#anyways hi spiralers of all varieties. this is my first post to you all. the autism quiz

[somespiralworkshop]

HEY

Do you think it'd be cool to have more variations on magic? Do you think Pigswick's magic could've had a point? Do you feel like some schools could've easily had more to them?

Do you just want to witness the result of me going insane for a couple years and developing the hell out of Spiral magic?

WELL LUCKILY FOR YOU!

I have spent an entire day creating my horrible (affectionate) little uquiz which takes all the alternative magic styles I've conceptualized and puts them in a sorting quiz. We aren't just talking your basic schools here; we've got results for latent-born Astral and Shadow schools, alternative variations off of the main schools centered on Pigswick's ideas, and even ancient Primal variations of magic incorporating facets of magical schools otherwise looked over, like the storm and seas, or life and the wild!! This is me releasing my concepts to the public. And if you are so curious, YOU can figure out which one fits you best!!!*

*results may not actually be best fitting. I'm doing my best out here.

Anyways <3 Have fun in there folk!!

[mockerycrow]

UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

[clotpolesonly]

I'm so curious about the Declan was abused by a priest au 👀

my friend Cami and i can't help it, we just look at promiscuous characters with intense trust and intimacy issues and ask "is anybody gonna hc a history of sexual abuse here??" and then don't wait for an answer adlkjfgh

this verse -- (dubbed "the Wesleyverse", after our OC priest, Father Wesley) -- began with "and i am not gonna think about the reputation the catholic church has for sexual abuse of young boys because i have already delivered plenty of trauma and angst upon my boys and it also it feels uncouth alkdfjhadgf 😅 bUT ALSO" which was met with a resounding "I WENT THERE TOO" from Cami, and it spiraled from there

i'm just saying, a quiet self-sufficient anxious boy with an unstable home life and who has already had the importance of keeping secrets drilled into him would be very convenient for a sexual predator. socially isolated and emotionally unfulfilled. the ignored child, the overlooked, no one's favorite -- desperate for the validation and attention that he doesn't get from his parents, at least not the way he wants it. resentful of his brothers and their specialness.

Father Wesley made him feel special. like he was the important one for once, more important than all the other boys, more important than Ronan who he could've chosen instead. Father Wesley gave Declan all the attention and praise and reassurance that he craved, and all it took was playing some private games. secret and unpleasant and ever-escalating "games" that made Declan feel bad in a variety of ways, but Declan was used to that. cleaning up after dad's and Ronan's dreams were games, according to Aurora, and those made him feel bad too. those were unpleasant too. those made him afraid too. those were things he couldn't tell anyone about too.

how is a 6yo supposed to know the difference between a secret that should be kept and a secret that shouldn't be? a game he has to play behind closed doors whether he wants to or not and a game he needs to tell a trusted adult about?

(there aren't many adults he trusts anyway. who is supposed to be more trustworthy than their priest? Father Wesley speaks for god, doesn't he? he's the highest authority. right?)

so anyway. all that lasted a while, maybe from ages 6 to 8, when Father Wesley stopped wanting to play with him. it took months for Declan to realize that he wasn't coming back, that for better or for worse it was over. (relieved, yes. hurt, also yes. abandoned. unfavorite. if Father Wesley doesn't love him anymore, does it mean god doesn't either?) he put it behind him, labeled it as over and done with, and he did everything he could to bury it and pretend it never happened. he never told anyone and he never intended to.

it's been 11 years since the abuse stopped, Wesley's been retired from St Agnes for 5 or 6 years, a whole lot of shit has happened and life has been very busy for Declan (set post-TRK, more or less lol). things are finally calming down a little bit. the Gray Man has the underground shit handled for the time being, he and Matthew are back in town (because reasons, don't ask about georgetown, it's not important) and his relationship with Ronan is stabilizing. everything is fine.

and then Father Wesley gets arrested.

Gansey forwards the article to Ronan. Ronan shows it to Declan when he's stopped by monmouth for whatever reason, like holy shit, this is crazy, can you believe this??? fucked up, amirite??

doesn't notice at first that Declan has gone completely still.

it isn't until he mentions that the police are going through all the evidence to see if they can identify the victims -- indicating that it's not just, ya know, possession of materials from the internet, but actual production, records of his actual abuse -- that Declan fucking bolts. and Ronan is like UMMM?? DON'T LIKE THE IMPLICATIONS OF THAT

and here's the thing about the Lynch brothers. they may not get along. they may have a lot of water under the bridge. they may be liable to attack each other at the drop of a hat. but the second someone else attacks one of them? they close ranks. Ronan may not like his brother all that much but it's still HIS brother, thank you very much, his family, and anybody who lays a fucking hand on him is gonna suffer the consequences.

he has to chase Declan down. checks his condo, checks his work, checks the Barns, even calls Matthew to ask if he's seen him. finally finds him at the absolute LAST place he expected -- the church. it's late afternoon on a tuesday or something and there's no one else there. it's just Declan, alone in the sanctuary, with a rosary that Ronan hasn't seen him actually use in years.

Ronan doesn't remember ever having seen Declan cry before, and he's not crying now but it's obvious that he has been. that he's fighting to keep control of himself now. says he came here to be alone.

Ronan says fuck that, he's not just gonna leave.

after a minute, Declan abruptly sits up, suddenly blank and businesslike and steady, and he tells Ronan to ask his questions. which is.........disturbing, for Ronan. because he's seen this face before. he's seen it a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times. it's the cool detachment that's always rubbed Ronan the wrong way, earned Declan accusations of being an unfeeling robot, someone who just didn't care as much as Ronan did about anything or anyone.

had this face always had all this under it? could he really just pull it on over top of.........of ALL THIS and pretend that none of those feelings were there?? hide them that well?? fucking hell.

Ronan refuses to ask any questions. he has plenty, of course, but he's not here to interrogate him. (he doesn't even know how to put his questions into words anyway, fuck, he's just trying to wrap his head around it.) Declan said he wanted to be alone, obviously he doesn't wanna talk about it, so Ronan is gonna sit here with him for as long as Declan wants to be here, and later if Declan wants to talk about it then, then they can talk about it, and if not, they won't, and that's it.

it's silent for a few minutes as Ronan sits stubbornly and tries not to look, but out of the corner of his eye he can see as Declan's face crumbles bit by bit. as he fights so hard to keep his composure and, without opposition to set himself against, fails.

(he's not used to Ronan not pushing back, not being combative or accusatory. he definitely never expected support. and it's hitting him that Ronan knows. that pretty soon, everyone in town is going to know. Henrietta is a small town, it's a gossipy church community, they're only a few years off from when predatory priests were headline news all over the world, this is not staying quiet. and there's evidence. identifiable evidence and a police investigation and calls being made to victims. there is no way that his name is staying out of this no matter what he does. the situation is officially outside of his control, and that's terrifying.)

he's never cried in front of Ronan before, not since they were very small children, but even his prodigious repression skills have a failure point and he's reached it. he's curled in on himself and there are gasping, gulping sobs in the silence of the empty church, and Ronan eventually throws caution to the wind and does what he would do if it were Matthew. he puts a hand on Declan's back, just maintaining contact, proving that he's there and he's not leaving.

........

SO ANYWAY

this verse goes on and on, my anon friend, this is the set up and we just kept spinning out the thread for literally a year at this point, i think it was jan 2023 that we started talking about this concept 😂 it's not always one linear narrative, we branch off into "ooh i wanna see when X happens" in a patchwork kinda fashion, just rolling around in the sandbox and exploring the premise and also all the relationships and the way this particular trauma interacts with all the other traumas and also Ronan and Matthew's traumas and all their dynamics with each other.

Cami and i lean toward the self-indulgence of letting the Lynches actually make the occasional healthy and productive choice, because there is nothing more cathartic and satisfying to us than having them actually talk to each other, so by god these little fuckers are communicating in a semi-functional manner most of the time. they love each other, goddamn it, they're gonna fucking act like it. also about 30k in we finally got Declan into therapy 😂😂😂 good god he needs it, lmao.

.......i also accidentally got REALLY INVESTED in an OC, Jeremy, who was Father Wesley's next victim, the one he moved on to after Declan. i did not mean to start shipping Matthew and Jeremy, but here i am, a Meremy stan. i love them. #otp

so. lemme know if you want more, lol. i've got so so much more alkfdjh

[heystovepipeboys]

Hi Jess how are you? So I'm really curious about two of your wips heheheh. Can you tell us more about "Nix ruins parties" and "How to guide Tertius?". Btw you are SO SO creative omg, lots of love <3

hey, thank you for the ask and the compliment!!! very sweet of you ty! <3 I'm not too bad, very bored at work currently lmao. I just want to be writing 😩 i hope everything is going well for you too.

Nix ruins parties is a 5+1 format story about Nix misbehaving at a variety of different parties spanning from pre-war to post-war. I have a few sections pretty much finished and have currently been working on section v. may 1945, zell am see, austria trying to get some dialogue hashed out.

“Mm.” Dick made a non-committal noise. “Well, over here, anyway.” "Ah, the Orient. A whole new kettle of fish. "It's not over until it's over everywhere." "You wanna go, don't you?"  Silence.  "You do." Nix rolled himself up onto his elbow, peering at Dick's face. It wasn't really even a decision he had to make: he'd made it long ago. "I'll go with you." "I won't hold you to that. You're drunk." "Yes, very," Nix agreed. "But I still mean it. M'gonna come with you."

And How to Guide Tertius is a Sentinel and Guide au from Lip's perspective focusing on the different Sentinels he has to work with through the war until he and Ron find each other. It's one I've been trying to wrestle into shape recently to try to explain the au and get some better description into it. Here's a bit from the start about Dick.

"Sir, did you–" The officer didn’t like seeming vulnerable so Lip was careful to keep his voice neutral. Now he was close enough, he could feel the Sentinel's exhaustion, a low sucking pulse. There was something else there too, a hint of distracting sorrow that was undercutting the rest. Winters always kept his emotions clamped down, so it said a lot about how wrung out he really was right now. Lip wanted to reach out to touch him, grip his shoulder. "I can give you a hand, if you need it."  “No.” That low sense of exhaustion drew back fast, like an animal darting back into its den and out of sight. Winters didn't bristle visibly, but his voice was clipped. The set of his shoulders was stiffer. "No, I'm alright. Thanks for the offer, First Sergeant." Lip didn’t try to argue the point. A different Sentinel and maybe he would have tried, officer or not. With Sentinels, there was always a risk they’d lose themselves, get too overstimulated, startled or provoked into a spiral that dragged them down into their sense of hearing or touch or sight until they could only focus on the tiniest minutia of that singular sense and nothing else. Sometimes it could be an emotion that did it: rage, fear, grief. Guides were able to break through that spiral, allowing a Sentinel to focus in on them instead. An overloaded Sentinel was dangerous, liable to lash out or go catatonic, so Army training for Sentinels was particularly gruelling, drilling the men for hours – days, sometimes – exhausting them, trying to push them to their absolute limits. Boot camp had washed out a lot of Sentinels, and Toccoa had wiped out a lot more. Guides were given different training too, taught how to modulate their voices, keep a touch soft and reassuring, read emotions and body language. Lip hadn't had a problem with it, that kind of stuff had always come naturally for him, even as a child. The training just helped prepare him to do it all under fire so he’d be able to Guide a man through hell itself.  But this was Lieutenant Winters. Lip let it be. 

thanks again for the ask!!

Ask me about my WIPs!

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

if only to be near you

A/N: my second contribution to @astriexxe‘s flower husbands advent series! i swear for my last prompt i will post it earlier in the day askdfkl, time got away from me haha. anyway, here's day 12 with the prompt "lake!" title is from the song "My Heart With You," particularly the Pentatonix version!

Warnings: self-confidence issues, self-worth issues, touch-starvation, flirting, panic (both the gay variety and the regular kind), hand holding

Summary: Jimmy tries to convince Scott that his ice powers aren't as bad as he thinks. Scott is unwilling to believe it at first- but things work out better than expected.

AO3 Link

-

Scott wasn’t sure how Jimmy managed to drag him outside. He had planned to hide away in his home so that he couldn’t hurt anyone, but then Jimmy smiled bright as the sun and suddenly Scott found himself following Jimmy (at a safe distance). He led him to a lake on the outskirts of Rivendell- the one he had initially froze. The icy patches were still there, and Scott cringed a bit at the snow and ice spikes that had spread onto the once fresh green grass. Jimmy was still grinning blindingly bright, and while Scott usually loved the sight of his smile, something about it made his insides twist with anxiety. Why was Jimmy bringing him to a place of his mistakes? And why was he smiling about it?

“Jimmy, why are we here?” Scott asked, wings held tightly against his back as he tried to shrink in on himself. Jimmy frowned for a moment, reaching out to Scott- then stopped when Scott flinched away, and gave him a small, understanding smile. Scott hated having to stay away from Jimmy. He was so close, Scott could take the extra steps to reach out and touch him, to let Jimmy comfort him and hold him close- but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t hurt Jimmy because of his own selfish want for closeness.

“Well, you seem to think your powers are the end of the world,” Jimmy started, speaking gently.

“They are,” Scott huffed. Jimmy let out a soft, exasperated sigh.

“They don’t have to be. They’re only bad if you let them be bad,” Jimmy said, stepping aside and gesturing at the lake. Scott looked at the partially frozen lake with a grimace. He turned to look back at Jimmy with blatant confusion.

“I don’t understand,” Scott said, trying to keep panic and irritation from creeping into his tone.

“Freeze the lake more!” Jimmy said with what was probably meant to be an encouraging smile, but all it did was make Scott’s stomach drop.

“You want me to freeze it more?! Why?!” Scott asked, voice coming out more shrill than he meant it to as he subconsciously backed further away from Jimmy.

“Cause it’s pretty! Plus there’s not enough ice to skate on right now,” Jimmy explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Scott blinked in absolute bafflement.

“You think the ice is- can you even skate?!�� Scott asked incredulously.

“Well, no- but how am I supposed to learn if you don’t get a move on!” Jimmy said with an encouraging smile.

“But I can’t make things melt yet!” Scott protested.

“Then we’ll always have a place to skate until you do figure out how to melt it!” Jimmy replied with unrelenting optimism.

“Jimmy…” Scott trailed off uncertainly.

“Oh c’mon, it’ll be fun! And pretty, like I said! It’ll match you- I uh. I mean your empire! All… elegant and clean and bright and pretty. Yeah,” Jimmy rambled. Scott’s face tinged pink at the way Jimmy stumbled over his words when he called Scott pretty by mistake. Because surely that had to be a mistake. Right? He covered that comment up pretty quickly, after all. But all the same… Scott did feel a little better about his ice magic when he heard Jimmy talk about it.

So with a deep breath, Scott stepped out onto the lake. The water froze beneath him as he walked, and instead of wincing at it like he usually did, Scott tried his best to admire the patterns of frost that spiralled out beneath his feet- and maybe Jimmy was right. The ice was pretty, maybe his magic wasn’t all that bad after all. He found a smile creeping over his face as he turned to face Jimmy again. Jimmy was staring at him with an awestruck expression.

“Beautiful,” Jimmy breathed out, and Scott’s face turned pink again- but that was probably just the cold, right?

“I uh. Yeah, the frost is kinda pretty,” Scott managed to get out, feeling a little embarrassed at the attention. Jimmy jolted, his face flushing slightly (he must have been cold too).

“R-right! The ice. Very pretty,” Jimmy replied, voice slightly strained and sounding as embarrassed as Scott felt. Deciding not to dwell on the awkward moment any longer than necessary, Jimmy stepped out onto the ice with Scott. He initially slipped a little, but managed to catch himself.

“Jimmy, I don’t know if-”

“It’ll be fine! Just gotta get the hang of- oh!” Jimmy’s sentence cut off with a yelp as he stepped on a section of ice that wasn’t as solid as the rest, and it suddenly gave way under his weight. Horrified, Scott watched as Jimmy suddenly disappeared beneath the surface of the water. With a gasp, Scott instinctively rushed forward to help- only for his steps to spread the ice back over. What had he just done?! Now he had frozen Jimmy beneath the ice, and he couldn’t melt it, and anything he would do would just freeze the lake more- and sure Jimmy was part fish, but the icy water would surely kill him and it’d be all his fault-

Scott’s internal panic was cut off by the sound of rushing water, and he turned around just in time to see Jimmy leap up out of an unfrozen part of the lake with his trident. He landed on the ice in a crouch in front of Scott, water streaming down him in rivulets. He stood up, and Scott caught himself staring at the way Jimmy’s tunic clung to his chest before he forced his gaze up to his face with a shake of his head. Luckily, Jimmy didn’t seem to notice, too busy wringing the water out of his cloak.

“Bit of a chilly swim, guess I should be a bit more careful where I step,” Jimmy said with a chuckle. Scott startled slightly, remembering that Jimmy had just taken a dip in freezing cold water and wasn’t even shivering.

“Aeor above- we need to get you inside and into dry clothes before you get hypothermia,” Scott said with an undertone of panic, wanting nothing more then to pull Jimmy close and wrap him in his wings to warm him up- but with his ice magic, Scott would only make things worse.

“Scott, I’m part cod. I’m fine,” Jimmy said, sounding a bit exasperated.

“Being a fish doesn’t make you impervious to hypothermia!” Scott said, the panic giving way to full-on hysteria. Jimmy looked at Scott with a baffled expression.

“Scott, cod don’t freeze. It’s something in our blood- I literally don’t get all that cold,” Jimmy explained with a laugh.

“You- but- but what if magic ice is different!” Scott protested. Jimmy sighed, giving him a gentle smile.

“You didn’t hurt me, Scott. Your magic isn’t bad, and neither are you. Besides, it’s not that often I get to show off my trident skills like that,” Jimmy said with a shrug. That last statement startled a laugh out of Scott, and Jimmy’s smile grew bright at the sound.

“It was… kind of impressive,” Scott conceded with a sigh.

“I don’t think that was the only thing you found impressive,” Jimmy said with a teasing lilt to his voice and a smirk. Scott felt his face burn bright once again. So Jimmy had definitely noticed him staring at his chest. Great.

“I uh. You sure you don’t want to change into dry clothes?” Scott asked in a squeak.

“I mean, you certainly seem to be enjoying the view… but the wet clothes are kind of uncomfortable,” Jimmy said with a chuckle. Scott was dying, he was dead, onto the afterlife. Scott made flirtatious comments all the time, how could he barely function when Jimmy made similar comments towards him?!

“I’m sure I’ve got something here that will work for you,” Scott offered, keeping his gaze anywhere but on Jimmy as he walked back to the lakefront. Jimmy quickly followed after Scott- and Scott didn’t comment on how much closer he was to Scott than before.

“It’d probably be cozier too, Rivendell wool and all,” Jimmy replied, keeping pace beside Scott. He wanted to reach out and take Jimmy’s hand more than anything- but he couldn’t risk it. Anti-freezing blood or not.

“Was this all a ploy to steal my clothes? Cute,” Scott teased, trying to get back to their usual dynamic and ignoring the way he longed to reach out and touch Jimmy.

