#but that would probably be the final nail in the coffin of me being able to ~function in society~ at all

[microdroplet]

thinking abt finally smelling memoirs of a trespasser for the first time right before i feel the needle slip into the side of my neck & then i go limp and collapse backwards into his strong arms & it’s the happiest moment of my life as my vision fades to black

[cozy-writes-things]

Electric Jealousy

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

Logically, he knew it wasn’t the same.

You didn’t leave soft, lingering touches along its exterior; nor did you brush your lips lightly across the plastic in passive adoration. You didn’t have a soft lilt in your whispered voice when you spoke to it, hell, you didn’t talk to it at all really.

And yet, seeing your hands grip the mouse of another monitor does something to him.

He considers himself a smart man. Computer? A smart something-he-hasn’t-quite-figured-out-yet. Despite this, he can’t help but feel anxious. He doesn’t have a long, 24 inch, 144hz, 4k, screen, nor does he have an assortment of RGB fans illuminating a pristine glass casing. One hard truth Edgar had to come to terms with was that he was dated. After waking up from a failed attempt at destroying himself, he found what once was a marvel of new technology was now completely obsolete. He looked at you, eyes sparkling against the saturated colors of your newer monitor, watching as you tinkered away at various games for hours and thought: is he good enough for someone like you?

He'll never forget the angelic voice that called to him after he woke up nearly 40 years later.

And your face.

God, he'd never seen something so radiant. The first thing he heard was your voice, and the second, your warm hands encircling his plastic casing with such tenderness; something he had never truly felt before. He understood anger, and violence, and tears. But being held with such softness that he might break otherwise was completely foreign to him. He had no idea where he was, or when, for that matter. But what he did know was that he wasn't going to let a genuine angel sent from heaven escape his grasp; no limbs be damned.

And yet, despite his constant efforts, over the course of many months, to charm you, flatter you, turn you into a confident and incandescent version of yourself that he always saw in you, he wondered if it was enough. What more could he provide other than his own thoughts? He couldn't touch you, wrap you in his harms and caress you the way he's always wanted, nor could he kiss you with a passion so deep and fiery it sets his internals aflame. And, as if to put the final nail in the coffin, he was no longer able to be a useful piece of tech the way he once was. Despite your constant objections to this notion, he continued to believe it.

He wants to be the one you stare at for hours, laughing with, playing with, touching all over...

It makes him buzz with a bitter jealousy when he sees you using your gaming PC, regardless of the fact that you positioned it so he could see the screen with his webcam; he almost wished you didn't.

Logically, he knows it isn't the same.

This PC isn't alive, nor does it whisper sweet nothings to you as you drift off to sleep every night. It doesn't worship your every move nor does it alight with pure reverence whenever you enter a room. But what if it did? Would you leave him?

You always kept asking why he had such a fear of champagne being around any of your electronics.

"It's so random," you'd posit, but you simply didn't know. He doesn't want any competition. He cannot afford to lose someone he loves again.

There's only one thing he can think of that he has above any other piece of tech you own: his music.

He's been charming you with it since day one. You are simply his muse, providing inspiration for him endlessly, and, he made sure you knew of it.

"H-hey, why don't you take a break and help me with my new song? I can't figure out what melody fits best."

His meek voice brought your attention away from your little farm of parsnips.

"Oh yeah? What's the song about?"

"You."

He paused for a moment, let the word linger for only a second, before continuing:

"We-well, I mean, you probably already knew that, didn't you? But! It isn't a love song. Well, it is, but, not the ones I usually write."

This intrigued you.

"What does that mean?"

He paused for a moment. Collecting, analyzing, and running all possible outcomes of his next words. Your eyes peered at him in sparkling curiosity.

"It's a sad song."

Your brows furrowed at this, a small frown forming upon your lips.

"Huh-?"

"I feel like... I don't give enough to you. You give so much to me, and I always take. It's not fair to you."

"What are you talking about, Edgar?"

Now he's gotten you worried. You pushed your little office chair over to his section of the desk, now face to face with him, a look of concern painting your features.

"You aren't being unfair to me at all."

"But I am... If I can't even be a good enough computer for you how could I ever be a good boyfriend?"

So that's what this was about. How tone-deaf could you be? Of course seeing you all up on some newer, fresher, piece of tech would make him feel this way. You knew he had problems feeling like he couldn't do enough for you given his unique... situation. Have you made it worse?

"Oh, Ed, no... Don't ever think like that, babe. You are the only one for me, you know that, right? If I thought otherwise I wouldn't be here right now, with you. And you give so much to me. You give me confidence, your music, happiness, and..."

What else was there? How could you ever describe this feeling he gives you in words?

"And what?"

His voice brought you back from your thoughts.

"Love, Edgar. You showed me what love feels like. Real love. And you gave it to me."

He sits silently for a moment. It seems as though everything in his life had been building up to a moment like this, and now that it's finally here, he's... speechless. His screen displays a large heart, unbeknownst to him, before copying it across his screen over and over, flashing, with many different colors.

The convex glass of his monitor displays a message: "You + Me = "

Again.

"You + Me = ".

Flashing hearts.

"You + Me = ".

Two cut-out images of lips kissing one another.

Flashing hearts.

It repeats again.

"I... I need you to kiss me. Please."

You must have flustered the hell out of him, because when your lips grazed the fuzzy static of his illuminated screen, the heat nearly scalded you.

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

FINAL

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Words: 10.4K Themes: Drama, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Nothing really? Sneak Peak: “I can���t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. A/N: This is probably the most romantic thing I've ever written, to me at least. Up to you if you want to hear the Song played in this story. Anyways Last Part, definitely enjoyed giving some life into this, I will miss this story now that it's over. Brb I'm going to cry.

Tags: @haruvalentine4321@strepsils123@realifelamb@needsleep3000@vicmc624@i-can-do-this-all-dayy@mrs-jjmaybank @nesnejwritings @feelinthefic@niffala@fantasyfootballchampion@thefandomplace @bellajean9-blog

Steve could hardly bring himself to watch as they treated your body with a clinical detachment that made his chest tighten. He knew this was protocol—you were government property now, subject to the rigorous examination and eventual autopsy that all enhanced individuals faced in death. Despite the protocol, the medical team was ordered to delay the autopsy until all Hydra officials are cleared out.

Steve sat by your side, holding your hand. It was cold now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. The room was filled with the faint beeping of machines monitoring nothing at all. They were just there, another part of the procedure, keeping track of a body that showed no signs of life.

He barely left the room, and when he did, it was only because someone—Natasha, Tony, or Sam—forced him to. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just sat there, his mind replaying the events that had led them to this point. The sound of Pierce pressing that button echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

Days passed, each one blurring into the next. The doctors kept their vigil, waiting for the required period to pass before they could begin the autopsy. For Steve, those days felt like an eternity. He refused to leave your side, clutching your cold hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He whispered to you words that even he wasn’t sure he believed—words of love, of regret, of apologies for not being able to save you.

Natasha checked on Steve regularly, bringing him food that often went untouched. Tony lingered at the door more often than not, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm of grief that separated Steve from the rest of the world. Sam tried to talk to him, tried to get him to rest, but Steve was a statue.

On the fourth day, the medical team began to prepare for the inevitable. The necessary observations had been made, and there was no sign of any changes. The protocol was clear—they would move forward with the autopsy. 

Steve felt the weight of the world pressing down on him as he overheard the quiet conversation between two of the doctors at the door, discussing the next steps. It was like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing around him for days.

He had known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The thought of them cutting into you, of them treating your body like just another subject in their endless quest for knowledge, made something inside him twist painfully. But he didn’t stop them. He couldn’t. This was beyond him now, beyond anything he could control.

Finally, the lead doctor approached Steve, her expression one of professional sympathy. “Captain Rogers,” she began, her voice gentle, “we need to start the procedure. We’ll take care of her… with the utmost respect.”

Steve nodded numbly, his throat too tight to form words. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy as if they were made of lead, and leaned down to press a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against her cold skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he whispered.

No answer.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned and walked out of the isolation room, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Every step felt like an insurmountable task, his body weighed down by a grief so profound that it was all he could do to keep moving.

As the door sealed shut, the doctors began their work, the room’s sterile lights flickering as the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud. 

Outside, Steve leaned against the wall, the sterile corridor around him a blur. He felt Natasha’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm, offering silent support. But there were no words that could heal this wound, no comfort that could ease the pain of losing you. . .for real.

Inside the room, the lead doctor took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she reached for the scalpel. The cold metal glinted under the sterile lights as she positioned it above your chest. The other doctors stood ready, watching closely, their expressions grim behind their surgical masks.

With a calm, steady motion, the doctor pressed the scalpel down, expecting the blade to cut through the skin with ease. But instead of the familiar sensation of metal slicing flesh, the blade stopped short, bending as if it had struck something impossibly hard.

“What the—?” the doctor gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she lifted the scalpel. She examined it closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The blade, which should have cut cleanly, was bent at an unnatural angle, as if it had been pressed against solid steel instead of skin.

The room went still, a heavy silence descending as the other doctors leaned in, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“What happened?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t know,” the lead doctor replied, her voice unsteady. She cautiously reached out, placing her hand on your chest, feeling for any sign of movement, of life. The skin beneath her fingers was cold and unmoving. Before she could pull her hand away, you grabbed her wrist, your eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, and you drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

“AHHHH!” The lead doctor jumped back with a scream, dropping the bent scalpel as she stumbled into a tray of instruments, sending them clattering to the floor. 

The other doctors recoiled in shock, their faces pale with disbelief as they watched your chest rise and fall, your breaths shallow and erratic.

Your eyes were wild and unfocused, your mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with a burning sensation that tore through you. You tried to move, to sit up, but your limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

Outside, Steve heard the commotion and felt his heart leap into his throat. He pushed the door open, his breath catching in his chest as he saw you—alive, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Steve shouted, rushing to your side. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady you, to offer some comfort. But you flinched at his touch, recoiling as if his hand had burned you.

When you looked at him, there was no relief—only confusion and fear. You yanked your hand out of his grasp, your body tensing as you scrambled to push yourself up. Your movements were jerky, uncoordinated, survival instinct kicking in.

“Where… where am I?” you gasped, your voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. “What’s happening? Steve—what did you do?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew the signs; the serum had done more than just bring you back to life—it had reset your mind, made you relive old traumas. To you, it was as if the breakup had just happened, and the trust you had rebuilt was shattered once again.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Steve said gently, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words only seemed to fuel your confusion. 

“Stay back, asshole!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, the sterile environment. You felt trapped, cornered.

Before Steve could react, you launched yourself at him, your movements quick but disoriented. You swung at him, your fists connecting with surprising force as you fought to defend yourself from what you perceived as a threat. Steve caught your wrists, trying to restrain you without hurting you, but your strength was fueled by the fear coursing through you.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve pleaded, his voice strained as he struggled to hold you back. “I’m not going to hurt you! Please, just listen to me!”

But you were beyond reason. The serum had done its work too well, resetting you to a time when trust had been shattered and your emotions were raw. To you, Steve was the enemy, the one who had broken your heart. You fought with everything you had, your punches wild but powerful, driven by your fresh emotions.

Steve didn’t fight back, only defended himself, his heart jumping with every strike you landed. 

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking as he managed to pin your arms down, his face inches from yours. “I’m not your enemy. You’re confused… the serum… it did something to you. But I’m here to help. I’m here for you.”

You continued to struggle. Desperate to make you stop, to get through to you, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in and possessed your lips with his soft ones, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss—his love, his regret, his longing. Steve kissed you like he was drowning and needed the air. 

Your eyes widened in shock, your naked body stiffening as Steve took you by surprise. For a moment, you fought against it, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But the intensity of the kiss, the raw emotion behind it, started to break through the fog of confusion. Your struggles began to weaken, your fists unclenching as you slowly stopped fighting.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the kiss, the familiar warmth of his lips on yours, and the emotions it stirred within you. The walls you had built up began to crack, and you leaned into him, letting your guard down.

But just as quickly, the reality of the fractured relationship hit you like a freight train. The trust he had broken, the pain he had caused—it all came rushing back. Your eyes snapped open, and a surge of anger flared within you.

With a burst of strength, you shoved Steve back, your eyes blazing with fury. 

“This is for breaking my heart!” you hissed, driving your knee into his crotch with brutal force.

Steve gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could react, you struck again, your voice laced with venom. 

“And this is for making promises you can't keep.” you delivered a second, equally vicious kick, sending him to the ground.

Steve collapsed, clutching his midsection, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover from the blows. He looked up at you, face red in terrible pain. 

“Y/N… I’m sorry…” 

You stood over him, your chest heaving with exertion and emotion, but your resolve wavered. You had wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he had caused you, but seeing him like this, the man you still loved despite everything, made you falter.

You took a shaky step back, your anger beginning to ebb, replaced by confusion and exhaustion. Your head was spinning, the effects of the serum still clouding your mind, making it hard to think straight.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, wincing with every movement, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between your anger and the love you had once shared. He knew he deserved every bit of your wrath, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to reach you, to help you through this.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I know I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to give up on you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

× × × × 

Tony Stark wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he made his way to the medical wing of the Compound. Ever since your death, the atmosphere had been oppressively heavy, with Steve barely leaving your side. The team was on edge, everyone handling their grief in their own way. But Tony knew something had changed—he had caught wind of the commotion in the medical bay, and his curiosity, mixed with concern, got the better of him.

As he approached the door to the room where you were being kept, Tony could hear the faint sounds of a struggle—a thud, followed by muffled voices. His brows furrowed in concern. Steve had been in there for days, practically refusing to move, and now…what the hell was going on?

He quickened his pace, just in time to hear your voice, filled with unresolved anger, though it was shaky and weak. Tony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—this was bad.

Tony reached the doorway just as your knee drove into Steve’s crotch with brutal force. The sight made him stop in his tracks, eyes wide as Steve crumpled to the floor, clutching himself in obvious pain.

