adam no, and him going watch me💕

Wringing Out the Hours by quietcoast

Adam leaves for college, and realizes he has no idea what comes next.

Adam figuring it out what he wants!! this was posted very early post trk and before tdt even was a thing, but I love going back to this fics and see everyone's interpretation of how adam deals with the Future tm

Hold on by momebie (katilara)

(The one where Adam gets a tattoo and there's a lot of dialogue and feelings and dialogue about feelings.)

I think this one doesn't need more explanation, he gets a tattoo!!! Read it!! It's soft and he's free and he gets a tattoo!!

suppose you're in a meadow by deathlessaphrodite

Adam’s first love was a dirtbag fry cook working at the Waffle Inn on the outskirts of Henrietta, where Adam had journeyed every other night, on his bike, the summer he turned seventeen.

Like I said i looove precanon fics, this one is baby bi adam backstory, enough said

being witnessed in the act of wanting something by deathlessaphrodite

'Guilty' is such a childish word, Adam thinks; he associates it more with the church than the law, now.

Ok this one is sad too but I still love it very much, missing scenes are also one of my favorite fandom tropes:^)

And finally, finishing with some good tumblr drabbles💕

This drabble of adam buying flowers for ronan 💕

This drabble of adam making out with aglionby boys hehe

[aftgficrec]

Any neil& aaron recs? Not with a relationship with them necessarily as endgame but something like triptych or the one where they're on the hunt for andrew (cant remember the name rip, but i love that one)

There are a good amount of fics for Neil and Aaron — their relationship is fertile ground to explore angst or growth! The stories run the gamut from mutual disdain to familial warmth, from bad or awkward situations to quests (like hunting for Andrew together in ‘I'm leaving this town…’), from friendship to lovers and even plain ol’ sexual experimentation (see ‘triptych’). 

Though you weren’t keen on Neil/Aaron as a couple, you might enjoy ‘Every Sinner Has A Future.’ It’s friends to lovers and spends significant time developing their relationship. Find it and the fics you referenced among those featured below. -A

Neil & Aaron in situations/working together 

Aaron & Neil stranded together here

Aaron & Neil stuck in a bad situation here

‘Calm down. I look a lot worse than I am.’ and ‘climb a mountain (hold his hand)’ here

‘they who made you/they made me too’ here

‘Identity Theft’ here

‘Apart from Your World (A Part of Mine)’ (selkies) here

‘The World Beneath Our Feet’ series here

‘Crossfire’ here 

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘If Neil, Then Fox’ here

Neil & Aaron relationship because of Andrew

Aaron & Neil rapprochement here

Aaron accepting andreil here

Aaron & Neil's talk at the cabin here

Neil meets the in-laws or foxes here

‘Did You Get What You Deserve?,’ ‘The Ash is in Our Clothes,’ and ‘common ground??’ here 

‘Married To Annoy,’ ‘head case (what to do with you),’ and ‘AJMICKEY56's Fanfiction Palooza!’ chapters 2 and 82 here 

‘Hold each other...ch 8: Time Does Things’ here

‘Muscle memory’ (completed) and ‘The Memories I Never Can Escape’ here

‘No More Fucks To Give’ here (updated)

‘Neil Fights the Foxes’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 7 & 8 here

‘No straighter path than to struggle,’ ‘The Road Trip,’ and ‘An Olive Branch’ here

‘what even is baseball anyway’ and ‘Holding On and Letting Go’ here

‘Hold me close (in fact, bury me)’ here

‘a girl so bright she'll blind you’ here

Neil & Aaron friendship

Aaron & Neil = Andrew/Neil here

Neil & Aaron friendship 2 here

domestic fluff w/twinyards bonding + Neil & Aaron friendship here

the tumblr posts in Neil/Aaron or Neil & Aaron ask here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Math, Exy and Middle Ground’ here 

‘every piece of you, it just fits perfectly’ here

‘i just wanted you to know (this is me trying)’ here

‘togetherness’ here

‘More Than Words’ here (updated) 

‘Ten Percent’ here

‘Tachycardia’ here; ‘Tachycardia (the My Own Soul's Warning Remix),’ ‘It's going tibia okay,’ and ‘What the fuck happened to you?’ here

‘Aaron is Neil’s doctor in the pros’ here

‘Shards of Glass’ here

‘Et tu, Doctor?’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Beach Bois’ here

‘just a footnote’ here

‘I'll Follow You’ here

‘Call the doctor ( I may need help)’ and ‘we're inside out’ here

‘Andrew Goes to Hogwarts’ series here

‘Minyards' Magical Mischief’ here

Neil/Aaron rarepair

Neil/Aaron or Neil & Aaron here

‘In The Forest (Burning Bright)’ here 

‘Winter Banquet’ here

you may also like

new Katelyn/Aaron here

Katelyn & Neil friendship here

Katelyn & Neil as siblings/lookalikes here

Katelyn-centric hurt/comfort here

Aaron protective of Neil here

Neil mistakes Aaron for Andrew here

Andrew & Katelyn rapprochement here

‘the prettiest blue’ and ‘The Photo Strip Predicament’ here

‘Nor are we forgiven’ here

‘Give Me Another Minute (to Lay Here in Your Echo)’ here 

‘coming loose’ here

‘the roads I traveled with you’ here

‘One day we'll reveal the truth’ and ‘i'm getting static from my better sense’ here

‘you're not next before forever’ here (completed)

‘Before You Drown’ here

‘Five Years to the Day’ here

‘Twilight and Daytime’ here

‘Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night’ here

quests and situations

halloween series by zweimam [Collection, Rated T, 44426 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

NB: Part 1 reviously recommended in new twinyards bonding ask

Part 1: I'm leaving this town (and I'm changing my address) [40309 Words, Updated Sept 2023] Aaron tries to assimilate everything, nodding, "How do you know he didn't mean it?" "It wasn't a thought, or anything," Neil says, looking everywhere but at him. "He told me to go away, to leave and run, and I did. I'm very good at running, you see." Or: Aaron has been looking for his brother for six years. Right when he's beginning to lose all hope, he meets Neil Josten.

tw: child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: heavy suicide themes, tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: detailed discussion of drug use, tw: implied/referenced overdose, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation

Part 2: I know that you'll come if you want [6170 Words, Updated Aug 2023] If Aaron has been looking for his brother for six years, Andrew has been waiting for him for longer.

The Most Unorthodox Way of Fighting Back by orphan_account [Rated T, 1683 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil Josten is forced to pick up his shoes and run. If not for him, than for the ones who can’t.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: murder, tw: blood/gore

Tumblr Bits by gluupor [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2019]

Chapter 8: Neil Josten: Accountant Spy [2316 Words] Whenever anyone asked Neil what he did for a living, he responded by saying he was a spy. This always was met with impressed faces and probing questions about his job.

till the bitter end on a flat tire by thewintersolstice [Rated M, 10000 Words, Complete, 2022]

neil & aaron end up stranded on the side of the road in the desert. neil wants to talk homophobia. aaron wants neil to shut up for once in his life. aka: my attempt to turn aaron minyard into someone i want to like

tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Growing Sharp Edges by Leocante [Rated G, 10218 Words, Complete, 2022]

Aaron just needed some wiggling room. He didn't think he was asking for that much - a few inches of freedom, a miniscule amount of life outside of school and exy, an ounce of control over his day. Well, thruth be told, he wasn't exactly asking asking. Questions like that resulted in a knife under his neck and an unyielding 'no'. But Aaron needed some goddamn wiggling room, and he was desperate enough to ask Josten for help.

tw: attempted sexual assault, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: alcohol

Who is the man in the relationship? by sugaroto [Rated T, 6986 Words, Complete, 2022]

"I'm your type." Neil went on. "Then I'm yours." Aaron shot back, "You're literally fucking my twin, asshole!" "High five!" Neil said, his eyes lightening up, "We're type buddies!" Neil started laughing. "What? What's so funny?" Aaron asked. "We should get married!" Or The time Neil and Aaron got drunk and thought it'd be funny if they got married.

tw: alcohol

NB: fic meme by @sugaroto here

Momentary Disaster by JostenlovesMinyard [Rated T, 1305 Words, Complete, Twinyards Appreciation Week 2022]

Day 2: Disaster Aaron and Neil are sent to do a grocery run but Neil loses something along the way. Aaron is there to help him.

