#because it seemed so out of left field???

[writingwithgeoffrey]

The village seemed peaceful enough from the outside. There were farmers in the fields, tending to the crops with gentle hands. There were children playing in the streets, kicking around balls or rolling hoops along the ground. On the air, the soft chatter of the adults reached your ears. You could hardly pick out any one conversation, but none of them seemed willing to cause harm.

That was why you were caught off guard when a little voice on your shoulder spoke up.

“Slaughter them all.”

It was full of a sort of rage you’d never heard in your life but tinged with horror and disgust. You glanced toward the tiny Angel that had appeared on your shoulder. His robes were white and his hair was blond, both signs of his purity, yet his wings trembled and his hands balled into fists.

“Hey.” You poked him in the stomach. His eyes focused on you for only a moment before snapping back in the direction of the village. “You okay?”

“Kill. Them,” he reasserted.

“Whoa, calm down there, Angel.”

Another similar weight appeared on your other shoulder accompanied by a spot of unnatural warmth. A moment later, its source used her spaded tail to swing from your ear. It was a little red Devil, dressed in simple red and black clothing, with a pair of horns that curled around his pointed ears.

“I’m the one that calls for the slaughtering. You’re supposed to be all ‘Save them!’ Not me.”

You looked back and forth between them, hands raising in case you needed to pull them apart. They may have been semi-real figments of your imagination, but you were confident you’d still be able to grab them.

“You don’t understand. They need to die. Just look at them.”

You and the Devil did just that. Again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If anything, perhaps their little flowerbeds weren’t manicured properly, or maybe it was their accents. Even you had to admit, it was a bit tough to understand them, but not impossible enough for them to be slaughtered over it.

“Okay, look.” You took the Angel into your palm. “I don’t see anything wrong with this village. Is it because they’re eating bread with a fork? Because, I mean, that’s weird, but it’s not killable-weird.”

The Angel snarled and whirled on you, hair standing on end and wings spread wide. “Have you gone mad? You think their bread-eating habits have upset me?”

You glanced at the Devil with an expression that you hoped got across the message of, “Help me out here, man.”

The Devil sighed, swung his way onto the hand holding the Angel, and stood there with his arms crossed. “You forget something, Angel.” The Devil hooked a thumb over his shoulder at you. “This guy’s an idiot without us. So, either you speak up, or we do nothing.”

The Angel remained bristling but took a nice, deep breath and calmed down enough to look your way. Still, you could hear the vitriol dripping from his tongue as he spoke.

“These people are all left-handed.”

You groaned and set the Angel back on your shoulder. “Not this shit again.”

You have found a peaceful village. The angel on your shoulder is enraged, however, and is demanding you slaughter everyone there. The devil on your shoulder looks genuinely afraid of the angel but also has no clue why they're so mad.

[heliosunny]

okay.. one.. YOU'RE GENUINELY THE BEST WRITER ON THIS PLATFORM I THINK I'VE READ EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER WRITTEN.. two, a yandere phainon with a SO that keeps pushing him away due to thinking he's way too good for them, like moving countries typa pushing him away, just telling him like.. "You deserve someone way better, you're just misguided!".. etc

No Escape

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The first time you saw Phainon, he was standing at the top of the academy’s marble steps, a faint breeze teasing at his silver hair as he spoke to someone important-looking. Even in a place filled with prodigies and elites, he stood out. Meanwhile, you were just another nameless student in the sea of faces, struggling to keep up in a world that never seemed to slow down.

You never expected to cross paths with him. But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

A few shared classes. A single partnered project. Then, somehow, Phainon kept appearing—offering to help you with assignments, walking with you between lessons, seeking you out in the crowded dining hall when he had a thousand better people to sit with. His attention was overwhelming.

You tried to brush it off as politeness. He had no reason to be interested in you. Maybe he pitied you. Maybe he was just nice to everyone. But no matter how much you convinced yourself of that, Phainon never looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

It was supposed to be a simple experiment. A foundational potion—one that even first-years could brew without issue. Yet, somehow, you had still managed to mess it up.

The classroom was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and simmering liquids, cauldrons bubbling softly as students carefully followed the professor’s instructions. You and Phainon had been paired together, much to your dismay. Not because he was unpleasant—far from it. But because standing beside someone like him only highlighted how out of place you were.

“Careful” Phainon murmured as you reached for the powdered moonroot. “That’s starshade. If you mix that in, the potion will—”

A single spoonful of the wrong ingredient hit the potion’s surface before he could finish his warning. The liquid instantly turned a sickly green before erupting into a thick, foul-smelling smoke.

Coughing, you stumbled backward, barely able to make out Phainon’s silhouette through the haze. Around the room, other students were staring, some laughing, some groaning from second-hand embarrassment.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

When the smoke cleared, the professor pinched the bridge of her nose before marking something down on her clipboard. “Another failure” she sighed, shaking her head. “Mr. Phainon, I expected better.”

You glanced at him, feeling guilt twist in your gut. It wasn’t his fault—you were the one who had messed up. But Phainon merely smiled, completely unfazed. “Mistakes are part of learning”

If failing potions class was humiliating, then physical training was an absolute nightmare.

Magic broom exercises were a staple at the academy—a mix of aerial maneuvering and endurance meant to build both magical and physical control. For most students, it was exhilarating. For you, it was just another opportunity to fall flat on your face. Literally.

“Just kick off the ground lightly” Phainon instructed, hovering effortlessly beside you as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Let the magic flow through you.”

That was easy for him to say.

Still, you grit your teeth and tried. The broom wobbled violently the moment your feet left the ground, and before you could steady yourself, it twisted sideways. You yelped as gravity took over, sending you crashing back onto the training field.

The instructor let out a long-suffering sigh. The other students snickered.

Phainon, of course, landed smoothly beside you, offering his hand. “Are you hurt?”

You groaned, rolling onto your back to stare at the sky instead of meeting his gaze. “Just my pride.”

There was a soft chuckle, and then—before you could stop him—Phainon crouched down and plucked a stray leaf from your hair.

“You’re improving” he said, completely sincere.

You gave him a skeptical look. “I literally just fell on my face.”

“You lasted two seconds longer this time.” His smile was slight but warm. “That’s progress.”

Something in your chest tightened. It was the way he looked at you—like you weren’t a failure, like he actually believed in you.

----

“You’re avoiding me”

You forced a smile, pretending not to feel the weight of his presence. “I’m just busy.”

“No, you’re not.”

You exhaled, shoulders tensing. “Phainon, you don’t understand. You shouldn’t be wasting your time with me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you deserve better,” you blurted out, frustration bleeding into your tone. “You deserve someone extraordinary, someone who belongs in your world—not me.”

A slow silence stretched between you.

“You think I don’t know what I want?”

“You’ll realize it one day.”

“I already have.” He stepped closer, “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been certain of.”

That was the problem.

Because one day, he would see the truth.

And that’s why you had to leave.

The village was quiet. Tucked away in a valley where the mountains shielded it from the outside world, where magic was nothing more than a story told to children before bed.

Here, you weren’t a failure. You weren’t a disappointment. You weren’t anything but yourself.

The people welcomed you easily enough. A newcomer with no past, no baggage—just willing hands and a desire to work. You took on whatever jobs you could. Fetching water, helping at the bakery, tending to the fields when the farmers needed an extra hand. It was hard work, but it was yours.

And best of all, Phainon wasn’t here.

Time moved differently in the village. The days stretched long beneath golden sunlight, the nights cool and filled with the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves. Slowly, the tension in your chest unraveled.

For the first time in years, you could breathe.

You stopped thinking about magic. Stopped thinking about what you left behind.

The village had become home. Years had passed since you arrived, and with time, you molded yourself into the life here, into the rhythm of simplicity. No one here knew of magic—no one needed to. You had left that world behind.

Until the day you were forced to use it again.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. You stood knee-deep in the river, feeling the gentle current brush against your legs as you worked to catch fish for dinner. The sun was warm, the air filled with the laughter of children playing nearby.

Then, a scream.

You turned just in time to see a boy, no older than six, trip over the edge of the riverbank. His friends gasped as he tumbled forward, the steep drop giving him no chance to stop himself before he plunged straight into the deeper part of the river.

The current was too strong. The boy’s small body disappeared beneath the surface, water swallowing his cries.

No one here could swim well enough to save him in time.

No one, except you.

But swimming alone wasn’t enough. By the time you got to him, it would be too late.

The promise you made to yourself—to never use magic again—shattered.

Without thinking, you raised your hand.

A whisper of energy, long buried, surged through your veins. The river stilled in an instant, the currents bending to your will. The water lifted, forming a controlled wave that carried the boy gently back to the shore, setting him down safely on the grass.

The children hadn’t spoken a word.

You had made sure of that.

After pulling them aside, you crouched down, “You can’t tell anyone what you saw. Not your parents, not your friends—no one. This is our little secret, alright?”

They had nodded, still wide-eyed from the miracle they had just witnessed. Thankfully, kids loved secrets. They thought of it as a game, something special just between you and them. For now, your peace was intact.

Or so you thought.

The next morning, you made your way back to the river, hoping to clear your mind. Maybe even push down the unease still twisting in your stomach. But as you approached, you froze.

Someone else was there.

And not just anyone. Him

Phainon sat comfortably on a fallen log, watching the children with a small, amused smile as they chattered excitedly around him. He looked out of place among them- too refined, like a painting come to life. And yet, he somehow blended in so effortlessly, laughing at their stories, ruffling their hair like an older brother would.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up. The moment his gaze met yours, time itself seemed to halt.

His expression softened, “Oh?” He rose to his feet, brushing off nonexistent dust from his coat. “I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

You took a step back instinctively, but he was already approaching.

“You look well” he murmured, eyes scanning you as if memorizing every detail. “This place suits you.”

“Phainon…”

“How…?” The question barely made it past your lips.

“How did I find you?” he finished for you, his smile deepening. “Come now, you know the answer to that.”

Of course, you did. He had never been the type to let go of something he wanted.

“Why are you here?” you asked, though you already knew.

“To take you back.”

The children, blissfully unaware of the weight in the air, tugged at his sleeve, asking if he would play another round of their game. He chuckled, indulging them for just a moment longer before returning his attention to you.

“I’ve been very patient” he said, “But you’ve had your fun, haven’t you? A few years of pretending to be someone else, living a quiet life in hiding.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear.

“But you belong with me.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to stay calm. The river murmured beside you, its steady rhythm grounding you against the storm that had just arrived in your life.

“I’m not going back” you said, keeping your voice even. “I built a life here. A normal, happy life.”

Phainon hummed as if considering your words, but the knowing glint in his eyes never faded. “A happy life, is it?” He glanced around at the quiet village in the distance, at the carefree children still playing near the water. “I see. It’s charming. Simple. Safe.” His gaze flickered back to you, sharper now. “But is it really yours?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been pretending.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Haven’t you?” He stepped closer, and you resisted the urge to back away. “You came here running, hiding, trying to erase the parts of yourself that didn’t fit into this little picture-perfect village. But you can’t change who you are.”

“Even if I wanted to return—which I don’t—you’re not just expecting me to go back to that world, to the academy, to the annoying people?” You studied him, searching for an answer you already knew. “You want me to stay by your side.”

You exhaled, “I deserve to be where I choose.”

“Then prove it.”

“…What?”

Phainon gestured around, as if presenting the village itself. “You say you belong here. That this life is what you truly want. So, I’ll stay.” He smiled, voice light but unmistakably firm. “I’ll see it for myself.”

“If you’re right,” he continued smoothly, “then I’ll leave. I’ll never bring this up again.”

A lump formed in your throat. You knew him too well—Phainon never agreed to something without confidence in the outcome.

“But if I’m right…Then you’re coming home with me.”

“Fine.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

----

Phainon blended in effortlessly.

He smiled at the villagers, greeted them politely, and answered their curious questions with practiced ease. They saw a charming, well-mannered traveler—someone elegant yet approachable, someone who belonged in the outside world but was humble enough to appreciate their quiet life.

But you knew better. Every kind word, every gentle laugh, every playful interaction with the children—it was all a mask. A carefully crafted act.

Because beneath that smile, Phainon hated them.

He hated the way they spoke to you like you were one of them. Hated the way they relied on you, trusted you, called you their own. Hated that you had given them years of your life—years that should have been his.

And worst of all, he hated that you thought they were your home.

You kept a close eye on him as he spent his first day in the village.

He helped an elderly woman carry a basket of vegetables from the market. Listened to the local blacksmith talk about his craft with genuine-seeming interest. Even played with the children again, letting them tug at his sleeves and drag him into their games.

And yet, you could see it.

The slight hesitation before he let them touch him. The way his fingers twitched, as if suppressing the urge to recoil. The empty warmth in his voice when he praised them.

To anyone else, he was nothing but kind.

His patience was razor-thin.

This was a test—for you, for them.

He was waiting. Waiting for the moment you would finally realize what he already knew. That these people weren’t your home. That this place wasn’t enough for you.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped into the horizon, you found Phainon sitting outside the small cottage you called home. He looked up at you with a smile, a book resting on his lap.

“How was your day?” he asked, as if this was normal, as if he hadn’t just invaded the life you built.

“I should be asking you that.”

He chuckled. “The village is… charming.”

“They’re good people” you said carefully.

“Are they?”... I’ll admit, it’s impressive how long you lasted here”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m still here.”

“For now.”

----

The scent of fresh flowers filled the small shop, delicate petals brushing against your fingers as you arranged the newest bouquet. It was peaceful here—one of the few places in the village where you could find solace. A quiet, colorful haven where no one expected too much from you.

But today, peace was a fleeting thing.

Because Phainon was here.

