#he looks like a vulture because hes supposed to be the vulture from the story of prometheus

[alittlegiraffe]

heyyy, how do u do?

I love your stories, u make my days better, hope u never stop 💓

Anyway, do u have any ideas for new stories? I loved drowning, its my favorite, do u think ur going to do smth like that soon?

Hugs

Title: “What Ifs”

You didn’t remember the sound of your own voice much these days.

Only the sounds that haunted you: the sharp beeping of machines, the hiss of oxygen, the coded phrases doctors used when someone was slipping away. They played on repeat in your mind like a lullaby written by grief itself.

That night was a blur—your fingers clumsy as you dialed 911, your voice breaking as you begged them to hurry. The image that never left was the way he looked slumped over in the bathroom. Lifeless. Blue-lipped. Cold.

They said it was close. Too close.

He came back to you.

But something inside you never did.

At first, you held it in. You smiled when the girls came home. You washed the blood out of the bathroom tiles before he ever saw it. You curled into his side in the hospital bed when he was lucid enough to know you were there. And you whispered, “Don’t you ever fucking leave me again.”

He promised he wouldn’t.

But now… weeks later… maybe months? You weren’t sure anymore. The days blurred. The promise didn’t silence the fear.

You couldn’t stop imagining it happening again. Every time he was late getting home. Every time you heard a siren in the distance. Every time you walked past the bathroom door and had to breathe through the memory of him on the floor, pupils blown and pulse fading.

You were stuck there. Still there.

You didn’t tell him. You couldn’t. Not when he was trying so hard. Meetings. Therapy. Sober. Focused. Present.

Everyone was so proud of him. You were proud of him.

But you were also terrified. And so, so tired.

Some nights, you stood in the kitchen with your hands braced on the counter, eyes shut tight against the crushing silence. The kids were asleep. He was working late. And the house felt like a tomb filled with echoes of almost.

Almost lost him. Almost widow. Almost gone.

You hated yourself for it—how you’d sit on the edge of the tub, shaking, your mind whispering things you didn’t want to hear.

He’s going to do it again.

You’ll find him again.

You’ll be alone.

The thoughts circled like vultures. You couldn’t outrun them. Couldn’t talk them down. You just let them whisper. Because fighting took too much energy. And honestly… part of you didn’t want to fight anymore.

Whitney was the one who cracked the surface.

Marshall had been gone for twelve hours—late session, he’d said. You knew he was probably just tired. Probably sober. Probably fine.

But that didn’t stop you from sitting on the couch in the dark, biting the skin around your thumb until it bled.

When he came in around midnight, Whitney was still up. She’d been sleeping poorly lately, climbing into your bed more often. You hadn’t questioned it.

But that night, she tugged on his hoodie and whispered, “Daddy… why does Mommy cry when you work late?”

He froze.

He told her he’d be right back. Kissed her forehead. Tucked her in.

And then he came into the living room and looked at you like he was really seeing you for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even look at him. Just stared at the turned-off TV screen like it might offer an answer to the ache in your chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice low.

You flinched. Your voice was hoarse. “Tell you what?”

“That you’re not okay.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. “Would it have helped?”

He sat beside you. Not too close—like he was scared he’d break you if he did. “I almost died,” he said slowly, carefully. “But I didn’t. I’m here.”

“And what if you hadn’t made it?” Your voice cracked. “What if next time you don’t? What if I walk in and find you again? What the fuck am I supposed to do then, Marshall?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Because there was no answer. Not one that could make this okay.

You shook your head, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek. “I can’t breathe when you’re gone. I can’t sleep. I can’t function because I keep seeing you like that. And I know it’s selfish. I know you’re trying so hard. But I’m not... I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since they put you in that hospital bed and told me you might not wake up.”

He looked like he wanted to reach for you. Like he wanted to fix it. But he couldn’t.

You stood up before he could say anything. “I don’t need a speech. Or more promises. I just need… I need space to be fucked up about this, okay?”

He stood too. Hesitant. “You’re not alone.”

“I feel alone.” The words sliced the air between you. You didn’t mean them to hurt. But they did. For both of you.

He stepped closer. “Then let me help.”

Your eyes met his. And for a moment, you wanted to believe he could.

But that weight in your chest—the one that had settled in the night of the overdose—it didn’t lift.

You let him pull you into a hug. Let yourself cry into his shoulder. But even as he held you, the thoughts were still there.

Still whispering.

What if he relapses.

What if he dies.

What if you can’t survive it next time.

You wanted to believe you’d be okay. That you would heal the way he was trying to. But the truth was you didn't know if you ever would be again.

---

The house was quieter without him.

Marshall had flown out to L.A. to work on a new album—only for a week, maybe two—but it felt like months were being carved out of your chest with every hour that passed.

You told him you were fine. That you were managing. You kissed the phone camera when he FaceTimed you and said all the right things: The girls are great. We miss you. I'm proud of you. Just focus on the music, baby.

He believed you. Or maybe he wanted to.

You were getting better at lying. Smiling with dead eyes. Keeping your voice steady. Laughing just enough.

The girls didn’t notice.

Or maybe they did and just didn’t want to say anything.

You packed their lunches every morning, double-checked their homework, asked about their friends. You braided Whitney’s hair before school and helped Alaina pick out outfits for her internship. Hailie texted you often from campus: Love you. You okay?

You always replied: I’m good, promise.

But underneath it all, the what ifs were eating you alive.

What if he didn’t come back?

What if something happened to him out there?

What if he relapsed and no one saw it coming?

You didn’t sleep anymore. Not really. Maybe two hours a night if the fear didn’t spike hard enough to pull you out of bed. Sometimes you wandered the house like a ghost, sitting on the stairs until dawn, just to hear the girls breathing in their rooms.

They were your reason to stay. They had to be.

But some nights, even they couldn’t silence the scream inside your skull.

On the sixth day, the house felt wrong. Like it had been hollowed out and filled with fog.

The girls were at school. The morning sun was pouring through the windows. You stood barefoot in the kitchen staring at a cup of coffee that had long gone cold, hands trembling slightly.

You couldn’t remember if you’d eaten. Or if you’d showered. You looked down and realized you were still in the same clothes you’d worn yesterday.

The silence felt louder than your thoughts.

You couldn’t call Marshall. Couldn’t text him this. What would you even say?

Hey, I’m falling apart again and all I can think about is dying while you’re out there building a new chapter of your life.

No. You wouldn’t do that to him. You wouldn’t drag him down with you.

You went outside instead. Let the sunlight hit your face. The pool shimmered in the backyard, reflecting a sky that was too blue for how numb you felt inside.

You sat at the edge of the water, fingers ghosting across the surface. It was cool. Calming.

And for one long, breathless moment, the thoughts grew louder than ever.

What if you just let go?

What if you slipped in and didn’t come back up?

It would be easy. So quiet. So peaceful. No mess. No pain.

The girls would be okay. They had Marshall. They had each other.

They didn’t need you. Not really. You were just the one holding it together by bloody fingernails. You were the one who couldn’t sleep. Who couldn’t breathe. Who kept picturing the worst case in every moment, every phone call, every silence.

You stood up.

And stepped into the water.

The cold shocked your skin, but you didn’t flinch. You kept walking. Deeper. Until your toes lost contact with the floor.

You sank.

Eyes open. Hair fanning around your face like seaweed. Sunlight shimmered above, but you let yourself float down until it all blurred.

And you thought—this is what peace feels like.

The splash was loud, but you didn’t hear it. You were already fading out.

Then: a second, heavier splash. Strong hands grabbed under your arms. You broke the surface coughing, choking, flailing weakly until a voice grounded you.

“What the fuck—what the fuck are you doing?!”

Nate.

His voice cracked with panic as he dragged you toward the edge of the pool. You tried to speak, but water and shame clawed up your throat. You collapsed against him, gasping.

He pulled you up onto the pool deck, chest heaving, his hands shaking as they hovered over your soaked clothes, your wide, dazed eyes. “Jesus Christ. Jesus. I thought you were fucking dead.”

You blinked up at him, trembling. Your lips moved, but no words came out.

“I—I just…” You shook your head, voice barely a rasp. “I didn’t mean to.”

But you did.

God help you, you did.

He cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his wet hair. “Marshall told me to check on you. Said he had a bad feeling. Fucking hell, he’s gonna—” He stopped himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “Let’s get you inside. C’mon.”

You didn’t fight him when he wrapped a towel around your shoulders. You didn’t speak when he sat you down on the couch and handed you a glass of water with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling.

You just stared at the floor.

The silence stretched too long. Until Nate finally said, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle, “You gotta tell him. You can’t hide this anymore.”

Your throat closed up.

You didn’t nod. You didn’t cry. You just stared at the wet footprints across the floor and thought about how easy it had been to start sinking.