You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son by phan_taloon [Rated T, 3143 Words, Complete, 2021, Locked]

In which Nathan Wesninski has fanboys and Neil Josten doesn't want to deal with them, but Aaron is there to save the day.

tw: panic attacks, tw: flashbacks

A Pain Never Meant to be Felt (I really suck a titles, just pretend its good.) by transandsad [Rated M, 14187 Words, Incomplete, Updated Aug 2023]

Aaron is mistaken for someone he is not and has to figure out how to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

tw: gang rape, tw: nonconsensual touching, tw: assault, tw: graphic descriptions of csa, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: murder, tw: drug addiction

Neil and Aaron swap body’s AU bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

AFTG Neil & Aaron Gender Swap hc by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

friendship

Oblivious series by greencherrybomb [Rated T, Collection with 2 complete works, Updated July 2022]

Part 1: Oblivious in love (3152 Words) Andrew has been pining after Neil Josten for months, but knows it wont happen. Neil doesnt even swing, so he does the only thing to protect his feelings. Ignoring Neil and eating ice cream. Part 2: Best Friends Brother (3930 Words) Neil has been harboring a long time crush on his best friend, Aaron Minyards, brother Andrew. Too bad Andrew has been avoiding him at all costs and is dating the hottest guy in school, Kevin day. Or at least thats what Neil thinks.

Dear Little Ghost by choisunsanie [Rated G, 4650 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil Josten starts to be haunted by a naughty blond ghost.

tw: previous major character death, tw: car accidents

And I Swear And I Swear, I Was Burning Alive by Miss_Fun_Fun_and_Fun [Rated T, 1477 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil is confronted by his ex-best friend's twin brother while still reeling from his mother abandoning him. - A one-shot, alternate universe for Fortheloveofexy's fic, "More Than Words".

tw: implied/referenced drug addiction

NB: ‘More than Words’ was previously recced here (updated)

sexual experimentation

triptych by likearecord [Rated E, 12805 Words, Complete, 2023]

Three parts, three POVS. Aaron, wondering, picks up a guy in a bar. Neil, having learned something, wants to try again. Andrew, knowing nothing, sees something he likes.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: nonconsensual touching

friends to lovers

Every Sinner Has A Future by OfficialStarsandGutters [Rated E, 29864 Words, Complete, 2021]

Canon divergent Neil x Aaron. - Neil Josten. A shock of red hair and ocean blue eyes. Pretty faced, but nothing special. Except he makes a throwaway comment about Andrew being off his meds and it’s like everyone in the room forgets to breathe. Even Aaron, his body still and tense with surprise that he can tell them apart. Without even having met Aaron, he knew Andrew wasn’t him. That shouldn’t mean anything. Aaron rubs his sweaty palms on his skinny jeans and tells himself it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: graphic description of overdose, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder

Art

monsters cuddle pile art by @emry-stars-art

au where aaron and neil are best friends first comic by @02511213942 also on twitter

when Neil tells Dr Aaron he’s fine art by @srslyarts

get in loser we’re going shopping art by @ouijacine

Josten and Aaron on press duty comic by @paradoxolotl

Aaron is a godfather comic by @paradoxolotl

[the-blind-assassin-12]

So Darkness I Became

1200 words for 1200 followers #7

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! The idea for this one jumped up and bit me on the nose almost immediately, and I know it’s a little out there, but I hope you still enjoy it! This takes place in the time before Din rejoins the covert, when he’s still just going from bounty to bounty to pass the time without Grogu and trying to figure out what the heck to do with the damn Darksaber. I have two more requests for Din for this event, and right now I *think* one of them might be a follow up to this... but we’ll see.  💚

Warnings: not much, honestly. mild angst and canon-typical danger. 

Requested By: @prolix-yuy​ Song: Cosmic Love Character Choice: LJ gave me the options of Din or Ezra, correctly asserting that this song is perfect for both of the space boys - and to my surprise, being an Ezra girl, I decided to go with Dinjamin. Thank you for sending this one in, darling! I hope you enjoy where I took it! 

Summary: You and Din have been working together for a while now, but there are still more things that you don’t know about each other than you do. That doesn’t stop you from feeling how you feel, though. When Din follows a lead that he hopes will yield information on the Darksaber’s previous owners, you find out if those feelings are enough to make you risk everything to help him. 

“Stay with the ship.” 

Those were his last words to you before disappearing through the door. The hefty metal plate slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the empty hull and resonating through your bones. Watching him go felt wrong - cold and final. Though you tried, you couldn’t stave off the thought that he wouldn’t return. 

No. You swallowed hard. He will. He always does. 

The two of you had been working together for a year. It had been a partnership of desperation at first - you out of ammo and on the run from the brothers of some Klatooinian capo you’d turned in, and Din armed to the teeth but without a ride off-world. He’d helped you dispatch the brothers, and you’d taken him where he needed to go, and then you had meant to part ways. But before you could refuel, he had shown back up at the spaceport with a handful of bounty pucks and the proposition of teaming up and splitting the profits on them. 

It was only supposed to be until he saved up enough for his own ship. But that mark had come and gone and you were still a team of two, and though neither of you had opened up, neither of you seemed eager to suggest that you split up, the unspoken threat of loneliness enough to keep you tethered. 

Even when the types of jobs you took became more personal than profitable, like the one that you were currently on. On Dathomir. 

The name alone was enough to chill you. You had never set foot there, and you never intended to. Dathomir was dangerous, its landscape as unforgiving as the creatures that inhabited it. But its history of malevolence left the planet scarred in ways that terrified you. You’d heard rumors of a vergence there, a well of Dark side energy that was powerful enough to corrupt anyone who fell prey to it, especially those who were in tune with the Force.

Like me. 

You shuddered, recalling what you’d said to convince him not to chase whatever knowledge he sought, careful not to reveal your secret. “Dathomir’s a one-way ticket, Djarin. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die in a bog.” 

You’d always hidden your abilities, knowing that it was your best chance at survival - and that meant that despite spending the last year with him, Din didn’t know. You weren’t sure how he would react to learning that you were Force-sensitive, but if it meant losing him you weren’t willing to risk it. Just like you weren’t sure how he’d react to learning that you had started to develop feelings for him. You kept those to yourself, too. 

He’d answered with a tilt of his helmet. “I won’t ask you to follow me. But if there’s something I can learn there about this?” He gestured to the hilt at his waist. “I have to go. This is the Way.” 

You knew as soon as he used that phrase there was no changing his mind. All you could hope for was an urgent call to pull him away before you reached the Quelli sector. It never came. 

So you waited, eyes glued to the monitor that tracked his location. You held your breath as you watched the little throb of light descend into a cave. That same cold feeling you had when he left slithered through every fiber of your being as the beacon on the screen blinked - and then blacked out. 

Your heart lurched. With shaking hands you smacked the monitor, hoping it was a glitch, but the beacon was gone. No! 

You were half-way down the ladder before the comm link on your wrist crackled, his voice coming through speaking your name. “You – right. – shouldn’t have – here. You – – go!“ 

“Din!” Your pulse smashed against your eardrums as you responded. “ I’m not leaving you. I’m…” You choked on tears you didn’t know were falling. “I’m coming.” 

“No.” More interference bled through the speaker. Beneath it you could hear him groan in pain. “You – “ He let out another distressed sound. “Go!” 

And then the comm cut out, too. 

In that instant, you made the choice that you realized never was one. Nothing could keep you from going after him, not even your fear of the Dark side. You didn’t even stop to arm yourself, bypassing the weapons locker and heading straight for the door, leaping from the ship. Without turning back, you raised your right hand across your body and over your shoulder, swiveling your wrist so that your palm faced the sky, and then clenching your fist and bringing it back down, the door of the ship slamming shut. 

Without the beacon or the comms you would have to focus to find him. You silenced your thoughts as you ran, concentrating on Din - on the way his solid presence felt beside you, on the way you could feel his heartbeat when you reached across the cockpit with the Force. You followed your instincts until you were at the mouth of the cave he had disappeared into, and then it wasn’t just a feeling. 

You could hear his heart beating in the dark. 

It was slow and weak, but the rhythm was unmistakably his. You pushed further into the cave until the air was thick and you couldn’t see beyond your nose. The relief you felt was fleeting, though, as suddenly the space was lit with an eerie green light… reflecting off Beskar armor. 

At the far end of the cave, near what appeared to be an altar, you saw him slumped against the stone, glowing green tendrils coiled around his chest. 

“He is ours.” A disembodied voice hissed.

“He has brought it back to us. The Darksaber.” 

“And now he is our soldier.” 

To your horror, the visor on Din’s helmet glowed the same green as he hovered to his feet, and you knew there was only one thing you could do to save him - the thing you feared the most. But you didn’t hesitate. Reaching far beyond your limits, you tapped into the Darkness, harnessing it instead of pushing it away. 

“No.” You growled, slowly shaking your head and reaching out with your right hand. Curling your fingers and twisting your wrist in the air, you ripped the hilt of the obsidian blade from Din’s belt. “You will not use him. You will not take him.” The sword flew to your grasp and you ignited it instantly. “You will release him, or I will destroy this cave and you along with it.” 