Seated gracefully near the counter, he idly turned a flower between his fingers, the picture of effortless charm. The sunlight filtering through the window caught the silver strands of his hair, highlighting the striking contrast of his sharp, elegant features.

And, of course, the ladies noticed.

They had been stopping by all morning, some of them customers, others just looking for an excuse to linger. They giggled, twirled strands of their hair, asked far too many questions about him.

Phainon, as always, indulged them.

He smiled, listened with amused interest, even complimented them in that smooth, easy tone of his. It was effortless—just like back in the academy days, when people gravitated toward him like moths to a flame.

You exhaled sharply, setting down the bouquet you had been working on.

“I must say” one of the women giggled, resting a hand on the counter as she looked at Phainon through her lashes, “you don’t seem like a traveler at all. You carry yourself like someone of noble blood.”

Phainon chuckled, twirling the flower in his hand. “Do I?”

You didn’t miss the amusement in his tone.

If only they knew.

Another woman leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Are you staying long? It would be a shame if someone like you just disappeared.”

“I suppose that depends.”

His gaze flickered toward you for just a second—so brief no one else would’ve caught it. But you did.

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet’s stems.

He wanted to see how you would react. If you would push him away. If you would feel something. So you said nothing. You grabbed a pair of scissors, focused on trimming the leaves, and ignored him entirely.

The women kept fawning over him, unaware of the silent tension beneath the surface. And through it all, Phainon smiled.

But you knew him too well.

Beneath that easy charm, there was something sharper. A quiet, unspoken warning.

By the third day, the village had fully embraced Phainon as a welcome guest. His charm and helpful demeanor had won over the villagers, and they spoke of him with admiration. But beneath his courteous exterior, a storm was brewing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village, Phainon approached you with a serene smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It's time to end this charade"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Return with me, or face the consequences."

Swallowing your fear, you shook your head. "I won't go back. This is my home now."

Phainon's smile faded entirely, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "Very well."

Without another word, he raised his hand, and a surge of energy crackled through the air. Flames erupted from the thatched roof of a nearby cottage, quickly spreading as villagers screamed and scrambled to extinguish the fire.

"Stop!" you cried, reaching out instinctively.

Phainon turned to you, his eyes devoid of mercy. "This is just the beginning. For every day you refuse to come with me, more of this village will burn."

Tears blurred your vision as you watched the chaos unfold. The people who had taken you in, who had become your family, were now suffering because of you.

"Please," you whispered, voice trembling. "Don't hurt them."

He stepped closer, gently cupping your face with a hand that had just wrought destruction. "Then make the right choice. Come with me, and they will be spared."

Defeated and broken, you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'll go with you."

"Good. We leave at dawn."

As he walked away, you fell to your knees, the weight of your decision crushing your spirit. The village would survive, but at the cost of your freedom.

The journey back was quiet.

You sat beside Phainon in the carriage, staring out the window as the village faded into the distance. A hollow ache settled in your chest, your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

You had fought so hard to stay. To build something for yourself.

And yet, here you were.

Dragged back to the place you ran from.

The silence was suffocating, but Phainon seemed completely at ease. He sat comfortably across from you.

Finally, you exhaled sharply, unable to hold it in any longer. “Why?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why what?”

“Why me? You’re—you’re Phainon. Talented. Admired.” You forced yourself to look at him. “You could have anyone. People worship the ground you walk on. So why are you wasting your time with someone like me?”

For a brief moment, Phainon simply studied you, as if the question itself was absurd.

“You truly don’t understand, do you?”

“Understand what?”

“You are mine. You were meant to be by my side.”

“That’s not—”

“You say I could have anyone.” His smile widened, amusement glinting in his eyes. “You’re right. But I don’t want anyone else.”

His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, enough to make your pulse spike.

“I want you.”

Phainon exhaled through his nose, his usual composed demeanor slipping just a little.

“You always do this” he murmured, shaking his head as if disappointed. “You keep pushing me away like I’m some foolish child chasing after something fleeting.”

His fingers slid away from your wrist.

“I thought you understood me better than that.”

“I don’t understand you at all.”

Phainon’s lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned back against the seat, regarding you with something unreadable.

“Do you remember,” he started, “that day in the alchemy class? When you nearly blew us both up?”

“What…?”

“You misread the measurements, mixed the wrong ingredients.” His gaze darkened, but there was no malice in it. Just something strangely… fond. “And instead of panicking, instead of trying to shift the blame like most people would, you just—” He let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. “You just looked at me with guilt and then laughed to brush it off.”

You had laughed. Not because it was funny, but because you were so used to failing.

“That was the first time in years someone had laughed with me. Not to impress me. Not to get my attention.”

You glanced away, unsure what to say.

But Phainon wasn’t finished.

“And then there was that time during flight practice.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You were terrible.”

Your lips parted, indignant. “I wasn’t that bad—”

“You crashed into a tree.”

You winced. Okay, maybe you were that bad.

Phainon exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I should have been annoyed. It was a waste of time, and you dragged me down with you.” He lowered his hand, his eyes locking onto yours again. “But instead, I found myself fascinated.”

“Wait- Why?”

His lips parted, then closed again, as if choosing his words carefully. And then, finally—

“Because you weren’t afraid to be imperfect.”

“You struggled. You failed. You made mistakes.” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “But you never let that stop you. You never pretended to be something you weren’t.”

“I grew up surrounded by people who only showed me what they thought I wanted to see. People who wore their own masks, desperate to be flawless, desperate to be noticed.” His jaw clenched. “But you… you never tried to be anything but yourself.”

His fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for you.

“And I—” He exhaled, almost shakily. “I couldn’t look away.”

The carriage fell into silence.

The weight of Phainon’s confession hung between you, suffocating in its intensity. His words should have meant something—should have been enough to prove he wasn’t just chasing an illusion.

And yet, your hands still trembled in your lap.

Because no matter how much he thought he loved you—

It was still wrong.

“So what?” you whispered, voice hoarse. “Just because you like those things about me, you think that justifies everything?”

Phainon’s brows furrowed slightly.

“You burned my home, Phainon.” You clenched your jaw, trying to keep the anger from breaking into something weaker. “You threatened innocent people just to get me back. That isn’t love. That’s—”

His hand lashed out, gripping your wrist before you could recoil. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you felt the unspoken don’t you dare finish that sentence.

His usual composed mask cracked—just slightly, just enough to reveal something darker beneath the surface.

“I did what I had to do.” His voice was quiet, almost calm, but there was a tremor beneath it. A barely-contained storm. “You left me. You threw yourself away like you were nothing. Like we were nothing.” His fingers tightened, just a fraction. “And I wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“Wasn’t it?”

His other hand came up, brushing against your cheek—“You think I could just let you go? Just sit back and watch while you buried yourself in a life that was never meant for you?”

His fingers curled, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look into his eyes.

“You think I could ever be okay with that?”

Your throat went dry. Because this was it. The moment he stopped pretending.

“You belong with me.” His voice dropped lower, “You always have. And I don’t care how long it takes—how much you fight, how many times you try to run.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting against your skin.

“I will always bring you back.”

You knew you couldn’t fight him head-on—not now, not when he was stronger, more prepared. But you had to try.

So you made your move.

With a sharp twist of your wrist, magic surged through your veins. The carriage around you blurred, the air crackling as you poured everything into a single desperate spell— Escape.

The moment your body flickered out of existence, you reappeared outside, stumbling onto the forest road. You didn’t wait. You ran.

Twigs snapped beneath your feet as you pushed forward, lungs burning. The wind howled past your ears, the distant hoot of an owl the only sound in the otherwise eerie silence.

A presence loomed behind you.

A hand seized your wrist.

Your entire body jerked backward as a grip yanked you off your feet. A sharp gasp tore from your throat as you collided with something solid.

The scent of embers and something faintly sweet filled your senses.

“Really now,” Phainon’s voice drawled “Did you honestly think you could get away?”

You thrashed, kicking, clawing—anything to loosen his hold—

But his grip only tightened, effortlessly caging you against him.

“You already knew how this would end.”

“No—! Put me down—!”

“Now, now,” Phainon mused, carrying you effortlessly through the forest as if you weren’t fighting him with every ounce of your strength. “If you didn’t resist this much…”

His fingers trailed up your back, sending a sharp chill through you.

“I’d go easy on you.”

The moment Phainon’s home came into view, dread twisted in your stomach. The towering walls loomed over you, the polished stone gleaming beneath the moonlight. Once, this place had simply been part of the academy grounds. Now, it felt more like a prison.

And you were being dragged back inside.

The heavy doors shut behind you with a thud that might as well have been the slamming of a cage. Phainon finally set you down, but his grip never left your wrist. You yanked at it instinctively, but he only pulled you closer, forcing you to face him.

“You’ve tired yourself out,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as if you weren’t staring at him in outright defiance. “You should rest.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to leave.”

“And where would you go? Back to that village?” A quiet scoff. “Do you think they’d still want you after what happened?”

He was wrong. They wouldn’t blame you. They couldn’t. But his words still wormed their way into your thoughts, planting doubt where there shouldn’t have been any.

“You see? There’s nowhere else for you, love. The world out there doesn’t deserve you. It never did.”

Your hands trembled. “That doesn’t mean you do.”

“You can fight me” he murmured. “You can scream, run, struggle. But it won’t change anything. Because in the end, I will always find you.”

“I will always bring you back.”

And as he leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from your ear, he whispered—

“So stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

[revelboo]

How are Grimlock and his human doing?

Shiver Pt 5

Grimlock x Reader

• Venting as he watches you dragging a tiny chair closer to the door, but still firmly on the inside of the cabin, he knows you’re scared of him. This is the best compromise he’s going to get until he proves to you that he’s not a threat. Gets it even as it bothers him. Knows you both know he can get to you if he wants to, but you’re calmer hiding inside the cabin and you’re talking to him. That’s all that matters, letting the sound of your voice soothe him. Letting him think. Try to remember. “Okay,” you say, looking out the open door at where he’s lying on the ground just outside to be able to see you. “We’ve been talking all morning, maybe-”

• “Talk,” he insists, visor brightening as he watches your every move with predatory interest. So much for asking for a break. You’ve never been super chatty and you’ve already told him about your work in painstaking detail, your family, your home. What else are you supposed to talk about? And he growls when you get up again and fetch your backpack. Skin prickling as the cabin creaks while you dig out a protein bar and return to your chair.

• “See this? I have two more of these and half a bottle of water.” Voice indignant as you tear at the packaging of the tiny object, he vents when you take a bite. That’s your fuel? Tiny like you are. “I’m going to need food and water soon. I need to go home.” And he’s rumbling softly, hooking a servo against the doorframe. Does the structure really need this wall? It’d be better without it, but you tense when he messes with it, so he stills. “I can’t talk to you if I starve to death.”

• “Grimlock hunt,” he growls and you freeze. Hunt what? The cabin creaks when he pushes up slightly and reaches to shut the door with a firm “you stay.” Staggering upright, you make it to the window in time to watch him go from giant robot to giant dinosaur. Thunderous footsteps quick as he darts into the woods with surprising speed for something so big. Heart racing, you lunge for your backpack, pulling it on and shoving the door open, running in the opposite direction. How long until Grimlock catches something and returns to find you gone?

• Has no idea what humans eat, but with those blunt little teeth you must be a herbivore. That thing you were eating didn’t seem to be meat. He’s seen humans growing things in fields nearby. That must be human food. He’ll fetch you some and you’ll be happy and talk to him. Tail swaying as he shoulders smaller trees out of his way, he’s alert. Remembering that the Insecticons had encroached into his territory hunting. Needs to be quick so you’re not left alone too long while they’re in the area, because they’ll eat anything. You included.

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[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize, Part 6 (Yan Alpha!Shanks x Omega!Reader)

18+ MDNI | On Ao3

All the other chapters

TW: Violence towards the end.

Despite a tightening in your chest at the idea of being on a strange island, you couldn’t resist the excitement that bubbled up in you at the concept of being on solid ground again. You had assumed Shanks would flake on his promise to you once you came back to your senses and you searched his face for any signs of this being a trick.. You were fairly sure that it wasn’t a test but prior experience had made you wary of accepting too readily. Shanks waited for you to speak with soft eyes as he held your hands in his. The two of you were standing in his cabin, the door open to air out the scent of sweat and heat as the ship bobbed gently in the water in the rays of the morning sun.

“So what about it, Little Omega? You want to check out the island? I’m not sure what’s around, we’ve never docked here before -”

“We have, a few times actually,” Benn called from out on the deck as he walked past the open door to the cabin, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips.

“We have docked here, a few times actually,” Shanks corrected himself with a bright smile, his red hair falling into his face in an almost endearing way. You gave a small smile back at his foolishness and his eyes shone brighter at the sight.

“You know, that’s the first time you’ve smiled at me outside of heat,” he said as he ran a thumb over the back of your hand. You ducked your head as your cheeks heated at being called out so bluntly. But it also made you wonder what he meant by outside of heat. Had you been so happy during your fucked out phase that you smiled frequently? You considered questioning him on it but you had learned your place on Kid’s ship. You answered his question instead as you did your best to push your concerns away.

“Yes, please, I’d like to visit the island,” you stated and hoped your tone was deferential enough for him not to take it as sass. 