“No, but I’m not complaining about the results,” Jimmy replied with a soft laugh, making the decision for Scott and grabbing his hand as they continued to walk. Jimmy’s hand was warm, so different from the cold he had now accustomed himself to. His heart was racing, but Jimmy didn’t instantly tear his hand away- Scott wasn’t hurting him. He wasn’t hurting him! He could be close to someone again. Or at least to Jimmy. Which in the end, was what mattered most to Scott.

-

general mcyt taglist (ask to be added so you’re tagged when i post mcyt fic!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @meowdy-pickles @space-ace123 @vyeoh 

[votederpycausemufins]

All my knowledge is of hermitcraft and the stuff people have written for the Hermit!Tommy Au but I kept having this idea and needed to write it. I also think i got a bit out of character halfway through because it was supposed to be short, but i vibed with it too much so now it’s long and maybe not 100% accurate but it’s still angst followed by fluff.

also @petrichormeraki wanted me to tag them when i posted this.

Tommy had been with the Hermits for a while now. He hadn’t really kept track of when he first arrived, but it had at least been a few months. Otherwise, time was a mess. The Hermits has all but legally adopted him and all the joy that came from them caring for him made time seem to fly by.

Doc was fun to be around because while Tommy was perfectly fine never going back to the SMP, the way the man acted gave Tommy a small bit of familiarity in a good way to his past life.

He likes hanging out with False, mainly for sparring. Never anything deadly, but even if there wasn’t a need for Tommy to constantly look over his shoulder, it was good to keep from getting too rusty.

He doesn’t really hang out with Zedaph as much as Zedaph hangs out with him. Normally the Hermit would come out of the blue with something new for Tommy to try. Flicking levers over and over for something that would normally be as simple as using a furnace just became fun for Tommy, especially if he had energy pent up.

Xisuma is someone Tommy doesn’t run into much, but the fact that he doesn’t is something Tommy finds comfort in. Even as the server admin, the man is very down to Earth. Nothing like Dream ever was.

And then there’s Grian. Tommy got along with all the Hermits fine and of course there were some he preferred over others, but Grian took the cake for him. When he first showed up, Grian was the one to give him a place to stay at his old hobbit hole. Professor Beaks had been left there and still used to the SMP and scared for his life, Tommy hid the pet bird as leverage for his own safety. When Grian found out, he mostly shrugged it off, but the tens of chickens in the hobbit hole the next day was proof of retaliation.

Tommy didn’t understand the underwhelming response at first, but responded in kind, using the eggs from the chickens Grian had left to egg the Hermit’s base. When the builder nearly broke the door to the hobbit hole, Tommy grabbed his axe, ready to fight for his life, but was taken aback by the cheerful look on Grian’s face.

After that, Grian had practically taken Tommy under his wing. He showed Tommy how to build more effectively with cobble, eventually managing to get the teen to have some variety. Grian also brought Tommy along on his various chaotic endeavors, leaving behind chickens, mycelium, and possibly some missing doors.

The two chaotic red wearing Brits got along so well that they sometimes spent entire weeks together. Because of that, Tommy was all too aware that the Hermits participated in MCC as well.

It made sense. A few of the Hermits vaguely recognised him when he showed up in Hermitcraft and a few of them looked familiar to Tommy. That had made him feel a little safer since now these people weren’t complete strangers, but it did complicate things. Every so often, the portal to MCC would open and the Hermits participating would go through. The closest Tommy would get to the portal was just before the Hermits left, occasionally giving a ‘Good luck Grine!’ or something similar to Grian as he went through. But after that Tommy stayed as far away as he could manage.

The portal there led to MCC. And from there, there was a portal that led to the SMP. If Tommy could get to Hermitcraft, others could too. And that idea was terrifying, no matter who it was. Dream was a worst case scenario, but even if it was Tubbo. Tubbo had exiled him, and even if they were still on good terms after that, Tommy could have visited at some other MCC, but he didn’t, and that idea likely wouldn’t go over well, especially since otherwise, people probably thought he was dead and Tommy didn’t care to correct them.

But compared to all those other times, today was very different. Today Tommy wasn’t at the sidelines to help send off the other Hermits, he was one of the ones being sent off. They had taken every precaution. Mumbo had rebuilt his Spookification chamber for Tommy with some alterations, specifically removing the firework method of alteration. The teen was also dressed for being on a team with Grian as the Cyan Creepers, so his familiar red and white shirt was missing. But under Tommy’s costume, he still kept the chain necklace holding his compass. He refused to part with it, though made sure he would be hard to access to keep from glancing, knowing at the championships, it wouldn’t be spinning wildly anymore.

With a comforting pat on the back from Grian, he and the other Hermits walked through the portal. The crowd of people that were on the side almost immediately overwhelmed Tommy, making him think that it was a bad idea all over again, but the sight of the two other team members for the Cyan Creepers reassured them, especially as they lined up for the cameras for some fun and silly times. Then once the games began, he was too focused on winning to think of much else.

Before long, the championships were over. They had come in fifth, which was a bit disappointing at first, but on the other hand, it was still pretty good and kept the spotlight off of him. When dodgebolt began, Tommy stood next to Grian, but with a crowd of people, a good game, and no perfect place to sit, the both of them wandered for a better vantage point.

At one point, Tommy managed to push his way right up to the edge of the viewing ledge. It was the perfect place for a while until the action moved, causing everyone to decide it was the perfect place. Enough people moved nearby that Tommy was worried about falling into the pit below, and he almost did before someone pulled him back.

Tommy was ready to thank whichever Hermit or even other player helped him but the words died in his throat when he faced the person who grabbed him. He knew that mask and neon green color. And there was no reason for him to help Tommy unless-

“I finally found you!” Dream spoke. He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd, but not too much to draw the attention of others. Tommy froze as he definitely heard the words. But there was no way for Dream to know, he didn’t look at all like normal.

“I-I’m sorry.” Tommy tried not to stutter, hoping just the situation of being grabbed would excuse it. “But I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for. I’m new here. Unless you’re greeting me for being new.” It was something he prepared before in his mind after Grian brought up the possibility, but it felt sloppy putting it to use.

“Oh don’t lie Tommy. I know it’s you. I guess you got lost, but it’s okay, you can come back now. I got rid of the exile for you. Aren’t you glad?”

Tommy was glad for the mask that covered Dream’s face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Dream’s actual expression. “How did you-” He started to speak, but Dream cut him off, poking Tommy’s chest, right where the compass was.

“Weren’t you paying attention to the teams? Tubbo got put with me. And between games he just happened to glance at his own compass. And wouldn’t you know it, it led me right here.” Dream held up the compass that belonged to Tubbo. It looked damaged, and it was recent. Tubbo likely didn’t want to give the tyrant admin the compass, but lost it to Dream anyway.

“Give that back to Tubbo!” Tommy shouted at Dream, trying to snatch it from him.

“Feisty now, aren’t you? We can take care of that when you come back. I’ll also give it back to him if you come with me.”

Tommy froze. There was no way he was going back, but what could he do? Everyone was focused on dodgebolt, and he didn’t want his appearance to have caused more trouble for Tubbo.

Tommy glanced at the crowd one last time before reluctantly nodding. Dream grabbed his hand in a painful clench and dragged him out of the crowd towards the SMP’s portal to leave. However, just before reaching it, Dream stopped. Tommy, who had been looking back at the crowd, hoping someone would see what was going on, turned towards the portal to see Grian standing in front of it.

“Heya, where do you think you’re going. MCC isn’t over yet. Dodgebolt it still going on.”

Tommy expected Dream to just push past Grian or even give some sort of retort, but the actual reply was shocking. “Uh, n-no, just… have to head back early. Th-the game delays made things run over. A-and we’ve got to get b-back for… something else. Don’t w-want to be late for that.”

Dream’s words made Tommy so shocked he forgot to breathe. Dream was scared, no he was terrified. And he was terrified… of Grian. Tommy looked back at the Hermit who stood unflinching in front of them.

“Really? I could have sworn that you were here when I arrived, and that kid wasn’t. And he definitely came from a different portal. I know since I was keeping my eye out for my teammates. So why’s he going with you?”

“I uh…” Dream struggled, struggled, to give an answer, letting Grian continue. “That’s what I thought. C’mon kid, let’s go back to the crowd. You can stay with me until it’s over then I’ll help you find your portal back.”

And Grian took Tommy away without any retaliation from Dream. Tommy was left in awe. Grian wasn’t even an admin in Hermitcraft but Dream was terrified of him. It was amazing! But at the same time, it made Tommy spiral a bit.

When everyone returned, Grian had made sure Dream left before the Hermits and Tommy did so Dream couldn’t watch Tommy leave. Tommy stuck to False’s side as they walked through the portal, Grian being the last to come through as he continued to act as a guard. When he tried to comfort Tommy after his run-in with Dream, he understood when the teen responded he just wanted to go home. The championships were exhausting enough without a scare like that.

The next day, Tommy hung out with False. And then Zedaph, and then Doc. Grian noticed immediately, but didn’t pay much mind to it. He noticed since Tommy had spent a full week only hanging out with him, so the sudden absence of the boy was noticeable, but it made sense that he would want to hang out with the others.

After that, Grian didn’t pay too much attention to the lack of Tommy until he ran into him while stocking the barge. Tommy had been buying something at the store when Grian flew in. He nearly dropped his diamonds in trying to leave in such a hurry that it finally concerned Grian. The builder started visiting other Hermits Tommy tended to visit and ask about him. No one really noticed much other than Tommy dodging any questions about him possibly going to hang out with Grian.

Grian decided to leave it alone, and he was definitely going to, but after another run in with Tommy, he threw that decision out the window. Grian normally wouldn’t have done this, but after trying multiple times to just talk to Tommy and being unsuccessful, the builder had to essentially corner the teen.

Immediately, Grian regretted it. Tommy was trembling, obviously scared, holding a sword in his hand. He carefully tried to point out that Tommy didn’t need to have his sword out, but instead of just putting it away, Tommy just threw it on the ground, also throwing down his other gear. Grian had heard of Tommy doing this before with the other Hermits, so he immediately recognised what was going on and dived to grab the gear. It scared Tommy more, but Grian wanted to make sure nothing ended up destroyed.

“Tommy, calm down, I just want to talk. Did I do something wrong? I mean, obviously I must have, you look scared out of your mind every time I’m around you. But I can’t think or anything I did and I don’t want this to keep happening. So can I know what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a while. He just looked defeated and terrified. Grian called in some of the other Hermits to come help Tommy calm down, though at first it didn’t help. But over time, Tommy finally did stop looking so terrified and they moved to somewhere he would feel less cornered. It took more coaxing after that, but finally, Tommy explained himself.

“He’s scared of you. Dream is… actually scared of you.”

“Yeah, I’ve killed him once or twice. Plus my full name is Lord Grian Dreamslayer, so it’s kind of in the name.” The builder tried to say it as a joke, but it didn’t seem to lighten the mood.”

“He’s the admin and he’s scared of you. And you… I’ve been hanging out with you.”

Grian nodded. “Well yeah, we do fit together well. ...Did he say something at MCC to make you think I didn’t like you?”

Tommy shook his head. “N-No. You’re right, you’re fun to be around. But dream likes… liked messing with me. And tried to train me. And I hang out with you more than I had with him, and I’m more like you. I-If you’re somehow more powerful than him-!” The rest of the words stopped in Tommy’s throat, choking him up. Stress was nearby and gave Tommy a careful hug for comfort, which helped him a little.

Grian waited a little bit for the tension to calm slightly before he spoke. “I don’t know exactly what Dream has done to you. You’ve told us a lot, but you obviously haven’t told us everything, and telling us isn’t the same as experiencing it. But let me tell you that I’m not going to do what he’s done to you. I remember how you were the first day we found you. And I see how you are now- well, how you were a few weeks ago- and I’m happy. Happy because you’ve been happy. You’ve been safe and cared for here and it shows. I don’t want to force you to be anything, I want you to be you. Sure, I’m powerful enough to kill Dream, but I’m not going to use that power on you. I’m only going to use it around you if it’s to keep him away from you.

“And! And! It’s just because of how your server is. Here we can go to the end. We don’t have a set amount of lives. We build massive structures and sell totems for a single diamond each. We fight Withers for fun and make farms with them. We farm just about anything you can think of. And Tommy.” Grian paused, making sure Tommy was paying attention. “You may be from somewhere far off that none of us old Hermits have seen, but now you’re here. And new home or not, that makes you a Hermit too. Sure you can be like me. Or you can be like False or Doc or Scar or Mumbo. But so far, you’ve been pretty you. And that you is a Hermit.”

Tommy took a few moments to process it, but the message seemed to get through to him. With that, Grian stood up with a smile. “Now I get that you probably don’t want to hang around me much right now. It makes sense. Maybe hang out with some other Hermits and learn some new stuff to get your mind off of things. Plus, I also did some talking around looking for you, and got you this.”

Tommy’s eyes practically sparkled as Grian placed down some music discs. He greedily grabbed the treasures and stuffed them in his inventory, looking up just to see Grian flying off. Taking on Grian’s idea, Tommy decided to go with Cleo and try to wrap his head around those armor stands again. While he wasn’t a pro, he did manage to make one scene of the hermits all holding weapons and surrounding an armor stand in lime leather armor. Grian was right. He was a Hermit. And he wasn’t going back. At least, not permanently, he thought, clutching his compass. Maybe, there would even be another Hermit like him.

[redjaybathood]

For the ask (K)

Lets get angsty

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

I mean. I don't know if I can tell you the most angsty premise I came up with because I don't actually. Have a good baseline.

Oh no, I lied - I know exactly three stories that are even more angstier than "Jason always dies", "Jason is killed by Bruce", and my favorite "Jason doesn't die and it's worse".

But it involves mature themes and is basically of Dead Dove variety. So, more family-friendly picks instead are right here:

3) one leg in front the other - Jason runs away from the Manor and has to battle with the most formidable foe yet: Poverty.

2) when you're looking at the sun I see the moon - not DC but instead pimms from omgchp. Dysfunctional Soulmates, basically. I love this trope dearly if you couldn't tell before.

1) faintest clue - Jason gets stuck in a time loop in Ethiopia, where Joker killing him is the best outcome.

And the top three angstier shit I wrote under the cut.

3) The fruit of discord

Premise: BatCat wedding happens. Before the event itself, a topic arose: should they or should not they invite Jason Todd? Everyone in Bruce's family seems to have an opinion on the subject.

Why it's angsty: in the course of several conversations with Batfamily members, it's hinted that there was something going on between Bruce and Jason, something that no one names outright. And Selina marries Bruce anyway.

Why it's only a third place: Joker is getting killed here, Jason himself has an awesome girlfriend, things are looking up for him. It's a legit HE - not for Selina, though. Her ending is open, but, come on.

2) Millennial Man (not posted because I always hoped I could edit this stuff; but I guess I just need to post it because that's never going to happen)

Premise: Jason accidentally becomes a child actor instead of meeting Bruce. Sheila finds him and becomes his agent. Jason discovers she distributes drugs in Hollywood, and worse, - for Joker. He tries to make her to stop. Joker finds out and. Well. Sheila kidnaps him. Joker makes what amounts to snuff film with Jason in a Robin costume, him in a Batman suit. He sends the tape to Bruce.

Why it's only a second place: the story itself has a lighter tone, except in the part where Bruce is remembering receiving that tape. Plus, it's Bruce's POV, and for Jason, it all happened very long ago. So. It doesn't hit quite so strongly.

1) family first

Premise: this is a story about Jason, who's a victim of CSA implemented by Willis (mainly). Jason is thinking about running away from home, but he can't leave because of Catherine. He needs to take care of her. So when Willis goes to jail, and it becomes obvious that Willis is going to go free, he orchestrates his murder via Two-Face.

Why it's the first place: well. duh. After I finished this, I basically couldn't write at all for a long, long time, and spiraled into depression really fucking hard.

[princessofmerchants]

Thoughts on A Court of Frost and Starlight, Chapter 21: Cassian — Post-War Nessian

(I’m recording my thoughts on each chapter of ACOFAS ahead of ACOSF. This is my third time reading ACOFAS. The rest can be found here.)

Author’s Note: I have not read any of ACOSF as of this posting, so please keep comments, reblogs, and replies 🛑 spoiler free 🛑 (including references and reactions to what is in the first 3-6 chapters of the book).

I could write so much about this Nessian encounter along the Sidra after the Solstice party and then the snippet of Nesta's POV we get at the end, but I tried my best to reign myself in so I have a shot at finishing this commentary project before the ACOSF release. It’s still another long one though...

This chapter really begins in the last paragraph of the chapter before, when we are still in Feyre’s POV and, after Feyre paid off Nesta for her company at their Solstice gathering, Cassian, who we learn a moment later overheard the whole exchange, finally decides to act in relation to Nesta that evening, and moves his High Lady out of his way and storms out after her.

Chapter 21, though, is in Cassian’s POV, and it is one of the hardest chapters to read in this book, second for me only to the chapter that came before it. 

An interesting thing I noticed on this reread, though, is that although this is a really painful scene between them, in which they both hurt each other, on the surface it starts out not too dramatic. Cassian follows Nesta, and offers to walk her home.

For a variety of reasons, some related to pride, some related to self-worth, and probably others I can’t think of, Nesta refuses his offer, but in Cassian fashion, he refuses her refusal and walks with her anyway. Their exchanged words almost (almost) read like banter, until they don’t, but I was surprised that things were not yet too, too toxic between them, not as much as I thought they would be at this point.

There is one line Cassian thinks about Nesta right after he reaches her at the gate and takes a look at her in the moonlight (even distanced as she is from him emotionally), and it just moves me so much: “Beautiful. Even with the weight of loss, she was as beautiful standing in the snow as she’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on her in her father’s house.” 

That he sees her beauty even in and through the losses she is bearing across her very body (because trauma manifests in the body), is just one of those moments, and indicators for me, that he is designed to suit her perfectly.

Cassian is drawn to the things about Nesta that turn off just about everyone else, and he is drawn to her (and will love her, in ACOSF, I am assuming), not in spite of those things but because of those things. I love them (Nessian), separate and together, I just love them.

The next really important thing is when Cassian notes in his inner thoughts that their silence around each other goes both ways, that although she hasn’t said anything to him since the war, he also hasn’t said anything to her.

And furthermore, similar to a thought Rhys had in a previous chapter, Cassian acknowledges that after his first battle it took years to recover from it enough to socialize in a healthy manner. It has been mere months since Nesta experienced her first battle, one in which there were casualties she may feel culpable for, one in which she saw her father killed brutally before her eyes, and one in which she violently killed someone for the first time in her life. So, Cassian understands this, which is a relief when looking ahead to ACOSF...

...and which makes his hurtful, cruel comment later in the scene so bizarre and heartbreaking. But I’ll get to that a bit later.

Next we have his Solstice gift that he is holding and hoping to give to her, and which she ultimately refuses to take, and so he throws it into the Sidra (#whatsinthebox???).

At this point, Cassian thinks back to when Feyre gives Nesta money as Nesta departs from the Solstice party. This is such an important moment, because when Cassian thinks back to Feyre saying the words “As promised,” Cassian wishes his High Lady (not Feyre, but “his High Lady”) hadn’t done that. 