It felt like crumbling, letting that much power flow through you. But you fought it, focusing on the faint sound of his heartbeat. The voices shrieked and wailed, retreating into the Darkness. Just as you thought you would break, Din was released from his trance. 

As soon as he was free you dropped to your knees, panting and dizzy, but before you lost consciousness you felt his gloved hands land on your shoulders. At his touch you felt a wave of calm wash over you, your name the last thing you heard before you fell into his arms. 

Safe. We’re safe now, Din. 

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​ @gollyderek​​ @pheedraws​​ @beautifuldesastre​​ @alraedesigns​ @valkblue​  @fific7​  @commanderlola​  @cannedsoupsucks​ @dihra-vesa​ @marauderskeeper​ @disgruntledspacedad​ @littlemisspascal​ @mishasminion360​ @stevie75​ @nyctophiliiiiaaa​ @practicalghost​ @tanzthompson​ @harriedandharassed​ @woodlandmouth​ @thescarletfang​ @trickstersp8​ @princessxkenobi​ @imtryingmybeskar​ @WildMoonFlower @mswarriorbabe80​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @theredwritingwitch​ @silverstarsandsuns​ @competentpotato​ @pedro-pedrito-pascalito​ @jedi-in-crocs​ @hannahkatharine​ @anoverwhelmingdin​ @chiyo13​ @myloveistoolittle​ @spishsstuff @noisynightmarepoetry 

[redlollygag]

so im gonna be autistic in your inbox 😁😁😁 < face of someone mentally unwell

SO the biggest appeal of dabihawks is ofc the enemies to lovers trope, first lets look at canon:

theyre enemies plain and simple, they hate each other, its a beautiful show to watch of them absolutely disgusted by the other but forced to interact [ IF ONLY THEY GOT MORE FUCKING SCREENTIME TOGETHER JESUS CHRIST ] anyways its the angst potential, hawks dirtying his hands just to get into the league only to then betray the entire league </3 hawks dirtying his hands just for the sake of the mission for the sake of dabi letting him in because that WAS his only contact so hes the one hes "closest too" dabi the evil motherfuck toying with hawks, making him do all the things he hates and knowing what hawks is truely doing. they hate each other in canon plain and simple they dont care if neither one dies or not. hawks even STILL views endeavor as an equal even after all hes done (whether or not you think its valid is up to you i think that hawks needs a LITTLE MORE TIME AND SPACE to rethink the whole "yeah no enjis cool now hes alright :D" shtick.... personally i hate it i just want him to be a little more..... EYES OPEN to how fucked up endeavor did things even if hes trying to do better now like ?????) canon tropes that could fit are like their divorce, unhealthy co dependency, there was only one bed, acciental first kiss, drunk sex, fuck buddies, rarepair, the whole hero vs villain thing, height difference, flirty and the flustered, oh fuck theyre BOTH messed up, loud and quiet ETC ETC

now heres where the dots connect though through fandom genius. now when dabis first introduced hes blue and emo and firey and dramatic (theatre kid) mentally unwell, tired yet manic, daddy issues supreme, body horror circus party, the whole palooza. we ALL been known, his daddys a top hero who made him a top villain. and now hawks, who was an enigma at first, man too fast for his own good, red, arrogant, laidback, yet serious and calculating, heart of gold underneath all of that dirty work with a like for trashy preppy outfits. at first it was just the enemies to lovers, dabi hates endeavor and heroes, hawks admires him to the sun and is one of the best heros... AND THEN WE GET HAWKS BACK STORY. hawks. hero. raised by a villain. if the red and blue, sun and moon, emo/goth and jock, FLAME AND FEATHERS, if those parallels werent enough the father issues sure will! dabi, hero father made him a villain, hawks, villain father made him a hero. the amount of parallels these two have was fuel for the growing fire.

FIRE IN WHICH IT WAS FANON. fanon dabihawks is BEAUTIFUL. the best and probably only light dabihawks will ever shine in 😀😀😀 < gripping horikoshis neck even thought nothing will happen but angst for these two. slightly shifted canon compliant with some queer writing and spicing up the characters a SMIDGE, making them more fit to how they ACTAULLY ARE (in my very (not) humble opinion horikoshi you dont know your own characters like we do) all of that is the mountain of fanfic tropes. we already have enemies to lovers but add a little bit of that battle for dominance play and sexual tension, heavy flirting and fuck buddies OOO BOY. they play and they bite and hawks is number one pretty boy and charms his way past dabi "probably hasnt been flirted with in his life," OR dabi being the brat and attention seeker he is and pushing hawks buttons before dabi gets put in his place. hawks turned genuine lov member because then thats where he sees the TRUTH. or hawks still killing jin but REGRETS IT TO THE MAX and dabi finds him a little after and hawks begging for forgiveness. the league was his only true family but hes been a hero under the commission for so long that killing him was second nature until he realizes. rehabilitation after the war and dabi being captured and hawks still visiting him wherever dabis being held. if you make them even a LITTLE BIT GAY it literally makes things more tragic than just "lets hate each other even though we're walking parallels"

one very popular and loved aspect is red tailed hawks avian hawks and not just his fierce wings. THIS ADDS TO THE MOUNTAIN. youve got a multitude of bird facts like torpor, nesting, cloacas if youre into that, preening, MATING HABITS. hawks being a spy to the league only to see how open they are to their members quirks. spinner and his lizardness needing warmth and insects and shedding and togas fascination and need for blood ( not quirk reasons shes mentally ill but there are healthy ways to get blood so) hawks seeing the league being accepting open AND welcoming to when we dont see ANY OF THAT in his hero work??? especially with dabis inside knowledge of how shit the hero system is with quirk discrimination??? youve got so much to work with here JUST from the aspect of making hawks a hawk mutant. he likes how shiny dabi is with his staples and piercings, he loves the natural warmth coming from him (even if dabis skin is cold), hawks lowkey loving the smell of blood from dabis scars (bird of prey) dabi helping hawks be open to the more avian side of him, he imprints on him and dabi becomes mate in hawks mind, IN TURN hawks showing dabi that even the most shittiest of origins, you can still do good, hawks knowing full well that quirks sucks (molting season, talon clipping, wing care, the overstimulation of senses like sounds hawks has become numb to) and he coaxs that little burning fire thats still in dabi, that he can still do good (dabi said that killing innocent people drove him mad in a negative way so he doesnt enjoy it) two broken souls from quirk discrimination finding solace even with all the shit hero AND villain society treat them. this leads to, along with those above, hurt comfort, slow burn, mutual healing, mutual pining, sunshine x grump, girlboss and malewife, overly affectionate x touch adverse, old married couple, sacrifices too much x sacrifices too little, romantic virgin x romantic confident, annoyed x annoying, gets into fights x patches them up, OBLIVIOUSNESS TO THE MAX, idiots in love, domestic husbands ETC ETC (and the more kinky spicy aspects when it comes to bird genes and a fire quirk)

what makes them even JUCIER is if you make the commission EVIL. EXACTLY WHAT DABI HATES AND DESPISES. another common trope is to make hawks be lowkey abused by the commission hence the whole child soldier thing but hawks has been living with then his whole life so its like, fine for him. dabi being his savior, dabi showing him the league can be his true family, dabi, a villain, being hawkss hero. hawks, who would get his hands dirty just for the sake of justice, shows dabi true heroes are still alive. hawks being an avian mutant adds to the juice because if it was just hawks with fierce wings well you could paint it as just the child soldier BUT WITH THE HETEROMORPH youve got commission being absolute JERKS and forcing hawks to mask his avian-ness, forced to endure people touching his wings left and right, forced to not perch, forced to have them preen his feathers in the way that society views as "perfect," clipping his talons, making him live in a boring ass apartment because "hawks heroes dont care about sentiments, you have to be presentable and collecting 'shiny things' isnt herolike," the league being the EPITOME of quirk freedom, hawks finding solace in the league because hes actually able to be himself and being a heteromorph isnt SHOULDNT be bad, dabi being able to polish his old big brother instincts and take care of hawks nurse him back to help and free him from his bird cage.