“Lovely! There’s nothing more fun than a day trip. We’ll get food on the island too, I’ll go grab some cash from Benn’s cabin. Let’s get moving,” he said as he turned and pulled you along behind him. You kept your eyes on the floor while you followed along meekly, too embarrassed to make eye contact with the crew on deck. After your heat abated, some of the crew had come back to the ship to sleep or gather belongings. Of course, they knew what transpired, it wasn’t like it was a secret, but it still made you feel self conscious to know they’d all been kicked off the ship because you had copious amounts of sex with their Captain. It seemed like Shanks did not have any of the same lingering shame that you did and carried himself as he always did. He was even wearing his Emperor’s cloak that you had in your nest through your heat, though he did wash it thankfully. Shanks pulled you to the middle of the deck while he continued on the way to Benn’s cabin.

“Stay right there, I’ll be back in a moment. Unless Benn changed the locks to his safe again, then it’ll take me a few minutes to pick them,” he called out as he left you standing near the main mast. Left on your own for the first time in days, you shifted your weight from foot to foot and looked down at your feet. You were still wearing Shanks’s far too large clothes rolled up at the wrists and ankles along with being barefooted. Luckily the fair weather made it easy to tolerate the breezy clothing until Shanks purchased proper clothing for you. You stilled when you heard footsteps approaching you and a familiar pair of shoes made their appearance in your field of sight. 

“Hiya,” Hongo said as he stopped in front of you. You weren’t sure how much Shanks wanted you to engage with his crew but, he had allowed Hongo near you in the past.

“Hi,” you rasped quietly with your eyes still trained on his boots, waiting for the Beta to tell you what he wanted.

“Look up please,” Hongo requested in a clinical tone. You immediately raised your head but were careful to avoid eye contact. You flinched back when he reached for you, old memories rising to the surface as your back hit the mast behind you.

“It’s alright, I just need to do a quick assessment. Quite the heat, no?” he said conversationally as you felt a familiar warmth crawl across your face. You gave a small nod in response as he tilted your head to look at the old bite. “Looks better, maybe healed faster during a heat with a new Alpha. I read that can happen sometimes, kind of interesting,” he hummed to himself while he ran a finger over the stitches. You heard rumbling in the background that pulled a laugh from Hongo.

“ ‘S alright Cap. Just checking her old bite before your date,” Hongo said before he removed his fingers from your skin. A familiar scent wafted to your nose as Shanks’s arm came to rest on your shoulders. You could still hear the rumbling from his chest but it subsided as his fingers drummed on the column of your neck, pulling you closer to Shanks’s chest. You peeked up at the large Alpha and felt your skin start to crawl at the sight of Shanks’s smile. It wasn’t the bright one that he had given you before that had the skin by his eyes crinkling, his stiff jaw and hard eyes making his expression look almost feral. You fought the urge to cower but Hongo just laughed again as your anxiety wound tighter.

It didn’t feel like the time to ask if this was a date or what your relationship with Shanks actually was. The questions concerning your next move or whether you would stay were something you’d been turning over in your mind since your heat started to wane. Yes, the Emperor had saved you from Kid and taken you from the ship before sinking it. He’d also helped you physically and guided you through your first heat, but you weren’t sure what that meant for the future. He hadn’t given you a claiming bite so you were technically still free. Shanks had also mentioned that you couldn’t reintegrate into society but, maybe he would be open to setting you free if you negotiated some kind of quid pro quo. You couldn’t be completely alone again but maybe there was some kind of alternative to being with Shanks on the seas. You didn’t hate Shanks, but you didn’t love him either. You’d gone unwillingly from one Alpha to another and you wanted to regain some of your independence that you’d worked so long to maintain.

“Gotta work on that jealousy, ‘s not gonna help you,” Hongo teased Shanks while taking another step back. Shanks huffed but the tension between the men eased as you snapped back to attention. Shanks’ arm tightened around you and he kissed the top of your head for good measure before you both started walking towards the dinghy that would take you to shore.

A short boat ride and walk later, you were strolling down the main boardwalk of the island with your hand still tucked within Shanks’s larger one. He hadn’t let it go and you hadn’t pulled it away, the familiar weight and warmth bringing you comfort. The marketplace was charming but it was overwhelming to be on land near so many strangers after months of being at sea with only a small group of people. On top of the bustle of the crowd, everything seemed to be intent on assaulting your senses as the smells and sounds of the market were more vivid than you remembered. You’d passed the trinket section before you neared the food stalls near the beach but everything was taking much longer than you’d expected. The villagers and vendors were excited to see the Emperor and often stopped him for small talk while you stood there silently. 

Shanks, thankfully, never made you speak nor did he try to show you off. When people tried to address you or offer you some of their wares, Shanks allowed you to hide behind him like the coward you felt yourself to be. You felt the back of your neck prickle like someone was watching you and that every movement was being tracked. You weren’t able to catch anyone in the act but it felt like eyes were always on you, even without Shanks bestowing his attention on you. 

Shanks had offered to buy you something to eat but you’d declined - the scents had grown to be almost nauseating and a headache had begun its steady throb across your temples. You didn’t remember everything being so much when you were on Beta Island. As you passed a particularly odorous food stall, you nearly gagged and had to use a hand to cover your mouth with Shanks’s sleeve to dilute the stench.

“You alright, Love?” Shanks asked as he quizzically looked between you and the food stall. They were selling taiyaki, which had been one of your favorite foods on your old island. Now the pungent odor of the sizzling oil and red bean paste made your stomach roll. You nodded in response but you kept your mouth covered with his shirt. Shanks’s eyebrows knitted together before he pulled you into a nearby alley away from prying eyes. Fresh air was still in short supply with the plethora of smells and scents so, you crouched down and put your head between your hands. 

You felt yourself get pulled into Shanks’s lap as the Emperor sat on the dirty ground of the alley, his hand gentle as he massaged your neck while his strong arm pulled you to his chest. You leaned into his familiar touch and brought your nose to the crook of his warm neck to inhale his scent. It calmed you more than you were expecting and you were able to take more deep breaths of his strong Alpha scent. His musk replaced the cloying smells of the market and your body grew slack as the pounding in your head receded. It felt like he was cocooning you against the real world, the only thing you needed was your Alpha to help guide you through your troubles.

“ ‘M sorry, not sure what’s wrong with me,” you mumbled into his skin as you pressed yourself into his scent glands. A niggling desire in you had you wanting to bite them but the thought was shooed away as soon as it appeared.

“Hongo said it might take you some time to adjust to normal now that you’re not on suppressants. It’s alright, we can take it easy. We’ll sit here for as long as you need,” he replied softly while his hand continued to rub slow circles on your neck. You nodded and his scent washed over you to soothe your aches as you scooted even closer to Shanks. Maybe you could see a future that included Shanks, you thought as you laid your head against his collarbones.

Shanks POV

All too soon the little Omega opened her eyes and showed she was ready to continue the trip when she pushed herself back from Shanks’s neck. Shanks allowed her room to stand up before did the same himself and settled his hand on the small of her back to guide her back to the marketplace. He usually enjoyed meeting the people in his territory and hearing about their lives. Shanks took pride in his people being happy and his most common way to spend time on islands was to plop down in some tavern and socialize. The laughter and conversation often became boisterous with the people who would come and go as they bought him drinks all day long. 

This time the experience differed as a strange itch caused by the little Omega grew under his skin. She wasn’t doing anything to upset him with her timid nature; she would hide behind him as he spoke with vendors and citizens. Shanks suspected it was the lack of claiming bite on her neck that bothered him and it made him set his usual carefree behavior to the side. She wasn’t bound to him in any true way, even though she clung to his hand like a life preserver as they wound their way through the stalls. Shanks could claim her at any time but it was said that a bond made during a heat cycle was the strongest of all and the least likely to reject. When he claimed the Omega it would be done properly.

Shanks had spoken to Hongo, who had started researching ways to bring the Omega into heat faster than her cycle would normally call for. Hongo wasn’t sure exactly when the Omega would go into heat again since it was already beyond irregular, so he didn’t think it would be a bad idea to force it into some kind of regular rhythm with medication. There weren’t a lot of medical resources available for Omegas but Shanks had faith in his crew’s abilities to perform the jobs he requested of them. He would claim her once the Omega went into heat again and, they’d both feel much more comfortable with their place in the world. Shanks’ thoughts continued to paw through possibilities as he led her towards the textile area of the market when you drew to a sudden halt.

“Look, they have a barber,” she said in her low tone. Shanks was curious about the voice she had lost but the permanent rasp in her voice never failed to send a shiver down his spine. He wouldn’t have let her change it even if she could. He peered in the direction she had turned her head and Shanks saw the familiar red and blue pole indicating a barber shop. 

“So they do,” Shanks said while he kept his tone carefully neutral. He mentally flipped through his current options and decided to acquiesce to her request as it could only benefit his attempts to build trust with her. “Would you still like to cut your hair?” he asked as he turned her to face him. The way her eyes brightened paired with the almost appearance of one of her rare smiles told him he made the right call. “After you, Darling,” he said before he opened the door to the bright interior.

“My Emperor! To what do we owe the surprise? Are we to be honored enough to cut the red hair off Red Haired Shanks?” A pudgy middle aged man called out and bowed deeply. Shanks sheepishly smiled at the man’s dramatic greeting before he moved the Omega to stand in front of him.  Her nose wrinkled at the scent of the antiseptic used for the combs as her eyes swept around the small, but neat, barbershop. A young man hovered by the barber and snapped to attention when Shanks came in. The barber smacked him out of his reverent stance before he sent him off on an errand, and the young boy skidded out the back door in his hurry.

“Ah, not for me, but would you mind cutting my Omega’s hair? She would like a trim,” he stated as she looked down at herr feet and wiggled her still bare toes. 

“O-of course, dear Emperor. Please, please have a seat,” the man hurriedly said as he ushered the Omega into a barber’s chair and Shanks into the one next to it. “Unless, er, perhaps you would like her to sit with you? I apologize, sir, I’ve never encountered an Omega before. I’m not sure what the rules of engagement are and I don’t want to -” Shanks laughed and clapped the barber on the shoulder lightly.

“Not to worry friend, I know you mean no harm. Besides, my Omega can bear to be without my touch for a few moments,” he said, tossing his sweet Omega a grin. She returned his grin with a blank face but nodded, the addition of a stranger having brought back her silence. The barber looked over the condition of her hair as he sprayed it down with water. She flinched at the feel of the soft spray against her skin and gripped the arms of the chair as she did her best to ignore the barber’s movements. Shanks reached out to soothe her and stroked her hand, sorry he hadn’t thought to warn her about the water. Shanks considered the overgrown mane she currently sported as he sat back in his chair. Shanks was loath for the entire length to go since he wanted most of it to remain for her next heat. Still, he wanted her trust in him to grow so he reasoned a small trim would be enough to mollify her .  

“And how would you like her hair cut, Emperor?” the barber queried as he brushed out the Omega’s hair. 

“I think cutting off the dead ends would be best, yes?” Shanks called out as he rested one foot over his knee. The Omega had opened her mouth to say something but had closed it as Shanks responded for her. The barber didn’t ask her opinion of the Alpha’s request and she didn’t offer it as he began to cut quite a few inches off the ends of her hair. It was still long enough for him to wrap around his fist, so it would be okay. The young boy came back with a cold six pack of beer which he presented to the Emperor with a flourish.

“That’s awfully kind of you, thanks, kid,” Shanks said with a grin as he took one of the bottles. He popped the top off with Gryphon’s hilt and the metal cap clinked to the floor. “Would you like one too?” The kid looked at the barber who issued him a parent’s silent command with a wide eyed look and a firm nod.

“O-of course, Emperor, thank you,” the young man said while he grabbed one for himself.

“And one for Dad too, yeah?” Shanks said and tossed another at the boy. The kid caught it with a broad smile which Shanks returned with the same enthusiasm. Shanks could feel it in his bones that this kid was a troublemaker. The boy opened his father’s bottle and set it on the counter as the older man worked on the Omega’s hair.

“Whatcha want to do when you get older, kid?” Shanks asked before he took a swig from his bottle. 

“I’m gonna leave this island and become a pirate!” The young man proclaimed and thumped his chest. The older man clenched his jaw hard enough to make his salt and pepper mustache wiggle but stayed silent.

“Is that so? You think you have what it takes?” Shanks continued to drink as he teased the young boy. 

“Yeah, I do! I’m strong, brave, and I wanna be free!” He exclaimed and did his best to mimic Shanks’ casual way of drinking. He made a face after his sip but Shanks was content to let him have his moment. 

“Being a pirate is the ultimate freedom, it’s true. Nothin’ like it,” Shanks mused and polished off his beer with a final swig. The Omega’s cut was nearly done, the barber now fussing over her hairstyle as he ran the brush through her slightly shorter hair. 

“What do you think, Emperor?” the barber asked and turned her to face Shanks. He had a mirror near the back of her head to conveniently show Shanks the complete cut without having to turn her around again. 

“Lovely as ever, wonderful job,” Shanks replied as the Omega stood up and softly touched her hair before she pulled it forward to see the results. Shanks pulled some beri out of his pocket and handed it to the kid.

“See ya on the seas,” Shanks said with a wink. The kid blushed so hard Shanks thought he was going to pass out as the two of you left the shop.

Your POV

You tried to get a look at your haircut via the glass as you left the barber shop, still being pulled along by Shanks. You weren’t able to see the back but then again, you weren’t asked what you had wanted anyway. Additionally, Shanks hadn’t offered you a beer out of the six pack or even asked if you were thirsty. You pressed your lips into a thin as you cataloged the various slights but did your best to ignore them as you continued down the sidewalk.

“Ready to go clothes shopping, Love? Bet you’re tired of wearing my stuff,” Shanks asked as he looked down at you, his arm around your shoulder. The sidewalk you were on had few people, the streets had cleared out for people to take their midday break. You nodded and after a few minutes of walking in silence, Shanks guided you to a women’s clothing store and held the door open for you. The racks of premade clothes, the bright lights, and the scents of lotions and perfumes were a lot for you to take in. You took a step back into Shanks, who simply kissed the top of your head as salespeople began to swarm you and the Emperor.