Cassian understands that moment the same way I do, and the same way I believe Nesta does: that Feyre was signaling that Nesta’s time and company could be bought, and that Nesta’s presence that evening was a mere transaction and nothing more. It hurt Cass, I think because it hurt Nesta. I also think Cassian can see how broken things are between the sisters and I do believe he cares a lot for Feyre as his friend and as his brother’s mate, so the entire dynamic is painful for him, and he wishes he could help fix it.

The only problem is, he gets it in his head to try to fix it by challenging Nesta to “try a little harder.” This comes after Nesta pushes him away with words that Cassian believes were intended to hurt him, and so he proceeds to intend to hurt her back, and it just spirals from there.

He tells her that he doesn’t understand why her sisters love her, and while he may justify that as an attempt to get her to respond with fire (figuratively, at this point) and that he doesn’t actually believe the words he says to be true, all it accomplishes is the same damned thing that Feyre offering Nesta money at the end of the Solstice party did: It’s confirmation for Nesta that there is no one here, in this new Fae life she is living, who wants her presence or thinks her worthy of a kind thought. Even the Illyrian General who told her he wanted more time with her, and when he got that time, did nothing of consequence with it. 

Is Nesta’s belief that there is no one who wants her in their lives actually true in reality? No, I don’t think so. But everyone’s actions (or lack thereof) and words (or lack thereof) signal this to Nesta. And it is very painful to witness. 

This chapter then does something none of the others do: Toward the end, the POV changes mid-chapter to Nesta, when she arrives home after the confrontation with Cassian along the Sidra. This small snippet of Nesta POV is so important.

I observe Nesta acknowledging their mating bond without naming it (she can sense that he followed and is now on a nearby rooftop waiting to confirm she got inside all right). I also observe the four locks on her door are a deep psychological response to the traumas she experienced during the war and prior to it. I observe she has deep, grave depression, in which she loses stretches of time to it. And I observe that she may be dissociating, where her emotions are so tamped down and cordoned off that she only feels silence inside, which means shame is something she understands in theory she should be feeling but doesn’t have the experience of it.

This snippet of her POV is so moving and well written. I even did a humble little bit of fanart of this moment in the story, it moves me so much (and makes me feel seen). 

There is so much more in this chapter, but I am going to reign in my commentary and just encourage everyone to go reread it (along with all of the Cassian POV chapters in ACOFAS, as well as "Wings and Embers") before ACOSF next week, if you haven’t yet. They really set the stage for what we can expect as far as where Nessian start out at the beginning of ACOSF. 

[friendofthecrows]

Posting a way more in-depth description of my alters than any of you want or need because why not

Keiko: friendliest, nicest, cutest, acts the youngest. Used to front a lot when we were hanging out with friends. Still essentially like the rest of us in that she has the same personality disorders (pointing this out because you wouldn’t guess she has ASPD but we all do. No, none of us are “more of a psychopath” or evil vs good or whatever compared to one another). She just seems more able to feel/express the positive spectrum of emotions, she hasn’t repressed it or detached herself from it as much. She/her pronouns. Aroace. Current fave thing: either MLP or stimboards

Miyuki: calm, collected, responsible, acts like a gatekeeper of the system a lot as in she’s the only one we can actually trust to moderate the rules objectively. Also has pulled people out or put people in control before. Less “control panel” access than say Jokul or I though, but probably only due to lack of practice. THE most sane one (idk how that works either) and the one with the least emotional turmoil. Used to wonder if 1. She was capable of caring about people and 2. If she actually felt any emotions at all. The answer is yes she does, she just Bottles Them Up Completely. We are taking it in faith that she feels stuff because the body cried once while she was in control. Pronouns: she/her. Sexuality: ???? when it comes to romance, but definitely ace. Current fave thing: tea, specifically a nice warming oolong like Da Hong Pao.

Yahto: (me!) people are suggesting ways to describe me and it is mean. For most of my knowledge of my own existence as a separate alter, I’ve kind of assigned myself the role of protector. I was very functional as well! Confident (bordering on insufferably arrogant), and with the level of detachment from my emotions I had at the time as well as my complete lack of fear, perfectly suited to deal with a wide variety of situations. Only if we were okay with other people thinking we’re weird because I used to have a worse filter than I have now. I experienced fear for the first time 3.5 years ago right alongside the strongest emotions I’ve ever felt and my mental health has been spiraling downwards ever since :) Also I am literally the most stubborn person you will ever meet. He/him pronouns. Anything having to do with orientation is a big question mark right now, I just know I’m probably not interested in men. I HAVE dated women but tbh I’m no longer sure if I’m even interested in them. Current fave thing: yahto.exe stopped working 38 hours of being awake ago. Uh,,,,idk sorry How about reading fzanfic to pass the time fnafic fanfic

Jezebeth (Jez): (headspace bestie! Great at writing horror poems!) Does Not Care About People but also surprisingly extremely chill. When she’s enthusiastic about something, she’s REALLY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT IT but otherwise mostly just stays quiet and has a nice time Observing. People either find her really fun to be around or creepy. No in between. She went through a phase where she thought it was funny to creep people out by saying really messed up things so that probably didn’t help. Actually, DURING said phase, she single-handedly made and maintained the best in-school friendship we ever had for 4 years. Literally none of us talked to her except for Jez. She just had endless “creepy” conversation topics and Robin thought it was *amazing. * She/her pronouns, I have no idea sexuality wise simply because she does not talk about that kind of thing. Current fave thing: inking pens :)

Jokul: (sworn enemy, tried to kill myself once to take him down with us) Perfectly reasonable person realistically. Nothing particularly wrong with him. I just Do Not Like Him. Especially since for as long as I can remember, we’ve made it a game to torment each other. You see, we both hate boredom more than anything else, or at least we did when we were even younger and more naive and we’re not actually malicious, and yet foolishly prided ourselves on not being nice and also our ability to manipulate people. No, little kid me was probably not actually an expert on manipulation, we just thought we were at the time. This all resulted in us taking our boredom, pent up malice, and desire to prove we were better than one another on each other. Such a great idea (sarcastic). We did in fact get better at emotionally wounding people after years of practice, and predictably (if we had any foresight on this matter at all) it backfired! I did in fact turn this skill against the one person I cared about in an effort to push them away during one of my breakdowns and it resulted in 6 suicide attempts, not including my own. Jokul has been trying to manipulate me positively since (both of us have been ordered to be nice to each other by Miyuki because we were causing too many problems) and it has Not Worked. If he was a separate person, I would skin him. The only person I’ve hated so much. We’ve been on relatively good terms lately. Been capable of having casual conversations. Things are okay, I guess. His personality is entirely fake, so I don’t know how to describe it except for how he acts when we’re trying to hurt each other, which might be him dropping his mask or it might be a whole different act just for that. Pronouns: He/him. Sexuality: He can change it at will? I think default is aroace though? Current fave thing: *Jokul imitation* “My purple silk dress I wear when I’m meeting people and am desperate for them to worship my beauty. I look so irresistibly elegant in it, it makes everyone like me automatically.” His actual answer is Death Note (cringe) (I’ve been yelled at for calling Death Note cringe)

Gracelynn: (headspace ex-bestie) Everyone thinks she’s the nicest person ever and super loyal and so on. She is to other people but apparently not to me anymore. Still finds it difficult to empathize with people and care about them, but apparently decided to be nice anyways. Like she doesn’t get the fuss about friends but she’s here for them anyways. Spends as much time daydreaming as possible these days, used to front A TON a few years ago. Extremely shy and full of social anxiety and anxiety in general. Goes nonverbal in a plethora of social situations. Freakishly good memory. Has way less memory gaps than I do and I have no idea why. She/her pronouns, probably aroace Current fave thing: brace yourself for no surprises, a tie between horseback riding and the Chronicles of Amber.

Ryo: (the alter of many names: Ryo, Rachel, Ry, Rei, R) The newest. Noticed a new voice and behavior that did not match any of ours a while after the events of 3.5 years ago. Might be coincidence, might not be, I don’t care. Kind of down to earth and practical and normal compared to the rest of us. Despite him being here for years now I don’t know that much about him partially because I don’t care and haven’t been paying attention, and partially because system communication hasn’t been that great (I’ve also been getting way more memory gaps! Whole days lost! Isn’t that great? (sarcastic)). Pronouns: varies, any are fine. (Despite us, in general, identifying as gender fluid so we don’t have to explain, Ryo is the only ACTUALLY gender fluid alter in our system) Aroace. Current fave thing: He said sleep, he wants us to go to sleep. (refuses to answer the fun question genuinely) Well Ryo, you have just failed my vibe check. Your reward is uh,,,AT LEAST 13 more hours of being awake. Yayyy

(I did colors here but the all green theme will stay in other posts <3 Really if I had to describe our auras it would be different shades of blue anyways.)

[editorialsonlife]

Well

Welp, feeling like doing an update because there's been a lot going on to be honest. its one of those weird dichotomies where every day feels like an eternity and there's so much going on and then you look back and you're like oh, ok its just my brain making it difficult and making things take forever but anyway.

LOCKDOOOOOOOWWWWWWNNNNNNN

Lockdown life was good, apart from being thrust into it so suddenly dave left a banana on his desk. Wasn't great to come back to after 5 weeks out of the office - mummified mouldy banana!! Classic. We luckily got our first jab before lockdown started so that was good, and we were reasonably well stocked up on food and were generally a lot healthier this lockdown that last. honestly, there's a level of chill and serenity in lockdown that i just love. the ability to set my own schedule and only work the hours I actually work to get the job done? Amazing. getting 8.5 hours of sleep each night without having to wake to an alarm blaring? AMAZING. getting to go for walks every afternoon? SO FLIPPING GOOD. I love it so much, I really really do. I need this to be my life permanently.

WORK

Work is just ongoing and draining and honestly, coming back to the office was so fucking stressful and it was only one day. Being at home is just the fucking bomb. Pending home decisions, I wanna go contracting I think, but also ideally two part time contracts to have more flexibility? I dunno. You'd think a big 4 would provide variety but it really doesn't and honestly, with Richie leaving, wellington is just a sinking ship. Sean's off on parental leave, Kirstyn is down to four days a week, ben will be gone if he doesn't get promoted (and I don't think he will be tbh). Jack is just muddling along, Nigel wants to swap to consulting as well, Matt's going to be a shit leader in terms of bringing in work so it's just not going to work. and in our wider group it's going to get even more messy with heaps of the analysts leaving and a couple of senior hires too. so I think it's probably time to jump ship in general, pending the home stuff below. Also, coming back after a break again, I'm like, I don't actually like a lot of you? All the people I enjoy here are in other teams and groups, and I'll be sad to leave you all, but like, not enough to stay anyway lol.

Pending the home below, two options are to just going and get a job with a $30k payrise to make up for the maternity leave benefits I'm gunna leave behind when I leave this role - 18 weeks full pay, $100 a week for the first year back and a full year of maternity leave. It's basically 30k post tax which is a bit nuts to walk away from to be honest.

Otherwise the other option is to go contracting. Less security overall but holy shit so much money. If I went in as a project coordinator at the lowest rate to build up a bit of a portfolio I'd need to work 40 weeks of 40 hr weeks and Id basically match my current salary plus the lost family leave benefits and still qualify for govt maternity leave payments. Realistically I could go in as a project manager for $140 an hour ($60 more an hour than the above math) and absolutely smash it at that level as well so ya know, there's a bunch of other info. I like the idea of the flexibility of it and only having 6 months even if its a shitshow and beign able to walk away at the end of it. I really don't want to get a govt job and this is a v govt town which is fine but also, if I can avoid it that would be great. I just know I'm not gunna thrive in that environment.

Need to talk to Dave to get him across the line on the security issue part of that though. I've mostly come a long way in terms of my financial management (thanks YNAB) so I think he'd be ok with it mostly.

So there's a lot to toss up there because......

HOME

We got the reno plans done during lockdown, finally. which was super good. but holy fkn jesus $$$$$$ ++++++++++. The guy is coming around for the final quote on Thursday. We indicatively said $100k total because we're doing kitchen laundry bathroom and toilet. so only the most expensive rooms and when I was talking to him last week he said 'that might cover it' and they're seeing cost escalations of 7-10% a week which is just insane. we're not doing anything structural apart from putting in a cavity slider in the bathroom, and the quote they'll give us won't include flooring since they won't do it.

Meanwhile, the prefab homes I were looking at for our site were $425k fully done. Like, I'm not going to spend $130K on doing up my 1940s ex state house ya know? That's not good cost benefit ratio.

So depending on what that comes out at on thursday we'll be able to make some plans.

We also want to start trying for kids next year and need these renos done first - I am not having kids and no dishwasher lol.

Also we need bank financing so good to be in a permanent stable job for that application. the good thing is we have so much equity we know we can borrow whatever we need, I just don't want to spend that much money on it because it's fkn ridiculous. and if I'm going on maternity leave we need to be able to cover it all on dave's salary and whatever benefits I have as well so there;s a lot of financial planning and spreadsheeting going on at the moment lol. it's fab.

either way. we've got plenty of options up our sleeve. we've got friends who's brother owns a building company so we can talk to them, we've got the garage so we can get things prefabricated even if they're not installed til next year, Dave can get shit at cost through his work for whiteware, there;s plenty of things to like cost control we can do, we just need to know where we're starting from basically. thats the challenging part. but we'll figure it out, its just taking longer than I want it to basically.

We also planted up the vege garden for the spring/summer which was lovely, super jazzed about that. we've finally got the garden to a reasonably low maintenance level where everything is mostly under control and it's such a relief, honestly.

PERSONAL

Man what a shift to lockdown last year honestly. I think the last 8 weeks in particular has just been like, a massive reality check of how absolutely shit the last year was and how fucking glad I am to be rid of it. I spent a week absolutely spiralling 2 weeks ago now and honestly, I don't know how I lived in the state for more than a year. I actually don't know how I did it. and I could not be more glad that I'm finally on the other side of it, for the most part. There's still a bunch of other stuff to work through (hahahahahaha when is there not like damn) but fucking hell its nice to just not be anxious and nauseous and wound up constantly. life is actually accessible. miracle.

My workmate had his bebe - I went round and got newborn cuddles and was like, oh, is this what it is to be clucky? this is odd. so there's that as well. I think we'll probably start trying next year pending renos and jobs etc. If the renos can be done in jan I'll prob just stick it at the job to get the benefits but I dunno. it's a tough call to make really. we shall see. This all assumes we get knocked up without any issues which is questionable these days. I really want to feel healthier before getting pregnant as well, and part of that is losing weight. however, given discussing that is what triggered the spiral we're working on that one slowly.

Also, lets have a moment for counselling, because fkn bless anne and all her hard work honestly. I actually ended up emailing her being like, I;m losing my shit on the monday and then talked to her on thursday. And its so funny because it's such a counselling thing but I didn't realise until afterwards what she'd done but she was like you're clearly not doing well and then the night before dave got a fkn miserable migraine and he was up for like, 2 hrs powerchucking except he didn't make it to the bathroom in time so guess who was cleaning up vomit at 130am trying not to chuck herself but I digress. anyway, not doing well, couldn't even explain why, didn't even have words and super tired and she's like, what lynaire up to this week how's she going with izzy and chat about that and then be like how are you feeling about your body and then 5 more mins of chat about the cat and the chickens and then like bam hard question and then hows it going with x and y and z and its like, it wasn't til I was on my walk afterwards when I FINALLY started feeling marginally better I was like damn woman work your magic for figuring it out for me and helping me reregulate. all over the phone as well since we were still in lockdown. GREAT WORK FRIEND.

and then last week was like totally fucked theoretical discussion about religion and the role it's played in my life and fate vs free will and all this nutty shit but genuinely just a great discussion. She's the best and I love her. thank good for good counsellors. thank god I can afford to pay for it honestly.

Dave and I are just chugging along, god bless that man. I love him. its amazing. I miss having friends close by but understand why they had to move (boooooo f u house prices). Family is pretty chill, still not really talking to dave's parents which is nightmarish but we'll deal with that when we need to. gunna have to go and visit them at some point coz dave misses them and I feel for him, I really do. It's the whole boundaries renegotiation I went through with my family last year post wedding blow up and its just not a fun place to be. oh well. can't fix it for him but also I'm not putting up with that level of BS from either of our families once we have children. not gunna happen.

Either way, life is busy and full and fun and I'm enjoying it. Daylight savings starts this weekend too, its october next week WTF and I'm just waiting for 4pm to find out what's gunna happen to our girls trip. Clearly we cancelled our sept trip to christchurch and akaroa and hanmer springs so my covid travel curse continues. fkn ridic. Still dunno what we're gunna do with $2500 of flight credits coz if we get knocked up theres def no international trips happening any time soon.

thus concludes the almost 2000 word write up of life. hope you've enjoyed it. I'll throw up some pics in a separate post if people care about reno plans. such a good time!

[twiceblackvelvet]

Username: xNotYourJoyx

A/N; hi. i have no clue where this idea came from. i don’t know why my brain always tells me to start more red velvet series’ randomly. but here is the latest spawn from it. this will have more parts to it because i’m interested in expanding on the dynamics of this trio plus i signed up for things that have since blown up my emails for this because i’m dedicated like that. anyway! enjoy. or don’t. idk anymore. 

It was only a suggestion.  A quick mention, really. “There’s this site, Seungwan,” is how it started. Except for that brief conversation spiraled rapidly into a whirlwind of curiosity and excitement. Perhaps, discussing the lack of sex life and the frustration that comes with that whilst you’re supposed to be busy working on the latest financial development wasn’t the smartest move, and yet, the conversation ended in a better resolution than she imagined when Joohyun had managed to pry the information out of her about why she’s been so on edge lately. 

On edge being both literal and metaphorical. Getting to the high is easy, however, toppling over into the rush of being able to feel the full experience of pleasure has been evading her for the last few weeks now. Nothing seems to do the trick and though you may think it’d be fun to simply keep trying, it’s starting to become an issue with the more extreme methods she attempts. So, it desperately needs to be fixed, just not in front of all of her colleagues who are idly typing away the dull workday. 

The rest of the day drags along. Nothing particularly interesting happens which Seungwan is grateful for, she could do without the extra stress. Though, she’s sure the new sponsorship to promote a dead-end product that everyone had warned their boss about will cause a headache in the future, she ignores the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Joohyun was kind enough to buy dinner for the both of them which her stomach is currently grateful for as she’s certain her fridge at home is empty. But, watching her friend and colleague suckle on the ice cream bar she purchased for herself should not have resulted in her needing to press her legs together on instinct. 

Joohyun didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t say anything and continued to lap her tongue across the cold strawberry flavored ice cream. Probably for the best. Nothing good ever comes from getting too involved with people you have to work alongside every day, even if that person does look like Aphrodite herself. The awkward looks between you both, everyone else knowing that the two of you have slept together but are now deciding on which color scheme to use for an advertisement, it just isn’t something that Seungwan wants to deal with. So, she and Joohyun will have to remain platonic. Unfortunately.

It’s late by the time she gets home. The hallway lights leading up to the apartment door flicker every few seconds and the apartment across the hall has the television turned up loud enough that Seungwan is sure they’re trying to let those in hell hear the latest episode of whichever show they’re currently watching. The keys in her hand rattle as she unlocks the stiff door that barely wants to open anymore. The loudness doesn’t disappear once she closes it behind her but it’s home and somewhere she can erase the feeling of being stuck, in more ways than one. 