And how close you’d come to not coming back.

---

Your skin was still cold, even wrapped in the towel Nate had thrown around you. The chill wasn’t just from the water—it came from somewhere deeper. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

You sat curled on the couch, dripping onto the hardwood floor, your fingers white-knuckled around the glass of water in your lap.

Nate stood across the room, pacing. Cursing under his breath. His soaked clothes clung to him like guilt.

Then he pulled out his phone.

You knew what he was about to do. Knew the name he was about to tap.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, water sloshing in the glass as it hit the floor. Your hand lashed out and snatched the phone from his fingers.

“No!”

He stared at you—stunned.

You held the phone against your chest, breath ragged, your voice rasping and broken from the water still burning in your throat.

“He can’t know, Nathan.”

Nate’s brow furrowed, hardening with disbelief. “You almost drowned, and you don’t want me to tell your husband?”

Your voice cracked as you forced out, “You can’t tell him.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head, frustration flaring behind his eyes. “You think he won’t notice you tried to kill yourself? Jesus, he sent me here because he knew something was wrong.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” You stopped. The words caught in your throat like thorns. “I just… I just wanted it to stop for a minute. The noise. The fear. I wanted to feel nothing.”

Nate scrubbed a hand over his face, turning away for a second like he couldn’t stand to see you like this. “That’s not better, [Y/N]. That’s not something you hide from him.”

“He’s working,” you whispered. “He’s doing better. He’s healing. I can’t—” Your voice broke completely, your knees starting to tremble again. “I can’t be the reason he falls apart. Not now.”

“He won’t,” Nate said sharply. “He’d fly back tonight if he knew. He’d drop everything for you, and you know that.”

You closed your eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek and slipping into the corner of your mouth, still tasting like chlorine. “Exactly.”

That silenced him.

Because you didn’t need to explain it any further.

You were afraid that if he came back and saw what was really left of you… it would break him.

He was still holding his sobriety together with raw hope and new habits.

He needed distance to stay strong.

He didn’t need to be dragging your dead weight with him.

“I’ve already taken enough from him,” you whispered. “I can’t be the thing that ruins his recovery.”

Nate stared at you for a long moment. The fight slowly drained from his face, replaced by something heavier: sorrow. Helplessness.

“I get it,” he said finally. Quiet. “But what if next time I’m not here in time?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

You held out the phone to him with shaking fingers. “Please… don’t call him. Just… give me time. I’ll fix it. I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t take the phone.

But he didn’t call Marshall either.

He just sank down on the arm of the chair across from you, eyes never leaving your face.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the damn floor if I have to.”

You didn’t argue.

You just sat there, soaked and silent, shivering in a towel that didn’t warm you.

Because the truth was: you were afraid of being alone.

You were afraid of what your mind would do with the silence.

---

The plane touched down just after noon.

Marshall hadn’t planned on coming back early—but something hadn’t felt right for days. Your texts were short. Flat. Off. Nate had been oddly cagey too, even through phone calls.

Marshall had a sixth sense for this kind of shit. And when he didn’t feel you at the other end of the line anymore, he packed his bag and got the next flight home.

The house was quiet when he got in. Too quiet.

You weren’t at the door.

The girls weren’t home from school yet.

But Nate’s car was still in the driveway.

Marshall frowned, dragging his bag inside and kicking off his shoes. “Yo?” he called.

No answer.

He found Nate in the kitchen—leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow. The moment he looked up and saw Marshall, his face dropped.

“Shit.”

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Marshall asked, eyes narrowing. “You were only supposed to check in. That was six days ago.”

Nate didn’t answer right away.

That hesitation was enough.

Marshall’s stomach dropped. His heart started to pound.

“Nate.”

Nate looked like he was chewing glass as he put his phone down. “She told me not to call you. Begged me not to.”

Marshall’s voice sharpened. “Why? What the hell happened?”

“Something bad.”

Marshall moved so fast the chair scraped behind him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“She walked into the pool.”

Silence.

Just—dead, suffocating silence.

“What?” The word came out like a whisper, like the breath had been punched out of him.

Nate swallowed hard. “I found her floating. Unconscious. Half-drowned.”

Marshall staggered back a step, eyes wide. “You—You didn’t fucking tell me?!”

“She made me swear. She was a wreck. She thought if you knew, you’d drop everything and relapse or spiral or—hell, I don’t know, man! I didn’t know what to do. I stayed. I didn’t leave her alone once. I slept on the goddamn floor like a watchdog, but I couldn’t call you. She wouldn’t let me.”

Marshall’s hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking. His jaw was tight enough to crack a tooth. “And you listened to her?”

“I thought it was one-time. An episode. She said she’d be okay. I believed her.”

“You lied to me.” His voice was low, guttural. Dangerous.

“I did,” Nate said quietly. “Because she looked me in the eyes and said she’d kill herself if I made that call. What the fuck would you have done?”

Marshall spun away, running both hands over his face, tugging at his hair. His entire body was vibrating with tension, with rage and panic and grief. “I would’ve come home. I would’ve come the fuck home, Nate.”

“She didn’t want you to fall apart, man.”

“I am falling apart,” he snapped, turning back toward him. “You think I can breathe knowing I was across the fucking country while she was drowning in our backyard?!”

Nate didn’t speak.

There was nothing else to say.

You heard the yelling before you saw them.

Your heart dropped as you descended the stairs, still in the hoodie you hadn’t changed out of since yesterday, sleeves pulled down over your wrists like armor.

Marshall saw you the moment you stepped into the hallway. The look on his face made your breath hitch—anger, fear, betrayal all crashing together in one devastating storm behind his eyes.

He stepped toward you.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You froze.

“I—I couldn’t,” you said, voice rough. Raw. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I needed to see you like that!” he shouted, chest heaving. “You think protecting me means hiding the fact you were ready to die? You think I’m so fragile you’d rather drown alone than pick up the fucking phone?!”

Tears hit your eyes instantly, hot and blinding.

“I didn’t want to break you,” you whispered. “You were finally doing okay.”

“And you’re not!” he exploded. “Jesus, [Y/N], I almost fucking lost you. You think that helps me stay clean? You think knowing you were ready to let go while I was in a studio thousands of miles away keeps me steady?! It makes me wanna fucking crawl out of my skin.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, barely standing. “I’m so fucking sorry, I just—I didn’t see any other way out. Everything’s too loud. And I was so tired of pretending to be okay for everyone else.”

His eyes glossed over. He stepped forward again, slower this time, the fury in his face giving way to something softer—more shattered.

He reached for you. You flinched.

That killed him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice cracking. “Don’t pull away. Not from me.”

You let him touch you this time—let his arms wrap around you and hold you like he’d never let go again.

And maybe he wouldn’t.

But you didn’t feel saved. Not yet.

You felt seen.

And somehow, that hurt even more.

---

The house was silent now.

Marshall had closed every door behind him like he was afraid the noise might break you. Like even the slam of a cupboard might shatter what little was holding you together.

You sat on the edge of the bed in a different hoodie now—his. You couldn’t look him in the eye. You hadn’t since he pulled you into his arms hours ago and realized how thin you’d gotten, how distant your skin felt.

He was pacing in the bedroom, slow and tight, arms folded across his chest like he was holding himself in. He hadn’t raised his voice again. He hadn’t accused you. He hadn’t even looked angry—at you.

But every time the floor creaked in the hallway, every time Nate’s footsteps moved downstairs, something in Marshall twitched.

You finally spoke, voice barely there. “You’re mad at him.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Yeah.”

You nodded like you understood. Because you did. But also… “He kept me alive.”

Marshall ran a hand over his face, sighing hard. “He shouldn’t have had to.”

You looked down at your hands. “He was scared.”

“I’m scared,” Marshall snapped, more bitter than loud. “I’ve been scared since the second I walked in this house and realized something was wrong. But you don’t lie to someone about that kind of shit, [Y/N]. You don’t sit there texting me ‘everything’s fine’ while you’re drowning in the fucking pool.”

You didn’t argue.

You couldn’t.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping a sliver of space between you—like he was afraid to crowd you, but more afraid not to be close.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again, but gentler this time. Softer.

Your throat ached. “Because you were happy.”

“That doesn’t mean I stop loving you.”

You didn’t realize tears were falling until he reached over and brushed them from your cheeks, his fingertips careful, like you might bruise.

“I love you when it’s dark too,” he said. “Don’t shut me out when you’re hurting. That’s when I need to be there.”

You leaned into his hand, your body giving in even if your mind still wanted to run.

After a moment, you whispered, “Don’t be too hard on Nate. Please.”

He pulled back slowly, jaw clenching. “He should’ve fucking told me.”

“I begged him not to.”

He shook his head. “He could’ve told me without you knowing. He could’ve lied to you and told me the truth. Hell, I would’ve lied to you, if it meant keeping you safe.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

He wasn’t wrong.