“We’re in need of women’s clothing, bring us a selection,” Shanks boomed out to the employees in the store. He wasn’t trying to be rude or intimidating but the nicely dressed Betas looked at one another before they gave you an assessing once over. They dispersed to all sections of the large store in a flurry, some going for shoes, others for dresses, shirts, pants, anything you could ever want. The nicest dressed man of them all calmly approached Shanks with his palms up in supplication. As he neared you noticed that the thin man’s upper lip was beaded with perspiration despite the cool temperature of the store.

“Emperor, I am Kuro, and this is our humble establishment. Please allow us to serve you and your Omega to the best of our abilities. To that end, would you prefer to observe from our comfortable couches while the Omega tries on our wares?” he said with a simpering tone and adjusted his circle framed glasses with his long fingers. You didn’t like the reedy man- while the barber had also only addressed Shanks, the salesman felt slimier somehow to you and you fought the urge to recoil further into Shanks. His scent was amiss too, but it was difficult to discern why it smelt wrong with so many perfumes in the air. Shanks didn't seem to notice anything odd and guided you down the hallway towards the dressing rooms in the back of the store. There was a large cushy couch in front of a coffee table, laden with champagne, hard alcohol and canapes that was adjacent to the try on rooms.

“It’ll be like a fashion show, pick what you want and show me how it looks,” Shanks suggested as you gripped the velvet of his cloak. Your gut told you that being seperated from him was a bad idea though you couldn’t articulate why. He glanced down at your fist clamped on his cloak and he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here the whole time,” he reassured you as he gently pried your fingers off, and sank down into the couch before he kicked his feet up on the pristine table.

You walked to the changing area while the slender man held the door open for you, three saleswomen already bringing you armfuls of clothes. You were practically pushed into one of the stalls as saleswomen handed you assorted items to try on. Some underwear and a bra were the first items pressed into your hands before they herded you towards the private changing room. You closed the door and removed Shanks’s clothes, taking care to fold them neatly and place them on the small chair inside the dressing room. You put on the underwear, thankful to whoever thought about it. Even if you bought nothing else in the store, at least you’d have some coverage now.

You used the next few minutes to look over your haircut in the floor length mirror since you hadn’t had a chance to get a good look yet. It was alright, you supposed, but it wasn’t really what you wanted. You had wanted it really short, above your shoulders but this was more of a trim that kept your hair longer. Maybe you would be able to convince Shanks another time, you thought as you frowned at the strand you held between your fingers. 

Turning your gaze to the mountain of clothes set out for you, you picked up the first shirt from the pile. It was more feminine than you tended to prefer, the cut designed to hug your body rather than the baggier clothes you usually wore. In fact, if Shanks’s clothes had been closer to your size, you and the Emperor could match every day. You liked large, breezy garments that allowed for movement and ease of mobility without showing off your body. Maybe there would be something else for you in the growing piles outside the dressing rooms.

“How’s it going in there?” Shanks yelled from the lounging area. With a small sigh, you grabbed the first pair of pants you saw from the pile as well and barely gave yourself a glance in the mirror as you pulled them on. They hugged your curves and clung to your legs in a way that left little to the imagination to your immense dislike. You opened the white painted wooden door, the scent of fresh paint strong in your nose. But it wasn’t strong enough to hide the faint odor of a Beta somewhere close to the small changing room. You hadn’t heard any footsteps going to any of the other dressing rooms and an alarm rang in your head as the proximity of the smell fully registered with you.

You nearly ran down the hallway that separated you from the Emperor to the lounge area. Shanks gave you a whistle and moved his finger in a stirring motion, so you obediently turned in a slow circle to show off the whole outfit. It was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to you but that didn’t make it any less demeaning as Shanks shamelessly ran his eyes down your body. The closeness of the unseen Beta made your skin prickle while a cold sweat began to dot your forehead. Your instincts screamed at you that something was wrong and you wanted to leave, now .

“Love it, get the outfit if you want,” Shanks said while he emptied a flute of champagne. “Try on some dresses too,” he suggested before he set down the glass to grab some hors d'oeuvres. You sat down next to him on the couch and gripped his knee as the salespeople looked at one another.

“Sh-shanks, there’s someone there,” you whispered to him. He smiled at you and wiped his hand on his shirt, then he settled his hand on top of your own in a failed attempt to placate you.

“Love, there’s a lot of people here. Are the scents too strong or-”

“Is everything alright here? May I refresh your beverage Emperor?” Kuro, just beyond your reach. Your eyes bounced between him and Shanks as your throat threatened to close from fear.

“N-no, there’s someone in the changing room, I could smell them as I came out. Please, please d-don’t make me go back there,” you begged while you gripped his pants with your fists. Shanks’s smile dropped as his gaze tightened at your frightened plea. He looked as much the Emperor as he had been the first night you’d met him and you shrank back from him on the couch. He stilled for a moment as his eyes seemed to focus on something you couldn’t see.

Before you could react Shanks whipped towards Kuro and sank his fangs into the thin man’s neck. Kuro’s garbled wail was replaced by the sickening sound of tearing flesh and sinew as Shanks ripped out his throat and spat it on the floor. The hunk of flesh landed on the now bloodied floor with a wet smack that broke you out of your frozen state. You opened your mouth to scream in horror but nothing came out as you watched the blood drip from the Emperor’s mouth. Shanks seemed unphased when he pushed the now dying man over, where he slumped on the floor as blood gurgled out of the open wound in a steady gush. 

“Bad outcome,” Shanks stated as he wiped the blood still dripping from his fangs onto his cloak. You responded to the gore just as you had on the Victoria Punk; you closed your eyes, covered your ears, and curled as small as you could. 

Shanks POV

Shanks sensed there would be a problem at the clothing store even before they entered. Something wasn’t hadn’t been quite right and Shanks had spent enough years on the sea to know to listen to his gut. Still, his Omega needed clothes and if Shanks couldn’t protect her from whatever it was, she’d be dead either way. So he’d allowed himself to be lured to the couch, drank the champagne, and pretended to be interested in whatever the pirate was trying to sell him. Better to play along while she was out of sight and keep his ears pricked for signs of trouble than potentially put her in worse danger.  

 When she returned from trying on her outfit, his fangs elongated of their own volition at the sight of her. He made sure to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible while he took in her tense posture and pale face before he beckoned her closer. He stiffened when he heard her hushed warning about a Beta lurking near the dressing room and allowed his future sight to wash over him.  

A searing rage erupted in him at what was intended for the Omega. The store, though it did sell clothes, was a front for a slaving operation led by the main salesman, Kuro. Kuro had heard that an unclaimed Omega was on the island and had already located a buyer willing to pay billions of beri for her. Kuro tried to separate you from Shanks as another pirate waited in your dressing room, ready to gag and restrain you and take you back through the secret door in the mirror. 

How Kuro was so arrogant to think he’d be able to take an Emperor’s Omega, Shanks didn’t know. What he did know was that seeing his sweet Omega bound and terrified in that vision, crying as someone kidnapped you again had his fangs in Kuro’s throat before he could think. The metallic tang of the Beta’s blood filled his mouth as he ripped out the pirate’s throat as easily as biting into a peach. The store erupted into chaos as blood gushed from their boss’s neck, the other slavers fleeing through secret exits as they screamed. Kuro’s body crumpled to the ground with a small shove, his final breaths a dull wheeze as his throat landed on the floor beside him.

When he turned to the Omega, she was curled up on the couch in a shaking ball. She cringed away from him when he put his hands on her and peeked her eyes open to peer at the Alpha. She put her hands up in front of her like Shanks was going to hurt her but didn’t bolt away. Pale and shaking, she whimpered as Shanks picked her up and left the store, passing Yasopp and Lime Juice on his way back to the marina.

“The clothing store’s a front for slavers. Find the people already taken, and free them. Still need women’s clothes from the store, bring some back to the ship. Deal with everyone else as you see fit,” Shanks said and jerked his head back towards the clothing store. As an Emperor, it was his duty to prevent slavery in his territories and to send a message that Red Haired Shanks wouldn’t allow his people to come to harm. The islands that flew his flag were under his protection and such behavior going on under his nose was an insult to his reputation. Shanks looked down at the still quivering Omega as she buried her face in his neck and her arms maintained a weak grip on his broad shoulders.

“Hey, nothing bad happened. It was going to, but I stopped it, yeah? I’ll always help you,” he murmured and placed a kiss on the top of her head as he walked her back through the market. The small gesture was one of his favorites, his way of showing you that he cared about you. The tenderness was tainted this time by the blood stains left in your hair from his face, your new cut now ruined. Shanks frowned but didn’t have another hand with which to wipe it off. 

She didn’t respond either, not that he expected her to. She’d been quiet all day, overwhelmed by your senses and struggling to readjust to life without suppressants like Hongo had said. Shanks guided her through it all, glad to be her safe harbor in stormy weather. He’d enjoyed caring for her, spending time with her, and showing her that there was still some fun to be had in the world. He was so proud that she had sought him out to help her when she needed it, showing how much more reliant on him she had already become.

“Love, look at me,” he requested in a quiet voice and gently nudged her head with his chin. She shook her head in a rare act of defiance and nestled further into him. Normally, Shanks would revel in this sensation, but he wanted to reassure her verbally. Shanks frowned at her behavior and repeated his request with a Command behind it.

“Love, look at me.”

She pulled back just enough to reveal her face as she glanced up at him through her eyelashes. She didn’t seem herself, even the overwhelmed or scared versions he’d already witnessed. Her eyes had a glazed, absent look like your mind was far off in some other place that Shanks couldn’t reach. Though he had arrived at the marina and could take the dinghy back to the Red Force, Shanks instead sat down on a bench facing the water with her on his lap. Her eyes were still trained on him as he’d told her to but that did nothing to distract him from the unsettling blankness behind them.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he Commanded. Shanks knew it wasn’t fair - Commands weren’t meant to be used to have Omegas express their thoughts or feelings - but Shanks needed insight, needed to know what to do to bring that light back into her eyes. After the Command registered, she finally came back from her thoughts. She blinked several times and bit her lips shut to try to avoid the compulsion to answer. All the while she still stared at Shanks, as if truly seeing him for the first time.

“I - I -...” she started before she clamped her mouth shut again. It broke his heart to see her so unsure and scared.

“No matter what you say, I won’t be mad. I promise,” he said while he ran his hand up and down her back in an attempt at reassurance. She was still in the new clothes you’d changed into from the clothing store and the diminished smell of him on her made his primal instincts scream in indignation. There really wasn’t anything she could say that would sway his love but he knew she needed a lot of support and gentle handling given your background.

“What’s my name?” She asked quietly, her gaze on the sea as she sat on his lap. 

“What’s that, Love?” Shanks asked in surprise at her simple question. He expected her to talk about the bloodshed, or his power, or how overwhelmed she was - anything but that.

“My name isn’t ‘Love.’ Do you know my real name?” She asked again in her deep voice. Shanks considered her for a moment before he flashed her a smile that made his scars wink across his face.

“Guess not! Didn’t ask you, huh? Oof, I feel like a real heel.” he said while he rubbed her cheek with his thumb in slow strokes. “I thought you were scared of what happened in the store but you’re just worrying about silly little -”

“It’s not silly,” she said with a blank face as she continued to look away from him. Shanks frowned as he shifted her closer to his chest and wrapped his arm around her middle. He had half a mind to Command her to stop her talking about this unimportant topic but he said he wouldn’t be upset by whatever she said. “I don’t - you treat me like….like I’m just an Omega,” you said in a small unwavering voice.

“You are an Omega, Love,” Shanks replied and his eyebrows knit together as the point of her statement missed him completely. Perhaps he should ask Hongo to better explain her designation, maybe knowing more would help her adjust to her new reality.

“I’m more than that. I’m a person first.”

“Of course. No one is saying you aren’t -”

“You don’t treat me like a person. You treat me like I’m an object, something to possess, a treasure -” Shanks’s eyes narrowed as his fingers tightened on her waist. He tried to collect his thoughts as they raced at her admonishment and express them in a way your frazzled mind would understand.

“Yes, you’re a treasure. You’re my treasure -”

“I don’t want to go back to the -”

“ Stop talking,” Shanks Commanded her, his jaw clenched hard enough for a vein to stand out in his neck even as he continued to hold her gently. Her mouth snapped shut as she avoided his gaze and she hunched her shoulders as she felt a rumble begin to vibrate along her back. Shanks wasn’t sure how much of what she’d said was because he compelled her but he didn’t want to hear the rest of those thoughts. How could she say she didn’t want to return to his ship, to return to him ? How could she reject him after all he’d done for her, trying to leave him after he’d just shown her how he would protect her, help her, guide her? The rumble that emanated from his chest was like a war cry, not the soothing purr she had become used to. Shanks wanted to roar his anger loud enough for other islands to hear it, to slice the island in two with Gryphon, to hide her away where she’d never be able to leave him again. 

Tears streamed down her face as you remained silent under his Command. She sniffled and tried her best not to move, her strong scent of fear now wafting towards Shanks in a biological gesture of supplication to soothe his ire. Her fingers were intertwined tightly enough to whiten her knuckles as she tried to self soothe. Shanks’s anger deflated as he took in her pathetic form while he looked down at her.

  Of course she didn’t want to go back to the ship , he thought, she was scared and confused. She probably had a flashback at the clothing store to her time with Kid and Shanks’s surge of possessive anger did little to help.  He belatedly realized he didn’t tell her why he ripped out that man’s throat in front of her. At this point she probably assumed he was prone to erratic and extreme violence like Kid had been. He sighed and unwound his hand from her side to reach for her face. She flinched as he cupped her cheek but didn’t pull back.