The latest routine of ordering in unhealthy food that is slowly destroying her insides, a cold shower to wash away some of the exhaustion, and then listening to the same songs for about an hour feels almost robotic but it’s what she’s grown used to now. Once the darkness begins to creep in across the apartment, cold air making the hairs on her arm stand to attention and the neighbors suddenly growing quiet, it’s the small bed in the corner of the room that calls out and the only thing echoing inside her head. 

Well, it would be, had she not suddenly recalled Joohyun’s description of a site where many people frolic and entertain those who perhaps need a little extra help with their more sinful needs. She moves on auto-pilot toward the jacket hanging on the coat rack and reaches into the left side pocket for the small piece of paper where only the web address is scrawled upon it in Joohyun’s perfect handwriting. The laptop she bought years before and barely runs anymore rests on the dining table she never sits at, closed, and with a line of dust taking up home upon it. Grabbing it, she plops herself down onto the bed after removing her dressing gown and the towel around her hair which has long since dried and throwing it into a corner of the room to be cleaned up tomorrow. 

Her fingers trace the keyboard idly, never pressing in a single key, simply going back and forth over the letters whilst her brain tries to decipher if this is something she wants to try out. 

“Fuck it.” She thinks. Soon enough, the site is loading, slowly, and asking for her to confirm she is of legal age to enter it. 

The screen finally loads and brings up a bunch of profiles under the “popular” banner. To say that the sight of all the various people before her is overwhelming would be an understatement. A sidebar reveals that she can choose a category as well as filter out specific things that are not of her interest. Some of the categories are the standard you would expect, for example, she immediately filters to only see profiles of women. However, others are a little more out there and specific toward what Seungwan assumes are people’s fetishes. A lot of them are things that she would never consider a person could find interesting sexually, and yet, the option is right before her. She ignores the curious voice inside of her head telling her to click on some of them. 

A screen full of women now presents itself in front of her. All of them are beautiful and there’s a whole variety to choose from. The profile pictures range from selfies where they’re simply smiling to some of them being without clothing whatsoever. She scrolls for quite some time simply admiring all of the choices before her until one, in particular, captures her attention. 

Wide dark eyes with hair of the same shade of brown, plump lips that are sporting a small smirk that’s both enticing and teasing. Part of the girl’s neck is on display for Seungwan to imagine herself kissing and biting softly. Without hesitation, she hovers over the username and clicks onto the profile. 

“xNotYourJoyx” she repeats mentally a few times. 

The next page reveals a sign-up box that doesn’t allow Seungwan to venture any further. She’s quick to type in her email address, a username not as clever as she would like and the same password she uses for everything else. The next step is to add her bank details in order to be able to subscribe to various pages. She hesitates at this portion realizing that it’s probably very easy for people to fall too far down this rabbit hole. Thus she promises herself not to subscribe to anything until she’s 100% sure. 

After completing her profile, she’s brought back to the girl she assumes is named Joy or at least uses that name here. Her subscription rate is the first thing to appear. Her price is low Seungwan thinks, around $10 when she was expecting something far higher based on the type of content Joohyun had told her the people on the site create. The next part is an Amazon wishlist with various items in it ranging from hair extensions, expensive perfume, and medical equipment? She must be a nurse, Seungwan thinks. 

Further down the page reveals a VIP service which is more expensive than the standard subscription but allows for you to request specific pictures or videos. There are rules that come along with it which Seungwan reads multiple times over. 

Don’t ask me to say or tell you anything personal about me, we are not friends. You don’t know me like that. 

No, you can’t have my Instagram or any other social media so don’t ask. 

Don’t be a dick. 

My amazon wishlist is not for me. I am not a doctor. But I’m down to dress as one for you if you’re into that. 

“Well, that clears that up I guess.” She thinks. 

For the next ten minutes, Seungwan simply scrolls through the free content on offer from Joy. A few shots of her without clothes but covering her body up with her hands or a sheet, all of which look professionally done which is surprising.  She’s captivated and drawn in by this girl a lot quicker than she thought she would be, she can see why Joohyun would recommend such a thing to her now. The possibilities are endless and there are no strings attached. It’s an ideal situation for both parties. 

Despite making the promise to herself, she’s quick to subscribe to Joy’s feed but ignores the large “upgrade to VIP” logo that’s glistening in gold below the payment button. It would seem strange or suspicious surely to her if someone new to her profile was suddenly paying for the premium option Seungwan tries to logic with herself. 

A few seconds pass as the page reloads itself before finally Joy’s profile is unlocked for Seungwan’s eyes to devour. The same type of photos as previously, however, without anything covering herself up. The same natural reaction to jam her thighs together that she felt earlier with Joohyun ends up happening again except this time she positions her hand under the waistband of her bed shorts. 

The further she explores everything Joy has posted the more the need to be touched becomes overwhelming Before she knows it her fingers are gently caressing her soft skin slowly yet with desperation. Many of the images have comments from other people praising the effortless beauty that Joy manages to convey with ease. Seungwan thinks that Joy must be someone with great confidence to display herself so openly like this. She wishes she too were able to picture herself in the way that Joy likely does. 

Her body aches for some release but once more she’s not able to reach the peak as the page of images suddenly comes to an end. Once more, the gold button for premium appears and tells Seungwan she’s reached the limit of what she can see. A blurring effect does a good job of hiding what follows next, however,  what it doesn’t do is stop her from being enticed further when she spots that Joy has also uploaded videos of herself, they are simply hidden from those on the basic subscription as her. 

Almost sub-consciously she finds herself going against every warning sign inside of her mind telling her that paying to watch Joy rather than just look at her is a bad decision, one she will definitely come to regret or become too attached to doing, and yet, it’s too late once she’s confirmed the upgrade and clicked onto the first video that appears. 

White background, likely a wall in her home, Seungwan thinks, until finally the girl steps into the frame with yet another smirk on her lips.  

“Hello, welcome to premium. Thank you for subscribing. I hope you enjoy all of the videos and pictures that only a select few of you will ever get to see. If you’re feeling even more generous please be sure to check out my wishlist. Now, let’s have fun together.” 

Her voice is silky smooth, Seungwan thinks. She replays the simple video a few times just to hear her make this decision sound like she’s part of an exclusive club where only she is invited, though, she’s aware that isn’t true at all. Joy likely has a ton of people paying to see the most intimate parts of her. The comments on this simple welcoming video are at 59 which means at least that many people have also fallen into the trap, though if Joy is the prize, Seungwan wonders if be tricked into paying extra like this is worth it in the end. 

She decides to read through some of them just to get a sense of how people communicate with her here. 

ksgeees says: can’t wait for you to send me my video Joy😏

canudoit2609 says: so hot🔥

r4bb1tfr13nd says: damn i should have subbed earlier🥵🥵🥵

speedzoom0408 says: YOU CAN HAVE ALL MY MONEY

HYUNSKY says: most beautiful girl ever 

Strangely, the latter comment is the only one Joy has bothered to give a reply to. 

xNotYourJoyx says: @HYUNSKY wow, thank you😳

The compliment is definitely correct and deserving of a reply, yet, Seungwan wishes she were the one to tell Joy such things and have her respond solely to her. Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and though she probably shouldn’t be feeling it toward a complete stranger, she does. The sound of the keys as she types out her own comment with her free hand that hasn’t been teasing herself is the only thing she can hear now. Not even the wind outside is able to pierce her eardrums and break her from this spell that Joy has put her under. 

Wannie2102 says: you are so perfect, Joy.

It’s simple and Seungwan hates it, but she simply must tell this girl something, anything, in hopes that she sees it and feels happy to be complimented. 

Silence now, nothing but the screen before her for light inside the cold bedroom. The list of videos, 71 in total, tempting Seungwan, taunting almost. Her left hand numb now from just resting against her own body whilst her right-hand clicks onto the next one in the list after the welcoming video. 

The same white background, however, Joy is positioned in the video as soon as it starts this time. Laying down on a black crushed velvet sofa in only her underwear. Her right hand gently caressing her breasts as she grunts out a few low moans. Her left hand in a similar position to where Seungwan is resting her own. The tired and slow circles in which she moves her hand causes her eyes to roll into the back of her head as Seungwan changes her own pace to match that of Joy’s on the screen. 

Her bed creaks with every movement of Joy’s that she mimics, the headboard bashing against the wall behind her whenever Joy quickens her pace and then sounds like a light drumming whenever she slows. The neighbor next door has definitely been awakened by the rhythmic sound of Seungwan rocking her body against her fingers. 

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” The words surprise Seungwan out of her reverie as it’s as if Joy is present and asking her specifically and knowing that she too is pleasuring herself as she is doing. Without even thinking she manages to gasp out a yes in reply that only she can hear, yet gains a response from Joy almost like she can magically hear her. “I wish I could watch you touch yourself to me.” she pauses to lowly moan. “For me.” 

The pressure rises between her thighs once more except this time her body allows her to release every bit of tension she’s had to keep trying to get rid of for weeks. Her entire body collapses against itself as she indulges herself in what she’s convinced is the longest orgasm to ever exist. Her legs shaking wildly as her arm tenses up and flex to make sure she feels every bit of her undoing. The sound of Joy finishing up her own continues to play in the background for further motivation but the deed has already been done. 

She rests momentarily, staring up at the ceiling as gentle pants fill the room both from herself and the laptop. Nothing else in the world matters at this very moment. However, once more Joy manages to surprise Seungwan with her telepathic way of just knowing somehow when to speak to her viewer. 

“Thank you for that, I hope you come back soon for more.” and then the video ends. 

A dark screen replacing the beautiful image of Joy just as spent as Seungwan feels. But, now she’s left to think about everything that has just transpired between herself, the screen and a girl she doesn’t even know. Guilt wells up in her chest and she slams the screen shut almost shattering the glass. “Why did you do this?” is the only thing that repeats inside of her mind. No longer focused on the pulsating feeling against her hand as she pulls it out of her shorts too fast and whips herself with the waistband which will no doubt sting in the morning.

Her legs shakily drag her body to the bathroom almost tripping over various clothes that have sat there waiting to be cleaned for way too long now. She turns on the shower for the second time tonight and steps into it, almost falling immediately. The cold water shocks her body into feeling something other than the after-effects of pleasuring herself. Scrubbing every inch of her body intensely and repeating inside of her mind that she’ll cancel the subscription tomorrow and never do anything like this ever again. She can’t. Joy is a stranger and she shouldn’t be doing these things.

By the time she’s finished almost burning her skin with the washcloth to make sure she’s rid herself of her sins and changing her fair skin to a reddish shade, the clock on the bedside table shows that there are only three hours before she’s due to wake up for work. The bed seems tainted now, so she grabs the blanket and sleeps on the sofa that is far less comfortable. 

Joohyun is definitely going to ask her about whether or not she used the site, definitely going to notice the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep and will definitely draw up her own conclusion anyway no matter what her answer is. She tries her best not to think about any of this but there’s just a constant loop of the images of Joy, the sound of her voice, and the way she encouraged Seungwan to feel again. 

She dreams of dark hair and brown eyes that night and moans that could be the most heavenly sound in the world or a new addiction that Seungwan isn’t ready for but may not have a choice but to indulge in it. 

pt. ii

[kashimos-hajime]

run to you | amaranthine (6/6) | b.b.

summary: “How dare you make me choose between the son I chose and the man I love?”

WARNINGS: blood, civil war bullshit, swearing, angst like HELLO, mentions of torturing/brainwashing, but some softness too, ends on a hopeful note pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 11.2k

a/n: super long chapter bc i tried to pack the essentials of 2016 into here! hope you enjoy loves and sorry for the wait!! there’s a LOT of subtle tony and reader family vibes. it’s 224 am as i post/edit this so excuse any of that. vibes are run to you by pentatonix.

amaranthine masterlist

I've been settling scores I've been fighting so long But I've lost your war And our kingdom is gone

You move Bucky Barnes to the bunker he left forty years ago while he heals. He sleeps a lot, although nightmares plague then more often than not, and you try to busy yourself by running errands—trying to find something for you to do. You’ve spent the last forty years focused on achieving this one thing and now…

Now, you’re bored.

It’s only been three days.

“I’m going to find Tony, okay?” you mumble into the pillow, relishing the gentle, tentative caress of his fingers along your bicep. He’s been watching you sleep for the past hour or so, blue eyes muted and soft. You’d spent the night soothing his nightmares, wiping away the sweat, assuring him that you’re here, and you’re exhausted, but the day needs to start no matter what. Opening your eyes, you meet those blue eyes, and brush strands of hair away from his forehead. His pink lips are twisted into a frown, and you smile. “What is it?”

“If I’m staying with you, then we can’t stay here,” he whispers. You wrinkle your nose, leaning forward to kiss him chastely before getting up but he cups the back of your neck, bringing you close again.

“I can’t just disappear on Tony,” you mumble against his mouth. “I need to tell him.”

“No.” It’s sharp, succinct, the taste of fear and desperation that seeps into your skin as he grabs your wrists, and you sit up, pulling him up so you can look at him. You swallow your words as he shakes his head, metal arm clicking, clicking clicking.

“Bucky, I can’t keep this a secret from him. I can’t keep what happened with Howard and Maria a secret. He’s my family.” Your hand gently rubs the scarring of his shoulder before running down his bare chest, and your fingers trace the stitches where the chest tube had been before finding his waist. “I can’t, and you can’t make me choose between him or you. Please don’t make me choose.”

“I wouldn’t,” he whispers, his hand going up and down your arm. The rough calluses of his palm, the warmth of his skin, it sends shivers down your spine. “I could never do that to you, but don’t you see he’ll hate me?”

“He’ll understand. When you explain it to him, he’ll understand that that wasn’t you.” You hold him closer, his forehead pressing into your chest and you close your eyes, running your fingers through his hair. Your other hand holds his head to you, and he’s silent, grabbing at the sheets around them. He’s holding himself back from touching you. “I’m not going to let him hurt you.” You rest your chin on his head and he lets out a shuddering breath at the feel of your fingers tracing the curve of his back. A sort of desperation sinks into your gut and you slide your arms around him, palms smoothing over the scars carved into his muscle. They’re faded but still waxy to your touch, and you bury your face into his hair.

“They’ll take me when you tell him. He’ll take me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and breaking. “You can’t stop them from taking me.”

“Bucky—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He pulls back, eyes empty of anything. He is the void of grief, guilt, anger. He is the devil’s puppet, and now that you’ve cut his strings, he does not know how to move on his own. He wants what he thinks he deserves. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I was the Winter Soldier. I still did it.” Your hands cup his face, and his hands find your waist as he sucks in a huge breath, trying to calm a heart rate you can hear racing through his body. Sitting in his lap, you simply soak in those tired features, before sliding your arms around his neck again and hugging him tight.

“Let me do it all,” you whisper. Kissing his hair, you pull yourself away, and his eyes drop to his hands. You press your lips together, jaw clenching, and something inside you breaks at how small he looks, hunched over in your bed. “Don’t worry, okay? Get some sleep.”

“I should pay for what I did, shouldn’t I?” he whispers. “At least you’ll know where I am.”

“Let me handle it, love,” you repeat. “Don’t spiral on me before we know for sure, alright?” Pulling on a shirt, your mind is running through the list of all the things you can do. Everything you can’t do. Some very selfish part of you wants to hide Bucky away from the world, give him the time he needs—the time you need, but you think of Tony who you’ve always put first before anything else.

The abject horror of watching him fly into the wormhole, the death of his parents, nearly losing Pepper…

Tony has grounded you ever since he was born. He’s been with you despite everything you’ve lost. You grieved his parents together, you were there when he walked across the stage even though his father wasn’t. You love Tony… you love him…

But Bucky… you have dedicated your entire life to him. You have loved him, searched for him despite all odds. You mourned him for thirty years, and then the other forty he wasn’t with you. You stay up at night imagining all that could’ve been, and still be.

To pit them against each other is impossible, yet you must choose anyway.

You meet up with Tony for lunch and say you have a new lead in Europe. I need a ride, maybe some supplies. This’ll have to be off the grid.

Tony worries, but that’s in his nature, and you can’t say anything about it.

You ask Bucky where he wants to go in the world, and you promise you’ll take him.

He tells you Bucharest—a place untouched by the kiss of frost, untouched by the Winter Soldier, a place where the two of you can start anew.  

You fight off the nausea curdling your stomach the whole flight there.

.

It’s been two years since Washington, and Bucky still wakes up surprised when you present to him a cup of hot coffee and a plate of breakfast. It’s become one of your favourite things, to spoil Bucky Barnes, and you do it every chance you get. There’s a quiet routine the two of you have fallen into ever since the two of you decided to settle in Bucharest, and you enjoy it. You don’t mention his nightmares—they’ve receded into only three times a week instead of every night—nor does he bring up the fact that you’ve left everything behind for him—you pick up your phone to call Tony at least once every day before convincing yourself it’s better this way and setting it back down without dialling.  

No, you follow the routine.

Wake up in bed together with the occasional surprise breakfast in bed

Shower and then plan out the day after breakfast

Go out to the markets

Have lunch together and go to the library

Your afternoons are normally spent together, but there is the occasion Bucky will go on a run or you’ll spend yours baking, and you won’t see him until dusk, but you don’t mind.

No one’s searching for you now, although the backpack underneath the floorboards and the one in the false bottom of one of your empty drawers still whisper in your ear.

“How about plums for dessert?” he asks, uncertain as the two of you walk the markets. It’s bustling, loud with life, and you smile, wrapping an arm around his. You squeeze his hand, and his eyes soften when his eyes meet yours. You’ve given him a haircut just this morning, and it makes him look younger, like the man you knew back in the forties. Those eyes are his, too. Bucky’s slowly coming back to you every day. “They should be in season, and fresh fruit seem nice.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll go get the papers,” you say, and he nods. They don’t normally waste the money they have on things they didn’t need like the papers just in case the two of you need to pack up quickly and move, but you know he likes to read news about Steve. Steve. Hah. You wonder what he’d think, knowing you’ve been hiding your best friend away from him for two years. Knowing Bucky wanted to hide at all.

Bucky’s eyes are doubtful, but you merely adjust the cap on his head and smile. Although your fingers want to brush hair behind his ear, you know that you’ve snipped it all away. Instead, you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. You lean up to peck his jaw, untangling yourself from him and his eyes linger on your face before he turns to walk into the maze of stalls. Surveying your surroundings, you watch people pass by, going on with their day, before spotting a vendor across the street. He’s chewing lazily on a straw, leaning on the desk as he reads the newest lotto numbers, and you wait until the light turns, crossing the road.

“Good afternoon,” you begin, approaching the stall. Your gaze trails across the magazines, the little toys and bobs that tourists would love, before glancing up at the man who drags his eyes away from the little TV he has hanging at the top left corner of his stall.  You smile, adjusting the hoodie on your frame. “Do you have today’s paper?”

“Yeah.” He lazily grabs one from the box, sliding it first page down over. “Three leu.”