He stood again and crossed the room, tension radiating off him as he stared out the window. “He’s sleeping here again tonight?”

“Yeah. He said he’s not leaving until you’ve calmed down enough to punch him or forgive him.”

Marshall scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shifted slightly, voice softer now. “He sat by the bathroom door every time I took a shower. Slept downstairs with one eye open. Took the knives out of the kitchen. He didn’t just keep a secret, Marshall. He kept me. Here. Breathing.”

He didn’t say anything, but you saw his shoulders dip. Just a little.

“I’m still mad,” he muttered after a moment.

“I know.”

“But I’m… grateful, too.”

“I know that, too.”

He turned back toward you, eyes tired, face worn. “I’m gonna talk to him.”

You nodded. “Just don’t yell.”

“I won’t.”

“...Don’t hit him.”

He almost smiled. “I probably won’t.”

You breathed out a weak laugh. It hurt, but it felt good, too.

He crossed back to you, pulled you in with one arm and kissed your forehead. “We’ll get through this,” he murmured. “Okay?”

You nodded into his chest, letting yourself believe it. Just a little.

Even if the shadows still pressed close.

Even if the ache didn’t go away overnight.

Even if you didn’t feel fixed.

At least now—you weren’t pretending anymore.

---

The house was quiet again by midnight. You’d fallen asleep—finally—curled up in the corner of the bed, wrapped in one of Marshall’s hoodies like a blanket made of memories. He’d watched you for a long time before leaving the room, the sound of your breathing anchoring him to the floor.

Now he stood in the kitchen, jaw tight, fists looser than before but still not fully unclenched.

Nate sat at the table, arms folded, like he’d been waiting all night for this.

“You lied to me.”

Marshall’s voice wasn’t raised.

It was worse than that.

It was quiet.

Nate let out a long breath. “Yeah.”

“I needed to hear it from you. Not walk in on it days later like a goddamn stranger in my own life.”

“I know.”

Marshall moved to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water just to give his hands something to do. Something that wasn’t breaking a wall or slamming a door.

He unscrewed the cap but didn’t drink it.

“Why?”

Nate’s jaw twitched. He looked up finally, and his eyes were already red. “Because she asked me to.”

Marshall’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “And that was enough?”

“No,” Nate snapped, louder than he meant to. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, it wasn’t fucking enough. I’ve been sleeping with one ear open for six days wondering if she was gonna disappear between breaths. Do you know what it feels like to check if someone’s still alive every hour?”

Marshall’s spine stiffened. His anger started to simmer again, but before he could say anything, Nate stood up.

“She’s not just your wife, Em,” he said, voice low, but full. “She’s—she’s the first person who ever gave a shit if I was okay. She used to sneak me out of school when our mom forgot to pick me up. She used to buy me birthday presents when Deb forgot. She’s the first person who made me feel like I was part of a family and not just some extra piece of trash left behind.”

Marshall stared at him, stunned.

“I was a kid, man. And she didn’t treat me like a burden. She let me tag along on your dumb-ass dates, she taught me how to use the washing machine. She parented me more than our own fucking mother ever did.”

His voice cracked.

“I watched her come apart in that house and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I kept thinking, ‘How do I save the person who always saved me?’ And I thought—I thought maybe if I just kept her breathing long enough, you’d come home in time.”

Marshall felt his throat tighten.

“I didn’t tell you,” Nate said, voice smaller now, “because I didn’t know how. Because I was afraid saying it out loud would make it real. And I couldn’t handle losing her. Not her. Not like that.”

Silence fell over the room like fog—dense, inescapable.

Marshall sat down slowly across from him, eyes still locked on his brother.

“You should’ve called me,” he said again—but there was no venom in it now. Just pain.

Nate nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I know.”

Marshall swallowed hard. “But I get it.”

That landed like a weight in Nate’s chest.

“I get it,” Marshall repeated. “Because I would’ve done the same thing.”

His voice dropped.

“She’s more than just mine, man. I forget that sometimes. But I get it.”

Nate’s shoulders sagged, finally releasing tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

Marshall looked away, throat working like he was fighting something back. “I’m sorry I yelled. I was scared.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a while, the kind only brothers can share. Where every unspoken thing is heard anyway.

Finally, Marshall sighed. “You still sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“Unless you’re kicking me out.”

“Nah. But I’ll take first watch.”

Nate looked at him.

Marshall gave a small, tired smile. “Old habits.”

Nate nodded once, lips twitching upward for the first time in days.

They didn’t say anything else.

They didn’t need to.

Because between them stood the same truth:

You had held both their broken pieces once.

And now, it was their turn to hold yours.

---

It had been three days since Marshall came home.

Three days of too-quiet breakfasts and awkward silences and forced smiles that didn’t quite reach anyone’s eyes.

Nate still slept in the guest room.

You still barely left the bedroom.

And the girls—God, the girls were watching everything.

You could see it in Hailie’s long glances, the way she lingered in doorways like she was waiting to overhear something. In Alaina’s soft reassurances, her too-casual questions like, “Do you need help with dinner?” when she never used to ask. And Whitney—she was the sharpest of all. Small but perceptive. Quietly confused.

It was a Saturday morning when the question came.

You were all sitting in the living room, scattered in loose, unspoken formations—Whitney curled beside you on the couch, Alaina thumbing through her phone on the floor, Hailie helping Marshall fold laundry across the coffee table, and Nate in the kitchen nursing his third cup of coffee like it was penance.

The tension felt like old paint—cracked and visible if anyone looked too closely.

But it was Whitney who said it first.

“Why’s Uncle Nate still here?” she asked, head tilted. Her tone was innocent. Curious.

She was always good at asking the questions no one else dared to.

The room froze.

Every muscle in your body stiffened beneath the hoodie you’d barely taken off all week. You stared at the television, watching a cooking show neither of you were really following.

Marshall looked up from a towel he was folding, his expression faltering. “Uh…”

Hailie shot him a glance.

Alaina looked at you.

Nate didn’t even pretend to be casual—he just stared into his coffee mug like he wanted to fall inside it.

Whitney blinked, oblivious to the panic fluttering beneath everyone’s skin. “He used to only stay when Daddy was gone. But now you’re back. So… why’s he still here?”

Silence.

Marshall cleared his throat. “He’s just helping out, bug.”

“With what?”

Another beat of hesitation.

Then Nate muttered, “Just… being around.”

“Okay,” she said, dragging out the word slowly. “But—is Mommy sick?”

You flinched. Your heart stuttered.

Marshall looked at you.

Your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

“Mommy’s just tired,” Hailie said, gently. Too gently.

Whitney narrowed her eyes. “Is it because she was crying when Daddy was in California?”

That silenced the room completely.

Marshall's hands stilled. Alaina’s phone slipped from her fingers. Nate froze in place.

You couldn’t breathe.

Whitney looked around at all of you. “Did she cry because he was gone? Or because she was scared?”

No one answered.

She was only ten. But she knew. Kids always know more than you think.

After a moment, Marshall got up and crossed the room, sitting on the armrest beside you, his hand resting lightly between your shoulders. “Mommy’s going through a hard time right now,” he said softly. “And sometimes hard things are easier to handle when there’s family close by. So Uncle Nate’s here to help us for a while. That’s all.”

Whitney stared at you, like she wanted to ask more. Like she already knew more.

You managed to whisper, “I’m okay.”

She didn’t believe you.

But she didn’t say anything else.

Later, after the girls were upstairs and the house had gone quiet again, you stood in the hallway near the stairwell, arms wrapped around yourself. You didn’t hear Marshall come up behind you until he placed a hand on your waist, anchoring you gently.

“She knows,” you said, not turning around.

“Yeah.”

“I hate that.”

“I know.”

You exhaled slowly. “What if we already broke something in her?”

“You didn’t,” he said, firm but soft. “She’s not broken. She’s just… watching us survive. And maybe that teaches her something, too.”

You didn’t reply.

You didn’t believe him yet.

---

It took two weeks for the noise to come back.

The house was asleep.

You weren’t.

You hadn't slept in what felt like days. Not really. Maybe you'd drifted, maybe you’d pretended. But real sleep—the kind that reached down and held you—hadn’t touched you in weeks.

You walked barefoot through the hallway, careful not to wake anyone. The floors creaked under your weight like they were warning you not to go.

But you went anyway.

The back door slid open with that familiar sound, the one that used to mean summer and laughter and splashing. Now it just felt like a memory you couldn’t crawl back into.

The night air kissed your skin. Cold. Unforgiving.

The pool glowed faintly under the moonlight, a rippling mirror that looked too calm for what it had done. Or what you’d done. Or almost done.

You stepped closer.

You told yourself you just needed air.

Just needed a second.