SPEAKING OF BIRD CAGES, another beautiful fanon interpretation is DABI HIMSELF BEING A PART OF THE LEAGUE BEFORE HIS REBIRTH. OW. youve got friends to lovers and all the fluff that comes with it (as much as it is being in the commission) dabi and hawks growing up together in the commission only for endeavor to pull dabi out and hawks loses his one true best friend :[ dabi and hawks not knowing how to socialize with other kids but between dabis temper yet caringness and hawks being shy yet a determined bastard, they click LOVINGLY. they bond over shitty fathers (hawks not knowing the extent to his idol OR you can change it up and have hawks despise endeavor secretly but the commission knows hes adored endeavor so he has to suck up the urge to MAIM and KILL the flaming bag of shit because at the time endeavor aint "changing" and he acts EXACTLY like hawkss birth father.) hawks imprinting on dabi his first real friend, taking care of each other through the commissions pains and abuse, sacrificing themselves in order for the other to not be punished. MAJOR ANGST WHEN IT COMES TO DABIS DEATH and hawks loses his spark and throws himself into training to distract the howling pain of his bird side and instincts as he lost a flock member (and potential mate), ONLY TO FIND DABI ALIVE YEARS LATER. the angst of reconciliation to see your love turn yo the darkest sides (dabi being a villain and hawks being a hero both of who they respectively hate) the angst of dabi knowing that without him the commission successfully brainwashed hawks to the point of betrayal on their side and hawks knowing his old beloved is now on the side in which he has to take down and kill (his old beloved truely did die if this is the path dabi went to) THE FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO STRANGERS TO ENEMIES AND BACK TO LOVERS. IM GONE O-(-( ORZ. youve successfully wounded me.

the amount of aus/canon divergent situations you can put these two from those three things TOGETHER or SEPARATE/SOLO, soulmates, quirk accident, princess carry, found family, exes to lovers, role reversal, fantasy au, royal au, cyberpunk au, dystopian, apocalypse, sickfic, honeypot turned non sexual intimacy, highschool au, civilians au, quirk swap, body swap, arranged marriage, actual genuine married couple, kindergarten au, amnesia fics, time travel, time travel fix it fics, space au, star wars au, pirates and mermaids, and the wonderful beautiful amount of crack/crack treated seriously is UDGODLY. hawks pranking endeavor, the lov and hawks playing video games, trophy wife dabi, watching disney movies, coming out at the worse times, "HAWKS/DABI WDYM YOUR FUCKING A VILLAIN/HERO," one or more of the todorokis (minus endeavor) being in the league and dabi hating it but hawks loves it (adores shouto, loves and is terrified of fuyumi, gets along w natsuo, DABI YOUR MOM IS A FALLEN ANGEL), dabis mom being in the league and is a better mom in canon and dabis like what the shit or this is my mom fuckers touch her and your burnt and hawks is like but what about affectionate touching (hugs, headbumps etc), hawks learning to build a pillow fort and experience actual good childhoos activities, dabi walking in on hawks (and maybe spinner and toga) indulging in his avian-ness for the first time, dabi cooking for hawks, hawkss nesting habits, gift giving

am i autistic about dabihawks or am i AUTISTIC about DABIHAWKS

if you read this hold this (jesus /AFFECTIONATE I WROTE A LOT.) thank you and hoping to convert you :D

ANON you fucking FEASTED WITH THIS ONE OH MY GOD!!!! You delivered on your promise and brought over the whole damn MEAL!!

(I love the essay thank you so so much for taking time to pour out your thoughts on this ship!!! Ngl I don’t give Dabi enough credit as a character and maybe this ship is one way to kinda explore that and dammit if I am not more intrigued by them than anything else)

[muzzlemouths]

knock knock on the askbox door I saw the reblog tags and thus I come asking for some writing crumbs please~ - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

OH HELLO!! Not sure which crumb to hand out so uhmmmm. have several haha

"Candy" from DCA Palooza's Promptober

"I thought you were better than that" from the angst prompts

Royal Guard au prompt from here (I know @ayyy-imma-ninja has recently taken this au back and run with it ((i am very excited with what they've already come up with)) but I was already 5 pages in by that point so I'm still gonna finish this anyway alksdjfhksjfhf)

that's all for now!! /does a little jig and rolls away

[sabyfangirl]

I watched Fossa-Palooza, it was wild! Is that were you (and angst enthusiast) got the idea for Alone and Desolate? What about Asil’s “This is About Trust”? It’s like, oh my god, I get it!!!

I can see why these fics came to be now, my head’s already filled with ideas and I barely write fanfic!

You literally see where the bros grew up! You see their mom! You see prime sibling interactions! You see how deeply the team all care! It’s so good!!!

— Vole :D

Oh yes, one of my favorite eps. I just wish we could've seen more of their mom, though.

And yeah, let's just say using the "Chris falling off the Tortuga" trope never gets old, lmao. And I'm really glad you also mentioned Asil's fic, which is a master piece btw, cause I myself found Martin's attitude when talking to his mom pretty interesting.

Thank you for putting so much thought into our fics!

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Poor Rora is going through it! I.... should really do this one day. 

okay so my buddy @somethingthatsaysbubbles has been nice enough to tag me in six sentence sundays twice now and I keep! forgetting!! so this is me doing two to make up for it lmao

both under the cut so I don’t crowd dashes bc lmao of course I wasn’t just going to post six sentences, are you kidding me?

and bc of some very slight nsft in the last one

no-pressure tagging some friends in the meantime! @rosemaremembrance @maximoffwxnda @bigtiddythanos @illegalcerebral @lightinthedarkuniverse/ @jmathesonandsiblings @pondering-and-wondering @lorna-d-m @scuttle-buttle @eldritchcircus @somethingthatsaysbubbles @ebiemidnightlibrarian @norabrice1701 and anyone else feeling up to it!

Keep reading

[gizkasparadise]

Should I watch lost you forever? Is the ending satisfying?? Also, can you recommend some wuxia dramas with warrior FLs?

lost you forever is currently my top cdrama for the year! some highlights:

interesting and nuanced female lead

a lil something for everyone as far as shipping goes

great character dynamics and development

great set design, esp if you're kind of burned out on all the CGI-palooza of a lot of xianxia dramas

awesome ost

the political plot is interesting and actually character-driven

refreshing take in that the male lead is not necessarily who the female lead ends up with

surprisingly queer in some areas?

confession: im holding off on watching the last 5 eps of s1 until s2 comes out, because a ship breaks up and there's a lot of angst with it and im not strong enough to watch it without being able to immediately proceed to the Fix-It stage :'D

some wuxia dramas with warrior FLs (didn't include any modern-day dramas)

love and redemption!!! it doesn't seem that way at first, but TRUST. xianxia not wuxia, though, if that's a dealbreaker

the legends (xianxia-ish but not as much as some of the others). bonus points for this one having a FL on the demon side!

havent seen it yet, but legend of fei i believe operates on this premise

admittedly, i did not like this drama as a whole much but who rules the world has a cool female lead! (iirc the second FL also is a warrior and they are besties)

straight-up didnt like this one, but and the winner is love has a FL as the heir apparent to her sect. my memory is indicating that she's more a warrior-on-paper though

they're oldies at this point, but if you're cool with c-movies these are must-watches for me: wing chun (w/michelle yeoh and donnie yen), house of flying daggers, hero

if you're willing to branch out into kdrama...

DEFINITELY check out empress ki. it's mostly set in the yuan empire, so it has some cdrama vibes to it

gu family book. fantasy elements, but the FL is a warrior

hotel del luna features an immortal FL who was a warrior/thief/bandit during the goryeo era

mr sunshine's FL is a gunman/sniper, and second FL is adept at fencing

river where the moon rises unfortunately had some production issues due to real-life scandals, but it's still a pretty solid drama imo with an action-girl FL

[whiskeyswifty]

omg hey so about the sound of tortured poets whatever it's called (not in a mean way, genuinely can't yet remember the full title😭) right when i saw the announcement and the cover and title my very first thought was oh great hope it's folklore's kinda sexier sister like these are the vibes but the streets are saying it's synth pop.....we don't know yet but yeah i saw one of your asks and you said the same thing about the sound and yeah that's exactly the first thing i thought about the album but i guess we'll see.....hope we're right though!!! i hope she goes back to folkmore style sound again bc i've said before, it would be such a waste of talent if she abandons this sound completely for pop. like girl look you're so good at it!!!!!!!!! yeah i guess we'll see

(i also think folklore is her most perfect and bestest album along with evermore so)

after midnights ptsd, i don't take anything the internet says with taylor music seriously, so i just refuse to believe the synthpop rumor. not cuz i think it's wrong! just cuz i won't get my hopes up again lol. you could argue midnights was synthpop i guess, but that's such a broad sound nowadays that it could mean anything even if true.

i hope we are right! and i think i said earlier, or on that post, that i'd be fine if she split the difference between folklore and midnights sound even. i'm happy with some dreamy bedroom pop or some equivalent of that. some early clairo or early muna-y sound. i just prefer it personally and i think she's got such a wistful voice and this is looking potentially like that kind of sexy angst that it would pair well with that sound. jack can do a lot of different things, so it's not outside his wheelhouse if she insists on working with him still!

a friend of mine and i were also talking how the title feels a little bit of a lana ripoff as well, and the general suggestive, almost coquettish look of it too. while she's no crooner, and it would be very embarrassing if she did a lana ripoff album, and very obvious, that orchestral and cinematic sound that lana has always had is a personal fav of mine (and my friend) and it would be really fun to see taylor in that space. not sure it suits her, but i'd prefer that sound over the jack synth-a-palooza sound she usually goes for. give me more sweeping violin swells like august! and moody cellos and bass guitars and all that. she's been an admirer of lana since her first album, so taylor certainly likes that sound to listen to. not a stretch i think given how she's buddy buddy with lana now!