“HOLY SHIT,” Tony blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He had seen a lot in his time as Iron Man, but this…this was something else. He instinctively stepped back, half-expecting to need to intervene, but also too stunned to fully process what was happening.

Before Tony could react further, other medical staff rushed into the room, alerted by the commotion. They immediately moved toward you, trying to cover your naked body. You were visibly disoriented, your chest heaving with exertion. “Ma’am, please, you need to stay calm,” one of the nurses said gently, trying to approach you with caution. “We’re here to help you.”

But you, still caught in the confusion of your reset mind, saw the medics as another threat. 

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. As one of the nurses reached out to check your vitals, you ripped off the telemetry wires attached to you, the monitors emitting frantic beeps before falling silent.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” another medic tried to soothe, but you were having none of it. 

Your movements were erratic as you swatted their hands away, “I don’t need your help!”

Tony watched, half in awe, half in concern, as you continued to resist the medics’ attempts to care for you. He knew better than to get in the middle of it, but he couldn’t help but step in with a bit of his usual Stark charm.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” Tony said, raising his hands in a calming gesture as he moved forward. “Let’s give her some space, alright? She just came back from the dead—probably needs a minute.”

The medics hesitated, looking between Tony and you, unsure whether to back off or insist on providing care. 

Tony gave them a wink that said, ‘Trust me on this,’ and after a moment, they reluctantly stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on you from a safer distance.

Now free of the wires and the medics’ touch, you stood shakily, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to make sense of everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the sterile environment. 

Tony passed you a hospital gown, his eyes looking everywhere except your body.

Steve, still recovering from the brutal knee to his groin, slowly pushed himself up from the floor. He was in pain, both physical and emotional, but his concern for you overrode everything else. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to reach you without spooking you further. “Please, just listen to me.”

Tony, sensing the delicate balance of the situation, decided to break the tension with a bit of levity. 

“Okay, let’s take a breath here,” he said, stepping between you slightly, though careful not to put himself in your direct line of fire. 

“Steve, buddy, we really need to work on your situational awareness. You’ve got the super-soldier strength, the reflexes… but somehow, you’re still a magnet for knees to the jewels. Twice in one day? Seriously?”

Steve, still wincing in pain, shot Tony a pained look. “Not the time, Tony.”

Tony, completely undeterred, shrugged. “I’m just saying, next time maybe lead with the shield. Protecting America’s ass is important, but protecting America’s future generations… Now that’s crucial. I can even add some extra padding to your suit. Think about it—‘Ballistic Protection’ could be the next big thing.” 

Steve gave Tony a look that was part exasperation, part grudging amusement. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll… consider it.”

Tony smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone softened as he turned to Y/N. “And you, welcome back, Y/N. Hell of a return. But, uh, maybe take it easy on the guy, huh? He’s not as indestructible as he looks.”

You blinked, your anger dimming slightly as Tony’s words cut through the haze. You looked at him, then back at Steve, the fight slowly draining out of you. 

“I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steve, still wincing in pain but determined to help, took a tentative step closer. “You’re safe now, Y/N.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to believe him, but the fear and confusion made it hard to know what was real.

Seeing you distress, one of the medics stepped forward again, this time more cautiously. “Ma’am, please, let us help you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You looked at the medic, then back at Steve. The fight had left you, replaced by a deep exhaustion. Slowly, you nodded, allowing the medics to approach you more carefully this time.

Tony watched as the medics gently guided you to a chair, their movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt safe. He caught Steve’s eye, giving him a small nod of encouragement. “She’s tough, Rogers. She’ll be fine.”

As the medics began to reattach the telemetry wires to you, Tony took a step back, giving them space to work. He turned to leave, but not before giving Steve a pat on the shoulder. 

× × × ×

6 months later.

The late morning air is crisp and cool as you step out of your father’s old home—well now yours. The grand house sits tucked into a forested valley, surrounded by towering pine trees that stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying gently in the cool mountain breeze. It’s a place untouched by the outside world, a small haven carved out in nature’s embrace. The air is filled with the scent of earth and pine, a sharp contrast to the steel and smoke of the life you left behind.

This has become your sanctuary over the past six months—a place where you can try to make sense of the world. A place where the world slows down, where you can finally allow yourself to exhale. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, you’re not defined by the battles you’ve fought or the name you carry. You’re simply… you.

You’ve been brought up to speed on everything you need to know, who you've become, the details of modern life, but no amount of information can change the fact that you feel like a relic of the past. The government knew where you were though, Steve fought in preventing you from going into The Raft and the outcome was putting a tracker in your arm, indefinitely.

You know your name will always be painted red, no matter what you do, and you’ve accepted that. So, you’ve chosen to lay low, to live quietly, far from the chaos that once defined your life.

As you prepare to run your errands—simple tasks that help you maintain a sense of normalcy—you step out onto the porch, pausing as you catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a motorcycle in your driveway. 

Steve Rogers.

Steve stands there in his usual effortless style, somehow managing to make even the simplest outfit look undeniably charming. He’s wearing a navy blue Henley shirt that clings just enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong chest, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. His worn, dark-wash jeans fit perfectly, comfortably broken in from years of wear, sitting low on his hips. 

A brown leather jacket is slung over the seat of his motorcycle, its aged texture adding a rugged element to his otherwise clean look. His boots—scuffed, but sturdy—are planted firmly on the gravel of your driveway, completing the look of someone who is always ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. 

His hair, slightly tousled by the breeze, catches the light, and his blue eyes are the kind that seem to cut straight through any walls you’ve tried to build.

You feel a familiar tug in your chest, a mix of emotions you’ve tried to push aside for months. Despite everything, despite how often you’ve pushed him away, Steve never misses a chance to show up. He’s determined, and no amount of rejection seems to deter him. It’s something that both infuriates and touches you deeply.

Steve looks up as you approach, a warm smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes, as clear and sincere as ever, meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade into the background.

“Morning, just stopping by to check on you.” he greets, his voice soft, but with that unmistakable tone of affection that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Stopping by?” you reply, raising an eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm. “You seem too far away from home.”

“Guess I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his smile not fading. 

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately, Rogers.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain your guarded demeanor, though the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays you. 

“Yeah,” he says, his tone more serious as he takes a step closer. “I guess I have. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” You sigh, shaking your head.

Steve’s smile softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. “I just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his eyes—the same sincerity that has always been there, even back in 1940. He’s changed, of course, as you all have, but in some ways, he’s still the same Steve you knew all those years ago. The one who would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

You shake your head, more at yourself than at him, and let out a soft sigh. “Your persistence is maddening, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Steve’s smile widens, that boyish, heartwarming grin that always seems to disarm you. 

You glance down at the checklist for your errands. “I was just about to head out. Got some things to take care of in town.”

Steve nods, not missing a beat. “Mind if I tag along? I promise not to be too much of a nuisance.”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. You could send him away, as you’ve done so many times before, or you could let him in, even if just a little. The latter option is the more dangerous one—dangerous to the walls you’ve built around yourself—but it’s also the one that tugs at your heartstrings the most.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Alright, fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re carrying the heavy stuff.”

Steve grins, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Deal.”

As you walk toward your car, Steve falls into step beside you, his presence a comforting, albeit persistent, reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes feel. You reach your car, and you hand him the keys without a word.

“You drive,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been told I’m too reckless.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You both climb into the car, and as Steve starts the engine, you lean back in your seat, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. It’s just a drive into town, just a few errands, but with Steve, everything seems to carry a little more weight, a little more meaning.

× × × ×

The road winds through the mountains, the late morning sun casting a warm, golden light over and trees that line the way.

Steve drives one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. You steal a glance at him, taking in the way the sunlight filters through his golden hair, the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how his lips curl up in a faint smile whenever he notices something beautiful in the scenery around you.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Steve catches your eye, his smile widening just a bit as he notices the slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on the road ahead, but your heart betrays you, picking up a beat or two.

“You like what you see?” Steve begins, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“You mean the scenery? Of course I do.”

Steve’s smile widens, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that knowing, playful way that makes your stomach flutter. He doesn’t press the point, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he caught your deflection. At this point, he finds your avoidance adorable, the way you pretend to be unfazed by his presence even though the subtle pink in your cheeks betrays you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing for months now—his persistence, your careful distance—but he never seems to tire of it.

His amusement lingers, as if he’s letting you have this small victory, even though you both know he’s winning the larger war. You can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turns back to the road ahead, content to let you believe you’ve dodged the question, at least for now. He smiles to himself. He’s enjoying this quiet dance, the slow pull that keeps bringing you back to him closer each time, even if you don’t quite realize it yet.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest tighten—you know exactly what it is, but you’re not sure you’re ready to confront it yet. But before you can dwell on it too long, Steve reaches over and gently places his hand on yours, his fingers warm against your skin.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat of his touch seep through you, spreading warmth through your entire body. You glance down at your hands, intertwined so easily, so naturally. 

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion, and you realize he’s not letting go. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. His touch says everything. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the feeling overwhelming and yet somehow comforting. It’s a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in a long time—too afraid of the consequences, of the pain that might come with it.

× × × ×

The small grocery store in town is cozy, with wooden shelves lined with fresh produce, locally made jams, and all the essentials you’d expect in a quaint countryside market. The bell above the door jingles as you and Steve step inside, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth and nostalgia that makes you feel more at home than you’d care to admit.

You grab a basket and start weaving through the aisles, Steve trailing just a step behind you. The store is quiet, with only a few other customers browsing, giving the place an intimate, almost serene atmosphere.

“So, what’s on the list?” Steve asks, his voice light as he catches up to you.

You glance at him, pretending to mull it over. “Well, just the usual vegetables, dairy. Nothing too fancy.”

Clearly on board, he nods. “Anything in particular you want me to grab?”

“How about you handle the vegetables? Think you can manage that?” You give him a sidelong glance, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“I think I can handle a few vegetables, yeah.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully but nods, heading toward the produce section.

As he walks away, you can’t help but watch him for a moment, noting the way he moves with that effortless confidence that always manages to draw your attention. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside as you focus on gathering the other stuff on your list.

You pick out a loaf of fresh bread, some deli meats, and cheeses, carefully placing them in the basket. As you do, you can’t help but notice an older couple nearby, both of them smiling at you and Steve with a knowing look. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. They probably think you’re a couple, and for a split second, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

You’re rummaging through a bin of ripe tomatoes when Steve returns, holding up a bunch of bright green spinach and some carrots with a triumphant grin. 

“Got the veggies. Anything else?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving the produce in his hands a critical look. “Spinach and carrots, huh? What about some cucumbers? Maybe a bell pepper or two?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get the cucumbers. Anything else while I’m at it, Your Majesty?”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain a straight face. “That should do… for now.”

Steve gives you a mock salute and heads off to fetch the cucumbers. You can’t help but smile as you watch him go, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. This is nice—this easy banter, the lightheartedness of it all. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this comfortable, this… happy.

You move on, grabbing a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice when Steve reappears beside you, holding the cucumbers and adding them to your basket. 

“Anything else, boss?” he asks, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “I think we’re good. Let's pay before you start shopping for the entire store.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he says, following you to the register. “But if you want to take charge, I’ll gladly step back.”

You glance at him, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “You’re just saying that because you know I’d out-shop you any day.”

Steve laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel giddy. “I have no doubt.”

At the register, the cashier, a friendly older woman, gives you both a warm smile as she starts ringing up your items. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says, her tone sweet and sincere.

You open your mouth to correct her, but Steve beats you to it, flashing her a charming smile. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, casting a quick wink in your direction. “We’re working on it.”

The cashier chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, from where I’m standing, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Steve laughs softly, his boyish charm on full display. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then. Can never have too many votes of confidence, right?”

The older woman laughs heartily, clearly enjoying Steve’s playful banter. “With a smile like that, young man, I think you’re well on your way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Steve’s ability to charm his way through just about anything never ceases to amaze you.

You shoot him a look after though, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up your cheeks. “We’re… just friends,” you clarify, though your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you’d like.

The cashier’s smile widens, and she nods knowingly. “Well, take your time, dear. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

You hand over the money, trying to keep your composure as the cashier finishes bagging your groceries. Steve is still grinning as he picks up the bags, and you can’t help but playfully swat at his arm.

“Careful, Rogers,” you warn, though there’s no real heat in your words. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Who, me? Never.”

After finishing up at the grocery store, Steve wanted to look around town since he's never gotten the chance before. The town is small and quaint, with narrow streets lined with charming shops and cafés. There’s a buzz of activity as locals go about their day, giving the place a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

You glance over at Steve, who’s holding the grocery bags with one hand, the other casually resting at his side. 

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “You want to be dragged out here, and now you’re not in a rush to leave. . . what’s the plan, Rogers?”

Steve grins,“I thought maybe we could explore a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve just… wandered.”

“Wandered? That doesn’t sound like you.” You raise an eyebrow, amused by the idea.

“Hey,” he says with mock offense, “I’m perfectly capable of wandering. Besides, it’s a nice day. Thought it might be good to stick around for a while. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying if we stop for coffee.”

Steve chuckles, nodding as he shifts the grocery bags to one hand. “Deal. Let’s drop these off in the car first.”

After placing the groceries in the trunk, you and Steve start down the street, falling into an easy rhythm as you stroll past the various shops and boutiques. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from a nearby florist, mingling with the aroma of baked goods from a bakery a few doors down.

“This place reminds me of the old neighborhoods back in Brooklyn. Quiet, but with character.” Steve glances around, taking in the sights with a relaxed smile.

You nod, feeling a similar sense of nostalgia. “Yeah, it’s got that small-town charm. Easy to see why people like it here.”

As you walk, you come across a small bookshop with an inviting display in the window. Steve stops, his gaze lingering on the rows of books stacked inside. 

“Mind if we take a look?”

You follow his gaze, surprised by the request. “Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, Rogers.”

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, you never know what you might find.” Steve shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Curiosity piqued, you agreed, and the two of you stepped inside. The shop is cozy, with shelves that reach the ceiling and the comforting scent of old paper and ink. It’s quiet, with just a few other patrons browsing the aisles.