But your eyes wouldn’t leave the water.

It looked like peace.

Like silence.

Like a way out.

You stood at the edge, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, the chill seeping through your hoodie, your breath fogging faintly in the air.

Your mind was screaming again.

What if he leaves? What if he relapses? What if the girls see you fall apart for real this time? What if this never gets better? What if you’re broken forever? What if they’d all be better off if you just—

You choked on a sob, biting it back into your teeth like it had no right to escape.

You took one step closer.

The edge of the concrete dug into your toes. You could almost feel the weightlessness of letting go, the rush of cold. The instant relief that might follow. Or not.

You don’t have to do this, a voice whispered somewhere faint in your chest.

But it was quiet. And the louder voice—the one that said you’re a burden, you’re unraveling, you’re too much—was screaming.

Your foot shifted.

And then—

“Don’t.”

The voice stopped you cold.

You spun around, startled, nearly slipping, heart hammering.

It was Hailie.

She stood in the doorway barefoot, wrapped in a blanket, her hair a mess of sleep and worry. Her eyes weren’t angry. Just wide. And scared.

She looked so much like Marshall in that moment it broke something in you.

“I—I wasn’t—” you stammered.

She didn’t say anything. Just walked over, slowly. Carefully. Like you were glass.

When she reached you, she took your hand. No force. Just warmth.

“Come back inside, Mom.”

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to come back.”

She squeezed your hand tighter.

“Then I’ll stay with you out here until you do.”

And she did.

---

The chill of the night pressed down like a second skin, but you didn’t feel it.

Not really.

Not with Hailie beside you.

She didn’t let go after she pulled you down into the old wooden deck chair, the blanket she’d brought barely big enough to cover you both. Her arms wrapped around your middle like she was afraid you might slip through the cracks of the world and vanish. You held her without thinking, instinctively, like muscle memory. Like breathing.

And she just… stayed there.

She didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t tell you it was okay.

Didn’t try to fix you.

She just held on.

And after a while—after the sobs stopped and your heart stopped racing, after the pool stopped looking like an answer—her grip loosened, her body relaxed, and she fell asleep with her head tucked beneath your chin.

Your fingers moved slowly through her hair, the way you used to when she was little. When monsters still lived under beds and you were her shield from all of them.

Now she was yours.

And that broke you more than anything else ever could.

You didn’t sleep. But you didn’t move, either. Couldn’t.

Because she was warm. And real. And here.

And even though your mind still whispered what if, what if, what if on a loop that never ended, her breathing gave you something to hold onto. Something to stay anchored for. Even just for one more minute.

The sky turned gray behind the trees.

And then light crept into the yard, soft and golden and undeserved.

You didn’t hear the sliding door open, but you heard the gasp—sharp, strangled—followed by fast footsteps across the deck.

“Oh my God—”

Marshall.

You looked up, blinking blearily, eyes raw and aching.

He was already crouching in front of you, hands gentle but frantic, touching your face, your arms, Hailie’s back.

“Jesus, babe, what—what the fuck—why are you—”

“She’s okay,” you rasped, voice hollow. “She found me.”

Marshall stared at you, at Hailie curled against you like she was still ten years old and scared of thunderstorms.

“She wouldn’t let me go,” you added.

Behind him, Nate stood frozen at the edge of the deck, his face pale, eyes wide, like he’d just walked into a funeral.

Again.

You looked at them both. Couldn’t find words. Couldn’t even lie.

Marshall knelt there for a long moment, trying to gather his breathing. Trying not to yell. Trying not to cry.

He looked up at you, eyes shining.

“I thought we were past this,” he whispered.

“So did I.”

He swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he said, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You leaned your head back against the chair, eyes slipping shut. “Maybe we don’t. Maybe we just… get through one more night.”

He nodded slowly.

Then, gently, he brushed the hair from your forehead and leaned forward to press his lips to it.

You didn’t open your eyes.

Hailie stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

No one said it out loud, but you all felt it:

You were still not okay.

Not yet.

Maybe not for a long time.

But this time, you weren’t alone on the edge.

---

By noon, the pool was already halfway drained.

You heard the whirring first—low, mechanical, relentless. Then the footsteps. The scrape of boots on the deck. Male voices outside. Something shifting, water gurgling like a wound being opened.

From the bedroom window, you watched a man in overalls feed a wide hose into the deep end, water rushing up through the pipe and out into a truck parked on the side of the yard. The blue glow of the water darkened as it lowered, leaving behind slick tiles and echoes.

You didn’t ask.

You already knew.

Marshall stood by the pool, arms crossed, jaw tight, a phone clenched in one hand. His posture was a storm held just beneath the surface. A storm that had nowhere to go.

You opened the sliding door slowly, stepping out barefoot. The deck boards were warm under your feet now, touched by the rising sun.

He didn’t turn around.

“How long have they been here?” you asked, voice hoarse from the night before.

“Hour and a half,” he said. “They’ll be done by four.”

You looked past him to the water, still draining, still shifting.

He finally turned, eyes shadowed, voice low. “I’m not leaving that thing full another goddamn day.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not the pool, Marsh.”

“I know,” he said. “But it doesn’t get to stay. Not after that.”

He looked at you then, and something in his face made your throat tighten. Not just anger. Not just fear. But helplessness. The kind that lives in a man who’s already watched someone flatline once.

“I can’t watch you go under,” he said. “Not again. Not even in my fucking dreams.”

You stepped closer.

“I wasn’t trying to die.”

He let out a rough breath. “Then tell your face that. Tell your fucking eyes.”

You blinked hard, fighting the sting.

“I didn’t know how else to make it stop,” you whispered. “I just wanted quiet for five minutes. Five.”

He nodded, swallowed, nodded again.

The water behind him kept draining.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I’m mad at the part of me that missed it. That left you here thinking you had to hold all of it alone.”

You didn’t reply.

There was nothing to say that could undo it.

He closed the distance between you and pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you with that same urgency as the night he found out. Like he still didn’t trust you wouldn’t slip away if he blinked too long.

You let yourself be held.

The draining continued.

Later, Hailie asked if something happened to the pool.

Marshall just said, “Yeah. It stopped feeling safe.”

And she didn’t question it.

---

After the pool was drained you tried harder. Determined to fight alongside Marshall and your family. You were trying to not just act better but feel better.

It was supposed to be a good day.

The first one in a while.

The sun was out, a soft spring breeze threading through the trees, and for once, your body didn’t feel like it was trying to collapse in on itself. Nate had suggested the walk—just around the neighborhood, just to get some air—and somehow, you’d said yes.

Hailie and Alaina walked ahead, earbuds shared between them, bickering quietly over a playlist.

You stayed behind with Whitney, who’d brought her favorite stuffed unicorn along for the ride, its sparkly horn bobbing in rhythm with each of her skips. Nate walked beside you, hands tucked into his hoodie, glancing over every few steps like he still didn’t trust you not to disappear.

It was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

It happened in a blink.

The unicorn slipped from Whitney’s hands, bounced once on the curb, then tumbled into the street.

“Oh no—Starbeam!” Whitney squeaked and darted forward before you could stop her.

Nate lunged instantly, calling her name, grabbing her arm just in time to yank her back to the sidewalk—but the toy was still out there.

“I’ll get it,” he said, already stepping toward the road.

Time slowed.

You didn’t hear the car at first—just a dull hum, distant. But then it turned the corner too fast. Too fucking fast. And Nate didn’t see it coming.

You did.

Your throat ripped open before you even registered the scream.

“NO—!”

Your body moved on instinct.

You didn’t think.

Didn’t weigh the consequences.

Didn’t hesitate.

One second you were on the curb, the next you were shoving Nate with both hands, hard, out of the car’s path.

Then—

Impact.

Sound exploded. Bone met steel. The world spun.

You didn’t feel pain at first. Just a jolt. A cracking thud. Your body flung sideways, weightless for a second, then slammed into the asphalt like a dropped puppet.

Everything went quiet.

You tasted blood.

You couldn’t breathe.

You stared up at the sky, blue and impossibly bright, and the only thing you could think was, At least Nate's okay.

“MOM!”

“Oh my God—”

“CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

“Don’t move her! Don’t let her close her eyes!”

“Why is there blood—”

The voices blurred together.

Whitney was screaming.

Alaina was crying.

Nate was already at your side, hands shaking, face white as paper, voice cracking as he begged you to stay awake.

You blinked up at him, vision swimming.

“I’m okay,” you tried to say. But nothing came out.

Just more blood.

And then—blackness.