You procure three one leu bills, handing it over for the paper and you dip your head in thanks before heading back across the street. You tuck the newspaper underneath your arm, eyes scanning for a place to give it a brief read. Bucky’s still wandering the markets, his hand holding onto a bag of some other vegetables you know he hadn’t intended to buy, but you’ve convinced him you can come up with something no matter what he buys. You like the variety it brings, and you hope he likes the choice of it all.

His eyes catch yours as if he knows you’re staring and you wave, unclamping the paper from your arm. His lips twitch into a faint smile before he approaches the fruit vendor and you find an empty spot on the bench, sitting down with your bag in your lap.

The day’s not too warm or too cold, and you relish in the gentle breeze kissing your cheeks as you set your gaze on the paper.

Your breath spears into your ribs, everything inside you draining out as you read the front page of the news.

Winter Soldier. Bombing in Vienna at a United Nations Conference. The Winter Soldier.

Winter Soldier.

Your eyes widen as you soak in the black ink, printed boldly, sharply into the dulled paper. Your hands tremble and your guts are in knots. Chains wrap around your stomach, squeezing bile up your throat as you throw the paper off of you like it’s poison. Your eyes sweep the area, blood rushing down to your legs as you search for threats and Bucky, bumping into random civilians who have no idea what you’ve just read. You can barely contain yourself to a run, unwilling to draw attention to yourself as you scour the markets. He isn’t at the fruit vendor’s stand. Not at this one anyway.

Shit, shit, shit.

You know it isn’t Bucky.

Bucky was here with you.

Shit, shit, shit. Where is he?

Holding your bag tight to you, you feel the contours of the pistol you carry with you at all times, eyes searching, eyes trying to find you. His eyes—ocean eyes—brown jacket, that red henley. Red and blue and brown—

His voice, that sweet voice speaking Romanian, pierces your hearing and you turn to the source of the sound, seeing him lean over as he rolls a plum between his metal fingers. Fingers you know feel just like his flesh hand does, just as your hand does.

You focus on this as you walk towards him, as strange as it seems. You focus on his metal hand covered beneath glove and sleeve, and how whenever you hold it, you don’t feel like you’re holding something dead. How whenever you hold Bucky’s hand, you do not feel like you are dead.

“Love,” you call in Romanian, and he turns to you. For a moment, his eyes study you before he smiles and looks at the wooden tray of plums proudly.

“What do you think, angel?”

“They’re lovely, but we have to go,” you whisper, not giving the fruits a second glance. Bucky’s still eyeing the rows of plums but you reach up, turn his face towards you. His eyes soak you in, soak in the panic radiating out of your every pore, the wild fear, and his eyebrows furrow together. He takes your hands, squeezing them gently, before excusing himself from the vendor and pulling you away.

“What is it?”

“We have to get back to the flat, now,” you whisper, pulling him close to you. He wraps an arm instinctively around you, ducking his head so his face is covered by the shadow of his cap and you keep a smile on your face. Both of their sets of eyes are making sure no one’s tailing them as you explain in English under your breath, “There was a bombing at the United Nations conference in Vienna. Someone framed you. King T’Chaka is dead.”

“What? Who?”

“Someone who doesn’t want you to rest.” His arm tightens around your shoulder as you reach the apartment building. Urging Bucky into a quick march, the two of you part and you run up the stairs first as he bars the door to the lobby behind him.

“My journals—”

“We’ll go get them,” you assure quietly, already running through a list in your head of what you’ll need on short notice. You’ve been prepared for weeks for this. You’ve never had the luxury to be comfortable in that cramped apartment with only a mattress between them and newspaper plastered over the windows. Entering the apartment silently, you head for the bathroom first, unhooking the mirror from the wall to grab quinjet keys from the tiny hole in the wall. Your eyes pass over the trash can littered with Bucky’s hair, and you swallow, grabbing the scissors off the sink countertop.

Running into the kitchen, you unzip your purse and toss it aside, shoving the pistol down the back of your pants before crouching down and pulling open the drawer with the false bottom. Bucky hides next to you, helping you lift the false bottom to a backpack containing all your assault rifle parts, canned foods, water, and first-aid. 

Unzipping it, you watch him stuff the little snacks they’ve spent money on, candy bars and granola, into your back as you listen out for intruders. You throw the scissors, just as you look at the back door.

Something scuffs outside your front door and every muscle in you freezes.

The door gives in quietly, and you pull the pistol out of your waistband slowly, eyes trained on Bucky. He shakes his head. He doesn’t recognize the sound of their footsteps either. Not their nosy neighbour, or the kid from upstairs who knocks on their door every once in a while.

The intruder steps foot and the wood gives in immediately. It’s their trap plank, one they know squeaks, and you know immediately it is a stranger. Shooting up, your arms press against the countertop, fingers hovering on the trigger as your thumb pushes the safety off, and you swallow, taking in a deep breath to steady your heart rate. Your mind is sharply focused on the feel of the gun in your hands, and your throat folds as the image of the intruder burns itself into your brain.

“Y/N?”

“Steve?” Straightening up, you lower the pistol but your body does not ease at the sight of Captain America here. “What are you doing here?”

“Heads up, Cap. German Special Forces approaching from the south.”

“Why are you here?” His shield is still to his side, and your jaw clenches. Bucky is still crouched by your feet, and you reach down to grab the backpack, swinging it onto your shoulder. “Tony said you were off the grid.”

You pull up your hood roughly, tying the drawstrings tight. “I am.”

“They’ve set the perimeter.”

“Where’s Bucky?”

“He wasn’t in Vienna. I can testify for him.” Your voice is taut as you walk out from behind the counter. Your foot is just over the floorboard where Bucky’s backpack full of journals is and you inhale deeply as you glance back at the door behind you. It’s a long fall down from the twenty-seventh story.

“Well, the people who think he did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking him alive.” His words sink into the air, and you nod. You hadn’t thought any different. “He’s here.” Steve‘s voice dips at the words, and you falter for a moment, finger finally relaxing on the trigger. His eyes scan the apartment, before landing on the kitchen counter and it’s almost as if he sees right through it and then this man, this sad, sad man looks at you again with grief powerful enough to kill anything. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Your voice, soft, delicate: “Yes.” You turn to the crouching man who stands, head bowed before turning to meet Steve, and you can feel the tension, thick as butter on your tongue. How much you ache to just slice through it with a sharp knife, but you merely watch, study Steve’s expression. Although half his face is covered by a helmet, his eyes tell you everything. His eyes, wide with shock, blown with nostalgia, as they see a short-haired Bucky—a shadow of his best friend, who stares at him with such emptiness it pains the soul.

“Do you remember me?” Steve asks softly.

“They’re entering the building.”

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

“We have to go, Bucky,” you whisper and he turns to you, nodding. Steve steps forward but you merely raise the gun to him. He freezes in his tracks. “I’m not afraid to shoot a soldier, Rogers.”

“They’re on the roof. I’m compromised.”

“You used to be,” he says and you sigh heavily as Bucky pulls off his leather glove to reveal that metal hand, gleaming and elegant and cold. You can hear the pattering of boots up the concrete steps, and your mind runs over escape routes through tunnels, sewers, ways you can escape without hurting anyone on your way out. The thought of death makes you exhausted.

You head towards the kitchen, pulling open a cabinet and grabbing the black holster, clipping it onto your belt, shaking your head to yourself. “We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

“It always ends in a fight,” Bucky murmurs. You turn the safety on, slip the pistol into the holster. The two of you share a look, and you nod to reassure yourself and him.

“Five seconds.”

An uneasy glance to the window.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?”

“Four seconds.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t know.”

“Three seconds.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Two seconds…. Breach! Breach! Breach!”

Glass shatters and you turn to the window as a flash bang barrels through the air. Smacking it out of the air, you turn away and close your eyes tight, away from the blinding white light just as another one is thrown through the glass. Steve muffles it with his shield and there’s German shouts on the other side of the door as the wood begins to give beneath the ram.

You’re grabbed by Bucky who shoves you towards the mattress, and you lift it up, rebounding another flash bang. A high pitched whine fills your ears, and you turn to see Bucky fling the table at the door to buy them more time. Letting the mattress fall, you run to roll behind the kitchen counter as soldiers burst through the window. Tackling the man, you manage to disarm him with a quick break to his arm before another guy bursts through the back door to the balcony. Steve takes care of him easily and you punch through the floorboard, grabbing the straps of Bucky’s backpack and flinging it out the door just as three more men stream in through the broken windows. Pushing yourself over, you roll into one of the soldier’s space, reaching up and grabbing his gun just as Bucky punches him out. Steve lands a nasty bash of a shield to the other man’s head, ringing him out, and you grab a cinder block, flinging it towards the last one.

The contact dazes him, shattering against his helmet which cracks upon impact and Bucky kicks him through the wall, letting him dangle off the side of the building just as Steve grabs at him.

“Buck, stop! You’re going to kill someone.”

Two more men repel down the side, landing on the window sill and you barely hear Bucky whisper ‘I’m not going to kill anyone’ before he grabs Steve and throws him at the intruder.

The other man detaches himself from his rope, dropping onto your mattress and you sprint at him, too quickly for him to bring up your gun. He raises his arms, trying to protect his face but you fling yourself at him, legs wrapping around his chest, arms catching him in a chokehold. Wrenching him back, the two of you fall together before you fling him off of backwards, letting him crash into the bookcase before you roll to your feet again.

Shotgun blasts disturb the pitched whining in your ears as they detach their door from its hinges and you suck in the breath of sulphur and gun oil, approaching the barred door with a determined set to your jaw. Bucky walks past you, leading the way while you keep an eye on his six. His metal fingers curl into a fist as you take a moment to gather yourself. The adrenaline pumping through your veins is pure fire and your muscles welcome every stretch and pull as he punches through the wall, knocking out whoever’s holding the shotgun, before barging through.

Slipping past Bucky, you jump onto whoever’s at the top of the staircase, bringing him and his friends down behind him. You fall into a messy heap, your body nipping from the sharp edges of the stairs as glass shatters above and you spare a glance to see someone repelling from the glass roof. The sound of an AR going off makes you flinch, but it’s cut short as more men climb up the steps.

Climbing up onto the red rail, you balance atop of it and wait for a man to pass just across from you on the flight below, and jump. Landing on him, you use him to break your fall, soldiers crowding around you, and you bring up his body as a shield, lunging into whoever’s down the steps next to you. Once you’re on solid ground, you block whatever hits come your way, flinging people off of you left and right.

You punch a man in the throat, fist leaving him breathless as you throw him into the wall before ducking underneath a swing from someone behind you. You grab their wrist, twisting it behind their back and pulling enough for his shoulder to give away in a small pop. He crumples before you as you kick the back of his knees before climbing over the railing once again and swinging down. You bypass all the other soldiers trying to catch up, too quick for them to realize you’re their target as you try to think.

Bucky’s still far above you, but he knows where his journals are and where the meet up point is.

You can’t count how many nights you’ve spent staying up with him, compiling a seamless escape plan with so many exchangeable routes. You descend down the steps, another wave of soldiers storming up and the first one swings up his gun, a smattering of bullets causing you to duck.

You spot a door that leads to an outer staircase and barge through with your shoulder. It opens with a slam, the sound ringing in your ears, and you don’t give yourself time to second doubt your abilities before you’re jumping.

Your legs bunch, stretch, bring you to the concrete railing before launching you forward. You flail through the air, the wind dragging at your clothes, and your heart shoves its way up your throat. You’re weightless for just a moment before you land, body tipping to roll out the momentum. You grab Bucky’s backpack, holding it to your chest and you turn around to see if he’s following.

Not even a minute later, you see him bursting from a few stories above you, landing with a painful grunt. He pushes himself up, sprinting towards you and you throw him his backpack just as a shadow flies over you.

Raising your gaze, you squint against the sun to see a black figure soar through the air. Bucky whirls around just as the attacker lands on him and you run towards him. The black figure is sleek, human, and you frown at the cat ears, the silver weave in between metal fibres.

The Black Panther.

Shit.

It doesn’t stop you from running at him full force, pushing him off his balance. You duck underneath a swipe of his claws, turning to Bucky quickly. “Go!”

Blocking a swing from the left, you grab his wrist and pull him into your fist, jabbing him twice underneath the ribs but the Panther's claws latch onto your sleeve, pulling you over and kicking you in the abdomen.

You crash into an air vent with a gasp, the air pushes out of your lungs as the Panther comes at you again. His claws dig into the vent beside your ear and you grimace, pushing back against his hand that comes gliding through metal like soft cheese. Slouching, you let his arm run over your head and bring a knee to your chest. When your foot connects with his chest, you launch him across the roof, his claws nearly nicking your other ear.

A whirling fills the air, the vibrations running through your bones, and you peer up at the sky to see a helicopter. The shudder of the machine gun ripples through the air and your eyes widen as a trail of bullet fire cracks the roof, dust spiralling through the air.

“Come on!”

A rough hand grabs your shoulder and you’re pulled roughly to your feet. Shoes digging into the concrete, you can feel the bullets nip at your heels, the spat, spat, spat of death chasing you before you throw yourself off the edge of the roof and onto a narrow edge. Bucky lands before you, not pausing before jumping off the roof and you follow after him. He catches you by the waist, softening the landing but it’s still a shockwave up your legs.

An ache festers in your shins, your lungs are on fire, and you try to keep your eyes on target as the helicopter cuts you off and you stutter to a halt while Bucky jumps into the tunnel. Glancing behind you, you see the Panther run after Bucky, and you vault over the barrier, your mind already making a new route.

The helicopter flies after you as you run across rooftops, the tunnel still running below you, and you feel weightless as you jump from building to building. Your feet slap against the rooftops, your lungs burning.

Dropping down onto the street, you spot a brick barrier around an opening. There are civilians, women, men, and children, who are sitting on the benches or going about their day and you wave them off, screaming for them to get to cover as the helicopter speeds after you. Jumping onto the bench you use it as a stepping off point and you jump into the hole, onto the tunnel road just as a car swerves to miss you. You whip around, trying to find Bucky and you see him sprinting towards you. Behind him are a plethora of blue and red and white lights, piercing the dimness of the tunnel.

The ground rumbles beneath your feet and you turn to see a couple on a pair of motorcycles speeding towards you. Buckling your backpack across your chest, you run towards the woman and you knock her off as carefully, as quickly as you can. She lets out a terrified shriek as you swing it off the road, your leg hooking on the seat.

Your fingers wrap around the handlebars, and as soon as the wheels are grounded once again, you speed against the direction of traffic. Leading the way, you press yourself against the motorcycle.

Everything falls to a blur, your eyes ahead but when an explosion prompts you to look back, your eyes widen at the rubble collapsing the tunnel. Bucky floors it, trying to catch up with you just as something is flung through the air.

You open your mouth to warn him but the next thing you know, Bucky’s skidding across asphalt, tumbling and you brake hard. Tires screeching and leaving black marks in the road, you jump off the cycle and run towards him while Steve tackles the Panther off of Bucky. There’s a loud crash of vehicles, and you barely glance up before you skid to a stop. Crouching beside him, your eyes search for injuries, road burns, anything, as the sound of sirens echo through the tunnel. Cars surround them on all sides.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, helping him up, and his hand snags on yours as he nods with a grunt. The Black Panther stands, and you eye him with scrutiny, standing in between the two men. When you’re sure he won’t attack you, you turn to look at Bucky. He’s panting hard and his hand finds your forearm, gripping you protectively as if he isn’t the one they’re searching for. You gently take his hand and put it down, raising your head to meet his eyes.

I’m sorry, he seems to say.

We’ll get out of this, you promise. You cup his cheek briefly, the flashing blue and red lights illuminating his face and he nods, eyes trained on the Panther. Letting your hand drop, you turn to assess the situation.

You eye your surroundings discreetly, keeping your body turned into Bucky, counting the number of guns pointed at you. All of the German Special Forces are taking cover behind their cars, suited in black bulletproof vests, the air rank with burnt cement and melting rubber. Behind the Panther, officers exit their vehicles, and you feel the landing of War Machine before you hear his voice.

A clank of metal, the quaint sound of his repulsors firing up. James Rhodes. Rhodey.

“Stand down, now. Congratulations, Cap. You’re a criminal.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve raise his hands and you’re nudged away from Bucky as he’s forced to his knees. A gun pushes into your back, forcing you into line beside the Black Panther. You let out a grunt but willingly go, not keen on having a gun shoved into your face even more than it already is, and keep your head down as Bucky is pushed onto his stomach. Manacles clink into place and you raise your hands. Undoing the drawstring, you feel the hood loosen around your head.

“Your Highness.”

You turn to the man beside you, a man who shares similar features to a man you’ve met in the past and he holds his helmet in his hands as he meets your gaze.

T’Chaka’s son stands before you and when you tug down the hood, you hear James’ filtered breath, a soft inhale he fails to mask to your impeccable hearing.

“Doctor.”

The guns lower and you raise your hands again.

"Hey, Rhodey.”

.

You stare into the thick, three inch glass cell, but Bucky refuses to look at you. He’s chained by the legs and wrists to the exam table, and you cross your arms over your chest.

“You should go,” he whispers in Romanian, his voice muffled by the barrier between them. “They only want me.”

“I’m not letting them take you without fighting for you. You didn’t do it.”

“They don’t care.” The task force around you is arguing about moving him, but none of them seem eager to go even close to the most dangerous man in history. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” The forklift’s engine ignites and you step back as it lifts him up, the glass cell tipping back and cutting off your conversation. You press your lips together, watching as his eyes struggle to meet yours, and every nerve in your body is telling you to follow after him, but you don’t.

“So, this was your off-grid mission, huh? Playing house with my potential godfather?”

You close your eyes, lower your head. Tony steps in beside you, and you sigh. “Tony, I—”

“How long?” He doesn’t sound angry, furious as you’d expected. Simply… simply interested. Opening your eyes again, you look up and Bucky’s gone.

“Ever since Washington. He didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Well, I’m glad you found him. I knew you were just one call away.”

At this, you turn to admire your boy, and he smiles. He looks tired, his red silk tie doing nothing for the beginnings of eyebags pulling at his face, but he’s still the boy you raised and love as your own. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”

“Thanks, auntie.” Your body melts at the name, a name he hasn’t called you since he was twenty-one and you two were standing at his parents’ tombstones while he sobbed into your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around him desperately. He sinks into your embrace and your eyes close as you stroke his hair. “I don’t know what to do.” About the Accords, about Steve, about Lagos. I read your emails, Tony. Every single one.

It’d been a weekly trip to the quinjet parked outside of Bucharest, just a little hike with Bucky to reconnect and refresh themselves. You were supposed to go tomorrow.

“You’ll do what’s right,” you murmur. You know it because that is what Tony has done since he’s been a little boy. “You can try, and try, and try, but sometimes, people won’t change, or they’ll do something you didn’t expect, and it won’t be your fault.”

“Ma’am, we need to take you to your cell.”

Pulling apart, you run a thumb down Tony’s cheek like you did when he was younger, and he smiles. He’s still got that little boy’s smile, but it fades quicker when he realizes what the task force member said to you.

“Cell. Right.”