[dca-fanart-gallery]

DCA Palooza Commentfest is Starting!

Hello to everyone here on tumblr and welcome officially to the DCA Palooza Commentfest! We're kicking things off by posting all the masterlists of the amazing fic submissions we recieved, and the links to all of them will be here on this post to make it easier to find everything you're looking for!

This event will run from today, November 20th to January 1st but the masterlists will all remain available and you're free to keep reading to your heart's content!

We'd love it if authours that submitted fics share them (preferably with an image ID) in the server or here! Posting on tumblr it would be lovely to @ this blog or use the #dca palooza commentfest tag for us to reblog!

You can view the event rules by clicking here.

Masterlists:

master post (you are here)| Fluff| Angst| Longfics| Shorter fics| AUs| Canon-adjacent| Finished| WIPs| DCA x Reader| Eclipse x Reader| Other Ships| No Shipping| Concrit Wanted| Disability Rep| All fics

[m1ckeyb3rry]

FR!! I love the whole universe that’s been established through all the characters and dynamics like >>>> and it’s also not just ships palooza which is honestly refreshing

No because sometimes I find some Naoya memes funny where people are shitting on him and even his character is sometimes SO ridiculously misogynistic it’s funny like how do you even exist?? I love naoya slander jokes fr though (I forgot but it’s literally so ironic apparently the way Naoya speaks is a bit lost in translation and he kinda talks like a little girl according to some jp users who’ve pointed it out?? Like BRO) but yeah the only thing he has going for him is his face card maybe (also I originally thought his hair was gonna be green but)

Oh I was not aware oh that foreshadowing!!! Haha!! Self sacrifice!! Lol!! It’s ok y/n’s alive now though so!! But yeah anyways I’m also like…in the scope of jjk0 there’s quite literally only (including y/n) 5 characters/classmates that fit into like the friend group positions? And excuse the collateral slander one of which is a bear, the other quite literally cannot talk, one who acts like a bully, one who was BULLIED like adding ocs helps broaden the dynamic possibilities a lot more?? Like there’s ofc no problem NOT adding ocs but I don’t see how you can blame someone for wanting to add them because that’s literally the tiniest class of students I’ve ever seen?? Let’s give our protag some more friends…also if you don’t like it just close the tab and go for a different fic?? I seriously don’t understand the need to vocalize complaints like this when they won’t benefit the anyone in any way like also wait THAT WAS THE COMMENT?? Wow really came full circle with BLLK Karasu and PI but BRUH yeah maybe it’s just a wattpad thing….although this is kinda unrelated I’ve also seen some really rude anons here too? Like I’ll just scroll through a tag or a blog and I see like, someone asks anonymously and goes “you’re so fucking annoying and your work is shit” BRO WHO IS COMPELLING YOU TO SAY THIS??? The fact that they take the time of day to go find their ask box and submit something like what does this achieve?? The audacity of some people it was nice to see other blogs like quote reposting and calling anon out for doing such heinous shit but what even….

I’m laughing like theoretically when I put the puzzle pieces together…yes bf material..? But also my brain says um. LMAOAOA it’s so funny I mean I don’t doubt that he would be a good bf but I can’t wrap my head around bf material and todo being in the same sentence HAHAHA

The shitty familial clans always get me the fact that they kept refusing to heal sorcerers associated with y/n?? And then tullia was truly the final straw…but so real I know they aren’t l/ns but I mean dad’s side of the family smh the hiiragis too in hollyhock <<<<<<

“Quick and easy” LMAOOO sorry it makes me laugh sm because in the span that we’ve been talking there’s already been multiple incidents of “this turned out way longer than it was supposed to” HAHAHA yk…if you just make an approximation and multiply it by 2.5 i think you’ll be good LMAO bro really said lemme churn out the Walmart version for otoya so I can get cracking on masterclass version for Karasu (I say Walmart version lightly because I know it’ll still be top tier LOL) but honestly so real gotta do the best for our man karasu

Ok by association (?? Ik there’s a better word than this but I can’t think of it LMAO) if otoyas is at 10k rn does that mean Karasu’s is gonna but the 20’s /j

Imagine it was angsty and karasu drowns (im joking no one dies in soccer!!!!!!!!!) but OMFG. I AM. SO. READY!!! LETS GOOO I LIVE FOR MEDIOCRITY COMPLEX KARASU ANGST!!! EVERYBODY CHEERED WAHOO ok but im fr so hyped for the lineup of BLLK fics you have in the works it’s been awhile since I’ve seen sm quality content being posted its such a change from the disappointingly inactive tags LMAO

This would be the crossover of the century y/n and her mom going to watch the BLLK u20 match causing and even BIGGER commotion with the press too like imagine all the cameramen who are there for the match swerving to look at the models LMAOOO I can imagine Yuki being really close to her and looking up to her almost like a mentor or cool aunt(kinda giving Gojo’s role to the jjk students except, well mrs l/n does not act like a teenager LMAOO) I bet Yukimiya would have to reign everyone in like a THATS MY BESTIE/BASICALLY MY SECOND MOM???? It’d be funny to see yuki kinda lose him temper like “no you stay TF away from them I will not allow you to taint them with your weirdness”

I’m ngl I was fr just a reader/lurker until recently, I actually used to just use the web version without an account because I was too lazy to set one up and have another thing potentially entering my email inbox until the site started forcing you to get the app which requires an account so I was like ok well gotta do what you gotta do….and then I proceeded to do exactly what I did before (literally just lurking and silently enjoying LOL) and not try to explore any of the app features and uh. Well here I am!! I’m sure I’ll figure it out someday when something prompts me to do so LMAO the platform in general is so interesting though especially compared to most other social media platforms out there!! I don’t feel like conquering that learning curve today oops

-Karasu anon

there def are some side ships (togetullia, mrs l/n and toji, elakshi and noritoshi) but for the most part yes there’s not a ton of romance going on!! plus of those three relationships only one even works out so 😓 truly the strength of pi imo is the platonic relationships it has (tullia and y/n will always be famous to me like it’s not at all romantic but the way they loved one another is so integral to the story it makes me emotional 🥹)

NAOYA IS JUST CRAZY TO ME LMAOAOA like he truly feels like a govt experiment…he kinda looks like raichi from bllk (or raichi looks like him idrk which one came first) but raichi is so enraged 24/7 that no one acknowledges his face card 😭💔

NO THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING like sorry i want to have more than female character in my stories…sorry not every single character is in love w y/n…LMAO also yeah idk why people haven’t grasped the concept of just clicking another story HAHAHA like?? if you don’t like it then read something else!! why would i change how i like to write because some random on the internet is annoyed, esp considering how many people love my stories?? the entitlement is weird to me but i try not to complain abt it a lot because ik that in terms of hate i’m very lucky in that i’ve never gotten anything too bad…i have seen those types of anons it’s insane!! personally somehow i’ve avoided getting any myself HAHA idek what i’d do if i did 😩 i try to stay relatively unproblematic and in my lane on here so i haven’t ever gotten involved in tumblr drama like a lot of other accts have but i live in fear of the day that someone comes in my inbox and is a jerk 😰

when you think about it objectively todo is a good bf but when you see him you’re like “well…” HAHA i think having him as a weird rival bestie is the best in between because you get the benefits of him hanging out w you without it being romantic