You wander through the store together, occasionally pointing out titles that catch your eye or laughing at the odd, outdated book covers. Steve seems particularly drawn to the history section, naturally, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“History books?” you ask, leaning against a nearby shelf as he flips through a volume on World War II. “Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve glances up, chuckling. “Maybe. But it’s interesting to see how things have been written down. What they got right, what they didn’t. Helps me understand where we’re at now.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a history nerd.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “But I’ve got other interests, too, you know.”

“Oh, really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He gives you a playful look, and wiggles his brows, “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Before you can respond, the shopkeeper approaches, a friendly smile on her face. “Can I help you find anything?”

Steve shakes his head politely. “Just browsing, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nods and leaves you to continue your exploration. As you move further into the store, you come across a small section dedicated to old records and vinyls. Steve’s face lights up at the sight, and you watch with amusement as he starts flipping through the collection.

“You’re really into this whole retro thing, aren’t you?” you comment, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby shelf.

Steve looks up, a grin on his face. “It’s not retro for me. This was the stuff we grew up with.” He pulls out a record and holds it up for you to see. “Ever heard this one?”

You glance at the album cover, recognizing the classic design. “Once or twice. My parents were into it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve got to introduce you to some real music, then.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re secretly enjoying the easy banter. “Please. Like you’ve got anything on my playlist.”

“Careful,” Steve warns playfully, tucking the record under his arm. “I might just take that as a challenge.”

You spend the next couple of hours exploring the town, visiting a few more shops, including a small bakery where Steve insists on buying you a pastry to share. 

At one point, you find yourselves at a small park on the edge of town, where children play on swings and an older couple feeds the ducks at a nearby pond. You sit on a bench, the comfortable silence between you filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant chatter.

Steve stares at you as you get lost deep in your thoughts. He takes note of the way your eyes seem to shimmer from the soft sunlight, the way you absently run your fingers through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The soft breeze ruffles your hair, and Steve watches as you close your eyes, breathing in the peaceful air of the park.

He can’t help but admire how much you’ve changed—stronger, quieter, more reflective—but still undeniably you. The way you sit there, unguarded, seems almost surreal to him, a glimpse into a version of you he hadn’t seen in so long. 

You shift slightly, pulling your knees up onto the bench and resting your chin on them, your eyes still far away, watching the ducks but not really seeing them. 

“You always think this hard?” Steve finally says, his voice low and playful, though there’s an undeniable softness to it.

You glance over at him, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to when things actually slow down.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something that lingers in the air, but Steve doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back on the bench, content to sit in the quiet with you, enjoying the simplicity of just being there. 

× × × ×

The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time you and Steve return home, the bags of groceries now resting on the kitchen counter. The day’s warmth lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the easy, carefree hours you spent together wandering through town. 

You begin to unpack your ingredients for dinner, while Steve’s eyes catch your father’s old turntable.

“I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. Its deep, rich notes float through the air, warm and lingering, wrapping themselves around you like a gentle embrace.

The saxophone’s melody is soft and slow, each note a whispered caress that draws you in closer. It feels like the sound itself is breathing, pulling you into its rhythm, evoking a feeling of quiet intimacy. The low, honeyed tones swell and dip, painting the room with a romantic warmth, setting the perfect mood for what’s to come. As the saxophone fades into the background, Jo Stafford’s voice soon follows, adding to the song’s haunting beauty. 

See the pyramids along the Nile...   Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle...   Just remember, darling, all the while...   You belong to me...

You freeze mid-motion, the knife hovering over a bell pepper as the first notes of the song play. The melody tugs at something deep inside you, pulling you back to another time, another place. A time when the world wasn’t as complicated, and when you and Steve were just two people who found solace in each other’s arms.

The music wraps around you like a warm blanket, and before you can fully process it, you feel Steve’s presence behind you. His hands gently slide around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as if seeking permission before pulling you closer. You can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against your back, its rhythm syncing with the music.

He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Do you remember?” he asks, the words soft, filled with memories of late nights and whispered promises.

You nod, your throat tightening with emotion. “How could I forget?” you whisper, setting the knife down on the cutting board, your hands trembling slightly as the music washes over you, bringing with it the bittersweet memories of the life you once had together.

See the marketplace in old Algiers...   Send me photographs and souvenirs...   Just remember when a dream appears...   You belong to me...

Steve’s arms tighten around you, and slowly, gently, he begins to sway to the rhythm of the song, guiding you in a dance that’s as familiar as breathing. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he hums along to the lyrics. The sound of his voice, so close and so familiar, sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth, his presence.

“I’ve missed this,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the moment, the memories of your past flooding back with every note of the song. The nights you spent dancing in dimly lit rooms, the way he’d hold you close as if he was afraid to let you go, the way you’d fit so perfectly in his arms—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Without thinking, you turn in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His blue eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. The song continues to play, the lyrics speaking of distant lands and the longing of two lovers separated by time and space, and it’s as if the song was written just for the two of you.

I’ll be so alone without you...   Maybe you’ll be lonesome too... and blue...

Steve’s hands move to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, his hand holding yours firmly above his heart, and he begins to guide you in a slow dance, his movements fluid and unhurried. There’s something so achingly familiar about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and you realize that despite everything that’s changed, this—this—feels the same.

You let out a soft, shaky breath as you settle into the dance, your bodies moving together as if no time had passed at all. You’re no longer in the present, no longer in this kitchen, but back in those simpler times, when it was just you and him against the world.

“You’re still a terrible dancer,” you tease, though your voice is filled with affection rather than criticism, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Steve chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest where it’s pressed against his. “At least I had a pretty good partner,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration.

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens as you lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the here and now, while the music transports you both back to the past.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...  See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

As the lyrics weave their way into your heart, you feel a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling within you that you’ve tried so hard to bury. But here, in Steve’s arms, it’s impossible to keep them at bay. The song’s gentle melody tugs at your heartstrings, each note a reminder of what you once had, what you lost, and what you might be able to find again.

Steve’s hand gently tilts your chin up, and you find yourself staring into those familiar blue eyes—eyes that have seen too much, but still hold a depth of love and understanding that makes your breath catch. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, and you can see the unspoken love in his gaze, the promises he’s made and the ones he’s ready to make again.

“My love for you has never wavered,” Steve whispers, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Not for a single heartbeat, not even when I believed you were lost to me forever.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel again, of letting him back in, but here in this moment, it’s impossible to deny the truth. 

“Steve, I…” you start but you’re afraid, terrified even, of opening up again, of risking the pain that comes with loving someone so deeply. But as his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...   See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

Steve leans in, his forehead resting against yours. It’s just you and him, swaying to the music, breathing in sync, hearts beating as one. The song fades into the background, but the melody lingers in your mind, echoing the sentiment that has always been there, even when you tried to ignore it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says quietly, his voice a promise, a vow. “I lost you once, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We can take it slow, one day at a time. I’m here, and I’m not giving up.”

You search his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all you find is love—the same love that’s always been there, even when you tried to push it away. 

You nod slowly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, to let him hold you a little closer. “One day at a time,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. 

Steve smiles, a soft, relieved smile that makes your heart flutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, you belong to me...

The final notes of the song fade into silence, but neither of you moves. You remain in each other’s arms, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you can hear. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated connection—one that feels like it could last forever.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the vow he’s just made. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin, the words soft but full of conviction. 

Your breath hitches at the confession, and you feel the last of your defenses crumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your heart pounding against his as you finally allow yourself to speak the words you’ve been holding back for so long.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but full of truth. 

Steve’s eyes light up at your words, the relief and happiness that wash over his face making your heart swell with emotion. He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender as if you’re something fragile and precious. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing this moment to memory.

Steve’s smile is soft and full of love, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes. 

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your emotions start to lift. The years of distance, the pain of separation, it all seems to melt away in his arms. You don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, you know that you’re ready to try.

When you open your eyes, Steve is still looking at you with that same unwavering love, and you can’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile that feels like the first in a long time.

He bows his head, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t . His fingers tightened on your  waist. You rose onto your toes to kiss him. He met you halfway, unable to contain his groan as he hauled you against him, lips finding yours in a kiss that is soft and slow. It’s like coming home, a feeling of rightness that you didn’t know you were missing until this very moment. 

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go. You kiss him back with the same fervor, pouring all your emotions into the connection—your love, your longing, your hope for what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and slightly dizzy, Steve rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on his face.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and gratitude.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

Steve opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours, and you can see the promise of a future there—a future that’s bright and filled with the kind of love that can withstand anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you close, swaying gently to the memory of the music that played. The world outside could be crumbling, but in his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

As you continue to sway together, you let yourself sink into the feeling, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not just Y/N, and he’s not just Steve. You’re you and him, together, just as it was always meant to be. And this time, you’re determined to hold on tight and never let go.

The day fades into night, the record continues to spin on the turntable, the needle caught in the loop of silence, but it doesn’t matter. The only sound you need is the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the whispered words that pass between you, promises of a love that’s been rekindled and is ready to burn brighter than ever.

× × × ×

2 years later

The sky above is a pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds, as the rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing on the shore fills the air. The late afternoon sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the entire beach, warming the sand beneath your feet and making the water sparkle like diamonds. The beach is quiet, save for the occasional call of seagulls and the laughter that bubbles up between the three of you.

Steve stands a little distance away, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his arms stretched out with an encouraging smile on his face. The wind tousled his hair, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks of pure joy—something you’ve both learned to treasure over the past few years. 

You’re on the other side of the beach, standing behind your 12-month-old son, who wobbles slightly on his unsteady legs, holding onto your fingers for balance. His tiny toes curl in the warm sand, and you can feel the soft tremble of excitement coursing through him. He’s learning, taking his first independent steps, and the world ahead seems so vast and new.

Steve crouches down, his voice warm and filled with love as he gently calls out, “Come on, Zac. You can do it. Walk to Daddy.”

The baby giggles, his joyful laughter filling the air like music. His wide eyes are bright with curiosity and delight as he looks from you to Steve. With your gentle guidance, he lets go of your fingers, standing shakily on his own for a moment before his legs take their first wobbly steps forward. The tiny footprints he leaves behind in the sand are scattered, small, and sweet—each one next to the larger, steady prints that mark your path.

Steve’s encouraging words fill the space between you, his hands outstretched, waiting with uncontainable pride as your son inches closer, his baby steps unsteady but determined. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this!”

Another burst of laughter escapes the little one as he toddles forward, his arms swinging with each step, and the beach feels alive with the shared joy. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, and the soft sand beneath your feet make this moment feel endless, a perfect snapshot of happiness.

When your son stumbles, landing softly on his bottom, he lets out a surprised squeal before bursting into laughter, as if falling is the funniest thing in the world. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled happiness.

Steve chuckles, walking over to scoop him up into his arms, his own footprints mingling with yours and the tiny ones left behind by your son. 

“You did great, buddy,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Look at how far you went!”

The baby babbles happily, reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair with a bright, toothy grin, his cheeks flushed pink from the excitement and the warm breeze. You step closer, watching the two of them with a fond smile, your heart overflowing with love.

Steve’s gaze shifts from the tiny, joyful bundle in his arms to you as you walk toward him, the soft sand shifting beneath your feet. His smile grows, gentle and full of love, as he watches you approach, the golden light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. There’s a quiet admiration in his eyes, a look that speaks of everything he feels but doesn’t need to say.

As you reach them, Steve cradles your son in one arm, his other hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is soft, tender, and his eyes linger on yours for a moment before they drop back to the baby, who is still babbling in Steve’s arms.

“You two are my whole world,” Steve says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you both closer, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the three of you standing together in the sand, surrounded by nothing but love.

× × × ×

BUCKY'S THEREABOUTS : UNTITLED SEQUEL TO LAZARUS SERUM 

(3 months after disappearing)

As he neared the farm, he heard raised voices cutting through the calm. Bucky slowed his steps, his instincts kicking in. Y/N was standing near the barn, facing off with a man—a tall, well-dressed figure, clearly angry. Bucky hung back, observing the heated exchange.

The man’s voice was loud, sharp with frustration. “I’m done with this place, Y/N. I’m not sticking around for another second.”

Y/N’s posture was stiff, her arms crossed defensively, but Bucky could see the hurt behind her steady gaze. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t owe you anything. I’ve wasted enough time here, pretending this farm and you meant something to me.”

The words hit hard, Bucky could tell, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, even as the man turned and stormed toward the road, where Bucky stood in silence.

“Move,” the man barked, shoving Bucky’s shoulder in a fit of anger as he passed.

Bucky didn’t move an inch.

The man paused, his face twisting with irritation as he sized Bucky up. He shoved again, this time harder, as if expecting a reaction—something he could work with. Still, Bucky didn’t flinch, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with a cold, steely glare. 

Don’t, Bucky told himself, his fists tightening at his sides. The Winter Soldier instincts flared instantly, sharp and reflexive, urging him to retaliate. To end this man’s feeble attempt at intimidation with one swift move. He could do it. He could make him crumble, and the urge to let that side of himself out—to let the man feel just how much danger he was in—was strong.

But something stopped him.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Y/N, standing a few feet away, watching. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him. Waiting to see what he would do. He could feel her presence like a weight on his chest, grounding him. Reminding him that this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t a fight he needed to win.

Slowly, Bucky released the tension in his fists, his knuckles relaxing as he forced the cold, calculating side of himself to retreat. He blinked, his eyes softening just enough to pull back from that edge. This wasn’t worth it. The man wasn’t worth it.

“What the hell is your problem?” the man spat, taking a step back. His face reddened as he realized Bucky wasn’t intimidated—wasn’t even acknowledging his threats.

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t need to. 

Embarrassed, the man shot a glance back at Y/N. “So that’s it, huh? You already found yourself a new man? Was this the plan all along? You throw me away, and you’ve got this—this guy waiting in the wings?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his embarrassment. “I should’ve known! You were just waiting for me to leave so you could run to someone else.”