“H.Y.D.R.A. still tampered with me, too,” you mutter, inspecting his hair. “They want me for a psych eval, priority number two after Bucky.” You spot a few grey hairs at his roots, and you frown. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Pepper and I are on a break,” he says with a shrug. “Still getting used to the empty bed.” Clicking your tongue, you sigh and pull him into another tight hug quickly. “I’ll see you in a bit. I need to sort this out.”

“I know you will.” You draw away and walk after the soldier down the same path Bucky was taken. You look back to see your boy still looking, and you smile. Everything’s going to be fine.

Tony will figure this out, you tell yourself. We’ll figure everything out together.

.

“What’s your favourite colour?” a guard asks you in heavily accented English, and you smile. You’ve been staring at your handcuffs ever since they put them on you.

“Blue,” you tell him in German. “And you?”

“Purple. It is my wife’s favourite colour,” he explains and your smile softens at the sentiment.

“Blue is the colour of his eyes,” you reply and he ducks his head, trying to hide his smile. You sit at the table, tapping your fingers against the metal, and he stands at the doorway, rifle held in hand, but you’re not afraid.

“You love him, yes?”

“For decades, now.”

“I am a big fan. My father told stories about the Howling Commandos, ma’am.”

“I’m flattered.”

We’ll figure it out.

The lights switch off and the room plunges into black before the emergency lights turn on. Everything around you is illuminated with red or bathed in blue shadows as you look up.

“What was that?”

“We will stay here. I’m sure it is nothing,” he says, and you nod. Something bites at your stomach and you look down at your chained ankles before glancing at the security camera in the corner of the room. “He does have beautiful eyes,” the soldier offers as a comfort and you chuckle. “My children have blue eyes.”

“You have children?” you ask with a wonderous grin. The idea of children has always been so far out of your mind that just the thought sends your mind into a flurry of possibilities. “How many?”

“Twins, a boy and a girl. They are three years old.” He’s extremely proud of it and you tilt your head up at him, your smile growing. “Albert and Ada.”

“That’s adorable. How long—” Your question is cut off by a violent scream, and your head jerks to the wall, the wall that separates you from Bucky. “What the hell was that?”

“Ma’am—” You stand up and he looks tentative to raise a gun towards you, but you’re too terrified to do anything else.

“That is not the sound of a man going through a psych eval.” The memories of the last time you confronted the Winter Soldier blazing through your mind, you shuffle around the table.

“Ma’am, sit down, or I will be forced to shoot.”

“Take these cuffs off of me, now.” You raise the silver chains to him, and he gazes at you apprehensively. You know, with enough effort, you could probably tear your wrists out, but you don’t want to hurt this man. “If what I think is happening is happening, you are not safe. The most dangerous man in history is just through that wall. You’re not going to be able to stop him.” When the man still hesitates, you let out a frustrated growl that’s punctured by another desperate scream. “Think of your wife, your children, and leave.”

You lift your cuffed hands again and you meet his gaze, dark brown almost black in the red lights. His mustache twitches before he lifts up the key. The mechanical cuffs click and release, a hiss of air escaping and you let out a relieved breath, tossing them aside while the soldier ducks to unlock the ones around your ankles.

As soon as the manacles unlock, you’re stepping out of them, your legs unusually heavy. You feel as if you’re swimming through molasses, flinging open the door and running to the room next to yours.

“Bucky!”

The pounding against glass, like a drumbeat, shatters your skull and you rush into the room, spotting a man holding a red book slowly pacing around the glass cage. Bucky’s fist is slamming against the glass, his head hanging low as he lets out a low groan of pain. At your entry, the man looks up and frowns, as if you are a mere nuisance, and your blood chills at the sight of that book in his hands. Red leather and a printed black star. H.Y.D.R.A.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” you breathe, carefully approaching the man and he flips pages in the red book, eyes not straying from yours.

“Oh, I understand completely the consequences of my actions, and they are intended to rip them apart.” His finger settles on a line on the page and you watch him warily. Bucky leans against the cell door, and you edge towards him slowly. If you can just put yourself between the two and get him out—

“Angel, go,” he croaks breathlessly. You do not listen. “No, you have to. There are words—“

“Step away from the patient, Doctor,” the man says softly, arrogantly. “I do not wish to harm you.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” His eyes flicker to the page. “Angel of death,” he enunciates slowly in Russian, and you’re rooted to the spot as his eyes finally lift off the page. “An apt name for what you could’ve become.”

“Stop.” You ache to forget. You almost do sometimes, and sometimes, it is all you know. “That’s not who I am.”

“Ah, so you do know.”

“Get out of here. Please, go—”

“Unfortunately, I cannot have what I want unless she is out of my way.” You’ve almost reached Bucky’s cell, and your fingers stretch for the handle. The doctor doesn’t stop you, merely looks at you as if committing your image to memory, but not in a fond way. In a way for science: you’re nothing more than a test subject, a data point. Bile crawls up your throat at the thought. “Malady.”

Your brain short circuits. The smell of burning skin sinks into your sinuses and the agony that speared itself into your temples as they shocked your past out of you returns tenfold yet quaintly numb. Something inside your head unwinds, your feral rage you’ve locked away growling in anticipation.

“Three.”

Your whole body is sluggish as you try to work against the voices in your head to give in to the temptation. Pushing yourself against Bucky’s cell, you slam your fist into the glass. It cracks underneath your knuckles.

“Stop!”

“Brimstone.”

The smell of sulphur, the grime beneath your nails. You can taste the still water they shoved towards you, the vomit burning the back of your throat. Voice hoarse, skin slick with oil and sweat. Hell on earth. Your next punch comes weaker, and your knees begin to tremble as the voice in your head grows louder.

The feral rage pokes its head from the shadows, licks its bloody muzzle. It’s starving.

“Longing.”

It slams itself against the metal cages of your mind. Closing your eyes, you collapse against the glass and sink to the floor. You try to ignore his voice, the firm order to his accented German, but the words still sink into your head as if these are welcomed.

“Eternity.”

A hollowness, the weight of your heart wilting in your chest, the unending agony of searching for someone you don’t even know exists, causes you to let out a soft moan. It aches to feel it all at once, to plunge into a darkness you’ve clawed your way out of, and you want to scream, release the knot in your chest. You feel like you can’t breathe—

“Stop!” Bucky’s voice, terribly hoarse as he shouts through the glass sounds so far away and you raise your head to the wretched light. A breath pries its way out of your throat. “No!”

“Nightfall.”

A terrified scream wrenches its way through your throat and you claw at your wrists, eyes unseeing. There are cuffs—Zola is chaining you to the table because you’re thrashing too much. Lurching, you scream for Bucky, your mind unravelling as everything surges back to you. You are in that Austrian prison again, shivering against a bony body. The clamp of the machine against your head digs into your skull and you reach up to your hair. Electricity runs underneath your skin.

Fistfuls of hair bunch between your fingers as you tug, your stomach turning at the rawness of the injections running through your veins. The blood curdles in your head and you pitch forward, head pressing against the concrete floor. You slip away, your vision spattered with stars. The cage creaks under the force of your rage, still chained back but just barely. The metal is rusted, and as the man speaks, you hear it purr in satisfaction. These words are gifts to the animal inside, a fuel to its fire, and the voice sneers, obey, obey, obey.

Repeat after me, soldat.

Ready to comply.

Again.

Ready to comply.

Again.

Я готов отвечить

.

You wake up in a prison cell, your body aching and your throat raw, and you feel like you’ve been charged by a hundred rhinos as your neck sets itself on fire in pain. Trying to narrow your eyes on the side of your neck, you crane your head to spot the giant, blooming purple mark on your throat.

Your skin is red, split with dried blood and bruised. Your lips tremble as you work through each muscle and you let out a soft hiss as you look up at the metal wall. Your reflection is haunting, warped beyond compare.

The blue jumpsuit hangs off your frame, your arms locked together with maximum security handcuffs that are just little more than holes in a big block of titanium. You stand up uneasily, your arms dropping heavily, and approach the bars.

You’re in a circular shaped room, cells just like yours in the wall. Within five of them are Avengers you’ve read or know, and you search for Bucky as one of the guys notices you’re awake. Clint is leaning against the glass, staring at you with a deadly focus from across the room.

“Hey, Doc.”

You don’t respond. Your throat is raw, and it tastes like metal as you send him a nod before continuing your survey of the surroundings. You lean forward, eyes scanning the other empty cells and you notice with a heart wrenching lurch that there are at least two cells between you and the next inmate.

What have I done?

There’s a single door, cameras at every angle. The only other female in the room, a girl, sits in the corner of her cell with her arms strapped to her as she stares up at the camera. The Scarlet Witch.

You turn away, sliding down to the floor with a sigh. Your head is pounding. Closing your eyes, you try to soothe your raging thoughts as you lean against the wall, but your back protests when you move too sharply.

You hear the gears in the doors turn before it opens, and you open your eyes again to see Tony stride in. A wave of shame washes over you once you catch sight of a bruise blooming on his eye and his arm in a sling. It’s searing cold as he stops in the middle of the room, soaking it all in as you are still trying to do. Did I… do that?

“The Futurist, gentlemen!” Clint’s loud clapping pierces your eardrums and you squeeze your eyes tight, twisting away from the center of the room. “The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you whether you like it or not.” The words are dripping with bitter sarcasm and you suppress a growl.

“Shut your mouth, Barton,” you call, your voice grating on your own ears. You tuck your knees to your chest, your titanium cuffed hands in your lap. Your stomach is churning and every shift causes a dull ache. You simply stare into your lap, sore neck arching, and wonder if he’s safe. Wonder who you’ve hurt—how could this have happened?

His footsteps stop before your cell.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Did I do that?” you ask quietly, unable to even look at him. Tony’s sigh reaches your ears, but you can’t tear yourself away from staring at where you know your fingers are, encased because they’re dangerous—you’re dangerous.

“It was Barnes. Are you okay?”

Turning to Tony, you feel so small under his gaze, so pathetic. You’ve always wanted to be strong for him, but the way your mind feels—decimated, torn to shreds—you can’t help but release a shuddering breath in response.

“Whatever he did, it wasn’t him. Please don’t punish him for it.”

“I won’t,” Tony says, and you look up into his eyes. He has Maria’s eyes. “Look, I got them to transfer you to a psych facility in New York,” he adds, tapping on his watch before expanding on an image. He shows it to you and you lean forward, squinting. On the screen says: I know where Barnes is. “Great faculty and staff. You’ll be transported in ten, fifteen minutes? Happy’s overseeing everything, but it’s good to see you awake.” A swipe and the screen shifts. Ping my location once you get on the chopper. “It should run smoothly.”

“What happened with everyone else?” you murmur under your breath, and Tony sighs.

“Ran into some people at an airport in Leipzig.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He reaches through the bars but you jerk back, swallowing. Angel of death. “What was that back there? I never knew—”

“I didn’t know either. I suspected it, but they wiped memories, tortured us in so many ways, I guess I thought it was a nightmare.” Your eyes flutter shut at the agony that had splintered you apart, and you press your back against the wall, resting your blocked hands on top of your knees. Something inside you pulses unnaturally. “How many people—”

“Don’t do that to yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I barely got to the sixth word before I lost control, Tony.” Your eyes flash to his and his lips press together as you push yourself up. Ragged and exhausted, your skin is not your own. You’ve slipped someone else’s on—a someone you left behind the minute you found Bucky again. Murderer.

“Probably Dad’s work fucking with the programming,” Tony mumbles before raising his voice again. “Natasha and Sharon Carter worked to take you down before you could do any more damage, but Carter ended up with a bruised face, tailbone, and a few other scratches. A shattered hand and wrist. She caught one of your punches before Natasha got in a good blow. Widow’s Bite to the carotid.” When you don’t reply, your godson touches the bars with gentle fingers. “I’ve got to go, but I promise I’ll see you later.” You nod, and his hand falls away from the bars as he walks away. You watch him go, eyes trained on his back, before sitting down on the bed and passing time by staring at the wall and thinking.

When Happy escorts you out of what you now realize is the Raft, your chest deflates at the chopper waiting for you.

When you lift off and the Raft is nothing more than a speck in the waves, Happy unzips the black bag at your feet to reveal all that you need, and he relays the instructions, keeping his eyes steadily on his datapad as you change out of your blue jumpsuit. Changing into a long sleeve thermal shirt, you pull it snug over your chest before pushing your feet through pants.

“Tony’s heading for Siberia,” Happy begins, and you glance up from where you’re lacing up your boots. They’re sturdy, hard, and you juggle your weight from one ball of the foot to the other, trying to work them in. “We’re dropping you off in Bucharest to pick up that quinjet. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will upload coordinates when you start her up.” Grabbing a bulletproof vest, you slip it over your head and begin to velcro it tight. Your insides are twisted and you fight to keep your expression calm as you crouch down to examine the assault rifle. “Ma’am?” You glance up.

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

Your smile feels grimmer than death. “Thank you, Happy.”

.

“Howard… Howard!”

Maria’s voice echoes in your ear, the tape playing over and over again, as you scramble over a small edge of the facility. You’d watched it once before it reran itself, and you couldn’t hold back the bruising in your chest at the vision of your lover beating to death a man you trusted for decades.

Everything around you is collapsed debris, the smell of electricity and smoke plunging into your sinuses. Dust stirs with your every step and you glance around as a force pulls you towards the silo. Ground up cement and grey snow is still falling gently down and you look up to see the hatch closed before a scream tears your attention away.

Beneath the grate, you hear the wind howling, the sound of a repulsor firing. Shouting echoes through the silo. There is a whine of warning, the crunch of metal, and then blast. Your heart leaps into your throat and you glance around to see if there’s a quicker way to get down than merely jumping.

There isn’t.

You take a deep breath and jump to the ledge just opposite, lower than your starting point. The metal trembles beneath your feet and you freeze for a second as it stabilizes, and then jump again. There’s the sick hammering of metal, clunk, clunk, clunk, and you swallow a breath, glancing down at how far down the bottom is.

The clunking fades, and you steel yourself for the sensation of freefalling.

You don’t give a damn about however many feet are between you and the floor, and you jump. Only one thought is on your mind.

Tony. Tony’s in danger. Tony—

Your fingers wrap around the grip of your rifle, your knees bending at the shockwave of pain that rolls up your legs. Rolling onto your side, you feel your battered body nearly give in, your neck protesting violently at the sudden jerk of your head as something lands with a thud. Your mind is a whirlwind of scenarios, of what you’ll find, and you force yourself to continue the roll until you get onto our knees, whipping up the rifle without a second of hesitation.

“Stand down, now.” You don’t recognize your voice—harsh, flat, cold—as it echoes and escapes into the Siberian winds. Steve sits on top of Tony, his shield poised in the air as he stares openly at you in shock. Your godson looks at you in utter relief, his face bruised and gashed, bleeding. Bleeding.

Have you caused this outcome? Is this what you’ve done?

You have felt guilt before—it is something you have learned to live with—but this is different, seeing Tony no more than a little boy in the eyes, an anguish in his gaze that reminds you of the first time he asked you if Howard did love him. The memory alone makes your throat cinch shut.

Your back is screeching at the strain, but you merely aim your weapon steadily at Steve as you slide down the ramp. Your eyes barely lift off of his to the black mass laying still on the ground, and your heart nearly jumps out of your mouth when you see a glint of silver, the sparks of wires.

Eyes narrowed down your sight, you walk slowly until you stand right beside Steve, the gun muzzle pointed right at his temple. Steve’s audible pants rattle in your ear as you kick him off Tony, launching him against a sloped column with a painful gasp.

Crouching, you drop your gun and help Tony stand up. He holds back a groan with a clenched teeth. His arm, around your neck, pushes down to steady himself and you hoist him up as you pull him away from Steve. His armor clanks, his movements slow and dragging, and you inhale sharply as you watch Steve slowly get to his feet.

Wiping at blood that smears his cheek, he picks up the shield and begins to limp to Bucky. Tony lurches forward, and you can taste the anger in your mouth—sour, bitter with grief—as he yells himself hoarse and you barely hold him back as his words ring in your ears. 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you. You don’t deserve it. My father made that shield!”

Tony lets out a painful gasp, pitching forward. Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the hum of the arc reactor as you push him back up, and you swallow at the hollow ring of the shield colliding with cement and stone. As Tony stumbles from one foot to another on the spot, you watch Steve pull Bucky up.

“So?” Steve asks quietly, and your eyebrows knit together as he turns to you for a moment. There is no animosity, just a blank look.

“So, what?” It is your turn to be angry. It’s a hot, raging thing that shoves up your esophagus, and your words spit hot. “You expect me to go with you after you tried to kill my family?”

“Bucky’s not going to be safe. We need to find a place for him to hide,” Steve murmurs, and the most incredulous laugh pries its way out of your mouth. You feel Tony’s glare weigh heavily at Steve, still too heartbroken to say any more than what he’s already said, and you glance at him, the image of his bloodied defeat printing itself into your head. “It’s going to be easier if you’re with us.” Bucky raises his head weakly, blood streaming down from his broken nose, and your heart splits at the soft glow of his eyes.

No, he seems to say, even through the pain of losing his arm. Don’t come. Even if it means we have to leave each other again. A sweat is starting to gather at his brow, and he’s still struggling to breathe, and as much as you want to run to him, you don’t. You hold Tony up just as Steve holds Bucky up, and you realize it then that you are a mirror image of Captain America. You will always choose the person who is somehow, and always will be, more important than the other, no matter the personal cost.

No matter the splintering of souls.

Please don’t make me choose.

I could never do that to you.

Your palms are sweating, your eyes trained, and your heart is wild in your throat as you whisper with a fury untamed. “How dare you make me choose between the son I chose and the man I love? How dare you bring this on us?”

“On us,” Steve repeats quietly, almost mockingly if not for the way his eyes seem to fall, if not for the way it all seems to pull him down then. “Yeah, this whole thing’s on us because you didn’t tell Tony either.”

Frigid waves crash down over you, extinguishing your rage as Tony stiffens, and you stare at Steve, shock blocking your ability to speak. Steve’s whole body caves inward, and then he turns away. Bucky’s eyes linger for as long as they can, a silent, loving apology, and you merely soak in his broken gaze before he’s trudging away. Your bones splinter under the weight of a world placed on your shoulders again.

There he walks away from you again, and you must play your waiting game.

Tony doesn’t ask questions until you’re both on the quinjet.

“So you knew?” he asks, his temper a quiet thing. It’s simmering beneath his skin and you grip the controls until your palms sweat. “How long?”

“Two years. I had my doubts since it happened, but he confirmed it two years ago after the spill in Washington.”

“Two years.”

“Tony—”

“So, you chose him anyway. When it mattered, you chose him.” Swiveling the chair, you stand up and look at Tony who you’ve patched up as well as he’d let you. His laceration isn’t stitched yet, but you’ve managed to tape the minor scratches shut, and he’s holding an ice pack to his swollen face. His bashed armor lays on the strategy table, and you glance at the hollow thing for a moment, trying to gather the right words.

“I just wanted to be selfish,” you admit quietly, looking at Tony again. He’s staring at you with wet, dark eyes, and you lower your head in shame. “I wanted to be happy.”

“No matter what it meant for the people around you?” he asks, and his words don’t need to be blunt or sharp for them to be harsh.