---

[leox-un]

ok soul eater oc created surprise its jekyll and hyde :)

essentially he was having trouble as a weapon being partnered with others so he figured out a way to split his soul in half to wield himself, but its kind of. Killing Him because he doesn't have 2 souls, just 2 halves of 1 soul so hes on his way to Do Some Crimes Against Humanity

ill elaborate on them further eventually maybe but i basically made them to cope with the fact that theres like 5 crumbs of stein backstory so im Making It Myself

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Bed Chem

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max x reader based on the song: Bed chem – Sabrina Carpenter, I hope you enjoy it:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

I was in a sheer dress the day we met. The kind of dress that made my friends whistle behind my back and strangers turn their heads — lightweight, lilac, dipped in sunlight. Monaco was buzzing, the paddock loud with life, champagne flutes clinking in yachts a few meters away. I wasn’t supposed to be there for more than twenty minutes. Just a quick interview, a PR handshake, a few pictures, and out.

But then, you walked in.

Late, of course. A white jacket slung lazily over your shoulders, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, and that unmistakable Dutch accent like a song I didn’t know I already liked. You barely looked at me at first. Just a nod, distracted, replying to someone over the radio. But then our eyes met — yours impossibly blue, mine caught mid-blink — and time did that thing it does in movies. Everything around us blurred.

You said something like, “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

I said something like, “Not at all.” But in my head, I was thinking, Who’s the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent?

Your friend — Tom, I think — hit me up later that evening. "Hey, Max was asking about you," he said. And maybe I should’ve played it cool. Maybe I should’ve let it hang in the air like a mystery. But instead, I laughed and replied, “Well, he knows where to find me.”

Turns out you did.

You texted me at 1:43 AM.

Max: “You were in a rush earlier. Wanna try that conversation again?”

I stared at the message, cheeks flushed, heart tapping a rhythm I hadn’t felt in months. And before I could second-guess it, I replied.

Me: “Only if you bring the jacket again.”

Max: “Only if you bring the dress.”

The next few days blurred. One moment we were having drinks at some rooftop bar neither of us could pronounce. The next, you were pulling me into an alleyway behind your hotel because “paparazzi are fucking vultures” and you just wanted a second — one damn second — of normal.

But there was nothing normal about the way you looked at me.

Like you were reading every thought I hadn’t dared to say aloud.

Like you knew exactly what was going to happen before it did.

And maybe you did.

Because the second you brushed my hair from my cheek, I knew I was screwed. You picked me up like I weighed nothing. Pulled me down onto your lap in that sleek car of yours. Turned me around in your hotel room like you knew my body better than I did.

Oh, it just made sense.

How you talked sweet — sugar-laced sentences and soft-spoken compliments — but your hands were anything but innocent. How you whispered, “I like you like this,” against my neck, then bit down like a warning.

That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just a fling. It wasn’t lust at first sight, or some high-speed Monaco fairytale.

It was bed chem. The kind that made my knees go weak at the way you said my name. The kind that lived in stolen glances and half-buttoned shirts and breathless laughs between tangled sheets.

And I was obsessed.

Nothing between us was subtle. Not your fingers finding the hem of my dress under a dinner table. Not the way you looked at me like a dare every time someone else tried to catch my attention. Not the way I melted — shamelessly — when you leaned in and whispered things only I was supposed to hear.

“Where art thou, Max Verstappen?” I teased once, sending a voice memo while I watched you from across the paddock. “Why not uponeth me?”

You sent back a laughing emoji, then followed it with, “Back in ten. Keep the jacket warm.”

The days went on. You’d FaceTime me from wherever you were, shirtless, sprawled across hotel beds with your hair a mess and your voice sleepy. “Miss me yet?” you’d ask.

I always did.

Even when I shouldn’t.

Even when I told myself it was just fun, just flirting, just physics and timing and chemistry in bedsheets and car seats and elevators.

Because the truth was, you knew me in ways I hadn’t expected.

You read me like no one else, knew when to push, when to ease off. And you always arrived at the same conclusion I did: this just worked.

We didn’t talk about feelings. That wasn’t our thing.

But there were nights — quiet ones, when your thumb brushed the inside of my wrist and your voice got soft — that you’d say things like, “It’s better than I imagined.” And I knew exactly what you meant.

We didn’t label it.

Not then.

You had races, I had deadlines. Different time zones, different lives.

But every time you texted, Are you free next week? I said yes.

Because I knew. And I think you did too.

We had really good bed chem.

[meadowfics]

movie setting

thanos x f!exactress!reader

you run into your ex boyfriend during the squid games

warnings: death (not thanos, its his bestie instead sorry), some changes in the original plot, angst, reader is a blacklisted actress, one use of "bro" towards reader, even though reader is intended to be female.

you were once one of the most promising actresses in korea, starring in a hit drama that still lingers in people's hearts.

your career was supposed to skyrocket, but a scandal ruined everything.

the scandal wasn’t even your fault. the media twisted the story, painting you as the villain.

companies cut ties, contracts were ripped apart, and soon, you found yourself blacklisted from the industry.

millions of won in debt piled up before you could recover.

with no way to earn money, since you did not need to go to college because of your acting career..your world crumbled around you.

to make things worse, you and your longtime boyfriend, thanos, broke up right before everything went to hell.

you loved him.

maybe you still do.

however, you couldn’t drag him down with you, not when his rap career was still holding on by a thread.

he wanted to fight for you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“i’m not going to be the reason you sink too.”

after that, you disappeared from his life.

thano's drug addiction got worse when you left, but that is something that you did not know about until later.

just three months after suffering, you sat at the subway station after missing the last train of the night.

someone finds you..

the salesman.

he offers you the game. an escape. a chance at redemption.

you hesitate, but when you see the money, you know you don’t have a choice.

that’s how you end up on the colorful, dystopian stairs, walking toward your first game just five days later...

you don’t see thanos first. he sees you.

his breath catches when he spots you a few steps below, dressed in the same green tracksuit, looking just as lost and desperate as the rest.

he almost doesn’t believe it.

his ex, the woman he once held at night, the woman he let go of but never truly moved on from, is here.

“no fucking way,” he mutters under his breath, eyes burning into your back.

you feel it...

the weight of someone staring

when you finally turn, your stomach drops.

thanos.

your ex-boyfriend, the man you broke your own heart over, is right there running up the stairs towards you.

for a second, you do not move, holding up the line.

when he comes closer, you turn away, gripping the railing tightly as you climb the stairs faster.

he’s not stupid. he knows you’re avoiding him.

outside on the field..people notice you.

“wait… is that—?”

“holy shit, it’s her! from (drama series)!”

players start murmuring, pointing, whispering excitedly.

some of them grew up watching you on tv, still nostalgic over your most famous role.

“i can’t believe it! i had the biggest crush on her when i was younger!”

you try to ignore the attention, but it’s hard when people are outright gawking at you.

some are obsessed, borderline unsettling.

“you’re even prettier in person…”

you feel their stares, their fascination.

it makes your skin crawl.

thanos notices too.

his jaw clenches as people circle around you like vultures, bombarding you with questions.

usually, this is outside of his personality quirks.

however, he does not like people messing with his girl.

“so, is the scandal real?”

“did you really do it?”

you keep your head down.

you don’t owe them an answer.

thanos watches, expression unreadable as he stands next to namgyu.

he doesn’t step in. not yet.

when the first gunshot goes off, everything changes.

you’re frozen in place, watching blood splatter as bodies drop like flies.

people scream, run, beg for help, but it’s useless.

panic surges inside you, but you force yourself to keep it together.

“green light.”

you move.

you don’t think, don’t breathe,

just follow the rules and survive.

somewhere behind you, thanos does the same.

he sees you up ahead, your body tense, hands trembling at your sides.

he wants to call your name. tell you to focus.

he doesn’t.

he keeps jumping around like a joke..

its the drugs.

he kind of has a feeling that you will be fine.

thanos watches you as he jumps around in joy, pushing people down as if their lives wouldn't be taken too.

“red light.”

after surviving the massacre, you’re still shaken.

everyone is.

you sit in a corner of the room, trying to calm your breathing, when a shadow falls over you.

you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“señorita,” thanos says, voice lower than you remember.

“you’re really here.”

you keep your eyes on the ground.

“leave me alone.”

he scoffs.

“yeah? and how’s that been working out for you?”

you don’t answer.

“you should’ve told me,”

he mutters after a beat.

“it’s not like that,” you whisper.

he tilts his head.

“really? really bro? ‘cause it sure seems like you wanna be near me again.”

he’s smug. a little too smug.

his ego inflates when you don’t deny it.

you glare at him.

“i’d rather be near you than anyone else in this fucking place, su-bong.”

thano's smirk fades slightly.

nam gyu watches the whole thing unfold.

he sees the way you and thanos look at each other..

the tension, the unfinished business.

it makes him sick.

“you two have history,” nam gyu states one night, arms crossed.

you shrug.

“so?”

“so,” he huffs,

“it’s fucking annoying.”

you raise a brow.

“why do you care?”

he doesn’t answer.

thanos, overhearing, just smirks.