“Love, I know you’re having a hard time adjusting. I’m not going to hold any of what you said against you, like I promised. Haven’t I kept all my promises?” Shanks asked while he wiped away an errant tear. She did her best to not dislodge Shanks’s hand when she responded with a small nod.

“How can we separate? Those people were slavers - they wanted to sell you to a Celestial Dragon, they already had a buyer lined up. I had to get rid of Kuro to protect you and the other people they’d already taken,” he explained gently as she sniffled again.

“You need someone to protect you, to prevent things like that from happening again. If not Celestial Dragons, you’d end up with someone like Kaido or Big Mom. You wouldn’t want that, right?” She shook her head at his questions, as the reason why she had to remain with Shanks finally hit her. He felt a little guilty but he needed to drive the point home, to make her see that she needed to stay with him. 

“Besides, you can’t even walk around by yourself, right? Remember this morning when we had to take a break for you to smell me? We’re well on the way to bonded if you’re acting like that, it’s going to happen sooner or later. We’ll be bonded and we’ll settle down into a life of happiness together, yeah? Everything will be so much easier for us both. You need me just like I need you,” Shanks said in a low croon and turned her face toward his. “Look at me, little Omega,” he asked this time without a Command. Her red rimmed eyes met his own as he leaned down within a hair's breadth of her face.

“We were meant to be,” Shanks said before he captured her lips in a kiss that seared the reality of her future with him into her mind.

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog @mfreedomstuff @littlelovebug98 @hannya-writes @babi-lamb @sanjisleggy @princessuta061108 @twismare @iamrgo @littlelovebug98 @anonymousmuffinbear

[toniko]

brief words about impersonalization and Kim Soleum (spoilers up to 161

Kim Soleum rides such a hypocritical line between believing this is all a fictional world and the realness of this world. I really don’t blame him actually, the combination of toxic work culture and the base setting of him being transported into the world is like really numbing.

I mean the field exploration team uses masks that depict them as animals and as good of an item it is for exploration, that is one of the elements that dehumanizes them. It’s one thing for the groups to be split into the alphabet but it’s a whole different thing when you identify every employee by their group. You literally can not differentiate the employees in the logs (I mean look at that interview with Baek Saheon, this may be a bit of a bad example because I can see why anonymity would be kept here. Ah but it seems to be like that with every document? Mystery person here, mystery group here, finishing team). It’s awfully impersonal and while an interpretation of it just being useful code names is valid, in a profession with a high death rate, I doubt that’s the only reason. Oh yeah, highly expendable employees. But we can’t say we’re killing people, dare say individuals with their own entire lives and histories, so company employees sound a lot better. Everyone perpetuates it, it’s easy, team members die quickly and often, deal with it. Except not really right? Being human is to inherently care for your fellow human.

But hiring employees with looser personalities does help in that aspect. Capitalism win for the Daydream co. I guess. I have a small comment about how the Supernatural Management Bureau (now what is it called in the fan-translation? I’ll replace it someone let me know, I’m picking off namu wiki rn). It does purposely hire righteous but orderly folks but it seems both Agent Bronze & Choi are affected by past member deaths.

It feels like Kim Soleum keeps trying to draw a line and it doesn’t work. He says that he will have left before [big catastrophic event] but unconsciously forms attachments super quickly. I think his time away from the griptok and wiki is really making him accept the reality of these characters. Agent Choi’s survival gives Soleum a little brain blast acceptance that character’s fates really can change. Of course, didn’t it take a shockingly long time for that? I think it’s implication that he was still using the same excuse of them all being from a fictional world to shield his mentality. Gotta do what you gotta do Soleum.

He does all in his power to keep as many people alive (because he’s an empath 🙂‍↕️, we know) but the hangman game was obviously super personal.

btw I think Soleum has a bias in how he treats “named” characters as well. This is just my personal opinion, but the relationship with Lee Jaheon felt purposely professional up until recently (say 130s or so I think, I’m just rambling out), since Soleum inner monologue tended to emphasize the elements he remembered. The reader would notice that Lee Jaheon really does care a lot but you might have to dig through a couple of lizard and defeating darkness through force comments. It feels this stereotype he has of the named characters stick a lot longer! It makes sense, in the kind of format the original records were in, they were in fact character stereotypes to fill the semi-anthology esque story structure (would it be appropriate just to say SCP foundation?). Again, this divorce from the griptok is what I think a big contributor of his reality check is.

There’s also this uh, Baek Saheon in the room that I haven’t talked about. Probably the meanest thing Soleum does in this novel is bullying this guy lol. But that’s because Kim Soleum’s interpretation of him is so overblown and far in time compared to the current guy we know. At this point, I’d pin down Baek Saheon as a character that would maybe let someone die but wouldn’t kill them himself (yet). But that’s it, Kim Soleum having read so far into his story, operates with the assumption that he’s a comically evil bad guy. But this guy, all he does with his hypnosis pen is hide away like a mouse? Sorry for being a much more horrible person, I would’ve tried stealing his items but he was doing something so pointless even Braun didn’t think to let Soleum know (now is that a whole nother thing? Braun being more suspicious leading up to his darkness arc? Yeah.)

Braun being an all powerful ghost story entity btw without Kim Soleum having to mask his identity almost completely was like the total kryptonite of Soleum’s “I care too much about everyone’s lives but I can’t do that because they are all fictional but also alive”. Soleum isn’t against making relationships but he often calls Braun his only friend. Isn’t that a bit out of touch Soleum, I think there’s a couple of people who would find a friend in you.

J3, for example, who was looking for him after he went missing! Actually, color me a conspiracist but I think it’s much less a self esteem issue but a reaction of realizing the people he’s (trying to) push away actually like and care about him. I mean he’s trying to get out of this fictional world. He doesn’t want the people of this world to care about him, so he’s shocked at the revelation that they do. So I don’t think it’s out of a dislike of himself but in many ways, he’s forced to act unlike himself because of this world. Well anyway that’s just my opinion anyway…

some final personal (personal) thoughts down here…

Kim Soleum’s monologue drives me nuts. I know! That’s the whole novel! But it’s something like Baek Deoksu’s style, where I sit there and shake my head going “Young man, I know you’re playing tricks with me”. I mean seriously, it’s not a bad thing. Just don’t make me work hard every chapter hooo, I’m a lazy kind of guy yk read for fun and leisure. ghost story ooo so scary…

[keyboardsmashess]

The Siren, or The Heart of the Matter

Chapter Ten: The Run, or  To the Window, to the Wall, ‘Til the Sweat is Fucking Everywhere

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: language, eventual smut, fluff, eventual canon-typical violence MINORS DNI. A/N: Readers can have a little Bucky POV, as a treat. 'Fun' fact - all of the Atlantis/Nazi infodump from last chapter is true! I try to rely on the established information as much as possible with the Atlantis stuff, but we start to veer into fictional territory here for obvious reasons. Anyway, fuck Nazis - then and now. And to everyone who *isn't* a Nazi (hopefully this applies to anyone reading this), I hope you have a great day :)

I have a taglist now! Let me know if you want to be added to it!

Summary: Steve gets an early start on Cleo's training.

Chapter Directory

Bucky Barnes cannot sleep. He rarely can, of course, but tonight is different - tonight, he’s sifting through memories in a way he hasn’t since his first weeks at the Avengers Tower. Something about what Cleo said in the lab is bothering him, and it goes well beyond the usual annoyance he feels whenever she’s in the same room as him. No, this is more like a tickle somewhere in his brain - something he knows, or maybe knew once, but can’t put his finger on now.

He rolls over and groans, pulling a pillow over his head like he used to when he couldn’t sleep as a kid. He knows it’s dangerous to go poking too deep into his memories, especially without the help of his therapist, but he can’t help it. Cleo had started digging at something, and now he had to deal with the hole she left behind.

“Have any of y’all read much Plato?” Cleo said, panting slightly.

“Of course, but for fun, let’s pretend I haven’t,” Stark said, folding his arms. 

“Okay,” she said, sitting down on a stool by one of the lab tables. “Buckle in.”

Steve sat next to her, because of course he did - he always had to offer himself up as a comforting presence. Bucky was fine where he was, thank you very much, and put on a mask of faint boredom.

“So around 360 BC,” Cleo started, “Plato wrote about Atlantis. It’s the earliest record of the city that we have access to, but Plato insisted he wasn’t the first to talk about it. He described this island utopia - land masses in concentric circles all leading to the capitol city in the center. They were wealthy and powerful, until a massive flood wiped them all out - land, people, everything.”

Bucky found himself nodding along almost against his will, entranced by her passion - the way her green eyes seemed to glow as she spoke. He wasn’t the only one; the entire room was captivated by her.

“Plato may have been the first we know of to call it Atlantis, but nearly every culture on the planet has a flood myth. It’s in the Bible, obviously, but it also pops up almost everywhere else. There’s the Epic of Gilgamesh, then Indigenous Americans like the Hopi and Cree have flood myths, the Egyptians, Iran, China, Siberia - I could go on and on. My point is, there are people who believe that Plato wasn’t just making things up as a cautionary tale. They think he was talking about real history - history that’s backed up across the world if you know where to look.”

Bucky started to feel a phantom tingle in his left arm, the way he always did when something almost triggered a memory, but he was too enthralled to care. Earlier in the night, he’d been on the cusp of remembering something, but now he couldn’t care less.

“Now it’s not exactly a respected field of study, so there aren’t a ton of academic texts out there, but these… independent scholars, I guess you could call them, they talked to one another. Shared their information. My dad was one of them, and… so was I, for a while.” 

Bucky saw something close to embarrassment flit across her features, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and take her hand - to reassure her that she had nothing to be ashamed of. God, what was happening to him?

“Some of them, my dad included, believed that the Atlanteans were so powerful and advanced because they had access to this one-of-a-kind energy source. I was telling Steve and Bucky earlier that the Nazis believed in Atlantis -” Had she just called him Bucky? His body filled with heat. “ - and searched for it as some kind of confirmation of the validity of their bullshit claims, but my dad believed that HYDRA was actually behind the search, and what they were really searching for was the energy source.”

Bucky’s ears started to ring faintly, but he was sure it was just because she kept picking at old wounds with this HYDRA theory. He shook his head and looked around the room. Steve, Stark, and Banner all watched Cleo with blank, wide-eyed stares. He thought he caught a glow coming from her chest, but he didn’t want to look hard enough at the snug material to know for sure. This entire scene was so familiar - too familiar.

“Anyway, nobody really knows where the energy came from, but my dad thought it would’ve given the Atlanteans power over water, sound, telekinesis - all kinds of things. This is where he always got a little too new-agey for my taste - even when I was working in this field, I never really bought it. My mistake, I guess.”

She paused, rubbed at the corner of her eye, and once again Bucky had to fight the urge to comfort her. This was getting out of hand - he couldn’t stand her. Right?

Cleo gratefully accepted the tissue Steve wordlessly handed her and forged ahead. “Basically, my dad believed that crystals have the power to change frequencies and vibrations, which would have been a perfect conduit for the Atlantean energy.” She gestured at Steve and Bucky, which seemed to snap everyone out of their trance. Banner shifted in his seat, and Steve shook his head faintly. “I was just chatting about it while the three of us ate dinner -” Stark shot Bucky a look, which he ignored. “ - and I wasn’t even thinking about what I was saying, really, until I got to the crystal thing. I know it sounds absolutely insane, but with the book mentioning Atlantis, it feels too big to be a coincidence.” 

Nobody said anything for a long time, and her voice was smaller when she finally spoke again. “Doesn’t it?”

Bucky pulls the pillow harder into his face. They had all agreed that it was weird, maybe even too weird to be a coincidence, but Stark and Banner hadn’t known what to do beyond that. It isn’t like they can run a test to determine if this energy comes from some Atlantean myth. Cleo had seemed upset - her body had slumped and her face bore a combination of exhaustion and disappointment as she told them all goodnight that was unfortunately familiar to Bucky. She hadn’t even looked at him as she left the lab. Not that he’s upset by that, or anything.

No, it’s just her story that’s stuck in his head. Searching for a mythological energy source does sound like the exact brand of bullshit HYDRA would try - not that they turned to The Soldier for research or archaeological missions. Still, it itches at the corners of his mind, and he can’t help but scratch it. 

Bucky usually tries not to think too hard about the mental programming he went through, but in this moment he remembers a flash of something - someone mentioning a tool, or a way to get a tool, that would grant the user the ability to manipulate a person’s mind. It was something they talked about a lot, before they perfected his trigger words. A way to keep The Soldier in control, and perhaps everyone else, too. Maybe…

Bucky groans again and sits up. This is a dangerous game, going down these old roads alone, and he realizes that he knows better than to play it in the middle of the night. He’s learned. He throws a shirt and some sweatpants on over his boxers and heads to his couch. He flops down and grabs the remote, flipping through the options until he lands on a nature documentary he hasn’t seen yet. He settles back into the couch, watching with intent focus as an elephant shrew makes her way through the underbrush of the African Savannah. 

It’s going to be another sleepless night for Bucky Barnes, but really, that’s nothing new.

******

I wake up to total darkness and the sound of knocking at my door. I check my phone - 4:45 in the goddamn morning? Who are these people?

I make my way over to the door, pausing to straighten my tank top and sleep shorts. I open it to find Steve wearing a big smile, athletic clothes, and running shoes. 

I yawn deeply. “Steven, it is not even 5 ante meridiem. Why are you at my door looking like Air Bud before a big game?”