“I’m sorry.” You tentatively sit beside him, and you swallow. There is a distance between you and Tony that you don’t know how to cross. “I knew it then, and I know it now, that it was wrong, keeping it a secret from you, but I thought it was his story to tell, and he asked me not to say anything.”

“So, you chose him,” he concludes again, and you nod. You want to touch his shoulder, his knee, some kind of comforting pat but you know he will flinch away based on how coiled up his body is.

“I did, but I choose you now. And I promise I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Even if you hate me. Even if you never want to see me again. I can’t ever say how sorry I am that I kept this from you, and—” Blood tracks down his temple, a slow, languid trail that drives you crazy. You grab a clean, moist towel from the table and wring it between your hands, small droplets landing between your boots. You glance from the white cloth to Tony, who’s still quiet— “Tony, you’re still bleeding.” His eyes search your face, and you meet his despairingly. You’re hollow, chock full of what ifs.

“Growing up, you were the only person I talked to about everything,” he says quietly, and your eyebrows rise in surprise. His voice is dulled, near to breaking. “Not even J knew some of the stuff I told you. You just understood everything so easily, and I never understood why when I was little. It was when Mom and Dad died did I get why you could pinpoint how confused I felt, how hard it was. Because of him.”

He pauses to look at you, and you nod, your lips pressing together in a sorrowful smile. “Because of him.”

“You know, even when I was little, I used my Christmas and birthday wishes on you.”

“On me?” you repeat, your smile waning and growing again, and he nods earnestly, his lips pressed together in an effort to squish his tentative smile.

“I just wanted you to be happy like Dad used to say you were. Guess that meant the Sarge had to come back, so I asked Santa if I was extra nice, if he could bring people back from the dead. That was before Dad told me Santa wasn’t real, and that I was too old to be believing in those things, but I fell into the habit again after they died. You know, wishing for the dead to come back to life. Guess my wishes got mixed up between Santa and Satan.”

“I taught you that,” you whisper, and his smile, just barely, lights up his face at the memory. “I told you Santa and Satan were brothers and if you were naughty, Satan would come and eat you up.”

“Yeah.” He lowers his ice pack, hand reaching to wipe away the blood but you catch him before he does, offering the rag again. He merely leans forward and you smile, tinged with exhaustion. It was his way as a boy to tell you he wanted your hug, by putting his chin on any part of you and pouting like a puppy with those dark eyes. Except now, he merely closes his eyes and seeks the comfort of his mother.

A comfort you can’t give him, but you’ll damn well try to come close to.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Tony,” you whisper, gently swiping the blood away from his face. “I never wanted to do that.”

“I know.” Not forgiveness, not yet. “I just want you to be happy, auntie.”

“I know.” You gently rub his forehead before wrapping your other arm around him. His own snake around your waist and you embrace him tightly, eyes closing as he melts into you. “It’s okay.” His shoulders shudder beneath your palms, and you kiss his hair, eyes closing. You press your cheek against his skull. “When you’re ready, I’m gonna stitch you up, okay? Fix you up.” A shaky nod. You run your hand up and down his spine as he raises his head to suck in a lungful of cold air, and with Tony’s head on your shoulder, you wonder where Bucky is now.

You hope it is somewhere where he can rest, even if it means he never sees you again. Is this what you fought for? Killed for? Your peace only to be shattered by something out of your control?

Two years is better than nothing at all, a quiet voice tells you, and as you stitch Tony’s cut, you tell yourself you can be happy knowing he’s safe, but even that, you don’t know.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” your godson asks as you pull the final thread through. He’s been studying you rather intensely for the past fifteen minutes and you don’t answer. Cutting the thread, you clear your throat and put away your supplies, pulling off your gloves.

“I’m just thinking about what we’re going to do when we get home,” you reply lightly.

You can tell Tony doesn’t like your answer by the twitch of his lip but he doesn’t bother to pick a fight and picks up a handheld mirror you left next to him to check out his new stitches.

“A lot of cleanup with Ross,” he says, “and you probably don’t want to go to that psych facility.”

“I don’t.”

“Thought so. I can probably negotiate something about that, set you up with a personal psychiatrist. We’ll get you a room at the compound; it’s been a while since you were home.”

Your smile is tentative as you zip up your medicinal bag, and you narrow your eyes at the sunlight that streams through the windows. An outline of a city cast in gold is in the distance as you approach the pilot’s seat once again. You try to fight off the disappointment, the hurt. You always dreamed you’d come back here with Bucky one day.

“I won’t get mad at you for thinking about the man you love, auntie,” Tony whispers when you land at the compound, and you nod to yourself, closing your eyes at the memory of the last time you were in here, flying to Bucharest two years ago. Bucky’s gentle hand on your shoulder as he coaxed you into letting him take over. Tony kisses your cheek and you open your eyes as the ramp lowers, and you get up, shaking yourself of the memory.

Wherever Bucky is, you know one way or another your paths will cross again, whether you search for him or not, and the stirring in your restless soul tells you rather that it will be sooner rather than later.

[k-llama-llama]

Exposed

Monsta X AU: 8th member

Zoey x Monsta X

The beginning of Zoey’s decent...(duh duh duhhnnnn)

A/N: I know that this is a real issue that idols go through, and I never want to make fun of it. It will be an arc explored over two or three stories. I planned it before everything with MX went down, and I’ve decided to just stick with it. I won’t say enjoy...but i hope you like it. ALSO FYI check out my patreon (patreon.com/kllamallama for exclusive posts!)

Requests are CLOSED…but your feedback is still super important to me.

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“Zo, do you want any of this pizza?” Kihyun called from the kitchen.

The girl in question looked up from her spot on the couch. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Hyungwon, who was currently serving as her footrest, patted her leg. “You haven’t eaten today, you sure?”

Zoey shrugged. “I haven’t done anything to make myself hungry.”

Hyungwon sighed, and Zoey didn’t miss the look he shot to Kihyun. They were all getting concerned about her lack of enthusiasm, and it was beginning to make them worried.

“What do you want to watch?” He changed the subject. “I’m sick of variety shows.”

Zoey thought for a moment. “There’s nothing good on. Want to watch a drama?”

“Sure, I’ll find one. Do you think-”

“ZOEY!” Shownu’s voice carried through the apartment, everyone turning as he stormed down the hall and into the living room. Kihyun came out of the kitchen, and the other boys emerged from their rooms, curious as to what would make their leader yell. Even Zoey sat up in concern, as he marched straight for her.

“Oppa?” She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”

“You tell me.” He practically shoved his phone in her face. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Zoey read the message on the screen, clicking on the attachment and swallowing. “I...I don’t understand.”

“What are you talking about?” Kihyun grabbed the phone, his mouth falling open. “Who sent this?”

Shownu crossed his arms. “Our manager. Apparently they got a call from a journalist, giving them a heads up that this is leaking first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What is it?” Jooheon peeked over his shoulder. “Why is there a picture of - Oh my god.”

Zoey felt her heart sinking as she lunged for the phone. “Stop looking at it!”

“How can we, Zo? The whole freaking world is going to see this tomorrow.” Shownu insisted. “Is it real?”

“Someone tell me what it is?” Hyungwon grabbed the phone. “Oh, wow.”

“Zoey.” Shownu looked her in the eye. “Is there anyway that those are real?”

“I..I...” She stared at the pictures. “They...they might be.”

Shownu swallowed. “Tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

“Hyung.” Kihyun warned.

“What? Think of all the shit that’s happening right now. You were stupid enough to take nudes of yourself?”

“What?” Changkyun grabbed the phone.

“Stop looking at it!” Zoey jumped up and grabbed the phone, slamming it down onto the coffee table. “Please, just...just stop!”

“Let’s focus on the problem here.” Hyungwon tried to be rational. “What did the person tell Starship?”

“They were just giving them a heads up that the pictures will leak tomorrow. The company is trying to stop it, but it’s already kind of too late.” Shownu answered. “Tomorrow morning, Zoey’s pictures are going to be everywhere.”

Zoey sat down on the couch with a thud.

“Zo, I’m not...” Kihyun swallowed. “I don’t care that you took the pictures. But how would they get out?”

“Did you send them to anyone?” Minhyuk asked.

Zoey hung her head in her hands. 

“Zoey!” Shownu demanded. “Who has these pictures.”

“Just...just Seungcheol.” She said quietly. She felt like she was spiralling. This was all too much. She couldn’t understand what was happening. How it was happening. “But...he wouldn’t have. I know he wouldn’t.” She looked up at Shownu, her eyes begging him to help her.

He clenched his jaw. “He must have. But...Zo...you have to know what this is going to do.”

“It’s not my fault!” She stood up. “I don’t know how they got the pictures. You said the company was trying to stop it! This doesn’t mean that-”

“You were stupid enough to take them!” He shouted, startling her so much that she took a step back. “So yes...it’s a little bit your fault.”

“Hyung!” Changkyun interrupted him. “No, Zo, it isn’t. This could’ve happened to any of us. We’ll figure it out, it’ll-”

“Don’t say it’ll be okay.” Shownu glared at him, snatching his phone off the table. “I’m going now.”

“Where are you going?” Zoey demanded.

“Where do you think?” He grabbed his phone. “To find out who leaked your pictures. Starting with your ex.”

“You can’t.” She grabbed his wrist. “I know he didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“Zoey,” He pulled her hand off of him. “He did. Because there’s no other way those pictures got out.”

There was silence in the room as Zoey processed what he said. 

“Please.” She said quietly.

Shownu turned away, grabbing his coat.

“I’m coming with you!” Kihyun hurried after him.

Zoey didn’t move as the door slammed behind them. She felt like the world was moving a thousand miles an hour, and she was trying to hang on. But suddenly it felt like too much, like everything was pressing in on her because this was her fault and she was going to tear their group apart even more because she was so stupid and-

“Zo, he’s just worried.” Jooheon placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

Zoey just shook her head. “I did this.”

“It’ll be alright. I think that-”

Zoey didn’t even stay long enough to let Hyungwon finish. “I...I need some air.”

She grabbed a coat off the rack, not caring that it was Minhyuk’s, and hurried out the door, slamming it behind her.

“We need to go after her.” Hyungwon stood from the couch. “She’s still in her slippers.”

“Give her a minute.” Jooheon advised. “What do you think, Changkyun?”

Changkyun swallowed. “It’s Zoey. She...she might just need to think it out.”

They all looked at her shoes, still sitting by the door. They weren’t dealing with a normal Zoey.

~Time Break~

Zoey hurried down the street. Her feet were freezing, hair whipping in the wind as she ran as far as she could from the apartment. She couldn’t be there. Couldn’t listen to them worry about her when this was all her fault.

Something in the window of a shop caught her eye. The soju poster was backlit by dim lights, but it was enough to tempt her towards the door. Her hands slipped into the pockets, finding Minhyuk’s wallet still inside.

She stepped into the store.

~Time Break~

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Dokyeom threw the door open. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting at eleven PM, but it wasn’t for two members of Monsta X to be waiting outside his door.

“What are you guys doing here? It’s late.”

Shownu just shoved past him. “Where is he?”

“Sorry.” Kihyun hurried after him into the apartment. Dokyeom closed the door, certain that whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want the neighbours to hear it.

Shownu was flinging open doors to bedrooms. Most of the boys were in bed, but not asleep yet, and they all stood as Shownu marched through the apartment.

Finally, he opened a room and found Seungcheol sitting on a bed with his laptop.

The leader of Seventeen removed his earbuds. “Hey guys. What are you doing here?”

Shownu lunged forward.

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 5- Post-Apocalypse

Ah. Um. Okay. This one is...sad. I mean I guess it kind of is by nature because of the theme? I wanted this to be upbeat and I feel like I missed the mark by a longshot. Wound up crying when I wrote this and tbh it’s probably half-coherent but here please take it. I promise I’ll do something less...this, next time

A massive bonfire lit up the tepid night, licking at the sky with every breeze and stick tossed onto it. Though he could make as big a fire as he wanted with just his hands and a little magic, Sol found a subtle beauty in nurturing a small kindling until it grew powerful enough that it only needed to be contained, swiftly gorging itself on whatever it came across and standing up to buckets of water that once would have been able to smother it a dozen times over. Almost like raising a child, in a way, though at least fire was easier to keep an eye on. And less raucous.

“Hey, old man!”

Speak of the devil. Sol shook his head with a smile and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah? Thought you were supposed to be harvesting with your dad.”

Sin’s hair was as wild as it had ever been, though it took a little bit longer now for it to scrape the ground than it did before. It seemed easier and less labor-intensive to let it grow out into a shaggy mass nearly as tall as he was before lopping it all off. Sin used to be so intent of keeping it short at all times, but one could only go for so long being so hypervigilant before it turned to boredom and apathy. The only reason he even cut it at all was because of how he would trip over it while hunting and doing chores.

“I wanted to see if the fire was almost ready.” He pushed some of that messy hair back over his shoulder. “Besides, harvesting is boring, I’d rather help with the fire instead of having to carry stuff.”

Sol sighed, prodding the edge of a fire with a stick. “You’re nearly five billion years old, and you still complain about chores like a toddler.”

“Learned from the best!” Sin smirked back.

He was going to fire a retort back, but he could practically hear a little voice in his head chirping ‘Just let it go, Frederick. You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.’

“You’re right, you’re right.” He mumbled to himself.

Sin crossed his arms and huffed. “Fine! I’ll sit over with uncle raven then!”

The pale-haired man turned as sin approached the log he was on. “I’m afraid I won’t make for the best of company.”

“Still better than the old man! You use a lot of big fancy words and don’t yell at me when I slouch!”

“Sol!” A voice called from somewhere behind. As expected, when he turned towards it, he found Ky and Dizzy following, each carrying a large basket of greens.

“Figured you’d be longer. The brat didn’t exactly make it easier for you.”

“Well, I suppose a little mischief is alright for tonight.” Said Dizzy. “We were still able to find enough in the field for all of us to have plenty.”

Ky nodded. “And still plenty of leftovers, too. Little bit of mashed fruit, some potatoes, that cheese Raven made three years back, we have a lot! So make sure everyone eats well tonight. Not like we have to save it for anything.”

The man’s expression remained bright, but Sol’s fell. He looked back upwards. The midnight sky was a pale blue, hardly darker than midday. He couldn’t remember when it was truly dark enough to see the stars. Even the moon was little more than a vague crescent. At least the weather was tolerable, even with their hardy bodies, the days had become too hot to withstand, even in the underground bunker they’d shared for the last century or so. The sun was growing bigger and bigger every day, practically enveloping the sky. The few hours of ‘night’ were the biggest relief they got, so it made sense to make the most of what they had left.

Dizzy put her basket on the ground and began pulling out cobs of corn. “Where is Axl?”

“Said he was going on a grocery run.” Replied Ky. “I’m not sure what era though.”

That got Sin’s attention immediately. He sat up stick-straight. “Ooh, he’d better bring back something really good! Chips?”

“Mmm, shame he can’t go back to my time and bring back some of the treats I had in my youth.” Raven said wistfully. “Would probably attract too much attention.”

Sol idly thumbed at the dented lighter in his pocket. He’d run out of cigarettes, and had nothing to occupy his mouth. “He’ll be back whenever, not like he has any sense of deadlines. Just our luck, he’ll skip right past-”

As if on cue, a deep black abyss spiraled in the air nearby, crackling and popping for a moment before someone hopped through, carrying several bags.

“Right on time!” Axl cawed, raising a hand and walking over. “Glad I didn’t miss the party. I brought the food!”

Sin leapt out of his seat and scrambled towards the man, eyes shining. “What did you get? What did you get?”

“Easy, mate, I brought enough for everyone.” The plastic crinkled as he pulled out a variety of different things- packaged hamburgers, snack cakes, fresh fruit, and other things Sol didn’t bother taking note of. He only moved to catch a package of cigarettes as they were tossed to him.

“Maaan, this is much better than being stuck with vegetables!” the youngest’s eyes shone like he had been presented with a priceless treasure. “Jeez, how long’s it been since we’ve seen plastic bags? I think those all broke down ages ago.”

“And to think, people always used to say how wasteful they were, and how long they would take to break down.” Raven quipped, with a blithe little smile. “And now they’re impossibly rare relics.”

“Glad to provide!” Axl did a little bow. “Today, we enjoy the last swiss rolls in existence! Technically speaking.”

The feast started up soon after. Makeshift pots were set up for boiling vegetables, the leftovers were reheated over the fire. Axl’s food was bizarrely pristine alongside everything else, but nobody treated it as anything peculiar. Merriment followed the food, though it mainly just amounted to idle chatter and reminiscing.

“It’s delicious! Very well done.” Ky beamed, though Sol just knew it was bland, at best. “Corn’s so much different than it used to be, but I’m glad we still have that much. Reminds me of that one banquet, uhh, when was it? I seem to be blanking...can’t think of the millennium. I know there were still people back then, does anyone else remember the one with the corn sculpture?”

“Hmm.” Dizzy said. “Was that the one where Leo fell into the courtyard fountain after he drank too much?”

Ky thought for a moment in silence. “...Leo?”

“Scruffy blonde guy, had his own dictionary?” Sin offered.

“It was the first time you were king.” Added Sol.

“First...ah! Now I remember.” He nodded. “Goodness, that was forever ago. It’s hard to keep track. If I told my childhood self that someday I would become the ruler of thirty-five separate nations, I don’t think I would have believed it.”

“I tried once.” Axl replied, between bites of corn. “You thought I was bonkers. Kid-me said the same thing. Guess I don’t blame ‘em. I can hardly believe it sometimes. And I’ve been at this forever!”

“Mostly forever.” Corrected Raven.

“Oh sod off, birdie. B’sides, I could make words mean whatever I want ‘em to. There’s six of us! Who’s gonna stop me from saying ‘cold’ means hot and ‘hot’ means freezin’ your balls off!”

“Alright, alright, settle down.” Ky interrupted him. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to celebrate. Sin, could you please pass me a hamburger?”

Sol couldn’t take this anymore. “I’ve gotta take a smoke break.”

They all seemed confused by his sudden outburst, but let him leave without too much trouble. He found a place in the wooded thickets that was secluded, where nobody but him could see the way his fingers trembled as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it.

Not even the animals were there to judge him. He couldn’t remember the last time those had existed, anyway.

So when the dead reeds began to rustle, he nearly jumped out of his skin. That was stupid of him. It had to be one of the others. Knowing his luck, it would be Sin, pestering him with enthusiasm and trying to drag him back to the fire, or Ky, with those big, soft, sad eyes that still managed to be able to throw him off guard.

“Chief?”

Shaggy blonde and dirty red bobbed in between the reeds, until Axl emerged right in front of him. How many centuries had he owned the same bandana?

“Chief, what was that about?”

Sol huffed, taking a long drawl of nicotine. “Jus’ needed a breather. I told you.”

“Don’t you toy with me.” The other’s voice softened. He pulled out a cigarette from his own pack.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I’ve done just about anything that can be done.” Replied Axl. “I’m serious. What’s wrong? Why did you run off out of nowhere?”

He didn’t want to start a fight, not now. But even at a time like this, it felt preferable to admitting his feelings. It felt like a boulder was on his chest. “How can they be so…”

“So…?”