“someone jealous?”

nam gyu scowls.

“shut up.”

despite your best efforts, you start gravitating toward your ex again.

you tell yourself it’s survival.

safety.

being where you are most familiar with..

deep down, you know it’s more than that.

every time you look at him, you remember what it felt like to love him.

you also remember why you left.

he notices the way you linger near him, even if you don’t say much.

“you’re not good at pretending for an actress señorita,” he says one night.

you glance at him.

“pretending what?”

“that you don’t want me back.”

your throat tightens.

you shake your head.

“it’s not like that.”

“sure,” he mutters. but he doesn’t look convinced.

the games are brutal. relentless.

you don’t know if you’ll make it out alive.

one thing is clear:

no matter how much you try to fight it, thanos is a part of you.

and in a place like this, maybe he’s the only thing keeping you sane.

when all of the men went to the bathroom, the dorms were eerily quiet. until the sound of chaos started coming from outside the doors. sounds of metal banding, fists colliding with flesh, grunts of pain, bodies slamming against the walls.

it was impossible to ignore. every player still in the dorm room heard it, heads turning toward the source of the violence, but no one dared to move.

you sat on your bed, your hands clenched into fists against your lap. your whole body was tense, your mind racing.

thanos was in there. so was nam-gyu. you didn’t know what the fights were about, but you knew it wasn’t good.

honestly, you would not have been surprised if your out-of-pocket ex started it all with his bestfriend.

se-mi sat beside you, watching the entrance anxiously. the minutes stretched on like hours, and with every second that passed, the pit in your stomach grew deeper.

one by one, men began filtering back into the dorms, beaten and bloodied. some limped, some had swollen faces, and some had fresh bruises forming under their eyes.

you scanned every face, searching for him.

no thanos.

you exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants. se-mi shifted beside you, glancing over with hesitation before asking,

"do you still love thanos?"

the question caught you off guard. your head snapped toward her, eyes wide in panic.

"do i love thanos?" you repeated, almost scoffing. then, without thinking, you blurted out, "no shit, se-mi!"

se-mi flinched at your sharp tone, and the realization hit you instantly. your expression softened as guilt settled in your chest.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, shaking your head.

"that was mean, you're one of my friends here and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I'm just stressed."

se-mi shrugged, offering a small, dismissive smile.

"it's fine." she glanced toward the entrance again before sighing.

"i wouldn’t care if something happened to nam-gyu though."

you huffed a quiet, amused breath.

despite the tension, you silently agreed.

then, finally, movement at the entrance.

your breath caught when you saw him...thanos, limping back into the dorms, looking bruised but very much alive.

"su-bong," you breathed, already on your feet before you could process it.

you didn’t care who was watching. didn’t care about the whispers, the eyes on you.

you ran straight to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, holding onto him like he might disappear if you let go.

the rapper's arms came around you just as fast, his grip firm, as if reassuring himself that you were real.

somewhere in the distance, you heard someone murmur, "that actress and the rapper are dating?" but it didn’t matter.

you buried your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, letting yourself feel the relief washing over you.

he is okay.

thanos pulled back slightly, just enough to press a lingering, warm kiss to your forehead.

you closed your eyes, savoring it.

"see," he mumbled against your forehead, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something more tender.

"i know you wanted me back, baby."

you giggled, shaking your head.

"shut up and go sit down."

you slipped an arm under his to help him walk back to the beds, your focus entirely on him...so much so that you didn’t process the absence of a certain someone.

not until the speakers crackled to life, and the robotic voice echoed through the dorms:

"player 124, eliminated."

silence fell over the room.

your body stiffened.

nam-gyu never came back with thanos.

masterlist

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (runaway)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what remains

- Next part: the hill

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The banners of House Lannister rippled in the wind, a sea of crimson and gold stretching across the fields before Riverrun. The Riverlands had always been a land of deep greens and rolling waters, but now it stood scarred by war. The campfires of the siege burned in steady rows outside the castle walls, surrounding the ancient fortress like vultures waiting for a corpse to still.

Jaime rode at the head of his host, his golden hand gleaming in the morning sun as his men approached the Frey encampment. The Frey banners, duller and less grand than the Lannister lion, fluttered weakly atop their makeshift barricades, and the men within their ranks stood with slouched shoulders and restless eyes. They had been here for moons, wasting away in stagnation, unable to break the Blackfish’s defenses.

Beside Jaime, Bronn adjusted the reins of his horse, his expression unimpressed as he surveyed the state of the Frey forces. “Seven hells, Jaime, I thought this was supposed to be a siege, not a farmer’s gathering. These men look like they’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jaime smirked faintly, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s because they would.”

Bronn scoffed, shaking his head. “If I were the Blackfish, I’d be laughing myself to sleep every night watching this lot try to take his castle.”

Jaime said nothing, but he couldn’t disagree. The Freys had botched this siege from the start. Even as he rode through their camp, he could see the lack of discipline, the slackened formations, the outright boredom in their eyes. These weren’t soldiers eager for battle; they were men waiting for someone else to solve their problem.

And now that someone was him.

As he dismounted, several of the Frey commanders rushed forward, their stiff-backed forms doing little to disguise their clear discomfort. Lame Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers led the group, their expressions sour with thinly veiled resentment.

“Ser Jaime,” Lothar greeted, his voice coated with forced civility. “An honor to see you take command.”

Jaime raised a brow. “Is it?”

Walder Rivers cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “We’ve maintained the siege as ordered, but the Blackfish refuses all terms of surrender. The old man is as stubborn as they come.”

Jaime removed his glove, tucking it into his belt as he surveyed the scene before him. The walls of Riverrun loomed ahead, high and impenetrable, the Tully banners still flying defiantly from the ramparts. The drawbridge remained raised, the gate sealed, and despite the weeks of siege, the fortress itself looked far from weary.

Jaime exhaled slowly. “You’ve been here for moons, and yet the castle still stands, its defenses unbroken, its men unfazed.” His gaze flickered back to the Frey commanders. “Tell me, do you want to take Riverrun, or are you content to sit outside these walls like beggars at a feast?”

Lothar bristled, his jaw tightening. “We have followed Lord Walder’s orders to the letter.”

Jaime smirked. “And what an excellent job you’ve done.”

Bronn snorted behind him.

Walder Rivers scowled. “The Blackfish will not yield. We have sent envoys, offered terms—he will not listen.”

Jaime tilted his head, studying them. “Perhaps you sent the wrong men.”

Lothar scoffed. “And you believe you’ll fare better?”

Jaime smiled coldly. “Yes.”

The Freys exchanged uneasy glances, but neither argued.

Jaime turned back toward the castle, the weight of the coming battle settling over him. Riverrun would not fall easily. He had known that before arriving, but now, seeing the state of the siege, he realized just how much work lay ahead.

Still, it had to be done.

His father had commanded it.

The war needed to end.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered how you would react when you learned that he was the one leading the charge.

Would you hate him more than you already did?

Or had you always known this was inevitable?

Jaime exhaled sharply, pushing those thoughts aside. He had a siege to win.

And the Blackfish was waiting.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Jaime rode to the walls of Riverrun, his crimson cloak trailing behind him as he approached the drawbridge. A handful of his men followed at a distance, Bronn among them, though Jaime had made it clear that this was to be a conversation, not a battle.

The Blackfish was waiting for him.

Ser Brynden Tully stood atop the battlements, his armor gleaming under the fading sunlight, his expression carved from stone. His presence was unshaken, his shoulders squared with the pride of a man who had never once surrendered.

Jaime tilted his head, resting his golden hand against the hilt of his sword. “Ser Brynden,” he called, his voice carrying over the still air. “It’s been some time.”

The Blackfish peered down at him with cool disinterest. “Not long enough.”

Jaime smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. “I was hoping we could speak.”

The older knight exhaled sharply through his nose before nodding to one of the guards. The gate remained shut, but after a moment, the drawbridge was lowered just enough to allow Jaime through. Two armed men flanked the Blackfish as Jaime dismounted, their hands resting on their weapons, but Brynden himself seemed unbothered.

Jaime stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll keep this brief. You’re surrounded. Your supplies won’t last forever. Surrender Riverrun, and I’ll ensure your men are given fair terms.”

Brynden crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Fair terms from a Lannister? Forgive me if I don’t place my faith in your father’s mercy.”

Jaime inhaled slowly. “My father isn’t here. I am.”

The Blackfish scoffed. “And I should trust you?” His gaze flickered to Jaime’s golden hand before settling back on his face. “You haven’t won a real battle in years, Kingslayer. Tell me, how many oaths have you broken since last we met?”

Jaime smirked, though his patience was already thinning. “I’ve never broken an oath to my wife.”

The Blackfish’s expression darkened instantly.