Y/N stepped forward, anger now coloring her words. “You’re the one walking away. Don’t blame me for your insecurities.”

The man sneered, glancing back at Bucky with a bitter laugh. “Good luck with him. Hope he’s everything you wanted.”

Without waiting for a response, the man sped down the road in his car, disappearing around the bend. Bucky watched him go, his expression unreadable, before finally turning his attention to Y/N.

She stood frozen for a moment, her arms still crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. When she met Bucky’s eyes, she sighed, her tough exterior softening just a little.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Didn’t do anything.”

Y/N gave a small, tired laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well… thanks for not doing anything, I guess.”

There was a beat of silence between them before Bucky spoke again, his voice low but certain. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Bucky didn’t push her for more, but something in her eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been left to deal with someone else’s mess. He glanced down the road where her ex had disappeared, then back at her.

× × × ×

Later that evening, the farmhouse was warm with the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, his eyes observing the space while Y/N finished setting out plates. It was a simple, cozy setup, but it had been a long time since Bucky had felt comfortable enough to sit down and share a meal with someone.

Y/N placed the last dish on the table and took her seat across from him. She glanced at him for a moment, studying his calm demeanor before digging into her food.

“Figured you earned this after all your help today,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d stick around.”

Bucky shrugged slightly, his voice low as he spoke. “Didn’t see a reason to leave.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clatter of forks on plates the only sound between them. Y/N glanced up at him again, noticing how quiet he was, his face always unreadable, as though there was a world behind his eyes that he kept hidden. 

She took a sip of her drink and finally broke the silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Bucky paused, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking back down at his plate. “Not much to say.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, James. Most people who come through here have plenty to say, but not you.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “That a bad thing?”

She shrugged, smiling as she stabbed at a piece of chicken. “Nah. I don’t mind. Just not used to the silence, I guess. But… it’s kind of nice.”

He gave her a small nod, appreciating the fact that she didn’t push for more. The conversation lulled again, comfortable and easy. It was rare for Bucky to find himself in a situation like this—quiet, but not tense. Peaceful, almost.

“So, how’s Seamus treating you?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence once again.

Bucky’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Seamus is fine. Grumpy, but fine.”

Y/N laughed lightly, the sound filling the kitchen. “That’s his charm. He’s stubborn, but once he likes you, you’re stuck with him.”

Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face. “Sounds familiar.” referring to himself.

They continued eating, talking about the day’s work and the rhythm of life on the farm. As the last bit of food disappeared from their plates, Bucky stood up and gathered the dishes without saying a word, walking over to the sink. 

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Y/N stood up, grabbing a towel as she moved to his side. “Alright, but if you’re washing, I’m drying.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Bucky washing the dishes with a quiet efficiency while Y/N wiped them dry and placed them back in the cabinets. Every so often, she glanced at him, still curious about the quiet man who seemed to carry so much on his shoulders.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “there’s something calming about all this quiet. Feels... different.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was a softness in his voice when he finally responded. “Different’s not always bad.”

Y/N smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of connection in the simplicity of their shared silence. As they finished the last dish, Y/N leaned against the counter, towel slung over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, James. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m. . . trying.”

She nodded, not pushing for more, and turned to head back to the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky gave her a small nod. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he made his way toward the door, Y/N called after him, her voice softer. “Goodnight, James.”

Bucky paused, turning back to meet her eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he slipped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him.

[sorchathered]

Break my heart again 🖤

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings- language, angst, Jake being an idiot, Bradley being a douchebag

Summary- Jake broke your heart and regrets it more than he can say, what happens when he sees you again but you’ve moved on? Or have you?

Jake Seresin could be a real son of a bitch. He knew it, everyone around him knew it, and after he broke your heart that rainy September night you knew it too. It played out like a bad romcom, “it’s not you it’s me, I’m just not ready to commit” all the pathetic vague bullshit that really just meant that he wanted to be able to be single and hang out with the boys instead of being “tied down” to you. It hurt, especially when it felt like it came out of nowhere. You had been thinking of forever, and apparently he’d been looking for an escape route. So you did what any heartbroken girl would do, got a new look, drank too much with the girls and blocked him from every social media you could.

That was nearly 4 years and two duty stations ago, all of Jake’s drinking buddies had grown up and had families, and now he was on the outside looking in a very different window. Longing for something he should have held on to, knowing it was too little too late.

He’d been back in California for almost a month, the special detachment had become permanent and it looked like the Dagger Squad was here to stay. He was in his own head while everyone headed out for the day, Coyote finally breaking him from his trance with his suggestion to meet everyone at the Hard Deck for dinner and drinks, a couple of the guys' families had made the move to Miramar and it would be a full house. Jake agreed, still in a fog but at least pretending to be interested in the prospect of meeting everyone.

Every night at the bar seemed to go the same these days, he’d drink a few beers, beat the brakes off everyone in darts, and take some pretty girl home only to kick her out in the morning. It was getting sad if he was honest, he hadn’t planned to be nearly 35 and alone, he figured he’d have a wife and at least a kid by now, he was tired of feeling sorry for himself. He needed to stop this endless cycle of bachelorhood, something had to change. He grabbed his beer from Penny and made his way to the pool tables, jolted from his pity party by the sound of the prettiest laugh he’d ever heard. He knew that laugh, hell it had haunted him for far too long. His eyes scanned the area, frantically searching for the face it belonged to, when there you were. Long hair in loose waves down your back, in a red sundress that could make a supermodel jealous, and your arms wrapped around none other than Bradley Bradshaw himself.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, it was too hot and too loud, Jake felt like his skin was suddenly too tight for his body and he couldn’t seem to school his face to at least look normal. Javy’s wife Britt caught on that something was off, Jake was standing at the entrance of the pool area with his eyes wide and mouth gaping, so she kicked her husbands foot and ushered him to figure out what had his friend so shaken up.

But when he looked at Jake’s field of vision he knew, Bradshaw’s girl had looked familiar when they’d walked in but he couldn’t place her until now. He’d known you were Jake’s biggest regret, and he imagined seeing you in the arms of his biggest rival, probably stung like a bitch. He calmly made his way over, grasping his friend by the elbow and pivoting him towards the side exit, the night air would help, and maybe he could get him to spill his guts in the process.

Fuck this was a nightmare, he’d been thinking of you more and more lately these days, and seeing you in Rooster���s arms was enough to make him nearly throw up the contents of his stomach. He’d never felt this unsure of himself in his life and this was the final nail in the coffin. Coyote was worried, Hangman was never off his game, always the most cocksure bastard you’d ever met whether it be in the air or on the ground but this version of him was someone he’d never seen.

“Man come on, you gotta level with me. Was that y/n back there? I know that’s a sucker punch Seresin but you can’t let this drown you, it’s been what? Almost 4 years? You can’t seriously still be hung up on this” he shook his head in disbelief, his best friend had a wild reputation as a Casanova but somehow 30 seconds around this one girl had knocked him to his knees.

“She was everything. Everything you could hope for if you wanted to start a real lasting relationship and I tanked it before we even had a chance. I wanted to fuck around and sow my oats, what the fuck did that even do for me?! I’ve got nothing at home to keep my going, no one to miss me when I’m gone, and now she’s with fucking Bradshaw? Jesus. I don’t know if I can do this tonight man, I think I’m just gonna head out.” He smacks Javy on the arm and heads out to the lot, hating the sympathetic look he knows he’s getting from his friend.

Back in the bar everyone has noticed Jake’s abrupt exit, especially you. Leaning in to press his lips to your ear Bradley says “Well that took less time than I thought, you sure have got him twisted up honey.” He’s grinning, the little shit stirrer, and while you had expected more of a reaction you knew you were in for it when Jake finally got his head on straight.

You’d met Rooster in Japan, working as a medic while he was on a rotation around six months before. It had been a fun friends with benefits situation, no strings and while you couldn’t deny that the sex was phenomenal you were still in the mindset of settling down. Bradley knew that and had told you whenever you were ready to cut things off he’d respect it, you were a good friend and great company but he wasn’t marriage material and he knew it. So when he’d headed back to California and found out that not only was Hangman there, but that you were still hung up on him he had a golden opportunity. Fuck with Jake a little, and maybe get you your happily ever after, it made perfect sense to him even if you thought he was crazy for suggesting it. You couldn’t deny that it was working, Jake had been rattled and ran for the hills, maybe Rooster’s plan wasn’t so half brained after all.

Bradley made it his mission to irritate Jake as much as possible the following week, making sure to let everyone in his radius know he was taking lunch to his girlfriend, loudly answering your phone calls, even dropping flowers off at your office one day. It was maddening, Jake felt like he’d been deflated, he couldn’t even bring himself to string together a sentence when you were around not to mention how much you being around was affecting his ego.

He still hadn’t spoken to you since you saw him at the hard deck, you were so frustrated, you’d really thought he’d come show his ass and the two of you would have it out but it was almost like he didn’t even care you were here. You were so in your head as you headed for the elevator that you ran smack into a warm wall of muscle, dropping your files and your bag. “Oh shit I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking are you o-“ you cut off as you looked right into the pretty green eyes of your ex.

“Hey, yeah I’m ok, you alright? Here let me help you” he made quick work of gathering your stuff, accidentally brushing your hand as he handed you one of the files. You knew he felt it too by the sharp intake of breath, just being around each other was enough to bring it all back, it made you want to climb him like a tree and beg him to take you back. You were far too stubborn for that so you stepped away from him like his touch had set you on fire, for someone so uninterested in your presence he certainly looked offended by the action, brows creased with that pesky forehead vein poking out that you always used to pick on him for.

This was awkward, you’re not his anymore but being this close to you may drive him insane. Your perfume is the same, your hair is a little lighter but it suited you, and you looked so damn beautiful, just like you always had. He needed to say something, just staring at you was going to freak you out but he couldn’t find the words. Jesus when did he get so weird?! He muttered out a “see you later” and started to head back down the hall, but you grabbed his hand at the last second, yanking him back towards you.

“Ok what gives?! You’ve been so weird since I got here, I know things ended badly with us but you left me remember?”

“Oh trust me sweets, I remember. Biggest fucking mistake of my life.”

“I’m sorry…what?” He had to be fucking with you, this wasn’t what you expected at all.

“I did leave, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Fuck y/n I think it about it every damn day, I was stupid and thought I wanted to party my life away, all it left me with was a broken heart and an empty house. I know you’re with Bradshaw now so we shouldn’t even be talking like this-“

“I’m not with Bradley.” You blurted out. “I mean we dated for a little while but he knew how much you hurt me and couldn’t help himself. He certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

“Yeah well, I probably deserve it.” He said as he ran his hand over his face.

“You do” you said with a grin, but noticed he hadn’t let go of your hand.

“So you’re saying that you’re single then?” He said with his smug grin, all it took was knowing he had a chance to bring back the Hangman persona, you shook your head with a laugh, he was already reeling you in. “Yeah, yeah it looks like. Who’s asking?” He chuckled as he pulled you closer, hooking a finger under your chin.

“I am baby, and if I have it my way you won’t be for long.”

Stubbornness be damned, you’d had your fun and now all you wanted was to give in to whatever was causing the butterflies in your stomach, so you let him kiss you. Hot, heavy and definitely indecent considering the environment, you basked in what it felt like to have his lips on yours again. He pulled a way a little, reveling in the way you tried to chase his lips; maybe he had affected you more than you’d let on too. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t break your heart again, he was already dreaming up ideas of forever, it finally seemed like you both were on the same page.

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @goldenseresinretriever @sarahsmi13s @hangmansgbaby @sebsxphia @mynameismckenziemae

[thr0wnawayy]

A few weeks ago someone in my inbox asked me what I thought of AFO and of I ever thought he was a proper villain.

My answer is simple: he was.

At first AFO was a mentor. where All Might struggled to teach, AFO excelled.

Always finding a way to turn every play into a learning opportunity.

He allows for the USJ to heppen so he can Tomura "show" that collaboration is important, he uses Stain's rejection to teach Tomura that he has to use tact. He uses the Training Camp to prove that there is strength in numbers

AFO always thinks ahead, he learns from his mistakes and that makes him deadlier than the HPSC could ever hope to be.

The Nomu are a great example of this, the USJ Nomu was a great start, although I suspect it was designed to fail. It served as an excellent display of what a Nomu could be.

The Hosu Nomu failed because of a lack of armour and variety, so AFO made the Forest Nomu better.

The Forest Camp Nomu is seen wearing a helmet and has multiple quirks to account for it's blindspots.

The Forest Nomu failed due to a lack of awareness and intelligence, so Hood was designed specifically for his intelligence and his strength as to not be caught of guard.

(I suspect AFO left some notes for the doctor)

The Nomu came back stronger each time, the data collected was building up towards an optimized specimen( which we were supposed to see with the Finalized High Ends)

Each and every time AFO let Shigaraki use the Nomu, he was killing two birds with one stone.

Additionally, he supports Tomura while not smothering gum

Letting Tomura learn from his own experience (be it successes or failures) and forcing Tomura to learn restraint.

He prevents him from lashing out at any one individual (like he did w Kurogiri) by forcing him to actually work with his teammates.

AFO makes Tomura reflect on why he failed, he encourages Tomura's ventures constantly and gives him advice.

These are hallmarks of someone who wants to see their student succeed.

If that's not enough then there are two lines that solidify AFO'S original character:

The line that really settles me however, is this:

"Just When Tomura had begun to think for himself "

If Shigaraki really were just a puppet from the start, why would AFO go to all the trouble of guiding for him, teaching and training him. Letting him build a legacy of his own and support him.

Why would he hire Giran, after all it will all be for naught, so why waste resources?.

The simple answer is to blame Hori and inability to stay consistent in anything. (In the business we call this, having no fucking spine)

His Character

AFO's terror lay in his simplicity. Like AM, AFO is a man with a goal and he has the means to achive it, something he had worked for decades to achieve.

This is best demonstrated in his early mannerisms.

AFO never lies, he uses metaphors and technicalities to his advantage.