“I still don’t get that reference, but you can explain later. I heard you’re an early riser, so I thought we’d get a head start on training.” He starts jogging in place. I feel the urge to strangle him with his shoelaces.

“I’m the kind of early riser that enjoys a slow cup of coffee and a few chapters of a book. Not,” I wave my hands at him, “whatever this is.”

“Great!” he says brightly. “You’ll have plenty of time for coffee and a book once we finish our run.”

I groan and run a hand through my messy hair. “This isn’t optional, is it?”

Still jogging in place, he shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Give me five minutes.”

He checks his watch. “Make it three.” I slam the door in his perky face.

Four minutes later, I step outside in sneakers, yoga shorts, a sports bra, and a ratty college crewneck to hide the crystal in the center of my chest. My hair is tied up in a messy bun and I’ve secured any fly-aways with a headband. Steve is still waiting for me, thankfully no longer jogging in place, but he’s been joined by Barnes.

“Greeeaaat,” I say, closing the door behind me. “Now there’s two of you to bask in my humiliation.”

Steve wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me down the hall. “Come on, Cleo, there’s nothing wrong with being slow. We all have to start somewhere.” 

I know he means well, but I have had exactly zero caffienes and that is too low a number to handle his exuberance. As we pass the elevator, I look back to find Barnes trailing behind us. His eyes immediately snap up to meet mine, an almost guilty expression on his face. I narrow my eyes at him, but he just looks out the window. Was he… No, no way. 

As we start down the stairs, Steve takes the lead. “I don’t get to use elevators anymore, do I?” I ask pathetically.

“Stark was right, you are smart!” Steve grins. 

It’s early enough that there’s nobody besides permanent residents in the Tower, so I’m able to take everything in without interruption as we make our way through the building. The modern chrome-and-glass style is present throughout - Stark is nothing if not on-theme. The open stairs in the center of the residential section ends at the floor with the gym. To my surprise, instead of entering the gym, we pass it and start down a new, enclosed stairwell. I suddenly understand why Barnes is tagging along. I am definitely not disappointed that he isn’t coming of his own free will - not even a little bit.  

We make our way to the lobby, all sharp angles and hyper-futuristic tech, and Steve waves cheerfully to the security guard as we pass through the front entrance. As we exit onto Park Avenue, Steve and Barnes both pull on baseball hats.

“Do you really think that’s going to work?” I ask with a laugh.

Steve nods. “It does work. Every time.”

“It doesn’t take much to convince people not to look your way in a city, especially New York,” Barnes says, scrutinizing me as we walk. I shift under his sharp gaze. “You know, once people know who you are, you’re gonna have to think about this stuff.”

“I doubt anyone is going to care about little ol’ me, Grumps,” I say, ignoring the way Barnes’ eyes narrow. Our pace is brisk and I struggle to keep up with them, but I’m still grateful for the chance to warm up before we’re full-out running. As we make our way down city blocks, I can’t help but smile - between my time in the med bay and settling into the Tower, it’s been a bit since I’ve gotten some fresh air. Well, as fresh as is available in the heart of New York.

I nudge Steve with my shoulder. “Thanks for doing this outside - it’s so much better than a treadmill.”

Steve gives me a crooked grin. “It was actually Bucky’s idea.”

I look over at Barnes, who is consciously avoiding my gaze. I swallow my snark and try giving him a small smile. “Thanks, it - it feels nice out here.”

He finally makes eye contact, looking shocked, and he gives me the smallest nod in acknowledgement.

We enter Central Park and Steve looks down at me, stretching his arms over his head. “You ready?”

I snort. “Absolutely not.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

Steve takes off at what I’m sure is a leisurely speed for a supersoldier, but seems ridiculously fast to me. Barnes stays a few paces behind, probably on high alert in case the exercise causes me to explode and start screaming or something. 

It might.

I do my best to keep pace, and as my mind settles into the act of running, I find it a little better than I expected. Not easy, by any means, but manageable. I look over at Steve - the asshole hasn’t even broken a sweat.

He catches my glance. “You doin’ okay?”

I’m breathing decently hard, but I nod. “Surprisingly, yeah. I guess all that yoga actually works.”

He hums, not saying anything, and kicks up the pace. I roll my eyes as I speed up alongside him. I’m sweating now, like a lot, and I’d be ripping my crewneck off if we were the only ones in the park. Alas, no matter how early it is, it’s still New York. I settle for rolling up my sleeves and wiping at my forehead.

I hear some movement behind me, and then Barnes appears at my other side. He isn’t sweating either, the twat, but it’s still impossible not to see the way his thin athletic shirt clings to every single defined muscle. “You know, people probably wouldn’t look twice at your ch- at the crystal,” he says, breaking my concentration on the width of his shoulders.

My eyebrows shoot up. Was he being nice? “Is it that obvious that I’m sweating like a whore in church?”

He rolls his eyes. “Why do you always have somethin’ to say about everything?”

I shrug my shoulders and look ahead. “I dunno, keeps life interesting. Are you sure nobody will notice?”

Barnes nods. “Definitely. You’ll be past them before they even have a chance.” He smirks a little, and my pulse quickens. “Besides, you’re so short they probably won’t even see you next to Steve.”

My eyes widen. “Was that a joke, Grumpy Smurf? I’m impressed.” Without waiting for a reply, I gratefully yank off the crewneck mid-stride, leaving me in a sports bra with my stomach exposed. I smile a little, just to myself. 

Once upon a time, I would’ve been too self-conscious to be in public wearing anything less than a t-shirt and pants. I’ve always had more of an hourglass shape, and to my obsessively thin mother that was nothing short of failure to comply with her standard. Fortunately, the older I got, the more I learned to love myself as I am, regardless of shape or size. Besides, like Trudy says, under the curves and valleys of my skin is a body that has learned to be strong in the face of everything we’ve endured together, and that is something to love deeply. Gotta love yoga instructors.

I tie the sleeves around my waist and sigh. “Ugh, that’s so much better.”

Barnes is staring at me with the strangest look on his face, but before I can say anything, he shakes his head and falls back behind Steve and me. I feel the burn of his gaze, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.

I look up at Steve out of the corner of my eye. “How is it possible that my heart is pounding when I don’t even have one? You could slow down a little, you know.”

He huffs a laugh. “Now, why would I do that?” He speeds up instead, and as I begrudgingly match him, I lose the ability to maintain a conversation. 

******

Bucky pays close attention to the feeling of the pavement beneath his feet, the swing of his arms, the breeze on his face. He listens to the people he passes to see if he can pick up any snippets of conversation - anything to pull his focus away from the woman in front of him. The folks to his left are chatting about a work thing. The two gals holding hands are discussing which daycare they like best for their toddler. The men up ahead are making some pretty impolite comments about - oh god. 

His face flushes and he glares at them, getting their attention by reaching up and pulling off his hat with his left hand - his metal hand. 

The men’s mouths drop open as they recognize him, and they pale considerably when they realize he’s in the same group as the woman they’d been objectifying. Bucky makes a show of wiping his brow with his metal arm, even though he isn’t sweating in the slightest, and puts his hat back on as the trio passes the men. 

With that handled, Bucky turns his attention to Cleo, who is deeply preoccupied with trying to tell Steve about her friend’s goldfish in between panting breaths. She didn’t even fucking notice, he thinks to himself. She has no idea the effect she has on people, and it’s going to get her hurt. He makes a mental note to casually mention that Nat may want to lead with some self-defense skills when she trains Cleo later.

He watches the woman gesture wildly as she says something about trying to teach the fish to swim through a hoop, and his eyes catch on her exposed lower back. Her sweatshirt is tied around her hips, drawing the eye, and it hangs long enough that her shorts are completely covered by it. He never would have suggested she take it off if he’d known she wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt underneath, but she was really starting to sweat and it was becoming distracting. 

This is going to be a problem. He adjusts his sweatpants - scratch that, this is a problem.

Bucky hasn’t given more than a fleeting thought to women since he became The Soldier, and yet here he is, falling all over the most irritating one he’s ever met. Stark had been offering to take him out to a bar and play wingman - maybe he should finally take the guy up on it. I’m sure plenty of other women look like pinup dolls come to life, he thinks. The city’s huge - it’s probably lousy with them. He’d go out, let Stark help him find a pretty gal, and never think about Cleo as anything beyond a team member again.

And that’s the whole problem, when he thinks about it - her being added to the team. The way everyone races around trying to make her feel comfortable in the Tower. The way Stark and Banner have been holed up in the lab, trying to find out how to help her. Cleo Blake is plenty irritating all on her own, but she’s also a bleak reminder that no matter how much effort he puts in, he’ll never receive the kind of treatment she’s gotten without so much as lifting one of her delicate fingers. He resolutely ignores the other thing she reminds him of - the fact that he’ll never be able to have a real relationship with anyone, much less someone like her.

Bucky’s anger sharpens, pulling his attention away from the place where the swell of her hips tucks in to become her waist and the thought of how his hand might feel resting there. This is good, he thinks. He’ll focus on his frustrations, let that be front of mind, and he’ll eventually forget he ever found her attractive or funny or interesting. The perfect plan.

******

Back in the common room, I collapse dramatically onto a stool, resting my face on the cool granite in front of me. I can feel a few crumbs embedding themselves into my forehead. “Steve,” I groan into the countertop. “Promise me you’ll make sure they play ‘Get Low’ at my funeral.”

He chuckles and pats my head on his way into the kitchen. “Don’t be so dramatic, Cleo. You did great.”

I turn just enough to glare at him with one eye. “You did great, Steve. I am dying.”

I hear some rustling and a ceramic clink. “What’s your coffee order?”

I whip my head up, brushing off the crumbs. They leave behind little indentations in my skin. “You’re a beautiful man, Steve Rogers. No matter who says otherwise.”

He frowns. “Wait, who’s saying otherwise?”

I ignore him and lean forward, hands together in prayer. “Hello again, fancy coffee maker. Can you please make me a triple-shot vanilla latte with oat milk?” The machine whirs to life and, when it’s finished, Steve places the steaming mug on the counter in front of me. I take a sip and close my eyes contentedly. “Okay, maybe I’m not dying. Just severely damaged. Near-death, if you will.”

Steve claps me on the back and sits atop the stool next to me. “That’s the spirit.”

The two of us drink coffee in amicable silence for a little while, Bucky having long since escaped to his room without so much as an excuse, before Steve turns to me. “What’s that song you mentioned, by the way? I haven’t heard it.”

I raise my eyebrows and stand with a wide grin, putting my empty mug in the dishwasher. “Oh my goodness, Steven, you’ll love it. I’m gonna go shower, but here - JARVIS, play ‘Get Low’ by Lil Jon for Captain Rogers.”

JARVIS hesitates, sounding almost nervous. “Are you sure, Miss Blake?”

“I’m positive.” As the song starts to play over the kitchen speakers, I rush toward the stairs with a newfound energy. “See ya later, Steve!”

I’m almost up to my floor when I hear, “Oh god, what the hell am I hearing? JARVIS, make it stop!” I smile, and my muscles feel a little less sore in the glow of this sweet revenge on their tormentor.

[endlesslyhyperfixating]

Oh, Carmy, Carmy, Carmy. The man who can turn a beef sandwich into a Michelin-worthy masterpiece but can't seem to manage his own mental health. Season three of *The Bear* has been a rollercoaster of culinary highs and personal lows, with Carmy spiraling into the very chaos he once sought to escape. But then, in the season three finale, enter Chef Terry—Andrea Terry, if you will—a beacon of wisdom in a sea of culinary turmoil.

As Ever's doors prepare to close, Chef Terry imparts a nugget of wisdom to Carmy: "You have no idea what you're doing, and therefore, you're invincible." At first glance, it might sound like a chef's version of a pep talk gone awry. But let's break it down, shall we?

Throughout the season, Carmy has been haunted by the ghost of Chef David Fields, his former mentor who believed in the "tough love" — or realistically more like abusive — approach to culinary excellence. Fields' methods left Carmy with ulcers, panic attacks, nightmares, trauma doomed to be repeated in an abusive cycle, and a fun memory of the chefs general disdain for black pepper. In contrast, Chef Terry embodies a nurturing spirit, emphasizing the importance of people over perfection. Her mantra, "Every Second Counts," isn't about relentless pressure; it's about cherishing the moments and the people who make them meaningful. The BACKSTORY of her famous mantra is even tender and born in sweetness and family, a start difference to what was Carmy's experience with Chef Fields.

By telling Carmy he's invincible because he doesn't have it all figured out, Chef Terry is giving him permission to embrace uncertainty. She's encouraging him to let go of the need for control and perfection, to trust his instincts, and to lead with empathy rather than fear. This is the antithesis of the Carmy we've seen in season three—a man so consumed by the pursuit of excellence that he alienates those around him, and begins to lose himself in the middle of his unprocessed trauma through the only thing he knows which is working the human away.

"The more people I cut out, the quieter my life got"

Okay, my self isolating king!

But lets take, for instance, his interactions with Sydney. Instead of fostering a collaborative environment, as he often claims this season, Carmy often undermines her, believing his way is the only way. It's not how it starts in season two and the beginning of season three however, where they work shopped the menu together (despite his changing it everyday [🙄])This dynamic leads to tension and missed opportunities for growth. Chef Terry's advice serves as a wake-up call for him: it's okay not to have all the answers. In fact, embracing the unknown can lead to unexpected brilliance.

Richie has done to understand and he's tried to embrace in his own personal journey, and that difference in character is also what's keeping their divide all season, their serious lack of communication causing a strain in their relationship. But the strains present because they do truly love each other(this is a rant for another day)

I digress, this season concludes with a cliffhanger—Carmy's reaction to a seemingly mixed review from the Chicago Tribune—it's clear that change is on the horizon. Chef Terry's words are a catalyst for Carmy's evolution. They signal a shift from a leader driven by fear and perfectionism to one who leads with heart and humility. This transformation is essential for the survival and success of The Bear.