“So...happy? We can’t take anymore of this. Even if the sun doesn’t consume the planet tomorrow morning, the heat will incinerate everything on the surface and then some. How can they find it in them to celebrate? I know that whole family can be naive, but you and Raven-”

“Sol.” Axl cut him off, softly but firmly. “We know. They all know.”

The answer seemed obvious, but it still felt like a blow to the chest. Sol kept his expression hard and unreasonable. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.” He said back. “God, why would I lie to you now? It’s the last bloody day in the world, what do I have to lose anymore?”

The space went quiet. The weight only seemed to grow heavier.

“You know, I’m older than the rest of you.” Axl sighed in dismay. “So, so much more. I’ve done this before. Never been this kind of fun, though. I guess I just needed to get hamburgers? Hehe…”

Sol refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on a glowing bit of ash as it fell to the ground. “You don’t have to be here, y’know. Unlike the rest of us, you can just bail.”

He was met with a slow shake of the head, a patient smile, and sagging shoulders. “I’m an old man, chief. I might not look it, but I’m the oldest thing in the universe. More than you, and Sin, and even Raven. I’ve seen the universe begin over and over again, and every step of it after.”

“And?”

“And I’m tired. I’m really tired of all of this. I’m done. The universe is falling asleep, and I finally want to fall asleep with it. The end of it all is the one thing I’ve never allowed myself to see. It was so tempting at times, but I knew that, even with all of my abilities, I was only capable of living once. I tried changing time. I tried seeing what else there was in the universe. But it all came back to this. Just a handful of people, waiting for it all to end.”

The way his jaw clenched made Sol nearly bite through his cigarette and break his teeth. “Were you the one to tell them, then?”

Another shake. “They’re smart, Sol. I didn’t have to tell them anything. I’d feel so lucky, if I were you. I couldn’t think of anyone better to spend so many eons with.”

It wasn’t right. None of it. But no matter what, Sol knew it didn’t matter. He could spend every last moment of his life screaming and clawing in an attempt to change anything, but there was nothing he could do now. Just a moment of silence before the apocalypse.

So he followed Axl back to the fire. Sol put on one of his rare smiles and hunkered down to chat, regaling dozens of lifetimes with the only people who knew could understand what such an existence was like. The rise and fall of nations, births and deaths and the many long years in between. Wars and peace and prosperity and poverty. Hope and love and crushing despair and the ever-flicking light of human spirit that let them carry on so long, even as the world had begun to end.

Sin ended up falling asleep first, slumped against his mother. Raven and Dizzy and Ky had followed suit eventually, huddled under blankets as Sol glanced between them and the fire.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” He asked his only companion. “I can take care of putting this out.”

A hand slid around his waist. “I want to be with you. Just a little bit longer.”

Sol managed a smirk. “Seems like a waste. You could use it for sleeping.”

He felt the hand trembling slightly, and cling to his clothing. “Is it...is it bad that I’m afraid of being alone for this?”

“No.” Replied Sol, wrapping his own arm around Axl’s body. “It just means you’re human.”

[untamed-sun]

Lan Wangji (and Wei Wuxian) Meta

I promised @myakkoh to write up a meta I posted to discord. This will be slightly different from what I wrote there, as I’m not copying/pasting and I’m not on my phone. :)

I want to talk about Wei Wuxian before getting into Lan Wangji, first. Or talk about how my (Western/Christian) background which may badly shape that perception for a decidedly not Western or Christian show?  Fair warning, there’s spoilers if you haven’t finished the story.

In the Old Testament there’s this bit about ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”. This was a way to reduce the threat of blood feuds and violence. In MZDS we have Xue Yang, for example, who says that the loss of his finger was worth the lives of an entire clan. 

That’s the sort of thing that creates an escalating spiral of violence. Xue Yang loses a finger. He kills fifty Chang Clan members. If they had survived, and if Xue Yang had his own clan... then maybe one of thsoe survivors would have killed 100 of his kith and kin. 

Limiting the violence to ‘an eye for an eye’ (or a finger for a finger... or even, as Xiao Xingchen pointed out, an arm for a finger) places limits on that. 

That sort of view is a bit transformative. It’s natural for us to care mostly for ourselves and our loved ones, but we have a variety of cultural wisdom that help us see past that. The Silver Rule of Confucius, the Golden Rule of Christianity. Reminders to care for each other even when we’re not related by blood or friendship.

Wei Wuxian has that sort of wisdom. He sees injustice and doesn’t want to keep his head down and stay safe. That’s one of the underlying differences between him and Jiang Cheng. 

This isn’t to knock on Jiang Cheng - he’s a Sect Leader, was the Heir, and he has to worry about his people. He also lost almost everyone when Lotus Pier fell, and he’s fundamentally more concerned with his people. He wanted to protect Wei Wuxian, and if the cost of that was letting all the Wen Remnants die that was fine. He repeatedly criticizes Wei Wuxian for trying to be a hero, for stepping up and drawing attention.

Wei Wuxian knows that somebody has to do it, that if everyone keeps their head down and tries to avoid trouble that ultimately they will all suffer. Jiang Cheng would rather he and his stay safe. 

Jiang Cheng and Wen Chao both have asked Wei Wuxian why he was playing the hero, which is funny because Wei Wuxian is a hero, and is definitely not ‘playing’ at it.

Part of the tragedy of this story is that Wei Wuxian fails at it. That other people suffer the consequences for his attempts to ‘be the change you want to see’. He’s transformative, but ultimately rather fails at transforming the cultivation world (at least, when it comes to the Wen Remnants and how they are treated after their defeat.)

But this all started with Lan Wangji. 

The differences and similarities between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are fascinating. Wei Wuxian has an infamous reputation, the worst parts of which are unearned. Lan Wangji has a stellar reptutation, much of which is also unearned.

He’s not as ‘pure’ and ‘good’ as his reputation makes him out to be. We don’t see a lot of his interiority, so it’s hard to say how much he did it out of love and how much was because he felt Wei Wuxian was unfairly villainized. Truth to tell, I find the novel story arc a bit confusing and complicated here (Lan Wangji protects him in a cave? But then the Lan elders find him and he fights them off and loses. So three months later the cultivation world has the first siege of the Burial Mound, and Wei Wuxian dies... and Lan Wangji only hears about it later? The CQL version has it’s own problems, and I’m sad that the second siege of the Burial Mound isn’t as coherent and misses some important bits from the novel, but it also is a bit... easier to understand the timeline. I like to think Wei Wuxian falling off the cliff is because he knows the backlash is coming from destroying the Stygian Tiger Seal rather than suicide, but that’s my own personal headcanon. Novel Wei Wuxian died of a backlash, after all.)

We see that he can be jealous and petty, particularly when it comes to Wei Wuxian. Novel Lan Wangji also forcibly kisses a blindfolded Wei Wuxian on Phoenix Mountain, and helped save Wei Wuxian after the massacre at Nightless City, where Wei Wuxian (tragic hero though he mostly is) did commit mass murder. There's a tumblr post I can't find right now that talks about that, and the novel sex scenes, and consent. It seems some translations make it sound worse than the original?

What is interesting to note is that despite his jealousy he never really tried to control Wei Wuxian. He was hurt and upset, especially when he realized Wei Wuxian flirted meaninglessly. He stole the pouch Mianmian gave Wei Wuxian and used it as his money bag and he warned Wei Wuxian that people can get hurt by his flirting, but... he's not trying to force Wei Wuxian to be with him.

Anyways. CQL and novel characterizations are a bit different, but the CQL definitely shows how at their core Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are very similar. They share the same values, they care about protecting the weak and defenseless. They care about justice, and right and wrong.

In Wei Wuxian’s first life, Lan Wangji was too hampered by his upbringing. By respect for his Uncle, his brother, and the rules he was raised to believe in. He wasn’t just struggling with his feelings for Wei Wuxian. He saw that the Wen Remnants weren’t the threat rumor made them out to be, knew Wei Wuxian was being unfairly maligned... and wasn’t ready to take the next step.

Wei Wuxian cut ties to his family and stepped onto that single plank bridge. He told Jiang Cheng that he would have saved the Wens even if it hadn’t been for Wen Ning and Wen Qing. He wasn’t doing it because he owed them, he was doing it because that’s what was right. Despite how deeply Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng love each other, there’s a fundamental difference there.

That difference isn’t there with Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji didn’t disagree with Wei Wuxian’s values, so much as that he was still very confused about a lot of things. Wei Wuxian practiced demonic cultivation, which was evil according to everything Lan Wangji has been taught. Wei Wuxian flippantly disregards rules that Lan Wangji spent his life following. Lan Wangji wasn’t ready to challenge everything he’d built his life on. 

And then Wei Wuxian dies.

Lan Wangji’s punishment for fighting with the elders is... interesting on a number of levels. 

It reminds me a bit of my experiences in the military, actually. Discipline is important, following orders is important (you don’t want to waste time arguing or explaining in a life or death situation!)... but soldiers don’t actually blindly obey. Or rather, they’re not supposed to. We’re not supposed to follow orders that are illegal. As World War II and the Nuremburg Trials show, ‘just following orders’ is not an acceptable excuse when you’re ordered to do something wrong.

Despite that, there is a safety in following orders, and following the rules. It doesn’t put the burden of deciding what’s right or wrong on you. Deciding that a particular rule or order shouldn’t be obeyed is a decision that shouldn’t be taken lightly, and you should be able to justify or explain that decision.

And... you should be able to accept the consequences of that decision. If you truly believed it was right, truly believed it was important, then it should be important enough to do even if you get in trouble with it.

This is how I interpret Lan Wangji’s punishment. He accepted it, showing that he still respects the rules (and the elders, and his clan)... but everyone also knew that he would still make the same choice again if he had to. 

He is not rejecting everything the Lan stand for, not defecting from his clan. He has, however, chosen to use his own judgement (and accepted the consequences of so doing.)

It shows some of the same transformative elements as Wei Wuxian defecting to protect the Wen. 

[eagles-translated]

I’ve been getting a few asks about the storylines in season 2 and I haven’t had the time to respond to them all yet, so I’m making this post and answering all of them at the same time. Thanks to @elliephunk80​ for giving me this idea! 💛🌞

Contains spoilers up till episode 7 of season 2.

I’ll be dividing this couples-wise, since most of my questions seem to be based around the relationships in the new season! They are:

Felicia & Jack Elias & Klara Ludde & Amie Elias & Amie (saving the best for last ofc)

Felicia & Jack

Starting off with Felicia and Jack, which I’m honestly not too crazy about. I definitely like the addition of Jack as a character, but I’m not entirely sure this relationship is a good fit.

In my honest opinion I feel like these two are sort of an odd couple and it hasn’t been addressed by anybody except Elias, who brought up the topic of Jack being Felicia’s old babysitter and how it reminded him of a “sleazy porno”. I wouldn’t go that far, but from what we know there’s a pretty big age gap considering Felicia still isn’t 18 yet and Jack seems to be in his mid-20s. 

And I also just don’t see them having that much in common besides them having known each other in the past and both being good-looking people. It just seems sort of strange, and I don’t get what they see in each other for them to be a real couple. It started out as just a hook-up when Felicia was both drunk and high, and it seems to still be more focused on appearances rather than them actually being in love.

I’m also sort of fearful for Felicia. We know she’s in a really vulnerable state right now - still not being over Ludde, having lost her best friend, her parents divorcing, and being back on drugs.

I still don’t know if Jack really is cheating on Felicia with Olivia (the girl that texted him) but I would say he is. Jack is incredibly confident and charming, which makes him able to easily lie and manipulate people. We know he’s not an entirely good person since he’s already lied to Elias about now knowing that Mats would bring him back to Eagles. I wouldn’t be surprised if he really did hook up with Olivia and ended up being a really good liar.

The fact is that not only did he deny it but he then shamed Felicia for blaming him and causing a scene, ultimately shifting the focus in the argument to her and making Felicia feel bad that she even confronted him in the first place. Jack says that maybe they shouldn’t even be together, which causes Felicia to backtrack and apologize. It’s actually pretty impressive how Jack was able to spin that around to blame Felicia and make her apologize. But it’s not a healthy relationship - there’s this toxicity, the age gap, and I just have a bad feeling all around about how it will end. I really don’t want Felicia to spiral even further down.

As for the fight in the season 2 trailer, that could very well be Jack and Elias! Elias is incredibly protective of his sister and if Jack did indeed cheat on her and it came out that would be a pretty plausible reason for them fighting.

This is a very blurry and low quality picture, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was them. In fact, I can’t see who else it would be. At the time of the trailer releasing I was unsure of who it could be since we hadn’t yet seen Jack in any scenes and how he would fit into the story, but now I’m like 90% sure it’s him.

Elias & Klara

Moving onto Elias and Klara, the unexpected couple of the season. They actually have pretty good chemistry in my opinion, even if they’re not really my preferred pairing.

This might be an unpopular opinion, but we have to consider how much time has passed since that incident. It’s been three months since Klara posted that video and it’s been, what, almost five since she filmed it? I know Felicia is still incredibly hurt but the fact is that three months is actually a pretty long time when you actually think about it. You can’t stay mad at someone forever for something they did, and Elias said himself that he doesn’t blame Klara for what she did. She wasn’t the one who cheated on her boyfriend/betrayed her best friend, and it’s pretty clear that Klara holds some regret to the way she posted the video.

Might be getting sidetracked here, but I’m actually not mad at Ludde and Amie anymore either. They’ve apologized and apologized for three months straight (maybe Ludde more than Amie, but still) and there’s just not that much you can do when the person you hurt doesn’t even want to listen or talk to you. Eventually, you just kind of move on. I honestly feel like Felicia was really annoying when she threw food at Amie and told her to be quiet. Like, yes, we get that they both hurt her but the way Felicia acted and the fact that she couldn’t just be the bigger person bothered me and made me sympathize with her less.

Back to the question - I feel like Elias and Klara make a lot of sense and Klara seems to be becoming a better person when she’s with him. She’s not a complete monster. She’s just a teenage girl with a complicated living situation and probably some jealousy issues. Don’t get me wrong, I hated her back in season 1 for being so nasty, but she’s honestly improving as a person.

I agree. I kind of miss Sara but I like that she doesn’t really hang out with Klara as much anymore. I actually wish that Klara would’ve become more ostracized from her school friends to emphasize how alone she is, but she seems to still be pretty popular so that was kind of disappointing. I thought the fall-out of her posting the video would be worse, but I guess not.

Anyway, I like that they’re taking a disliked character and making her into a better person. Feels like it’s been done a few times before, but I still appreciate them doing it. I hated s1 Klara for being so one-dimensional, but s2 Klara is well on her way to being a pretty good and nuanced character.

First off, I appreciate you too! 💛 But I think I actually disagree a little on the whole Klara thing - yeah, she didn’t really “pay” for what she did, but she’s still aware that what she did was wrong and could’ve been done a whole lot better than posting a video for everybody to see.

If Elias likes her and they’re happy together, I don’t see why they wouldn’t work! I don’t want them to be endgame, but so far I’ve liked seeing them together because they have really good chemistry and they seem to understand each other. 

Ludde & Amie

Ludde and Amie have kind of grown closer this season, not only because they worked on the demo together but also because they both hurt Felicia. I think they’re both feeling really lonely but they’ve bonded as friends. Notice that I said friends and not as a couple, which I’ll explain down below.

So as we know, Amie kissed Ludde in episode 6 when he was in the hospital after having been injured during the hockey game against Karlskrona. She immediately seemed to regret having done that and ran out without an explanation, leaving Ludde alone and confused.

I honestly don’t think Amie has any romantic feelings towards Ludde. I think she might mistake her feelings for a crush or something, when in reality she’s just lonely and appreciates Ludde always being there for her and giving her compliments on her musical ability. Ludde was complimenting Amie at the hospital, saying she was amazing, and I think Amie was just really touched by that and maybe wanted to thank him somehow, and ended up kissing him. And then she freaked out and left because oh my god did she really just kiss Ludde. It was an uncomfortable and awkward situation and that’s probably why she ran out.

However, I really believe that if she had just stayed to explain and apologize, Ludde would understand and they could’ve just laughed it off. But this is a drama show so of course that wouldn’t happen! 

Do I think the writers are making them into a couple? No, definitely not. They know that season 1 was sort of predictable and cliché, so they’re making season 2 as different as possible by including these unexpected pairings such as Klara & Elias and Amie & Ludde. But Amie and Ludde won’t ever be a couple, because Ludde is still very much hung up on Felicia. I don’t see them as a couple either - yes, they have music in common, but they work way better as friends than in a relationship.

I think the kiss was written to 1) be unexpected and throw us off, 2) ensure the viewers that Ludde is still in love with Felicia despite spending so much time with Amie, and 3) to show that Amie is feeling really lonely after having lost her best friend. 

I feel like Amie is getting just as much screentime as she did in season 1, though! She’s got a storyline with Ludde and she’s definitely still a main character. Personally I’m really enjoying the way they’ve divided the time this season.

In the first season, Felicia got way too much screentime and I know they did that to show how many things she went through, but because of the short 20-minute episodes that didn’t leave enough time for everybody else. This time around, it seems more fair and like we’re getting more variety in the storylines. With this change, Elias has also gotten more screentime which I love (because he’s my favorite character, duh) and I feel like if Amie got more screentime than she’s already getting, it would sort of disrupt the whole “balance”.

It’s always difficult to make sure that the characters are all getting enough time to develop their storylines so I can understand your frustration. It’s especially difficult with so few episodes.

Unrelated topic, but an example of this would be Mats and Petra. They’ve both had a few scenes in season 2 but at this point, when we’re seven episodes in and they haven’t been in a single scene together, it sort of feels like the writers forgot about their past relationship. It seemed like the writers were going somewhere with them in S01E07 - Road trip, but maybe that was just to parallel Elias and Amie’s relationship? Bringing us to the next and final subject -

Elias & Amie

Man, these two are SO incredibly popular despite having only shared a few scenes in season 1. And don’t be scared if you think the writers forgot about them, because if you saw the Q&A with Stefan H. Lindén who is both the creator and one of the producers of the show he had some really interesting things to say about them.

He emphasized that the writers know how much the fans want to see them together and that they did have plans for Amie and Elias in the future, just that it might take some time because of how the character dynamics are right now after the fall-out of the Halloween incident (and the fact that Elias is currently in a relationship with Klara).

This is totally a valid opinion too! They’re two vastly different characters and while that’s probably the reason they’re such a popular pairing, it could also be a little off-putting to some people since they don’t really seem to have anything in common. In fact, Amie has a lot more in common with Ludde, but I’d actually argue that her chemistry is better with Elias.

I think we should wait until we get more scenes of them interacting though, however long that may be. 

All in all, I just wanted to express how excited I was to see the scene in the hospital and how excited Elias was to see Amie (and even complimenting her hair aaaa). He expressed that Amie and Ludde did mess up, but he doesn’t seem upset or mad at Amie at all which was a relief. He just got so adorable around her and I’m really impatient to see them together haha but I have total faith in the writers!

To finish this off, there’s still 3 episodes left so anything could happen. It’s really exciting to see what will happen with Amie in Stockholm and with Ludde having turned himself in to the police, and I absolutely can’t wait for the next episode!