THE DAD’S SIDE OF THE FAMILY IS ALWAYS THE ENEMY KFKFJDJD the hiiragis are so l/n coded too LMAO

please i need to just stop having expectations atp because i KNOW it’s going to be crazier than what i think…LMAO the otoya one is silly and unserious and more along the lines of the last part of fwtkac but i’m planning on having something a bit closer to the instrument for the karasu version where it’s more serious (we’ll see though because something abt tabieita brings out the crack fic writer in me so there’s a chance it’ll end up silly as well) HAHA as much as i love otoya i fear karasu deserves the best so my time love and energy will be going into his version

atm i’m hoping for something in like the 6-9k range for the karasu version?? so make of that what you will…the otoya version (which i should be posting in the next hour or so i hope) is almost 13k words so obviously i’m way off in my guesses as it’s over 3-4 times longer than i initially thought 😭 if the karasu version ends up being 20k words i might cry HKDJDJSK i think i’ll have written more for him than even nagi w peregrine at that point 😩

omg ykw just because you said that i’m going to make him drown LMAOAOAAO not permanently though but like 😏 mediocrity complex karasu my beloved…i’m so excited to get working on that HAHA i need to get the otoya version over with so i can focus on my main man 😢 HAHA i’m doing my best to contribute to the fandom i think i’ve written over 100k words of bllk fics since may so yk i’m putting in the work

LITERALLY omg y/n and her mother are the WAGs of all time 😭 everyone in the crowds in shock because it’s the most random soccer match ever and for some reason famous former model mrs l/n is there?? and her daughter is equally as pretty?? i feel like having endured the modeling industry mrs l/n would def take yuki under her wing and try to help him through it (maybe he was signed to the her old agency or smth) and she absolutely would NOT let y/n anywhere near that whole scene even though agents keep trying to scout her 😩 omg yuki would be sooo pressed it’s like that one tik tok sound that’s like “how old is your dad—” “TOO old for you!! and he’s married!! stay away from my dad guys he’s married!!” HAHAHA and if yuki and y/n are just friends and not dating at that point i bet otoya and aiku would try to rizz her up and she’d be so uninterested 😰 honestly besides yuki i could maybe see her going for hiori LMAOAOA so like imagine karasu’s face if he tries to flirt with her and she’s like “cool 👍 abt your friend though…😏🤩🥰” (the friend in question has zero clue what’s going on and is completely confused when she tries to talk to him)

it def is a learning curve but once you get it it feels intuitive ig?? until they throw another curveball at you 😰 even now i’m still discovering features that i didn’t realize existed 😳 i was def a silent reader/lurker for a while too!! i feel like i still am a lot of the time haha it doesn’t help that i rarely read other people’s fics because i’m usually working on my own 😓 if you ever need help w anything on here lmk though i will do my best to give advice 💪🏻

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Every Color Illuminates

1200 Words for 1200 Followers #1

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! Kicking it off with a fun one today. I definitely just leaned HARD into this AU, so I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: none really, just a smidge of angst

Requested by: @haylzcyon - Song Choice: Spectrum - Character Choice: Marcus Pike (thank you SO MUCH for this one, Hayley!! I know he’s your numero uno, so I hope you enjoy this! 💚)

Summary: Your job keeps you surrounded by some of the most stunning pieces of art known to man. Too bad you can only see them - and the whole world for that matter - in black and white.

I need a break. 

Closing your eyes, you sank into your chair and sighed. It was only 11:30, but you were considering taking your lunch an hour early. You had no meetings that day, and your next tour wasn’t until 2. None of the emails in your inbox were so time sensitive that they couldn’t wait for you to get back.

I need to clear my head. 

The morning tour had been an inquisitive group, wringing you dry with questions and requests for detailed descriptions. They were precisely the kind of guests that you took the job as CA to accommodate - passionate, longing for connection, searching for understanding, new means of expression. You were proud to be the one to guide them, privileged to be the one that got to see them moved to tears when they found what they were looking for in the works in gilded frames or on marble pedestals. Art was a wide, wild world of beauty and sorrow, romance, revolution, pain and pleasure. The waters were deep for anyone to navigate, especially those who hadn’t matched and were limited to shades of gray. 

You were grateful to be able to gift them color, even if only for a few moments. Even if it left you feeling drained and achingly alone sometimes. 

As someone who still saw the world in grayscale, you were uniquely suited for the position. Everything that you knew about color had been painted for you by someone else, too. You were the first Graysight Color Ambassador that the National Gallery of Art had ever employed. If guest satisfaction surveys were any indication, you were also the best, Graysight or not. 

You loved your job, even when it reminded you that out of everyone you’d ever met, none of them had been your match. None of them had made such an impact on your life that your eyes had opened to the full spectrum of light and color. For as good as you were at translating hues into feelings, you’d never actually seen or felt them yourself. 

There were some days when you wondered if you ever would, or if you would remain in monochrome solitude forever. 

Not all matches were romantic. They happened whenever two souls that were meant to share their lives with one another met. Sometimes they were instantaneous, a flood of shining color crashing through both of you the moment your match said your name or touched your skin for the first time. Other times it was gradual, grays giving way to muted tints until eventually they became red, blue, orange, green and every variation and combination. 

You’d witnessed it happen, two people meeting for the first time at the museum - whether predetermined or by chance - and immediately being surrounded by colors, swaths of new sensations. You watched as people fell into one another’s arms, their faces seeming to glow with the knowledge that they had found their match, they had colored their world. And you were overjoyed for them when it happened - like it had that morning in your Graysight tour of the Rothko exhibit. 

That didn’t make it easier, that happiness you felt for others who found their way out of the shadows while you were still relegated to them. 

I just need to go for a walk. 

You’d been in your office for less than five minutes, and were about to leave it again to take your break when you heard a knock. The director’s voice accompanied the sound, your name coming through the mahogany door that you knew was a reddish brown but could only see as grayish black. “Are you in there?” 

Yes, but I don’t want to be. 

Trying not to groan, you rubbed your eyes and nodded, giving your response. “Yeah, Michelle.” You dropped your hands to your desktop, releasing a breath.”Come on in.” 

“Oh, good, I-” The door swung open and your boss appeared, her face falling when her eyes landed on yours. “You okay?” She came into your office and closed the door behind her, forehead furrowed in concern. “Your eyes are red.”

You waved one hand and gave her a smile that you hoped would cover the sting you still felt. “There was a match on the morning tour.” Rolling your still-watery eyes, you let out a stunted laugh. “Always gets me, you know?” 

That seemed to be a good enough response, Michelle’s lop-sided frown being replaced by a grin. “Oh! Wonderful!” 

“Yeah.” You nodded, melancholy still lingering in your chest. “It was.” Clearing your throat, you blinked. “I was thinking of taking my break early today, unless you needed something?” 

Please say no. 

“Actually-” 

Fuck.

“I know you just finished the Rothko exhibit, and I know it’s hard for you to dive right back in, but-” She sucked air through her teeth. “There’s someone who needs a private tour ASAP, and I need you on this one.” 

Your silence spoke for you, so she went on. 

“The FBI is sending someone from their art crimes department.” She shook her head, gesturing with one hand. “They’re investigating a fraud case, but the Agent in charge isn’t familiar enough with real Rothkos to be able to spot the fakes, so he needs a crash course. Since we’re the closest museum currently showing the collection…” She trailed off, shrugging. 

You tried not to wince. “Michelle, can’t Charlie or one of the regular guides take him through?” 

She clicked her tongue. “Sorry, but it has to be you.” Before you could ask why, she continued. “The Agent requested our Graysight CA.” 

That means… 

You assumed someone working for the FBI’s art crimes division would have to have matched, would need to see color. But then, most people would say the same about you and your profession. It seemed that you had at least one thing in common. 

“O-okay. What time?” 

She tilted her head from one side to the other, giving you a sheepish look. “He’s here now.” 

Oh.

Standing, you smoothed out your top - a blue one, or so the label told you. “Well, can’t keep the FBI waiting, right?” 

You followed Michelle down to the roped off exhibit. “He’s right through there. When you’re finished, take the rest of the day off. Charlie can do your 2:00.” 

With that she left, and then you saw him. 

A tall, broad shouldered man in a dark suit walked towards you. Even from a distance you could tell that he had a kind face. His eyes started smiling before his lips did, but they caught up as soon as he was in front of you. 

“Agent Marcus Pike.” He introduced himself, right hand extended for you to shake. 

You smiled and told him your name. 

But the moment he repeated it back to you, when your palms met, both of you gasped as the room around you exploded in prismatic color. 

Brown. His eyes are brown. 

“Marcus?” You whispered his name as purple and red swam in your peripheral, safe and warm overwhelming your thoughts. “I… don’t think you need me to-“

“No. I do.” He said your name again to send another shimmering rush through you. “I definitely do.” 

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11 @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee

[anna-hawk]

You know what? I'd actually forgotten how much I enjoyed this the first time I read it, and now again. It has the perfect balance of angst, anticipation and smut. I loved the way Reader was apprehensive with going to Sam, but still knowing exactly what she wants and needs.

“It's not very considerate of you to assume what I want or need. That's up for me to decide. I know who I am, and I've already seen what's out there. Just because you have a piece of information about me doesn't mean that you know everything about me or what’s best for me.”