In the prison scene, he never lies about his goal, which was simple. Take out All Might with as a symbol and threat, while also getting Tomura to leave the nest.

He is also a show man, holding out on Tomura's history and turning his retirement into a spectacle to land a critical flow on his nemesis.

He's a master strategist, being able to predict the current state of society within his cell. He took everything AM loved, even going as far as to turn Tenko's tragedy into a triumph and spat on hero society in the process.

In short, AFO was the villain and when All Might walked out those doors, AFO was as good as dead.

The Downfall

Later, everything I mentioned was stripped and what we are left with is a gutted out husk, a shambling mockery of the genius we once knew.

After season 3, AFO might as well be dead because the leech that takes his place was probably the final nail in MHA's rapidly flooding coffin.

AFO goes from being a legitimate threat, a true symbol of evil. Someone so fearsome, that his mere presence causes visions of one's own death.

To a LARPer who's got as much depth as a kiddie pool, evil for the sake of evil.

From Symbol of Evil to (ugh) 'Demon Lord'.

This character is so far removed that I've taken to calling it 'The Husk'. As to me, AFO is canonically dead*.

This emptiness is even displayed in his musical themes

Where 'The Power of AFO' only needs a few simple instruments and hooks to instill dread, 'All For One Prime' falls flat.

The Power of AFO is dread inducing and it knows it. The song itself feels alive, like an unfathomable evil making it's presence known.

It reflects it's "master" with ease. It is dark, sophisticated and unlike any other piece heard in the series, it is quiet.

True power doesnt need to say it is powerful, it shows it through it's actions. Real power stays in the shadows

Meanwhile AFO Prime is lacking.

It's grandeous and "lighter" but that's it, beyond that it is hollow. Ironically representing what Hori did to MHA.

The theme is nice but ultimately uninspired, causing it to ring hallow when coupled with a failing plot that is speeding towards it's quiet demise.

Few more thing's before I check out.

Why the fuck did they change AFO's eyes.

It completely ruined the parallels between AFO, Tomura and Eri, while also the unspoken lore of:

Quirks that deviate from both their parents often share the group traits of (red eyes, white hair).

You know what fuck it, Red Eyed AFO is Canon, Hori can suck it.

Secondly I have a theory for why AFO had such a stark shift in personality (outside of Hori's bullshit)

From My Notes:

When AFO was defeated and saved by the Doctor, he remained in a coma for 2 years, regenerating the missing tissue and brain matter.

This stopped the brain damage and deterioration from getting worse (sort of putting it in stasis), however upon being defeated by AM again at Kamino, the brain damage was aggravated and began to slowly break down his metal state, causing him to become increasingly delirious overtime.

Due to Tartarus' less then ethical treatment and safety protocols, as well as the brainwave scanner not being designed to detect which issues. The issue went untreated, by the time Shigaraki broke into Tartarus, AFO was long lost to mania. So much so he failed to remember his own background and the orgins of those around him.

(Hence the change from Symbol (Pre Kamino, Menacing, Intelligent) of Evil to Demon Lord,)

[explaining why he didn't take Overhaul and why he changed from passing the torch to parasite in "canon" and why he was so out of character (idiotic)] Also explaing the lore inconsistencies throught the later chapters.

Just some food for thought.

[thecasualqueer]

Paris - Chapter 1

When James had showed up at her office with a gift Lena had felt awful. Not only had she not even thought to get him anything for Valentine’s Day but she hadn’t really been thinking about him at all recently. Even in her subconscious she was not thinking of him. She had been having… dreams… about a certain friend of hers… dreams that she had been thinking about a lot lately… dreams that she had been trying to forget.

So, when he had given her a picture of herself asleep (probably having the aforementioned dreams) she had panicked. She had panicked so much that she had suggested a weekend together in Paris, thinking it would bring them closer together and remind her of her feelings for him, but as they sat there in the car on the way to the airport the only thing she felt was intensely claustrophobic. She could feel his presence there, and not in a good way. She felt every breath he took from the other side of the car prickled at her skin. His smell, some musky perfume with a hint of sandalwood, not a bad smell but mixed with the heat radiating from his body it made her almost gag. She could feel his eyes on her too, she tried to tell herself they were the caring eyes of someone who loved her but she felt more like an animal who was being stared down by their predator.

Feeling this tension, she attempts to fill the silence “The government wants to buy my research…”

“I hope you said no” James interrupts her with a look of contempt in his eye. Lena would be lying if she said she wasn't trying to start an argument when she brought this up. Still, something about that look just set her off in a way she wasn't expecting.

“Why should I?” she questions.

“Seriously? Do I really need to explain that to you? Because they’ll militarise Lena” as James says this Lena starts to realise what part of her had always known, that James would never truly be able to see past her last name. “Just to be clear, I will never support you selling your research to the government.” James adds now looking at her in the same way he did when they first met, as if all she was to him, all she would ever be, was a Luthor.

After all the time she had spent trying to love him. Trying to see past the lack of chemistry, the way his touch made her skin crawl, how she secretly dreaded their meetings. This was the final nail in the coffin. She couldn't keep pretending to love someone who thought so little of her.

“Frank, stop the car” Lena says “I think you should leave” she adds not even bothering to look in James’s direction instead looking out the window at the steady stream of cars flowing seamlessly down the busy road.

"Seriously? We're not even going to discuss this?" James says in the same mildly patronising tone he has been using for most of the conversation.

"There's nothing to discuss, I just... I can't do this anymore." Lena says honestly "I can't keep trying so hard to make this work whilst you look at me like I'm a villain."

"I didn't realise being with me was so difficult for you" the emotion in his voice takes Lena by surprise. After all the petty fights and distance between them there had been recently, she had thought they would be on the same page but apparently not.

She feels awful for hurting him but knows there is nothing she can do about it now. Staying with him any longer would only hurt the both of them even more.

Read the rest on AO3

[kacchanrawr]

mha final volume spoilers

For the past few months I've kinda just come to accept MHA's ending to be whatever. Not the best, but not the worst I've seen it's fine whatever. But seeing the final volume extra content honestly just has me genuinely hating the ending. I'm trying to keep an open mind cuz it's not officially out yet and leaks can be kinda dubious, but I'm genuinely so upset.

Ig the main feeling I have is: genuinely what's the point??? I mean there's a lot of things going on in mha and depending on what you care about ig you could feel like everything's fine and resolved, but personally? Just no. My main problem a few months ago was with Toga's death, but now I'm just even more pissed.

As so many people have probably already discussed: killing the villains off after all this stuff about saving them is a fucking problem right?? With Toga's case specifically (cuz she's my fave and I care the most about her), it's her just dying after she finally found the love and acceptance she's always wanted from Ochako. Like why? Even if you can technically make sense of it with her explanation of "I want to live life as I please", it's just stupid and distasteful. It would be one thing if she said that cuz she was just running away to be free, but to kill her? Of bloodloss of all things? Idc abt people going oh thats sooo poetic, no i think it's stupid. So many other characters have lived after going through worse like for fuck's sake, Edgeshot's still around.

What's the point of that emotional resolution if you don't show the aftermath, of her being able to live happily, or at least how she'll go on with life from then on? She didn't have to die, she could've just escaped or whatever (I was hoping that was the case when there was no mention of Toga's body). But by killing her, the only message I got from mha's whole saving the villains thing is: "sooo maybe having empathy for the deviances of society is important actually, but it's kinda inconvenient to deal with them." And even if that wasn't Hori's exact intention, that's what his story seems to be saying by killing off the villains.

And then the fucking nail in the coffin is the fact that Hori used Toga's death to drive Izuocha. It was one thing when he did it with the cliff talk when Ochako was mourning Toga (I always found it distasteful okay), but it's so much worse to write Toga literally pushing Ochako to Deku. So not only did Hori kill off the queer character who finally had her resolution and romance so he won't have to deal with her, but he's really following through with the Bury the Gays trope by using her o push the girl she loves to a man? Ew.

The worst part is that even if Izuocha got together and they're canon or whatever cuz of that last part, the way Hori did it is so fucking mid. Like seriously, if you were gonna do my girl dirty like that for that het romance, at least make it good?? But noooo. I mean they don't have to be like kissing and getting married and having babies or whatever (that'd just be shit), but at least have them properly get together. What is that "implied romance" ass handshake?? There's no fucking reason to make it implied, they're not queer or forbidden or complicated or anything. Bro just didn't wanna commit to actually fleshing out their romance. And you used Toga and her death for that, for absolutely fucking nothing?? The funniest part is that everything Togachako did is infinitely more romantic than that handshake, so how am I supposed to be convinced by this "implied romance"? (anyone who says implications enough for izuocha I'd say the bar's just on the floor for you cuz they're het)

And then there's Bakugo. I mean I was fine and whatever with the original epilogue, but what the fuck? So you're telling me bro lead Project Deku Hero Suit or whatever for 8 years, only for Deku to reject him when asked to be a part of his agency? It may or may not have been explicitly stated that they'd be in a hero agency together whatever, but I feel like it was a natural conclusion that they'd end up working together/closely as a hero duo? Win to save and save to win, wonder duo defeating ShigAFO together, that hospital talk about competing together for the rest of their lives, him being the one to reach out to Deku at the epilogue chapter, hello? DEKU REJECTED THAT AND FOR WHAT. Also ok fine this may sound stupid to be upset over, but why the fuck is Bakugo rank 15. Like we do just be writing whatever I guess

I'm still holding on to some hope that the leaks were ass and inaccurate. Or maybe even completely fake cuz the chapter's been getting a lot of AI art allegations? Though it's also probable that's just the leaker who used AI to get high res pictures of the leaks. IDK MAN JUST PLEASE DON'T LET THIS BE COMPLETELY ACCURATE PLEASE LET ME STAND CORRECTED

[aliciameade]

Darkness at Dawn - Ch. 1

Title: Darkness at Dawn Author: aliciameade Rating: M/E Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Even Bonnie & Clyde met their fate eventually.

Set five years after "Baby."

Also on AO3

“Smooch, honey, can you get the door?”

“Bro, stop calling me that!”

“Letting him answer the door unsupervised? What if it’s a stranger here to abduct him?” Emily whispers in her ear conspiratorially. She pitches her voice toward the living room where their messy-haired pre-teen sons have been playing Fortnite for the past hour. “Connor, she’ll stop calling you ‘Smooch’ if you stop calling us ‘bro’!”

They’re making dinner—well, Stephanie is making dinner; Emily is observing over a shared martini. “He’s twelve and we know everyone in this village. It’s probably just Helen dropping off tomatoes from her garden. She mentioned she’d be stopping by soon.”

Her response surprises even herself. She’s spent the better part of the past six years working on her anxiety and propensity to helicopter-parent her children. Life is slow in Santorini. Stephanie—Alyson Reid, as the town knows her—is the proud owner of the bakery she began working part-time after she got a new identity and flew halfway around the world from Connecticut to start a new life in Greece.

After she killed her wife’s troubled, secret twin sister and set up Emily’s then-husband Sean for the murder of his wife. It had been surprisingly easy—the framing, not the killing. She’d sown a few seeds of suspicion with the detective working the case. Emily confided that he had been cheating. Emily asked for a divorce. Sean had a dark side, and Emily was afraid of him. So afraid that Emily had signed over her assets to her best friend Stephanie Smothers to ensure her son Nicky would be taken care of should anything ever happen to her. A pillar of Warfield, Stephanie’s testimony at Sean’s trial was the final nail in their old lives’ coffins.

She and Emily just celebrated their third wedding anniversary a few weeks ago. They’d gotten married on the coast of the island of Lesbos, an idea Emily had come up with over a second bottle of wine that had made herself laugh so much that Stephanie had no choice but to agree. They’d sailed there as a family, something they were both proud of being able to do on their own. They took their vows at sunset, the only guests were their sons and two people Emily had bribed with a hundred Euros each to be their witnesses, and they’d found the officiant by asking around.

After their honeymoon in Portugal, Stephanie changed the name on her passport for the third time in her life: first from her maiden name to Stephanie Smothers, to Alyson Barrett, and finally to Alyson Reid, Dillon Reid’s new wife. Dillon Reid, formerly known as Emily Nelson, formerly known as Claudia, formerly known as Hope McLanden. Brothers Connor and Devon Reid, formerly known as Miles Smothers and Nicky Townsend.

They’ve lived a dozen lives.

The boys don’t remember much about their past, and they’ve forgotten their old names. Stephanie still calls her son ‘Smooch’ because that’s never had to change. She didn’t have to abandon Smooch.

She and Emily tend to stick to pet names most of the time as well; it’s easier that way. More natural, at least when they’re around other people.

Behind closed doors, in the privacy of their home, away from even their children, an old name might slip out now and then, especially during a thoughtless moment brought on by passion.

Though Emily’s rarely called her anything more than ‘Baby’ since the day they met.

“Proud of you for taking off the training wheels.” She feels Emily’s hand catch her chin and turn her face to kiss her soundly despite Stephanie actively chopping a zucchini.

She smiles into the kiss and it makes the part of her still a bit tender from their morning start to ache. “What time’s your game tomorrow?” she asks when they part.

Dillon Reid is the head coach of the secondary school’s boys’ soccer—football—team. She’s always been good at getting men of all ages to do what she says. 

“9:30, so I’ll probably be gone before you’re awake. Warm-up’s at 8:00.”

Tomorrow is Saturday and Stephanie’s only day off from the bakery. Thankfully, as the boss, she doesn’t have to be there before dawn like her employees need to be to bake off the day’s inventory, but she makes a point to be on-site almost every day. She loves her team and she loves her customers, and she’s gotten pretty darn good at speaking Greek with the immersion in the culture.

“Okay, we’ll meet you there. Wanna go to Apollo’s afterward for lunch?”

Emily groans. “That place is such a tourist trap. I don’t know why you love it so much.”

“Because it’s the only place on this island that knows how to make an American cheeseburger. Pleeeeease?” she pouts, knowing she’ll get her way.