Not only chef Terry's words, but I believe and hope that when he finds out about SYDNEYS OFFER from Shapiro.

Ooph, oh boy that'll be a wake up call.

In essence, Chef Terry's parting words are a gift—a reminder that vulnerability and imperfection are not weaknesses but strengths. For Carmy, embracing this philosophy could be the key to unlocking not only his potential but also the true essence of what it means to be a chef.

Terry's vulnerability and tenderness is similar to Sydney's all throughout the series, especially season three(even referring back to the first episode when she encourages him to call Richie to make things right between them. The relationship that matters. Not Claire.)

If and (hopefully) when Carm finds out about Sydneys potential leaving, this will be a real pushing point for him to out into action Terry's words, realize that his control and repeated cycle of everything he's been through needs to change.

Just as Syd expressed early on in season one, The a bear became the very thing she wanted to escape from. People yelling and pushing, the constant chaos of what their industry is. And she and Carm both knew and still know that it can be different.

And Sydney has that opportunity with Shapiro, but Carmy will totally freak without her to enact that change.

Phew.

Anyways, I can't wait to see the post-review chaos, and hopefully some real growth on Carmy's end.

Season four, anyone?

[randomfoggytiger]

Hello, I’m new to the fandom (yes, there’s still people coming into the fandom in 2024/2025). Started watching back in September and just finished last month. I’m not sure if you do fic recs but I’m giving it a shot anyway: Do you know of any fics that deal with Scully grieving Mulder’s supposed death in This is Not Happening or anytime in the three months that follow until DeadAlive? Or any AU fics where he stays dead after This is Not Happening and Scully has to raise William by herself while grieving?

Collector's Edition: Season 8, Mourning the Lost (Part 1/3)

Decided to sneak in an AU to begin the list-- because I like it-- but kept the rest strictly focused on the prompt at hand.

Loose chronological order below~

@cauldronoflove/thegoodthebadandthenerdy's Gravity, Oh Gravity

"scully-"

the raw edges of her fingers wipe furiously at her eyes, trying and failing to keep her secret. telling it to him like a game of telephone. he can't make it out but he understands all the same, that this isn't hers anymore, this is

Theirs.

"scully," he tries again, but there isn't anything he can say that puts a name to the tear in his chest that's weeping longing and love like a willow tree. not a single way to form consonants and vowels and sometimes ys into anything that can mean anything that can tell her that he wants. that he Wants, and always has.

AU-- TINH Mulder is returned, alive (with bittersweet angst and relief, of course.)

Humphreywrites/Sophie Writes's Sundries in the X-Files Universe - Chapter 19

Everything was still such a mess. He was still missing. She was still reeling, and her life felt remarkably different.

Post Without - TINH Scully deals with her panic attacks, loneliness, and baby's development.

Innisfree's Sacred Time

Time pulls farther out and stretches this moment as long as it can. Time can be a harsh companion, but it has a weakness for lovers. In this moment, she thinks that she would give all the time she has left if she could only touch him one more time. But Time won't be party to this kind of bargain. You cannot give away what was never yours.

TINH Scully's POV when she sees Mulder's spectral form.

@scully-loves-ruthie's

Fictober Day 7 Prompt

She knew, just knew, he’d be in that field. 

TINH Scully is used to slim hope winning out; and prays it will again.

Unnamed

Blue. The bruises on his body. Blue. His veins still and stark against his greying skin. Blue. Her eyes as they stare and stare and stare.

Post TINH Scully observes Mulder's poor, dead body.

Unnamed

She ran the fabric through her fingers conjuring images of the last time she took the tie off him.

Post TINH Scully ruminates on her and Mulder's last interaction.

David Hearne's So You'll Aim Towards the Sky

I've been here before -- at the end of hope and beyond prayer. I've had other failures. You can't succeed everytime. That truth has to be accepted. If you spend too much time thinking about what has been wasted, then you might as well turn in your badge.

Post TINH Scully sits hopelessly on her knees.

Lauren Belmont's As I Lay Dying

<He saw his sister in starlight and knew she was dead and now I've seen him this can't be what it seems it can't, it CAN'T. >

Hallucinations.

Exhaustion.

Stress.

Shock.

Any on these can explain what she saw. None of them can begin to describe the depth that she saw in his eyes. For these next few minutes, it's just her in this motel room with this chair, the window, and a growing lump in her throat.

But she is a scientist, after all.

Post TINH Doggett, Skinner, Reyes, and Maggie do their best to support Scully.

Meredith's Something Less

The last memory Scully will have is of her partner's tortured body. That will be the image to haunt her dreams. Pictures and memories of him smiling, looking perfect -- those will fade until only the horrific images remained. Doggett knew, because that's all he saw of his son.

Everyone post TINH decides against an autopsy.

zulu's Untitled

She sank down on the bed, feeling her pulse throbbing in her wrists. She brought her cheek to his, drawn closer by that nameless thought that surged within her, more powerful than the tides. He must live. He must.

AU-- TINH Mulder is returned alive... but not well, either.

XSketch's (mulderscreek) Passing On The Ritual Torch

His final gift.

You'd think me crazy if I told you how something that leaves me in so many tears can be considered a 'gift' - I know Skinner does, Doggett has that pitying look on his face whenever I'm nearby that gives the impression he's fairly certain I'm not far from insane, and my mother--...My mother doesn't know or understand even half of what she believes she does, so when she insists on reminding me that it's been four years since...since we found him in those woods, and that he only ever wanted me to be happy, it's no wonder I become so hysterical with denial. The fact is, though, that no matter how miserable it may leave me, the ritual gives me the same tiniest thread of hope that one day I'll awake to discover this torturous pain that killed a majority of my soul one-thousand-five-hundred-and- ninety-three days ago has been nothing more than a nightmare, and if there's one thing he ever did always give me, it was Hope.

AU-- Post TINH Scully tries to use Mulder's denial.

gianta's Because of you

I want them to remember him as a man who never gave up, no matter the unsolvable obstacles on the road and the power of the enemies he confronted.

If anybody will remember him at all.

Peace.

Peace is what I always see on the faces of dead people. No matter the terrible circumstances in which they died – and in my line of work they tend to consist of indescribable horrors – after death comes peace. Quietness. The absence of time.

There’s none of that on his face. Or I don’t allow myself to see it.

Post TINH Scully can't find peace in the morgue.

@swinging-stars-from-satellites/bravest_person_in_Wonderland's Whumpay Day 22/you're going to die in your best friend's arms: Lu's Whumpay 2022 - Chapter 22

John shrugs, running a hand down his face. They've been standing in the hall for an hour, mostly silent, trying not to listen to Scully's sobs through the door. Monica thinks neither of them wants to leave her like this. "Doubt she'd let you," he sighs. "She doesn't like being taken care of very much."

Post TINH Scully won't leave the morgue.

@o6666666's (Ao3)

16 if you’re still doing...

“I love you. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He finds her in the morgue, clinging to Mulder’s biceps, face to his mottled, bare chest. Hunched over the slab they’ve layed him on.

Post TINH Skinner has to drag Scully out of the morgue.

Slow Returns

Later, when the medicine wears off, when her nervous system is no longer depressed, when her mother drives her home, she will cling to Maggie’s shoulders on her sofa. “I can’t do this, Mom,” she will weep, hyperventilating. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” 

AU-- Post TINH Scully is not okay after Mulder's death.

Red's

Coming Alive (Ao3)

When they put him into a body bag and dragged me back to the rational world, Doggett holding me still, Skinner trying to talk me into submission, I gave up fighting. Instead I went numb. Everything around me became short, sharp and stunted, yet somehow lacking clarity. I was aware of everyone around me apart from myself.

They took him away.

Forever.

Post TINH Skinner has to pull Scully back from a meltdown.

Facing You

"Dana, honey, have you been there all night?"

I clear my dry throat a few times before I'm able to speak. "Uh, yeah, I think so, mom. You're early." My voice sounds thick and wavers, betraying me. My mother bustles over to the couch and plops down next to me, putting her arm around my shoulders. I just sit there and don't move: she studies my face and I know she can see I'm pretending that everything is okay. She lowers her voice.

Post TINH Maggie supports Scully during Mulder's funeral arrangements.

@allyinthekeyofx/AllyinthekeyofX's Buttons 1/1

Her Mother has a button box. A small rectangular pine container with tiny brass hinges and a pattern of leaves etched into the surface of the lid. The pattern is worn smooth where years of handling, of opening and closing the box have rendered the grain muted, fuzzy and indistinct, a darker patina evident against the faded yellow of the cheap wood that has stood the test of time as buttons were added and stories were told.

Each button held within

Post TINH Scully is trying to hold off mourning until after the funeral.

misslucyjane/Jenna Tooms's (mulderscreek) The Stars Are Not Wanted Now

It occurs to her that grief is making her selfish.

Post TINH Scully can't see hope past Mulder's funeral.

@agent-troi/AgentTroi's Baby Blue

But every day, she kept coming by to feed his fish, to fight back against the encroaching layers of dust that threatened to cover all that was left of her partner.

Maybe it was overkill. She'd kept the shirt she found on his bed shortly after his abduction, and had taken to sleeping in it most nights. It still fit her even now, more than five months along. Even with his shirt for company, she found she still couldn't let him go.

Post TINH Scully remembers her and Mulder's IVF excitement.

DSc1110's Before Their Eyes

He'd watched Mulder slowly die every time she'd been on the edge of death. Scully hid it well, but he knew every time something happened to Mulder the same thing happened to her. He'd never before seen a connection as intense as the one Mulder and Scully had to each other. Now for Mulder to actually be dead.

Post TINH TLG find out about Scully's pregnancy.

Agent L's (mulderscreek) Frohike's Lament

Of course, we all took the news lightly at first. I know that sounds cold, but Fox Mulder has come back from the dead more often than Elvis. So we were more excited than grief-stricken to hear he'd been found, after weeks of virtually no news -- and the fact that he was dead was just one of those little glitches that would have to be worked out, like going through customs. No one really expected to be picking out a casket or flowers or going through his suits to find the one he should be buried in.

But then Scully came to see us.

AU-- Post TINH Frohike mourns that Mulder won't know the truth.

@dashakay'Dasha K.'s (Ao3) Artifact 

After a few weeks, she could no longer feel Mulder there. All she could smell in the apartment was the dust and the books. She'd lie adrift in his big bed, pathetic in her continued vigil.

Post TINH Skinner gives Scully her partner's badge.

Keleka's You Are Not Alone

I've heard this stupid song a million times. Who hasn't? Every radio station in America played it at least thirty times a day a few years ago. But now it has meaning to me and the flood gates are open.

Post TINH Skinner and Frohike keep a vigil on post-funeral Scully.

The_Young_Wolf's

Adrift

She has avoided church as of late, yet here she kneels, staring up at Christ like a fearful child.

Post TINH Scully imagine Mulder nailed to the Christian cross, in judgment.

Touch

“Scully, please, you have to let go.”

Post TINH Scully clings to her dreams.

Michelle Kiefer's One Star Belongs To You

I knew my father was dead even before my mother spoke the words to tell me. I knew Melissa was gone before the surgeon came out of the operating room to break the news. I felt their deaths deep inside me, like a candle snuffed out. Why don't I feel that for you?

Post TINH Scully pays for another 6 months on Mulder's rent.

@bohoartist/Bohoartist's Sentence prompt #33

“But, Mulder, as hard as I’ve been trying I just can’t be you. And I feel like I’m doing such a disservice to you and your work when all I really want is for you— is for you to be proud of me...."

Post TINH Scully is both frustrated and angry with Mulder.

Ambress's He Moved Through the Fair

She went back down to her office, her spine straight as a post, and after making sure Doggett was gone to lunch, sat down at her desk, staring at the blotter until it melted before her eyes, and she drowned.

Post TINH Scully thinks she sees Mulder everywhere.

Marguerite's (Ao3) How Glory Goes

I step in. "Agent Scully, we know how the others were treated. How Gary died. We've learned all we possibly could. Let him rest now. Let him rest."

Her spine goes rigid and her mouth hardens into a thin line. I can imagine her taking a scalpel to Mulder's violated body, cataloguing his injuries with the same professionally-coated agony that she showed when she did the autopsy on Gary. I can also imagine her going home afterwards and eating her gun.

Post TINH Scully, Skinner, and Doggett all draw closer.

@starbuck09256/Starbuck09256's The Sound of Silence (Ao3)

Talk about Mulder? How do you talk about someone whose presence was so integral to yours that it’s hard to breathe in the air when you know he can’t? How every single thing you see or do reminds you of a moment you spent together? How the flutter in your stomach taunts you with the knowledge that even though you still have a small piece of him it will pale in comparison to the real thing? She swallows hard against the rising taste of her tears.

“It’s just, the car is too quiet. Mulder was always talking or eating sunflower seeds.”

Post TINH Doggett and Scully connect over their losses.

Avalon's Celebration

Scully's eyebrows are knitted together, her forehead creased significantly beneath the red sheen of her hair. "Doggett," she says, her voice sounding strained, "did you put this here?"

Post TINH Scully and Doggett have a brief tiff over a cupcake.

Lapsed_Scholar's That Day Is Done 

He is, by far, not in the worst shape she’s seen, but seeing him like this is the worst thing she’s ever seen by far. She smooths his hair, strokes his face. She rests her head on his cold chest and cries and cries. She wonders if tears count as any sort of purification.