THIS, right there, is *chef's kiss*!! I told you before too, but this paragraph is pure gold.

What a way to start the Palooza. I shall live vicariously through your week and what the others will give us ���🧡

room for you

Sam Rossi x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,8k

Summary: Your relationship with Sam is not advancing as fast as you'd want to, and finally you decide to take a chance and confess your true feelings.

Content/Warnings: explicit, angst, smut, vaginal sex, so many feelings, mention of divorce and past relationship.

A/N: This is my first work for Missionary Monday @bernthirst-events. Come join us!!

– Read below or at AO3.

Tonight’s date with Sam leaves a terrible taste in your mouth.

You've only been out with him a handful of times in the past month and given his hesitancy, and that you just went through a divorce, things are moving slower than you'd want to. Though you enjoy each other's company, there's a barrier between both that impedes you from confessing your true feelings. You don't wanna jump the gun too soon and scare him away after what you've been through; and he clearly has his own reasons to hold back, too.

During your dinner today, there was a very annoying factor, out of your control, that interrupted your precious time with Sam. As you were finishing dessert, you saw your ex-husband walking into the restaurant. You tried to look away, hide your face somehow, but he quickly found you, anyway, and had the nerve to approach the table to ruin the only good thing you have in your life right now.

Marrying that man was the worst decision you made in your life; divorcing him was the best you ever did. You'd think once it was official he'd leave you alone for good, but he's dead set on making your life miserable for the rest of time because, according to him, you stained his family name, and embarrassed him with a pesky thing like a divorce.

Your ex's offhanded comments put a dampener on what's left of your date, and when Sam drives you home, neither of you say a word about what happened. After pulling up in front of your house, you glance at him, and he leans in with some reservations to kiss you goodnight, but his lips barely touch yours before having you climbing out of the cabin of the truck feeling completely down and ashamed for reasons you shouldn’t be.

It’s a pity and as stupid as it sounds, you were actually looking forward to sharing that moment with Sam. It's something he’s offered since date one. Just a kiss of his lips colliding with yours always made you forget for a minute all that sadness and dread you carry on your shoulders. It gave you hope for something more, and right now, you just feel like it might never happen again after tonight. You can’t help but think this is maybe too much for him and that you’re not really worthy of his affection.

It unsettles your stomach and worsens your affliction, and after an hour or so of being unable to fall asleep, you just follow a sudden impulse of slipping into your clothes and drive up to the motel because you can’t keep wondering if he wants you or not, and you should find out now, rather than later.

In the short drive to Sweet Virginia, you concentrate on gathering your thoughts and putting together what you’re going to tell him.

As you park the car, you glance at his room’s window to see that he has the light on. You take a deep breath, step out and anxiously approach his room.

You shyly knock twice on his door, and when he opens, he stares at you, puzzled by your presence at this hour, before inviting you into his room without so much as a word.

Perhaps this was a bad idea, you realize as you set your feet inside, noticing your pulse going through the roof.

You close the door behind you, and lean back against the other side to keep yourself steady, as his eyes remain fixed on you, waiting for an explanation of this impromptu visit.

You’ve never seen him this late, to be honest. He still has his jeans on, but his shirt and boots are gone. There’s faint music playing somewhere, and you glance at his bedside table to see he has the radio on.

“I uh…” your words get stuck in your throat.

So much for bravery.

“It’s everything okay, sweetheart?” he finally asks, brow drawn low in a deep furrow.

You simply shake your head and swallow thickly before saying, “you didn’t kiss me goodnight.”

His lips pull up at one of the corners, seemingly amused; though you didn’t say it to be funny.

“I did kiss you.”

“No. That wasn’t a kiss, Sam. That wasn't even a peck.”

“You’ve come here to tell me that you didn’t like my kiss?”

“It’s not just that,” you heavily sigh, finding the speech that you’ve been rehearsing in your head during the car ride, “look, we’ve been doing this dance for a while, and I’m sure you’ve noticed that I like you, and that I want more. I need more. I… I thought you did too.” You pause, and gaze at the lamp for a beat, hoping he’d say something, but he lets you continue with your rambling, “I know tonight was weird. I’m sorry he ruined our date, but if you thought for a moment that I have feelings for him or something, you’re wrong. That’s been over for a long time.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second, “if I’m putting you on the spot right now… I’m sorry for that, too. I know that maybe I'm a little too much and too complicated for you, but I’m not asking you to marry me. I just wanna be with you, Sam. You make me happy, but if you don't have room in your life for me… Say it, and I won’t ever bother you again.”

He pulls his eyes away from you for a long moment, considering your words.

“Okay, I guess I got my answer,” you take his silence as a very telling sign that he doesn’t wanna be with you but doesn’t wanna break your heart either. So you turn around and reach for the doorknob.

“No, It’s not that, sweetheart,” he says under a sighed breath, staring at the tremor of his joined hands, held up mid-waist.

“Then, what is it, Sam?” you barely glance over your shoulder to look at him.

“I was trying to be considerate. It’s a small town, people talk, and I know how he treated you,” he slowly drawls, listing reason after reason, “I wanted to give you space, and time, so you could heal, be yourself, and see that there’s so much more in the world than jumping into a relationship with the first guy who’s nice to you.”

You turn slowly to face him again, letting his words sink in.

“It's not very considerate of you to assume what I want or need. That's up for me to decide. I know who I am, and I've already seen what's out there. Just because you have a piece of information about me doesn't mean that you know everything about me or what’s best for me.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Cause I’ve never told you that I've felt dead and empty for years, and the first time that I've felt like myself again was with you. And you say you wanted to be considerate, but you weren't. If you were… you'd have stayed away from me.”

“You're right.”

“That's all you have to say, Sam, that – I'm right? What about tonight, you just wanted to give me space too?”

“No,” he looks directly into your eyes as his jaw tenses, and his sweet voice changes, giving away a pent-up anger he hadn't shown before as he explains, “I wanted to kill him for the way he looked at you tonight, and the way you held my hand for dear life when he came to the table and I… when I dropped you home, I drove back to the restaurant, took a good look at him without getting out of the truck, and came back here, cause I'm as much of a coward as he is. I don't know what I was thinking, but I know that I shouldn't have left you like that… ”

“You're not a coward,” you let out a shaky breath, having your eyes welling up.

“I am,” he scoffs.

“You're not,” you repeat, slowly bringing your hands up to hold his face, letting his bear pickle your palms, as your thumbs rest on his cheekbones, “I know what a coward looks like, and that's not you, Sam. Would you really do something like that for me?”

“I'd do anything for you, sweetheart,” he confesses, taking one of your wrists and pressing his lips on the inside, “does it surprise you?”

“A little,” you exhale, relieved as that weight gets lifted off your shoulders, “I'm sorry I caught you off guard. I just couldn't hold it any longer.”

“It's okay. C'mere.”

He closes the small distance between you, tucking his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You curl your arms around his neck, noticing his face pressed at the curve of your neck, and his nose inhaling the scent of your skin for a long time while you sit still in that tender moment, not wanting to ever let go of him, and vice versa.

Some of your worries fade into the dark the longer he holds you, as the radio plays an old song that you vaguely start swaying to without even realizing. He's hugged you before, but nothing like this indulging, heavenly embrace. Your stomach flutters as your fingers slide at his nape, weaving Sam's curls absentmindedly, garnering a pleased hum out of his lips. He pulls his head slightly back, and you're taken aback by the way he holds your stare, having his soul bleed out of those sweet browns, before letting the sudden urgency of his lips capture your mouth in a deep, breathtaking kiss. It takes you a second to respond and match that raw energy of his tongue that makes your knees tremble.

Totally invested in that intense, sloppy exploration of each other's mouth, you forget how to breathe. It also goes unnoticed when your back is once more pressed against the door by his hands holding your hips firmly against it. You can only focus on the sweet taste of his mouth and the warmth igniting his skin beneath your palms. He slowly becomes a furnace, consuming the little air you have left, invading your space as he presses his whole body against you.

If he ever held back, he sure has unleashed all himself now, and it all clears any doubts you had of him earlier.

Sam had been dying to have you like this, and he's determined on making it up to you for that lame excuse of a kiss he gave you earlier.

The signs of his body are truly eye-opening. You feel it in your mouth and palms, in the grip of his hands, and the swelling of his bulge closely pressed against your hips.

Just as it started, it promptly ends, unwarrantedly, with him pulling his lips away and resting his forehead on top of yours as his breathing catches.

“See?” That wasn't so hard, wasn't it?” you exhale, petting his beard with both hands.

“It is pretty hard, actually,” he remarks, amused.

“I've noticed.”

You both laugh softly at the same time.