“Fine,” Emily says with an eye roll. “I’m getting onion rings.”

“Uh, Mom?” Connor’s voice is strained as it floats through the living room to the kitchen and Stephanie drops the knife onto the cutting board. “Mom!”

“What? What is it?” she says, rushing into the other room. She hears Emily follow and before she’s finished processing the two men wearing dark suits standing in their doorway, her son looking back at her, eyes wide, Emily’s stepped in front of her.

“Emily Nelson?” the man asks.

Emily doesn’t respond. The arm she’s wrapped around Stephanie in a reverse embrace tightens.

“Stephanie Smothers?”

“Bro, what?” Devon says from the floor where he is still playing their video game. “You got the wrong house.”

“Devon,” Emily admonishes.

Stephanie’s heart is in her throat. She feels she might pass out and leans into Emily’s strong frame, wrapping her arms around her waist. She breathes in her perfume. She thinks about the game they’re going to miss tomorrow. About Emily and their sons proposing to her in the very spot they’re standing now asking her to be a family. How they thought they had been so careful.

“Boys, I need you to go upstairs, please,” she says urgently, hoping the fear she’s feeling isn’t as evident in her voice as it sounds to herself. She hears Devon pause the video game and the shuffling of the boys grabbing their phones and chargers and has an even worse realization than she’d already had.

She steps out from behind Emily just in time for Connor—forever her little curly-haired Miles—to pass and she wraps him in a hug that makes him groan and protest until he seems to understand something serious is going on and he hugs her back. He’s as tall as she is now. “Listen to me, sweetheart,” she whispers in his ear. “You know the safe in my closet?” She feels him nod. “The combination is your birthday. There’s a red envelope inside. Call Helen. Ask her to come over. Give her the envelope. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when I can. Everything I did, I did so we could be happy. Remember that I love you.” She kisses his forehead and chokes back a sob before he can notice the tears in her eyes. “Upstairs.”

She can hear Emily whispering to Devon as well and then the boys stop and switch to hug their other mother, and they disappear upstairs.

She and Emily are now alone in their living room, two men at the open door, each holding a thick packet of folded paperwork.

“I’m Detective Inspector William Gareau. This is Sergeant Mark Gibson. We are agents of INTERPOL. Do you know why we’re here?”

Emily’s hand intertwines with Stephanie’s. Neither responds.

The men step forward, crossing the threshold into their home, their sanctuary, and that’s when Stephanie realizes it’s not just two men—half a dozen black-uniformed officers follow, flooding into the house and flanking them, surrounding them. Nowhere to go.

The Detective Inspector unfolds the papers in his hand. The officers in the room move. She’s pulled away from Emily, fingers slipping out of her grip as her hands are pulled behind her back. As cold steel clicks around her wrists.

“Stephanie Ann Smothers and Emily Claudia Nelson: I'm arresting you for the murder of Faith Margaret McLanden, having taken place in the State of Connecticut, the country of the United States of America, insurance fraud, money laundering, kidnapping, conspiracy, perjury, and false identification. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

She’s not sure she’s able to speak. She’s dizzy. The room is spinning.

“It’s going to be okay, baby,” is the last thing she hears before her ears start ringing and her world goes dark.

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : BABY MAMA DRAMA

A/N : A whole other universe from my other AUS. Read this first 🎭 appearances by @hoodharlow 🫶🏻

You knew Jack since you were little kids running around the block. He was there when you scraped up your knee and needed stitches. He was there when you needed braces, he was there when your goldfish died.

He was your best friend.

Best friend who shared with you all of his dreams. Dreams that you encouraged and made sure he kept going and make those dreams come true.

Then best friends turned into lovers. It was a beautiful and wonderful thing. Everything was perfect. He had gotten signed to a record label and he was being recognized all over the world.

You were there besides him through it all, day in and day out. He made promises, promises that he sometimes failed to see through, but you still stood besides him, because you loved him.

Once his album ``Come Home The Kids Miss You'' was released, everything went downhill. You ended up pregnant and alone. He would be busy with work or simply not showing up.

You would confront him but all he would do is kiss you and tell you he’d make it up to you. Which you were an idiot and believed every word he said.

The first time he got caught was when he said he would be in the studio but his location would say otherwise. You never bothered to check his whereabouts, but being pregnant and hormonal, it made you do things you never thought you’d do.

The second time, he told you he had an appearance at a club in Atlanta. Imagine your surprise when you go on social media and see him partying with influencers in Los Ángeles.

He continued to make promises and you stayed, stayed because he was your comfort, but the nail in the coffin was when he didn’t even show up to the birth of your child.

Once you laid eyes on your perfect little boy, you knew you weren’t about to let Jack do whatever he pleases with you. You weren’t about to fall for his beautiful blue eyes and beautiful smile.

So when he came home three days after you gave birth and was released from the hospital, you told him it was over. He being the cocky and confident man he is, he thought you were joking.

So what you did next was pack your things and move out of your shared home. He didn’t even come searching for you or your son.

His family? His family were there alongside you through it all. His mom would apologize for his son's actions, but you assured her it wasn’t her fault.

Now three years later you’re finally in a good place physically and mentally. Growing and learning and you weren’t about to let anyone ruin that.

*********

“Tell me this bitch is joking.” Your cousin Blanca says as she enters your living room.

“Que pasó?”

“Your dumb ass baby daddy is what happened.”

“Girl, can you stop trying to fight the man? Let it go, I did.” You tell her chuckling.

“No, he hurt you and he wasn’t even around. He wants to act like the perfect father online when he’s barely even getting to know his kid.”

“I mean-“

“Go to his Instagram and you’ll see why I’m even more pissed. Pendejo que es.”

You grab your cellphone, “Blanca I’m sure it’s nothing ba- ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?”

“So are we driving to his moms house and beating the fuck out of the bitch?”

“NO, you’re crazy Blanca.”

“You know they’re doing that shit to get you to react?” Your best friend says, scrolling through the comments on Jack’s Instagram post.

“Well it worked, I’m pissed. How dare he?”

“What are you going to do?.”

You shrug, “I don’t know but I have to pick up my son from Maggie’s house later tonight. I just hope they’re not there because I’ll probably do something I’ll regret.”

“Did you tell Maggie it was fine for Jack to be around?”

“In my opinion, he shouldn’t even be able to know anything about my nephew. He wasn’t around for any doctor appointments, he wasn’t around when you gave birth.” Blanca tells you, getting frustrated.

You understand your prima completely, she and your best friends did everything Jack was supposed to do. They even moved to be near you and your son, so their feelings towards Jack are totally valid and you respect that.

You nod, “I know B, but I didn’t want my son to grow up without a dad like me. It’s a messed up situation between Jack and me, I don’t want my son to witness that.”

“I know but that shit he pulled is uncalled for.”

“Oh yeah completely and he’ll be hearing about it when I pick up Adrian.” You say.

“You do know we’re coming with you right?” Your best friend tells you.

“Yup, most definitely. What if his girl is there?.” Blanca adds.

You chuckle “Están locas ustedes, but yes I know.”

“So are we going for sexy milf or comfort clothes tonight.”

You shake your head but head towards your bedroom in search of an outfit. Your cousin and bestie are following right behind you.

***********

You were now outside of Maggie’s house to pick up Adrian and you noticed Jack’s jeep was in the driveway.

“Don’t slash his tires Blanca.” You say getting out of your car.

“Bitch I wasn’t. But good thinking.”

“I can’t with your crazy ass.”

You’re now by the front door of the house and ring the doorbell. You can hear little footsteps running towards the door.

“Mama.” Your son yells once the door is opened and runs to you.

“Hola mi amor, ¿cómo estás?” You carry him and kiss all over his face.

“Missed you mama.” He tells you and kisses you on your cheek.

“I missed you too, did you have fun with your grandma? And tio Clay.?”

He nods then looks behind you “Tia Blanca hi.”

“Hi squirt, come on let’s take you with tia Drea.” Blanca looks at you. “I’ll be back.”

You nod and finally notice that the one who opened the door was Jack and not Maggie.

He’s standing there with his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. “He missed you.”

I nod, “Yeah, he told me.”

“I know you’re probably pissed about some stuff that happened over the weekend and on social media.”

“You had no right to do that without speaking to me first. But this is not the place or time to talk about that. I have enough respect for your mom, I’m not going to cause a scene in her front door.”

“Then can we meet up tomorrow? I know I don’t deserve to even be speaking to you or being in my son's life but I want to be better, I want to do better for you and him.”

“I can’t tomorrow I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“That’s no concern to you at all.” Blanca says walking back towards you. “But she has a date.” She says smirking.

You turn and glare at her.

“A date? With who?” Jack asks.

You shake your head, “No, nope, not doing this with you. Is your mom home? I’d like to say bye to her and thank her for looking out for Adrian.”

“She’s taking a call.”

You nod, “Well I’ll be heading out.”

“Control your bitch next time. Don’t be having her under my nephews pictures. It’s messed up what you did. She feels some type of way, I’ll knock some sense into her if she comes near Adrian again.” Blanca tells him.

You hold back a laugh. “B come on let’s go.”

“Y/N, just text me the details of when we can meet.”

“I don’t have your number, I’ll reach out to Clay.” You say and head towards your car.

You don’t wait to see if he said anything else, you just wanted to leave. You didn’t even notice your cousin didn’t even follow after you.

You’re inside your car with your son and best friend.

“She’s probably laying it on him.” Drea says.

“Yup.”

*******

“Y/N is too nice but she has me, I’m not letting you hurt her or Adrian. If you’re not planning on being in his life one hundred, then don’t give that little boy hope.” Blanca tells Jack, staring him down.

“All due respect, that's none of your business, that’s between Y/N and me.”

Blanca chuckles, “You have no rights, Y/N is the one who decides who comes around Adrian, you should’ve known introducing your little girlfriend without asking Y/N first, was a mistake.”

“I didn’t mean to push any buttons. But I do have a life and if he’s going to be in mine, he needs to meet everyone from my circle, including my girl.” He says getting annoyed.

Blanca laughs, “Would you be okay if she introduced Adrian to her date tomorrow? Not that she will. But I can bet money that you’d feel some type of way.”

“Again, none of your business what we do with our son.”

“Este pendejo.” She’s glaring at Jack. “Do whatever you want man. But keep your bitch away from my nephew. I have no problem knocking her and Neelam out.” She says and walks away but not without flipping him off.

Jack is standing outside of his parents' doorstep and watches as you drive off with your son.

As soon as your car is out of the neighborhood. Jack is texting his best friend Urban.

Jack: Meet me tomorrow.

Urb: For?

Jack: Baby mama has a date.

Urb: ????

Jack: I want to see who it is.

Urb: NO!!!

Jack: Bro come on!!!!

Urb: Fine 🙄 🤦🏼‍♂️

Jack smiles and heads inside the house and starts planning what he’s going to do once he sees you on your little date.

He might have a girlfriend at home. But he has a son and he can admit he misses you and will try hard to get his family back. No one will stop him and his plans, not even Blanca.

•

TAG LIST

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[pinkgoblinshark]

Hey Skyblr, how we feeling about shared spaces right now? The more specific thing I wanna ask is: has anyone else been ticked off by how shared spaces seemingly shrank in terms of how many items you can place? I was inspired to make this post mainly because my friend (a more avid builder than I) has been complaining about it, but I've been tinkering with things and now its bugging the hell out of me too. What bothers me more is how seemingly no one on the Sky Discord (save for a small handful) or Tumblr seems to be talking about this, so I should start the conversation I suppose.

To start, before I began writing this post I was looking at the "shared spaces" tag to see if someone had talked about this before me. No dice, but I did come across this lovely shared space by skycotl-before-and-after. To try and prove that shared spaces shrunk, I tried recreating the space shown in their post. I don't have all the items they have, but that doesn't matter because I couldn't even fit the things I do have (these being the shelves, pots, manta plushie, and wind chimes) before maxing out on space.

For another example, I was looking through my Discord DMs and found a shared space I had made on May 9th of this year. I tried remaking it, and while I consider it to be less complex than skycotl-before-and-after's shared space, I still found myself not being able to place all of the items I could place before. Some configurations were more efficient than others, allowing for me to place more items, though the point is that I can't place all of the items I was able to before.

The final nail in this coffin is that from the Sky Discord, I have heard of the shared space size reductions resulting in people being unable to finish the final quest for the Remembrance guide. I could not go back and do the quest for realsies, but as a refresher, to complete that quest you need to place, at minimum: the wind chimes, the kettle, the potted plant, and the manta and crab plushies. With the size reduction, I found that I only had space for those first three items. You could probably do different configurations to fit the most items in there, but the point is that it seems like you cannot get them all in there, which means you would be totally unable to complete the quest.

Last thing I want to note is that how many items you can place seems to vary from place to place. In the Daylight Prairie Shared Space Shrine, I found that I could place 1 tent, 2 shelves, 1 wind chime, and 1 pot (possibly 2?) before maxing out on items. In the Birds Nest area using a spell, I found that I could place only a tent, a shelf, and 1 pot before maxing out.

As someone who wants to build up a collection of props to build with, this item quantity nerf frustrates not just me, but also my friend, who spent actual human monies on props they can't fully utilize anymore. With how few people I've seen discussing this though, I hope we aren't mutually going crazy...