The casket lid is closed, but it’s a lined casket. He’s buried in a suit by the same Protestant minister, and she doesn't tear her clothes.

Post TINH Skinner becomes Scully's rock solid MVP, even after Mulder's return.

@lotsoforangesoutside/@lotzzoforangezoutside's Becoming Fox Mulder (Ao3)

Her apartment has been waiting for a very long time, maybe even longer than she has, for someone to love, protect, and shield.

She must have told Mulder about it. She tells Mulder everything, and sometimes everything is not enough.

Pre-TINH Scully thinks her apartment can "talk."

@all-these-ghosts/all_these_ghosts's Pray the Light

She calls in sick the day after the funeral. She does not apply for bereavement leave; she cannot bear the thought of filling out the form. She’s filled it out before, for her father, for Missy; there is a blank space that says relationship to deceased and there is nothing, nothing she could write in that space.

So she calls in sick and she drives to his apartment to feed the fish, and then she takes off her shoes and curls herself into a ball on his couch. After some indeterminate amount of time - ten minutes, half a day - she gets up and goes home. And the next day, and the next.

Post TINH Scully and Skinner are coping silently.

@scullyphile's (Ao3) missed calls

The worst time of day was between one and four a.m., when she lay awake missing him....

Post TINH Scully hopes Mulder will call.

@badforthefish/Scarlet's Doctor, Copper, Sailor, Corpse

Just another day at the office. Except that today, I can't hide it any more. And I did try, believe me.

Post TINH Scully's pregnancy is now showing.

@atths--twice/ATTHS_TWICE/ATTHS's

Heartache and Loss 

She walked into the kitchen and looked around, thinking of the times she had stood in there with Mulder as he made something to eat while they discussed a case. Of grabbing a cup of coffee or a glass of water, amused by the small collection he kept, none of it matching.

Post TINH Scully buries Mulder's fish.

Three Months

“I’m so sorry, Dana. For losing him that first day…. for being too late to save him. I…” He shook his head again as tears filled her eyes. 

“It’s not your fault,” she said through her tears and he scoffed, looking up at her in disgust. 

Post TINH Scully's family and friends support her (and the baby) in the three months after Mulder's burial.

@kyouryokusenshi/Kyouryokusenshi/Kyouryoku Senshi's (site, annex-files) Maybe There's Hope

"Your health comes first, Agent Scully," he would assert, his stern expression belying the genuine care in his voice.

Normally, she would have fought back, insisting that her pregnancy was a condition, not a disability, but she knew he was right. After they found Mulder, there was no reason to continue taking unnecessary risks with her and the baby’s health.

Post TINH Skinner, Reyes, and Doggett support Scully during her pregnancy.

@agirlcallednarelle/TabithaJean's Fictober day 22/The Mystery of George Harrison

Scully can no longer see the desk clearly when My Sweet Lord plays. It happens this way: she might be at the store or driving home, and in a blink her vision has blurred with the onset of sudden tears as she remembers the finality of the situation. Mulder has died. The couch dips as Skinner sits beside her.

Post TINH Scully copes with Skinner's help (and milkshakes.)

Sabine/Sab/iamsab's If I Die in a Combat Zone 

It's always the same. It starts the same with the voices that all sound like kids, shouting kids, her kids, braver than she'll ever be. 

Post TINH Scully has visceral war dreams every night.

Macspooky's Sharing the Burden, A Mother's Touch

She rocked her daughter a little until Dana pulled herself together. Dana seldom cried as a rule, but Maggie remembered what pregnancy hormones could do to you. The whole time she had been carrying Charlie she had wept at the drop of a hat over nothing and yet by that time she had been a pregnancy veteran. She supposed the tears had something to do with Dana's longing for Fox's presence too. She knew that sometimes Dana came here and just stayed.

Post TINH Scully is unable to renew Mulder's apartment lease.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[thesummerstorms]

Arsinoë de Riva probably could have handled the Blight in Fereldan. The actual Blight parts, the managing allies and dealing with attempts on her life, etc... none of that seems too terribly far removed from Veilguard. She even is used to moving around a country hostile to Apostates while having to use magic to get shit done.

That said, she would have gotten frustrated by her team I think. Veilguard gives us a collection of experts in their field who are personally committed to the cause and/or are motivated to do good; Origins is a collection of unwilling draftees, people who have very specific agendas, and people who joined due to lack of other options. Not that they aren't skilled, but the particular dynamic would not be one that encouraged closeness or trust in Arsinoë.

I think she'd be frustrated by Alistair's lack of direction/ownership especially if she was in the position of being new junior Warden but also if she was still a Crow. Oghren wouldn't last very long before getting poisoned. She and Zevran have had different life experiences in the Crows, so he would likely distrust her if she remained a Crow. Wynne she might leave at the Circle despite the fact that it isn't smart to be running around the Fifth Blight without a healer. Morrigan 's insistence on pessimism and needling people would eventually cause issues when Arsinoë wants to just get the job done.

None of these are positive changes for her ability to bond and form trusting relationships, and in some places it would end up costing her tactically. The other place she'd trip up potentially is the Fereldan politics/convictions as they're tied to it's recent history of occupation, if she was coming in as an Antivan and not someone who had lived there.

Kirkwall? Arsinoë would probably be dead well before the endgame.

Not because she lacks survival skills, but because she has personal hang ups with the Circle and Chantry stemming from her mother and her life as an Apostate. Spite (common noun), misery, and anger are gonna get her ass.

Quite possibly she and Anders could make one another worse. That, or she'd die trying to put a blade in Meredith's throat but do so too early/without support or enough of a plan. The same idea from Veilguard that "Someone has to do something; I may not be the right person, but I'm who's left" works out a lot less positively here.

If she's still a Crow, there's probably a string of pointed assassinations first. If she didn't have House de Riva training to beat caution into her bones, then one day she just snaps. For a mage in a place where the Veil is thin that's Very Bad News... But that's just the story of Kirkwall, right?

Again, I think Veilguard's team is also uniquely situated to bring out the side of Arsinoë that wants to bond with and trust outsiders and I don't know if that would happen with the Kirkwall crew. She's absolutely going to clash with Sebastian and Aveline in a way that's less "rival route" and more "we no longer associate with one another and are maybe actively Hostile", and the lack of any unified common goal means she's going to spend more time managing relationships to make sure they stay workable/useful than actually opening herself to them fully. Add in the emotional environmental debuff that is the Gallows and you don't get the same Rook that was in the Lighthouse.

That said, it was Varric who got her to a place pre-Veilguard where she could step up and be Rook, so provided that she doesn't get cut down by a Templar too early in the game, there's, well, some hope.

Varric himself is a lot younger and has less experience to work off of though, meaning he might not know everything he needed in Veilguard to guide her, or even be interested in the "mentor" role.

For Inquisition, I would almost say that Arsinoë would be like a speed run of "how fast can you PROVE the whole organization is heretical".( Again, so many issues with the Chantry and Circle, which is bad when you are dealing with a Chantry organization as a "Herald of Andraste")

Except in game an Inquisitor who actively tries to undermine their association with Andraste can't manage to do so despite every effort. Which would be a whole different mind fuck.

I think if Arsinoë was going to make it work, she would almost have to treat it like a long term undercover contract. Not just a mask or persona, but a full on false history and name to help her separate the job from her self-identity. "This is a Contract, these are the Objectives, I cannot break character until x y and z are achieved." Saying one thing, and then personally sneaking poison into cups or subtly altering written documents when she thinks no one will notice, using the name Inquisitor as a shield and looking at doubters with big grey innocent eyes.

It would be terrible for her mental health and again, do the exact opposite of Veilguard for her ability to form meaningful, trusting relationships. That said, I think Josephine, Varric, Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Leliana would clock her pretty quickly. Cole would frighten her, not because he's a spirit because of what he sees and is willing to reveal, and would almost have to be kept away. With Josie, Leliana, and Varric she could maybe eventually lean on them at least a little, one liar or shadow to another.

National politics are more difficult for her than interpersonal or organizational ones, so she would definitely need Josephine and Leliana to know and accept what she was doing. There are many reasons she was content being Viago's knife and not his heir, and that's one of them.

In the end, the world does get saved, there aren't too many extra deaths, but the Inquisitor immediately "dies" as soon as Corypheus is out down. Arsinoë will let them martyr her cover story if it means escaping, which is then an issue for Trespasser. The mage who makes it back to Antiva or the Free Marches is now living looking over her shoulder, trying to erase her existence in order to preserve her sense of self.

Rook Introduction Hour 2/17/25

Hello, Heroes of Thedas! 🌟 It's Monday morning, which sucks, but it's also Rook Intro Hour day, which is fun! Yay!

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today's Question(s): If your Rook had been in the role of one of the protagonists of the other Dragon Age games, how would they have have done? Could they have saved Fereldan from the Blight? Become the Champion of Kirkwall? Led the Inquisition? How would it have changed them as a person? Impacted their emotional state?

Answer whatever you want, and have fun!

[naniskys]

but isnt it crazy that sky is the one chosen for a lead role at first even though hes just a new gmmtv artist by that time and even had the chance to choose who he wants to work with...? this got me thinking how skys power as an actor is really big! thank gods he chose nani

honestly gmmtv managed to bag THE sky wongravee, i'm glad they know his worth so he got to make his own choices and got offered the kind of roles he deserves 🥹🥹 (ngl i was genuinely worried they'd chuck him in the basement when he first joined 😭)

[finalgirlgretchen]

cuckoo had a lot of things working against it in terms of audience reception (not least the fact that it was a neon drop immediately following longlegs) but i honestly think it was mostly just. its firm insistence on the sincerity of premises that a 2024 audience doesn't expect or want. like. the cultural obsession right now is a grief/trauma horror subgenre, and has been since babadook. and cuckoo tricks its audience into thinking it's going to be another entry into the trauma horror canon by allowing gretchen to have a dead mother, but then it swerves to be actually about queer feminism, white patriarchy, colonialism, and eugenics. it's a gotcha! they're having fun with genre expectations!!! and so it leaves the audience feeling stupid because they're unable to interpret the film through a trauma horror framework, which is what they went in expecting, and their only option when they feel stupid is to accuse the movie of being messy and nonsensical. but ALSO, even apart from that, cuckoo is. a monster movie!!! cuckoo is straight up just a MONSTER movie and we don't see all that many of those anymore!!! and not only that but its monster is so wacky and zany and bonkers and original that it's even further putting off an audience who ALREADY don't like monster movies. and so again they have to accuse it of being a disaster and its plot not making any sense when actually it's like. the plot makes total sense. everything relevant to the plot is answered by the film itself. there are maybe some worldbuilding or lore things that are left unanswered but they don't impact the viewing experience. it's just that cuckoo is doing something different than what audiences demand from horror in 2024. and i PERSONALLY think that's what makes it the best release of all time

[glitterydeath]

HE'S HERE

HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S HERE

I LITERALLY HAVE SO MUCH EXCITEMENT IN ME THAT MY BONES MIGHT EXPLODE!!!

[thisloveforyourmom]

Call me crazy if u want but i dont think its that weird that the group of traumatized/abused child soldiers turned out to be pretty flawed parents. Like it makes sense to me that the only one of them who didnt seem to have that issue was the one whose entire arc was about unlearning generational patterns of trauma

[foggyfanfic]

Woe that I had a team of researchers to help me make my period drama fanfiction as accurate as possible, but alas all I have is duck duck go, some old photos claiming to be from the right time period, and Wikipedia

[starheirxero]

HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW TSAMS EPISODE YET?!!!

Bloodmoon might be coming back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I LITERALLY JUST WOKE UP AND THIS ASK SENT ME FLYING ACROSS THE ROOM OMG. WATCHED IT AND HOLY SHIT. I’M LIKE ?!?!!!!! IM GENUINELY SURPRISED HE’S COMING BACK ???? I WAS SO SURE BLOODMOON WAS GUNNA STAY DEAD THIS IS FASCINATING. ESPECIALLY RUIN’S IMPLICATION OF ALTERING THEM ???? WHAT IS HE GUNNA DO 2 THE BOYS……. IM VERY INTRIGUED

[daisyachain]

AnF is a story about many things. One of the things is silence. The sparse use of internal monologue at critical moments leaves the reader aching for some kind of speech from the characters. Touma’s main struggle is against the externally-imposed silence he must live in. Masumi wants to be silent and can’t decide whether it’s cowardice or actual desire. Mami speaks loudly and speaks all the time, but she’s so thoroughly stonewalled that she may as well be silent. Futaba speaks quietly, she triggers the series by choosing to exit silence and start communicating.

And Taichi lives in a more universal, suffocating silence of the self. He doesn’t just hold back in talking—sticking to pleasantries, avoiding topics, letting himself hide in implications or small talk—he can’t even communicate with himself. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to understand what it is he thinks. He can’t connect his feelings with words. His internal monologue trails off constantly as he comes close to making A Connection and then spooks.

So Ao no Flag is partly about how hard it is to not be able to speak. The characters’ minor problems are magnified by never being able to acknowledge them or talk about them, they’re constricted, cut off, isolated by the lack of words they find inside themselves OR the lack of willing ears outside. One of the things AnF sets out to do is to have people communicate as reasonably and rationally as possible, and the way it manages to make a good story out of this is that there are just things people can’t say. Under any circumstances. It doesn’t matter that Mami or Taichi or Touma is trying to talk things out before anyone gets hurt, because the things that need to be said are inaudible. They can’t be said. Even if they are spoken out loud, the concepts that they’re trying to convey don’t exist in the lives of people around them. Taichi lives in utter silence for ten chapters trying to come up with a response to a statement that he doesn’t have the words to process.