Unable to fight that whim lingering at the tip of your tongue, you inhale deeply before capturing his lips one more time. It comes slow and oh so tender this time, it makes your heart swell in delight when his lips bounce thrice against yours.

“You wanna?” Your cheeks heat up, tugging at his belt as a hint.

“Yeah, I wanna,” his voice rasps before kissing you one more time.

He then takes your hand and walks you up to his bed. The covers are slightly messed up in the side he had been laying, and as you swallow in anticipation, you take off your shoes by the foot of the bed.

Sam reaches with his hands and starts undoing the buttons of your flannel shirt before pushing it off your shoulders. Your head leans forward, and you kiss his collarbone as he grabs the hem of your tank top and pulls it over your head, exposing your bare torso. Your skin comes ablaze, having his fingers running up your back as he undresses you.

As much as you'd want to jump right into it and get it over with, you take your time, appreciating every precious caress and kiss and hug he offers when his arms lock around you, reveling in the heat of your body that is just as warm as his. He whispers how beautiful you are against your hair as his hands misbehave, slipping down your back to grab your ass. You smile at the curve of his neck, and give him a nibble, before taking a step back to slip out of the rest of your clothes.

He watches enraptured as you push down your jeans and underwear before timidly laying on the mattress, biting your bottom lip. You lean on your elbows, and set your knees apart, offering yourself to him.

Staring at the tempting sight of your body, bathed in the honey-yellow light of his lamp, Sam mumbles something under his breath, and undoes his belt and fly. Halfway through pushing his bottom layers down, he props a knee on the bed and as he climbs on top of you, he shimmies out the rest of the way out of his boxer briefs and jeans. He touches your belly button with his lips, and drags them up up to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and beard tickles.

Sam nestles between your legs, prying them further apart as his soft steel erection slots against your slicked folds. Propped on one elbow, he caresses your hair and captures your gaze before immersing himself in the depth of your mouth once more. His hips rock delicately against our pussy, so you can feel the length and thickness of his cock in all its extent as it swells harder with every stroke. It rubs in all the right spots, stirring a new wave of arousal that makes you moan against his lips.

Taking that as a hint, he makes some room for his hand between your bodies and gingerly guides the blunt head of his cock and half his shaft to breach your opening.

“You okay like that, sweetheart?” his stare and hand go back to your face.

“Yeah, I'm good. M'good,” you repeat, soothing your palms slowly down his broad back.

Sam starts moving at your cue, ever so carefully at first, as he buries himself further inside you, inch after inch, stretching the tender confinement of your walls.

Your lips part in a silent sigh, as he rocks back and forth, enjoying the cadence of your hips moving along with his, a little off tempo.

There's nothing but adoration held between his stare and yours. You get lost in the dark of his eyes as he makes love to you for the first time.

Once you're used to his size, your eager palms land on his ass and press, asking him to go harder and per your whims, his thrusts come gradually more enthusiastic than before.

“Is this what you wanted?” he purrs over your lips, driven to indulge all your desires.

“Yeah,” you exhale, half smiling, “I wanted all of you.”

Your hands travel from his ass up to his shoulder blades, marking your nails on his back as you get caught in that crucial spot where every muscle of your body tenses and aches, queuing that inevitable orgasm.

“Come with me, Sam, please,” you urge him as you get closer and closer.

Following your wishes, his thrusts come sharper, and stronger. The sound of your moans makes his cock twitch at your desperate pleading. And just a couple of pushes after, he spills all his seed as your walls contract in a big tight squeeze for a moment before enjoying those delicious after flutters pressing repeatedly around his cock.

Both of you are overtaken by a similar storm of elation that has you giddy and breathless as it courses through your body like wildfire.

He hasn't come in a while like that, not with another person at least. And your sex drive has been pretty low for a while, so tonight it was like putting two missing, intricate puzzle pieces that needed to slot together for the sake of completing the picture once and for all.

The room becomes blurry while the orgasm ebbs, and you're sure there are tears striking down your cheeks of pure joy. You feel Sam's beard scratching your skin when he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You love how his weight feels on top of you, as overwhelming as it is with all the sweat and steam emanating from both bodies.

“We should've done this a long time ago,” he sweetly drawls when his breathing returns.

You smile to yourself and send a hand to pet the wet curls at his nape, as he kisses your neck.

“Yeah, we should have.”

[invisibleraven]

Have you got any angsty pre-canon sunset curve head canons? 🥺

Ooof nonny, you asked for it, this got super angsty and long, so h/c under the cut

Alex was the golden boy all his life, someone you would be proud to call your son. "Why can't you be more like Alex?" is something his church friends often heard. He knew he was lucky and loved, and thought nothing could change that. Then he came out, and he lost everything. People steered away from him at church, the sermons revolved around hellfire until he couldn't bear to be there anymore. Until he didn't believe any more. His parents, who he thought would love him forever, no matter what, turned frosty. They turned his sisters away from him, telling them he was a sinner, and God would punish them as well for condoning his choices. They started talking about sending him away to get 'fixed'. Suddenly things they used to praise him for weren't good enough ("How come you only got an 90% as opposed to 100%?"), or the reason behind his 'illness' (drumming, spending time with the band). They started using his anxiety against him, they refused to pay for his meds anymore, to give him anything aside from a roof over his head and food on his plate, even though he wasn't welcome to eat with the family any longer. He spent his last summer alive living with Luke in Bobby's garage, and his parents claimed that he was visiting relatives to change his ways. They never claimed his body, and between Bobby and Luke's parents, they paid for his burial.

Bobby was the last of the guys to join the band, having met Luke in detention and getting railroaded into auditioning and then giving up his grandparents garage as a studio space. Bobby was a bit of a loner, afraid to form relationships, after his parents all but dumped him on his lola's doorstep so they could travel and work without him as a millstone around their necks. He was terrified of being abandoned, of being left behind. But these guys wormed their ways into his heart and refused to let him shut them out. They made him feel safe and connected, and unafraid to live for once. He never told them how much they brought him back to life, but paid them back by offering an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a fist to defend them. He let Alex and Luke live in the garage after they left home, and always let Reggie know there was a space there for him too. So when the guys went and died on him, Bobby essentially died too, having been left again yet again. No friends pestering him, no one making him live. So he used their music to make sure the guys got to live, in some capacity, even if bad decisions left their names off of it. Bobby Shaw didn't survive that night, even if his body was still breathing. He died with his boys, and didn't live again until Carrie was placed in his arms.

Luke didn't get why his parents refused to accept his passions, but he always felt like he could do no right with them. His mom always claimed she was 'just worried' but maybe she was worried about appearances, how others would judge her. Luke wanted to be a rock star, he lived and breathed music, so he didn't care about classes or grades, and no amount of drag out fights with his mom would change that. He dropped out of school right before Christmas, that was the source of the fight we got to see, with Emily livid that he would be so foolish. Luke claimed that she would never understand, and she sighed, telling him he sounded like a child, with childish dreams. If he could give up the band and get his life back on track he would realize that. But Luke also knew that as much as he loved the band, the boys needed it more. They needed it as an escape or distraction from their turbulent home lives. As a way to feel like they were worthy of love, of respect, of being treated as a person. He could never give that up, not when his boys needed that lifeline just as much as he did. So he ran away, determined to show his mom that he could and would make it. And if they made it, well then she'd finally see him for who he was over who she wanted him to be. Emily never forgave herself for not trying harder to find him before he died, and she understands why Bobby-Trevor glares at her all through the funerals.

Reggie lives at home until he dies, refusing to leave his parents, even if all they do is fight, because they still love him, right? Even if any of his friends would tell him that people who love you never talk down to a person like they do, or argue over whose fault it is that he turned out 'like that', whatever that's supposed to mean. Reggie knows all this, deep down, but he thinks it will get so much worse if he leaves. They hurt each other through words, but if he's not there, the fights get physical, an it's better that he stops them early rather than let them hurt one another. A few times they were too far into it, and he got caught in the middle. Nothing bandages and alcohol wipes can't solve right? Reggie learns to live with the sound of breaking glass, the scent of booze, the constant yelling. He learns to keep his friends away and a smile on his face, because the last time the neighbours showed up to help, it almost ended in a fist fight. Best not to tell anyone anything other than they were still fighting, no, he didn't need to stay but thanks for asking. Eventually he learns to live in layers, the jacket good at keeping his arms and back safe from flying dishes and covering the marks left if he wasn't quick enough to avoid getting them. He adapts to sleeping where and when he can, and shoplifts concealer to disguise his dark circles. Yet he still loves his parents, hoping that one day he can be enough so they stop fighting, even if he blames himself when he's the cause. His parents don't even look at each other at his funeral, and the divorce papers are signed before his headstone is erected.