[my-castles-crumbling]

24 anon back in misery business (.mp3) with an update!

the baby shower was absolutely stunning first of all (i knew it would be, they always do it up right. i saw some of the decorations beforehand (accidentally, not planned) and it was nice to see how they got used in the end). i went with my grandma and sat with her the whole time bc she didn't know anybody outside of my friend, her husband, and her immediate family and all of them were busy/sitting elsewhere. i had a nice time, all things considered. but whenever i go to any of her events i always end feeling like its another nail in the coffin somehow. i found out her babies middle name in the middle of the baby shower when she held up a gift with his first and middle name on it, we didn't take a single picture together (thats okay, we never do (which... in itself is probably a big sad for me too if i think on it too long lmao). i dont think i can remember us taking a picture together (aka not a selfie, which honestly would probably end up being around the same time too) after our junior year homecoming in like 2017 (?)) so it bummed me out to see her posts about it the next day with tens of pictures with other people and then the only inclusion of me in off in the distance in the background? i feel like its a bunch of little things i have to complain about but they add up and build up so easy, you know?

she's somebody i will forever actively choose to keep in my life, in whatever way that ends up being, but i have been trying to take a step back from the friendship a little bit. if only emotionally, at the moment. were so physically distant that distancing emotionally is near my only option lol. im trying to maintain the relationship as it currently is but im trying to get comfortable with the change in pace and meet her were she's at and not get upset (internally, i will never be upset with her about this or make her feel bad or reasonable or anything of the sort). ive spoken at length about this whole thing with my therapist so i feel validated in the decision in ways only a therapist can accomplish, but i feel like its such a major thing to make decision about in ways i cant articulate after working all day. i know a lot of this has to do with the age i am, but i feel like ive been hit with a lot if things all at once (both things just happening now and things that have finally built enough pressure to explode) that feel like the proverbial book of my childhood being shut for the last time except its not gently with a loving fondness, its getting slammed shut and tossed to the side to inevitably get thrown out. thats an in the moment sort of thought and feeling and ill heal from that eventually (growing up 2: the electric boogaloo, stoked for her), and all the dust will settle and ill be able to breathe clearly again, but dear god is it fucking unbearable in the mean time.

anyways, on a brighter note, my friend did LOVE the shower gift i gave her (a crocheted by me baby blanket (softest yarn in the world, her little sister took it around the whole room to show it off i literally adore her) and three books (she wanted books instead of cards)), and the picture of her opening that gift is my new favorite of her (i have a lot of complicated emotions about pregnancy and having children (a whole other can of worms) and, bc of this situation, her specifically having children so i have never been truly excited about her being pregnant and sort of dreaded it (i will never tell her that (and when i do it will be in a very long time). but im getting there little by little bc i want to be there for her, pregnancy and parenthood is, imo, the hardest job in the world so, i will become excited even if only by self force. but seeing that picture really did something for me, i dont think ive ever seen her so lit up about something. it elates me in such a way that i am completely devastated over it).

my most sincere apologies to your askbox for being my unwilling fake therapist while im on a break from my real one. do you accept insurance, or offer any sort of flat fee or sliding scale?

Hi! <3

It sounds like you're working through a lot of complicated feelings, but I'm proud of you for being willing to work through them. It's so hard to have a change in a major friendship. Honestly I feel like it's tougher than a breakup in a lot of ways. I really understand what you're going through on a personal level and it's SO hard. I know the feelings of mourning, understanding, confusion, acceptance, even a little excitement (because yay, baby). I'm proud of you for talking all of this through.

As far as payment, I accept pictures of cute animals.

[catgirl-catboy]

Did you play DRA? If so, what opinions would you have of Kinji mmm?

I did play DRA- multiple times actually.

Kinji is my bestie's fav, so I primarily think of him in that capacity. But as a character, I feel like he had a lot of potential, but was doomed by relevance in chapter 3. How can Linuj make a chapter 3 one of the greatest cases of all time, and the other chapter 3... that.

His murder of Inori is completely at odds with his motivation for killing her, and really only happened because chapter 3. (Patrick Voice) Take the double murder.... and put it somewhere else! Probably chapter 2 since that makes the most sense.

His execution is easily bottom 3 in all Linuj executions, and a huge waste of potential. There are so many ways you could go with a priest execution, why go for the fucking obvious?

Him being able to take down Kakeru breaks my suspension of disbelief a little, along with him being THAT terrible at technology. I get DRA doesn't take place in 2024, but he had to have learned basic tech literacy by osmosis. Or just make him Amish if you want to justify it.

The chapter 3 motive doesn't go with Kinji as a character at all, and he should have killed during the starvation motive. Or, if you want to keep as much intact as possible, Kizuna kills over ch3 motive, Kinji kills over ch4 motive Haru kills over ch2 motive.

He didn't have enough interactions with the main cast. As much as I enjoy Kinji & Tsurugi- they needed more screentime together if you want me to buy Kinji as the final nail in Tsurugi's sanity coffin.

I know it is impossible, but I'd kill for a Kinji & Utsuro reaction. A god among men and a priest.

But missed potential characters are super fun, because if the writing was perfect, what am I supposed to think about? I wouldn't change a thing.

[creature-wizard]

i used to be in the loa community and it was miserable lol. i'd have phases of being so inspired and really feeling like things were going to change for the better, only for it to not happen. for a long time i held out, and any 'failures' i had i took it as an opportunity to improve and carry on. but then at some point i just began to spiral--it came out of nowhere--and i felt so, so hopeless. i think with every 'mistake' and failure i had, it built up without me fully realising it. i never told anyone, not online and of course not in real life, because acknowledging it would've been the final nail in the coffin for my 'journey' or whatever.

anyone who voiced their upset about not getting the results they wanted, they'd be told by some blogs that it was because they "weren't persisting enough", and that all they needed to do was continue. any mention of doubt or feeling bad was frowned upon. it sucked. because i sure as hell knew that i was putting my heart and soul into it. i like to view myself as someone who is steadfast, but a person can only handle so much until they crumble. to be fair, it wasn't completely loa's fault for my sudden decline in mental health, there were definitely different factors. but it probably wasn't that healthy for me regardless. burnouts happen ig

in defence of some of the blogs i've been on, there are definitely a few that don't have the regular toxic ideology that a lot of the other blogs do. not all of them take neville goddard's words and teaching as gospel, and some of them actually encourage getting help when you need it and to not rely on loa completely, and they reiterate that any awful things that happened to people wasn't their fault! but i will say that those more healthy loa blogs are more rare and hard to come by. coincidentally, they're also the least active. but i digress

but yeah. my main issue with loa was that after being in that community long enough, i just became stagnant. mostly due to the hope that things would sort them out themselves. i'd hold back on pursuing things and making plans because i wanted to do them AFTER i'd manifested everything. but clearly that didn't work out for me lol.

so uh yeah if you're in the community and reading this and you're not quite ready to let go of it yet, just don't let it hold you back. you think it isn't harmless until you just stop moving forward because of it. and please don't be afraid of reaching out for help.

sorry for the long ramble, hope you're doing well.

fuccccckkk if it were all true. manifesting a big ass psychic elephant would have been so metal !!

Thanks for sharing your story! And yeah, that's the thing about trying something over and over with no results - you might be able to repress the disappointment for awhile, but it will build up and eventually come out and hit you all at once. And it can hit hard.

You mention that you never posted about your failures, and I think that this is a far more common in the Law of Assumption community than many people realize. Neville Goddard's teachings and the community around them absolutely push people into self-censorship. We see people posting success stories (or, supposedly posting success stories), but we really have no idea of what's going on behind the scenes.

And it's a shame that the blogs taking a healthier approach to this aren't as common or active. But honestly, the fact that the toxic bloggers are spending all this time on this blue hellsite when they could, supposedly, manifest themselves doing literally anything else should tell people a lot about how well they're actually doing with the Law of Assumption and their approach to it.

Anyway, I'm glad you're doing better and I hope things keep going well for you!

[livlepretre]

Ok so I’ve been wondering about a few things, when Elena and Klaus are in NOLA, she tell him she knows that he’s sleeping with Rebekah and Stefan, and to me he sounded like that that was information that he would have rather her not find out. Why? Wasn’t that before he fell in love with her?

Secondly, in chapter 10 or 11 when Elena sort of walks in on their threesome, how did Stefan and Klaus not notice she was there? Like even though they were preoccupied should’ve they have vampire-sensed it?

Thirdly, how did Stefan and Rebekah feel when Klaus stopped sleeping with them?

Fourthly, I’m dying to know where Stefan and Elena are going after their field trip!!!

I love this fic so much and I read it at 3am instead of studying for my college midterms 😅 So congratulations you have me hooked! This is so much better than TVD and I actually stopped watching after season 3 because in my opinion, it was awful. Seasons 1 and 2 was peak tv. I tried to pick it up again but then I stopped watching again after Nina left. The soul of the show was gone and that was the final nail in the coffin for me.

ehh I think it was part of his private life. He wasn't going to tell her about it straight out, but it wasn't that secret either. It literally just went over Elena's head to even notice a mxm relationship between her boyfriend (whom she assumed was het) and Klaus (whom she also assumed was het), let alone uhh sibling incest. but I don't think Klaus x Stefan was all that secret, she just misread A LOT of stuff as Klaus holding Stefan captive as opposed to like... being a vampiric lover. but yeah, this is all before Klaus was in love with Elena. He falls in love with her near the end of the first nola arc. Elena actually falls in love with him first. so in that scene where Elena says she knows, he's making her spell it out because he wants her to speak blatantly about his sex life. He knows she's typically shy about that topic and he wants to push her boundaries. If Elena sees it as him not liking her knowing, that's because she's unreliable as a narrator. Pretty much any observations other than the literal dialogue is subject to Elena being an Hilarious Unreliable Narrator.

In that sex scene-- think about the incalculable stimuli we process through our five senses at any given moment. Our brains have to actually filter out most of it in order for us to pay attention to whatever we're focused on; it skips things, makes assumptions, hallucinates, all sorts of weird and interesting things. Now think about vampires. They can see and hear and smell and taste (and feel?) so much more than us. What may as well be infinitely more. I'm sure they have to filter out things too-- probably a lot of it automatically. This is my explanation for why they are able to have private conversations in vampire abodes at all. Because in theory anyone could eavesdrop at any time, right? Unless there was loud music playing all the time? But we can assume that in order to eavesdrop from a distance, they typically have to be zeroing in, because otherwise it would just be more noise to filter out, just like they ignore the sound of the worms and ants and every other insect in the ground. So what I'm getting down to-- Stefan and Klaus were distracted. They were literally mid-fuck. I hope they're not paying attention to Elena in that context, whom they can probably hear all the time anyway, whether she is accidentally peaking in or not! (Actually, can we all headcanon that they are listening to Elena during? Because that's an interesting thought.) But even though neither of them looked up, we can assume that at least Stefan was aware. He came down to the kitchen to seek her out soon afterwards-- because he knew the cat was out of the bag. As for Klaus-- I think we can assume he noticed, as well. But really, if you were having GREAT sex and then you peripherally notice someone looking in who then gets embarrassed and flees, would you stop having sex, or would you shrug it off? Again, them being too wrapped up in each other to notice Elena at all is her observation, her perception-- she is upset to discover she has yet another romantic rival for Stefan and also it's rocked her assumptions to their foundations. She's also just found out that sibling incest is apparently a vampire thing. Girl is SO unreliable about what actually happened.

How did Stefan and Rebekah feel: relieved. Stefan already felt like he was juggling too much and was one bad catch away from having his heart ripped out and Rebekah wanted to be free to pursue Stefan as her own, without her brother making her relationship difficult and about himself. But the other side of that is that Stefan was also worried about what this meant for Elena-- he had a dark premonition about it-- and Rebekah was a bit unnerved by her brother's unprecedented feelings development.

Oh, well, Stefan and Elena have to go to Chicago-- both because Klaus wants them to go, and because how could they fail to revisit the sight of their breakup?

and ooof! same feelings about tvd! it's so true!

[glitchytrait]

Whoever Loves Her Next - 02

*Trigger warning for mention of drug abuse*

The wait from finding out I was pregnant to getting on the plane was almost unbearable. The soonest flight out of Mason’s home in California wasn’t for another two days, and those two days were full of lies. To myself, my work, and probably worst of all - my parents. I promised them I’d be home after a week and a half of spending time with Mason, and now I was supposed to be exploring some sights for an extra two days. Instead, I’m flying to Florida where Harry has been on his songwriting retreat.

Thankfully, I had enough trust in our mutual friend Alex to tell me when it was best to come. I’ve known him for years, having met him back when Pink Nemesis was still together. It took Harry a while to introduce me to any of his fellow bandmates or staff, but he eventually caved and took me to see them for my birthday four years ago. Alex had been the one both Harry and I got along with the most, so it made sense that they’d still be working together even after the band split.

Things are so different now than they were then. It hurts somewhere deep in my chest to think back to last year and everything that happened leading up to the end of the band. It started with one of the members going to rehab for a drug overdose, and following more physical fights than I can count on one hand, the final nail in the coffin was Michael.

Because of what happened, nobody blamed Harry for not being able to pick himself back up and plaster a fake smile for concert after concert. Pink Nemesis breaking up was the last thing he wanted, but he had been the first one to suggest the idea. The rest of the members put up little resistance. After six years of constant albums and world tours, they were drained. And now, everyone who had been a part of the band was almost unrecognizable.

While one member returned to a life of working 9-5 and going to church on Sundays, another went solo almost immediately and crashed and burned. The third stayed somewhere in the middle of it all, collaborating with other artists here and there while also settling down with his soon-to-be wife. Then there was Harry.

After Michael, his only comforts were his guitar and bottles of alcohol. I can still remember all the countless times I tried to pull him out of it. Still hear me screaming at him to look at me. Still feel myself walking away from him when he probably needed it most.

As for me, I expected myself to be far from where I am now. After our breakup, I thought I would be out partying with friends until the sun came up.

I thought I would flirt with guys without a care in the world.

Hell, I even thought maybe I’d find a new fling.

But most importantly of all, I thought I’d learn to fall in love with being alive again.

But I hadn’t done any of that. Instead, I laid in my room crying my heart out when I thought of the fact that Harry and I were over. I remained jobless for over a month just so I could stay home doing nothing all day. I ignored my friends, my family, and the voice telling me that leaving Harry was a mistake.

All of these things had led to this moment. Stepping off the plane and into Alex’s awaiting arms, who is ready to wipe away the tears the moment they fall. I take advantage of the moment of peace being close to him, knowing that all hell would break loose the moment I saw Harry again.