Jaime tilted his head. “Ah, so you do know. I thought you might.”

Brynden stepped closer, his glare sharp enough to cut. “I know you forced her into this farce.”

Jaime’s smirk faded. “I did no such thing.”

The Blackfish scoffed. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that Eddard Stark’s daughter chose to wed you?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “She made her choice.”

Brynden let out a bitter laugh. “Aye, a choice with a lion’s claws at her throat, no doubt.” He took another step closer, his voice lowering. “Tell me, did she weep on your wedding night? Did she flinch when you touched her? Did you break her as you Lannisters have broken so many others?”

Something inside Jaime snapped.

His smirk vanished, his fingers clenching into fists. “Watch your tongue, old man.”

Brynden did not flinch. “Or what? Will you push me from a tower, too?”

Jaime shifted on his feet, steadying himself. He had expected resistance, had known that speaking of you would only provoke the Blackfish further—but still, the words cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

Brynden’s eyes burned with barely restrained fury. “Your father orchestrated the deaths of her kin. He gave the order that killed her brother unfairly in battle. And now, you claim to call her your wife?” He spat at Jaime’s feet, his voice dripping with disgust. “Eddard Stark is turning in his grave.”

Jaime’s fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword. He forced himself to remain still.

“I didn’t come here to debate my marriage.”

Brynden scoffed. “Then why did you come here, Lannister? To gloat? To tell me I should be grateful you took my niece’s daughter as your broodmare instead of handing her to the Boltons?”

Jaime inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “I came here to offer you a way out. Surrender Riverrun, and your men will live.”

Brynden shook his head. “You’ve wasted your breath. This castle belongs to House Tully, and as long as I draw breath, I will not yield it to the likes of you.”

Jaime studied him for a long moment, then spoke slowly. “You know this war is over.”

Brynden’s jaw tightened. “Then let it end with steel, not surrender.”

Jaime closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, something heavy settling in his chest.

“Very well,” he murmured.

The Blackfish gave him one last long look before stepping back. The moment between them passed, and just like that, the drawbridge was raised, sealing Riverrun once more.

Jaime stood there for a moment longer, staring up at the castle walls.

Then, with a slow breath, he turned and walked away, the weight of what had to come pressing down on him.

Because, one way or another, Riverrun would fall.

And this time, there would be no Starks left to save it.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time Jaime rode back through the siege lines, the weight of his conversation with the Blackfish still pressing against his ribs like a vice. His horse’s hooves kicked up dirt as he passed rows of campfires, where Frey and Lannister men loitered, some sharpening their swords, others drinking their fill of sour ale as if this was any other evening. They were waiting—waiting for him to end this siege, waiting for the next command, waiting for Riverrun to fall.

And for now, all Jaime had to offer them was action.

Bronn was the first to greet him as he dismounted, the sellsword stepping out from where he had been leaning against a wooden barricade. He was already smirking, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Jaime like a man who had already guessed the outcome.

“So,” Bronn drawled, “I’m guessing talking didn’t work.”

Jaime clicks his tongue as he passes his reins off to a nearby soldier before rolling his shoulders. “How very perceptive of you.”

Bronn grinned. “Well, you do have that look about you.” He gestured vaguely at Jaime’s face. “That ‘I just wasted my fucking time’ look.”

Jaime unfastened his cloak, shaking the dust from it before draping it over a nearby wooden post. “The Blackfish isn’t surrendering.”

Bronn let out a mock gasp. “You don’t say.”

Jaime shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Bronn chuckled, falling into step beside him as Jaime moved toward the command tent. “So what now? We keep sitting outside their walls like a bunch of idiots hoping they die of boredom?”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “No. We take Riverrun by force.”

Bronn lifted a brow. “Now we’re talking.”

Jaime paused just outside the tent, his fingers flexing. “We begin the assault at first light. No more waiting. No more wasted time. The Blackfish had his chance. He made his choice.”

Bronn nodded approvingly. “Can’t say I’ll miss sitting around doing nothing.”

Jaime exhaled, stepping inside. The command tent was filled with scattered maps and reports, detailing every attempt the Freys had made to breach Riverrun’s walls—all failures. The Blackfish had held this castle with fewer men than any Lannister commander would have thought possible. But even the strongest walls could not withstand a full force battering against them.

Lothar Frey and Walder Rivers were already inside, awaiting him. Their expressions were sour, their patience clearly wearing thin.

“Well?” Lothar asked, arms crossed. “Did the Tully scum bend the knee?”

Jaime shot him a flat look. “No.”

Walder Rivers scoffed. “Of course not. The old fool’s been holed up in there for too long. He still thinks there’s something left to fight for.”

Jaime stepped closer to the map, tracing his fingers along the rough lines of the Riverlands. “There’s always something left to fight for,” he muttered under his breath.

Bronn, standing just behind him, let out a snort. “Sentimental, aren’t we?”

Jaime ignored him, shifting his attention back to the Freys. “We take the castle by force. No more waiting. The siege ends tomorrow.”

Lothar frowned. “You’re sure?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “Would you rather sit outside these walls for another six moons?”

Walder Rivers nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. “It’ll be bloody.”

Jaime didn't even look at him. “Then let’s make sure we’re not the ones bleeding.”

Lothar hesitated, then smirked. “What about Lord Edmure? We still have him.”

Jaime inhaled deeply. Edmure Tully, the Blackfish’s nephew, the true lord of Riverrun—if only by name. A hostage, nothing more, another piece to be played.

Jaime shakes his head lightly. “Not yet.”

Lothar and Walder exchanged glances but did not argue.

Bronn sighed, clapping Jaime on the back. “Well, I guess I’ll start making sure your grand plan goes smoothly.” He grinned. “I always did enjoy a proper fight.”

Jaime barely heard him. His mind was already turning, already moving through every possible path forward. He knew how this would end—Riverrun would fall. Whether it took days or weeks, it would fall.

And when it did, he would have to live with the fact that he was the one who made it happen.

The halls of Casterly Rock felt heavier in Jaime’s absence. The golden fortress of the Lannisters, carved into the very bones of the cliffs, stood unmoved by time, war, or the burdens of those who walked its gilded corridors. But to you, it felt suffocating. The weight of it pressed against your chest, a silent reminder that you were not home, that you were never meant to belong here.

Jaime had left days ago with his host, marching for Riverrun under the Lannister banner, leaving you behind to oversee the Rock in his absence. It had been Kevan’s idea, and even Tywin had agreed—it would not do for his son’s wife to be seen as a mere prisoner. You were to rule in Jaime’s stead, to play the role of Lady of the West, to tend to the affairs of Casterly Rock as if you were one of them.

But you were not one of them.

And you were anything but calm.

Lady Dorna Lannister had done her best to keep you engaged, to instruct you on the matters of the keep, the dealings with merchants, the demands of the bannermen. You had listened—at least, in the beginning. But now, seated in the grand solar with ledgers open before you, your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers curled against the edge of the wooden table, your jaw tight as the weight of your helplessness coiled inside you like a snake ready to strike.

Winter, sensing your unease, sat close to you, his great silver-white form a constant shadow by your side. His eyes flickered up every time you shifted, every time you sighed or drummed your fingers impatiently against the table. He was watching, waiting—just as restless as you.

Lady Dorna set her goblet down with a quiet sigh, folding her hands before her. “You will wear through the table if you keep doing that.”

You stilled your fingers. “Perhaps I should ride for Riverrun instead. I might be of better use there.”

Dorna’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “You know that would not be wise.”

You looked at her then, your gaze biting. “Why? Because your lords would see it as treason? Because I would bring shame to the Lannister name?”

Dorna did not flinch. She had been married to Kevan Lannister for decades; she had long since learned the art of patience. “Because you would be riding into a warzone with no allies and no plan. Because Jaime—despite what you might think of him—would chase you down himself if he had to.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curling into fists beneath the table.

Jaime.

You could still hear his voice from the night before he left, still see the way his expression had tightened when he told you where he was going, what he had to do.

"It won’t change anything."

"It changes everything."

You had been furious, had wanted to scream, to claw your way out of this wretched marriage, out of this wretched Rock that held you prisoner. But he had only looked at you with that same unreadable expression, as if he had already accepted that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

And then, in the cold light of dawn, he was gone.

The memory left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Winter let out a low growl, his ears twitching as he sensed the storm brewing inside you.

Lady Dorna exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “You are not powerless here, you know.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I feel like I am.”

Dorna studied you for a long moment, then sighed. “Power is not always in swords and battlefields, my lady. Sometimes, it is in patience. In knowing when to act and when to wait.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if I wait too long?”

Dorna’s expression softened slightly, though her voice remained steady. “Then you will have to trust that Jaime knows what he is doing.”

You let out a shallow breath, turning your gaze toward the open balcony, where the light of the afternoon stretched over the sea beyond the cliffs. The waves crashed against the rocks below, endless and unmoving.