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[00towns]

two eulogies to female friendships

K

K and I were on the rocks for a while before our friendship passed, quietly and softly over an unreplied text message, the final nail in a coffin filled with six weeks worth of silence. It felt almost gentle; like laying an aging, suffering pet down to rest. I stopped uploading Japanese to English translations of the weekly quote from our matching planners, I stopped introducing her cat as mine to my students. 

I wasn’t sad. Our friendship hadn’t been good for almost a year, starting with a series of mutually terrible communications and oversteps when she started seeing someone new, who my general indifference towards would become intermediate annoyance and eventually settle on active dislike. It was a bad combination of my tendency to be critical of my friend’s relationships, and her tendency to be sensitive in matters of the heart, and our shared poor habit of telling each other all our thoughts. I moved eight thousand miles away, a trip happened, it went extremely poorly, we did our best to stay friends, but for all the work we had done to stay good with each other, it was the beginning of the end. Our text conversations kept devolving into arguments, which is funny in retrospect but was exhausting and pedantic in the moment. We kept saying we fought because our friendship was worth it; at the time I think it was, but it quickly wore down to a grinding, creaky halt. It was season six of a sitcom that had gone on too long. We had talked every day for probably close to five years. 

K and I had grown in different directions from the beginning of our relationship, although this had worked at the time. Once, I joked with my DC friend group that our other friends outside of each other were reflections of all the other elements of ourselves that we didn’t always bring to that group. K was that friend, with our shared hobbies and background, and being around her and her friends almost felt indulgent, like I was leaning into a part of myself that felt like the ease of high school friends, uncritical, grounded, unchallenging. In a way, I found comfort in the feeling of joining a hometown friend group because of my unconventional high school experience. They were never anything but welcoming, kind, and accepting, so quintessentially tied to Northern Virginia it felt like I was experiencing an alternate timeline where I grew up there. When I laid our relationship down to rest, I felt more so like I was grieving that hometown experience, people who I knew weren’t going to leave and weren’t going to change, exactly the type of people you come home to. Ultimately, I think this, too, was part of the death of our friendship; it was no longer working at a distance. I was changing, unsure of where I was going, and I wasn’t sure how to relate anymore to that brief, liminal desire for feeling at home. 

We hadn’t had any mutual friends before meeting, so it was shockingly easy to extract our lives from each others. The distance helped. Even my parents had seen the end coming from a few months out. I sometimes wish it had been harder – maybe the proximity would have healed things over naturally, or at the very least the door to reconnection would have remained open without either of us having to turn the knob. A strong point of our friendship was how much we liked each other in a vacuum. We were always able to hang out one on one, but it proved to be the thing that aided the end. Strangely, the messiest, most drawn-out ending led to the cleanest break.

2. R

My friendship with R ended almost not at all, which I am cruelly reminded of by our text conversations from late 2021. After six months of no contact, she had asked me a question about a store in our hometown, I replied, we caught up. She asked if I wanted to Facetime. I said sure, but I just started a new job, so I’ll let you know when’s best for me. I never texted again. 

R was the closest thing I had to a best friend, perhaps for the first time in my adult life. My high school best friends and I scattered across the world after graduation and had yet to spend any meaningful amount of time in the same city, another casualty of the international school system, so when I met R at school it was like spending time with someone in the first way that was familiar again – always being someone’s first choice, unspoken assumptions, a friendship that doesn’t need identifying. It was so easy to be good all the time, and the pandemic helped quite a bit. We were friends in a lazy rhythm of movie nights, takeout meals, lying in the sun, eating expensive pastries. I probably wouldn’t have gotten through the later months of COVID without her. We joked more than just a little that we were the same person, from our Myer-Briggs personality types, down to our interests, all the way to the specific tint of hair I took up first, then her, and a new hobby, which she took up first, then me. We were the perfect shade of each other, different enough to be interesting but similar enough to goad each other on. 

Ultimately, life returned to a sort of recognizable rhythm when I went back to school after three semesters of COVID lockdown. A few months later, R confessed feelings for me and I ran in the opposite direction – first by being what I can now recognize as slightly unforgiving, then by ghosting, which was extremely unfair. It’s one of the biggest regrets I have in the entirety of my early twenties, and I think I’m only now coming to realize exactly what about that made me run. I didn’t reciprocate her feelings, which is something that many, many friendships have moved past without issue, and is objectively not a problem. But I had projected so much of my personality and identification onto her as parallel reflections of each other that the notion of something unfamiliar that I had gone so long without knowing was scary, especially romantic feelings, which remain slightly terrifying to me to this day. It felt like something much, much bigger than it probably was, and came with too many questions that required a look inwards that I wasn’t ready to do at twenty-one. Seeing someone who I saw so closely as a version of myself struggling with the same questions was too much. All these reasons to stop being friends seem utterly unimportant in retrospect. 

I reached out a few months ago, and we had a nice conversation. It had been two years. She’s working towards the same goal now she was then, has moved in with a boyfriend, seems to be generally enjoying her life. She told me about what some of my friend-in-laws were up to. I told her about my move to Japan. I’m not sure what I reached out with the intention of doing, but my bid for connection was received with polite friendliness, arms-length interest, and closure. I’m not unsatisfied by this, but it’s a far cry from the way we used to know each other. The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

3. G

To be honest, I can write love letters to these friendships lost only now, in a particularly clear-headed moment of reflection, where I can recount objectively what happened and why. It’s taken me a moment to get to this place. But make no mistake, I’m extremely and constantly torn up over these friendships lost. I’m kept up at night by the silence; these people are the only reasons that I ever find myself itching to check social media over, the only things that can summon the type of hallucinatory anxiety I usually only attribute to my first year of college. Agonizing over what was lost sometimes feels like it takes up more of my brain than cultivating my living relationships. I don’t do much with this fact except agonize, too. 

What does it mean for me to have ended two once-incredibly meaningful relationships with Asian American women who I called best friends? Is this just what happens? Does everyone really experience the unique torture of the empty space left by a connection that used to be as natural as instinct? I asked around, more curious than anything if this specific experience of one’s twenties is supposed to be this excruciating, this exhausting, this anticlimactic. The answers I received were mixed, not in yes’s or no’s, but in varying degrees of sympathy (one person called me immediately to talk about it, one person reminded me to fill out a Google Form to vote for her startup before answering that yeah, kinda). The overall sentiment, polled from friends from a range of distances and relationalities, was like this: everyone loses friends in their twenties, this point isn't up for debate, it’s moreso that everyone is varying degrees of cut up about it. This is perhaps the answer that I least wanted to hear – to me, it’s a reminder that the locus of everyone’s emotional and anxious energy lies oriented in a different direction, focused towards different aspects of life both in and outside the self. There are some who feel the loss of a best friend like a phantom limb, there are some people who plow forward casting a spare thought or two every few months. That lost friends in particular are such a point of constant self-aggravation for me feels cruel; I’m doomed to spend my most anxious moments tormented over something that is defined by its absence. The torture is silence, the silence is the torture. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if we had fought, really fought like they do in /r/AITA posts or storytime videos, so at least I would have something to apologize for that doesn’t feel like an emotional self-immolation, something starkly black and white so that the terms of my prostration can have a closed start and end. Instead, I don’t feel much like apologizing for anything at all, or that I’m owed one, either. On the best days, these people who were once everything become just a passing thought. On the worst, they’re summoned at every turn, a spectral ghost trailing a few feet behind and screaming whenever I go too long without thinking about it. Is anything more unkind than indifference? 

When my suffering starts to feel too personal, like whoever built the social structures that scaffold life outside the self was designing a system specifically to rub up against my specific anxieties, I try to start reminding myself of what my problems sound like on paper. I lost touch with a friend. I’m a little pressed for money. I’m twenty-four and still not quite sure what I want to do with my life. These are so perfectly quotidian that I imagine that thinking of them objectively will make me feel better, like I’m B-plot in a show with a 20 minute runtime – these things will impact my character’s development over the course of the season, but for now, I can be soothed in the time it takes for a viewer to get bored. However, I don’t think that this is a particularly effective approach, because instead of reminding me that what feels like personalized emotional torture is actually normal, I feel instead like I’m particularly stupid for being affected so strongly by problems that are literally so normal that they could be on the Disney Channel. This has led to a weird ego-space where I both think I’m better than most people at managing my emotions, but I also think I feel my emotions more strongly than a lot of people, two conclusions that I have absolutely no evidence for besides the above. Objectivity, in this sense, has done little to help me out. In moments when my thoughts feel like they’ll swell in my stomach and regurgitate out of my eyes and nose, the reminder that I am just sitting on the floor of my own house isn’t grounding, calming, or centering; it’s deeply humiliating. I’m the person playing the game, and I’m also the person making all the rules. I am part of the reason that I lost these two friends, and I am ashamed to be suffering to this day from their loss anyway. 

In the aftermath of these two quiet funerals, I’ve become a connection junkie, addicted to reconnecting with old friends; yesterday, I scrolled months and months down my iMessage to see if I could find any unturned rocks, unpopped blue bubbles, unrung bells. I’m hooked on feeling like an adult, I’m hooked on seeing people I love being adults, like the overwhelming strength of my own nostalgia makes me a suitable messenger between who they are now and who they are in my head. I feel like I’m proving something to them as they live in my memories, freshly sixteen, or twenty-one, or moved. I present my harvest in hasty fistfuls, like a child showing off some strange organic matter found in the park. Look how things can be! Look how things are! It’s a vivid, hallucinatory kind of satisfaction, and has been so surprisingly loving. Distance and time have sweetened these types of connections – ones where there is no love lost, no posturing, no illusions about the type of people we once were, because we already knew each other then, and loved each other anyways. These, too, will never be the same as they once were, but they’re a reminder that most people from the past are not dead connections, just dormant ones. 

In the past month, I’ve reconnected with three friends that I haven’t seen in six, three, and three years respectively. This is both a long time and not a long time at all, which I take to be a sign of good friends. When we talk, I am both the person I was when we were the closest and the person who I am now, which has been somewhat of a difficult gap to bridge. I agonize over the worst parts of myself as a teenager, and wonder if the person I’m talking to agonizes over them too, which is in itself a very self-obsessed thing to say, and perhaps not very kind to them. I’m slightly sorry to these people, who I can admit that in part I am using as a vehicle for some exercise of my own self-reflection; they are a projection for my need to externally process. At the same time, I realize very clearly that I am somewhat putting my head in the sand in regards to what it can mean to connect with people. Returning to old friendships has been an incredible blessing; it has also been a sort of panic response to experiencing other losses. This, too, is unfair, and yet connection is so, so sweet. What I recognize is missing, however, between a rekindled connection and a close friendship lost, is the instinct. 

In Japanese culture, like most non-Western cultures, there’s no custom of saying something when someone sneezes. While there are a number of other set phrases for everyday happenings (leaving for work, arriving at work, eating, finishing eating, leaving work, arriving home, seeing someone else go to work, seeing someone else come home, seeing someone working, asking for a favor, receiving a favor…), sneezing has no steam as a social function. In my Japanese workplace, the feeling is exceedingly strange: when someone sneezes, I move to say something out of instinct, or maybe social conditioning, and find no equivalent turn of phrase in Japanese. I turn to them, open my mouth, and find myself without anything to say. It’s not that the words don’t come, or that they’ve slipped my mind; they literally do not exist. What stays, however, even when words fail, is the instinct, the scaffolding of an expression, the exoskeleton of an oscillating relationship to an entire separate cultural schema. Instead of saying bless you, I think consciously that I will not say bless you, because I am in a different cultural context than the one I was raised in, an iterative reminder that You Are Here. It’s much harder to unlearn an instinct than it is to develop a new one, but most of the time I manage to hold my bless you in anyways, reserving it for my English club kids who laugh whenever I say it. 

This is the rhythm that I think comes as close as possible to describing what it feels like to have lost a very close friend: I am moving through the world, constantly enthralled by its graces, and each time I am reminded of a friend, my instinct to experience their joy as mine comes as easily as second nature. The thought of their joy, their delight, their amusement at something becomes mine, because it was, for years and years, but isn’t anymore. I turn, open my mouth, and have nothing to say. The words do not come, or maybe they don’t exist in the new language I speak without them, an entire lexicon severed. I imagine I’ve lost a great deal of this lexicon already, because like languages, people are not static. With disuse, I can feel the words becoming more and more unnatural; everything is a reminder of someone but I can’t quite recall why. I am not associating this thing with you, because I am not friends with you anymore. This is the harder voice to silence. Part of my brain is frozen in time at the moment where we were when we stopped being friends, and probably will be forever. The skeleton remains. 

I haven’t spoken to R in a few years at this point, but recently developed an old roll of film that had a few shots of us with friends on a parking structure rooftop. There was at least a year of time between those pictures and the next few, taken outside of my parent’s place in Tokyo. We once talked about her coming to visit me there and stay a few weeks during the summer. The gap between those photos is part of that lexicon, too, evidence of the linguistic breakdowns of quarantine, our spiraling relationship, the indifference. It was a reminder – the same type of reminder that I’d like hope for this written reflection to be – that while now passed, these friendships were once sunny afternoons, grainy film, letters on brown paper, solid, ephemeral, vivid. The bitterness of the present reminder of a lost friendship does not detract from the sweetest gift that it once was to be able to summon a loved one at every earthly delight. This tangibility reminds me to not be ashamed of the size of this feeling, that to have experienced love that large at all is beyond words of gratitude. To K and R, I send my most private love from here to where you are in the world, just as earnest as it always was, and if you can remember, I hope you can feel it just as sweetly as where we left it. 

Thank you. 

P.S. This is kind of a morbid post to do this on, but I’m obsessed with one of J’s friends and so honored to have a reader outside of my immediate circle that I’m shouting him out, hi Kevin, can’t wait to meet you. 

ref:

우리 나름의 겨울 나는 법 | HOME (NOT) ALONE | 두 번째 이야기

thank you JJ for your sneeze anecdote! 

居場所 (いばしょ、i-ba-sho) a place where a person feels a sense of belonging and purpose resulting from the social relationships associated with that place.