Trust.

It was such a foreign thing to ask of you.

But what choice did you have?

You glanced down at Winter, running your fingers through his thick fur, grounding yourself.

For now, you would wait.

But you would not wait forever.

The halls of Casterly Rock had never felt more stifling. The walls, gilded and adorned with the banners of the golden lion, seemed to press in on you, suffocating with their weight. The days since Jaime’s departure had crawled by in agonizing stillness, each moment stretching like an eternity. You had done what was expected—played the role of Lady of the Rock, overseen affairs, listened to Dorna’s words of caution—but it was all meaningless. Riverrun was under siege, your uncle fighting against impossible odds, and you were trapped, useless, within the lion’s den.

Until today.

You had made your decision long before Tywin summoned you.

The summons had come in the morning, carried by one of the stewards in that stiff, impersonal tone that made your blood boil. It had not been a request. It had been an order.

And so, you went.

The chamber was dimly lit, the high windows allowing only slivers of sunlight to cut through the cool interior. Tywin stood at the head of the room, his posture as rigid as ever, his hands folded behind his back. Kevan was absent, leaving only guards stationed at the doors. This was not a council meeting. This was something else.

Tywin did not look up as you entered, but the weight of his presence was suffocating nonetheless.

"You’ve been restless," he said, his voice even, controlled.

You stopped a few paces from him, lifting your chin. "What a keen observation."

His gaze flicked to you then, sharp and piercing. "Do not mistake my patience for tolerance. Your behavior has been noted."

You scoffed. "Noted by whom? Your spies? Your servants? Or do you simply take pleasure in watching me pace the halls like a caged beast?"

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I allowed you the courtesy of overseeing Casterly Rock in Jaime’s absence, believing you understood your place. Instead, you sulk and scheme, making a spectacle of yourself in front of my bannermen."

You clenched your jaw. "My place is not here while my family is being slaughtered."

His expression did not change. "Your family is dead. Those who remain have chosen their fate."

Your fingers curled into fists, anger burning hot under your skin. "My mother is alive."

"And she is nothing but a shadow of what she was." Tywin stepped forward then, his gaze never wavering. "Do you think she will embrace you if you ride to her side? That she will take you into her arms and fight beside you?" His voice was quiet, cutting. "She is not the woman who bore you. She is something else now. Something broken. You would throw away your position, your protection, for what? A ghost?"

Your throat tightened.

You hated him.

You hated the way he spoke with such certainty, as if he had already decided what you would become. As if he had won.

"I would rather fight beside a ghost," you said, voice steady, "than rot here as your prisoner."

Tywin’s expression did not change, but something in the air shifted.

"You are not a prisoner," he said, though the words felt hollow. "You are Jaime’s wife. You are Lady of Casterly Rock. Your duty is here."

You inhaled sharply, forcing down the lump in your throat. "No," you whispered. "My duty is to my family."

The silence between you was suffocating.

Tywin studied you for a long moment, and then, finally, he exhaled. "You will not leave these walls."

A finality. A decree.

But he had underestimated you.

For the first time since you've met, you did not answer him.

You turned and walked away.

It was nearly dusk by the time you reached the stables. The sky was painted in hues of deep amber and violet, the salty breeze from the sea biting against your skin. The guards stationed at the gates had been doubled since Jaime’s departure, a quiet but clear message from Tywin: You were not to leave.

But you had never been one to obey.

Winter was at your heels, his presence steady, his ears twitching with alertness as you approached the stables. The horses shifted restlessly as you entered, the stablemaster turning with a startled expression.

"My lady—"

You didn’t give him time to react. You moved with purpose, reaching for the nearest stallion, a strong, dark-coated beast already saddled.

"Prepare him," you ordered, your voice leaving no room for argument.

The stablemaster hesitated. "My lady, Lord Tywin has given orders—"

"I do not care what Tywin Lannister has ordered," you snapped, turning on him. "Saddle the horse. Now."

The man swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides. He was not a soldier, nor was he brave enough to defy you when you stood before him with fire in your eyes.

He did as he was told.

Within minutes, you pulled yourself into the saddle, gripping the reins as Winter let out a low, eager growl beside you.

The guards at the gate reacted instantly, drawing their swords as you urged the horse forward.

"My lady, you cannot leave," one of them barked, stepping into your path.

You glared down at him. "Move."

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. "Lord Tywin—"

"Lord Tywin is not here," you interrupted. "And I will not ask again."

Tension crackled in the air. The guards were sworn to House Lannister, to their Warden of the West, but you were his son’s wife. They could not harm you—not without consequences.

And they knew it.

One of them hesitated, his grip on his sword loosening.

You saw your opening.

Without another word, you dug your heels into the horse’s side, spurring him forward.

The beast reared for only a second before charging through the gap between the guards, Winter a silver blur at your side.

Shouts erupted behind you.

"Close the gates!"

"Fetch Lord Kevan!"

But it was too late.

You were gone.

The wind howled against your face as you rode, the cliffs of Casterly Rock shrinking behind you. The road stretched ahead, winding toward the Riverlands, toward Riverrun.

Toward Jaime.

Toward war.

And no Lannister was going to stop you now.

[graywaynewriter]

Bruce Wayne and daughter reader meets Damian for the first time

Brother ?

a/n: here I’ll just refer to daughter reader as daughter Wayne in case if anyone is looking for it in the tags

It was yet another late night, waiting on your father to come back from patrol. You weren’t too busy that night so you had to wait for him while you monitored some of the screens with Alfred. It wasn’t unusual for him to take longer than he said he would since so many unexpected twists, and turns can happen with an expanse of time. However, later on he pinged you letting you know, he was on his way home and to have the entrance of the Batcave, ready.

As the dark machine rolls into the Batcave, it’s engine comes to a halt as the latch opens, and Bruce steps out. However, this time he had company with him, he had a young boy who looked no older than 13 years old he thought to yourself that he probably brought home another robin so you stand up and approach them and say

“ Another robin?” You ask with a slight smile, however Bruce‘s face does not change. Instead of him answering the young boy answered instead.

“ more like the heir to Wayne Enterprises,” he crosses his arms as he scans your body up and down “who are you?”

“Hu-“ you were beyond confused because as far as you know, you were Bruce Wayne‘s only child.

“Damian is my son, Y/N….he’s your brother.” Bruce explains briefly “it’s a long story having to do with Talia. I’ll explain what happened later.

Is he still there processing the information Damien decides to start circling you like a vulture and observing your figure and trying to read you

“Hm, you don’t look like a fighter, but I suppose every family supposed to have a child who is just for show” he said, as he stopped and looked back to your face. And with a straight face, he says “ you’d be in much better shape if you actually worked out. Maybe one day you’ll even measure up to me”

All you do is stare at this random kid that just pulled up with your father as he criticize you in your skills. Sure you didn’t go on any patrol, but that was all by choice.

“…. So not only does he look like you, but he has to say everything that’s on his mind it seems” your eyebrows furrow as you look at your father trying to subconsciously ask him what in the hell is going on

“That’s enough Damian,” Bruce steps in and looks to Alfred “Alfred, could you please take Damien to the room that he will be staying in”

"Of course Master Bruce, this way Master Damian," you remain quiet as you watch the two exit the Batcave and you look back to your father.

"So....I have a brother huh?"

"It seems that way Y/N," Bruce said in his low gruff voice "this information is just as new to me as it is to you. I know Damian is....a handful, but we need to try. His life would be better here than with the league," he said resting a hand on your shoulder.

"I suppose so....you don't think he'll cause trouble do you?" you asked

"well....I hope he doesn't But I'll be sure to keep an eye on him,"

Next thing you know you were watching Damian shred up the garden shrubs with Alfred the next morning. You both jut sip on some tea Alfred had brewed up for you.

"So, why is he doing this?" you asked as he took the head off of the shrub in the shape of a bear

"Training, I was told at least," Alfred answers as Bruce walks into the kitchen ready to head into the office

"Well as long as he doesn't touch my-NOOOO!" with a quick slice the bush of hibiscus flowers was cut in half and you freak out "MY FLOWERS! DAD!"

Setting your cup down your rub out into the garden barefoot and start waving yours arms around. While Alfred and Bruce watch from the window as you scold Damian for the brutal damage to your favorite bush. Bruce lets out a sigh and Alfred adds,

"I will call the gardener and landscaper,"

"Thank you Alfred" Bruce sighs as he watches you both start to argue back and forth. He had to go and step in before anything got out of hand.

The following weeks were just the same. Start off pretty tame, and argument happens and you were bother bickering as most siblings do. He had even had his moments with your father and even Nightwing. To the point where Alfred had to stitch him up because of the fight they had gotten into while he was out on patrol.

He seen that almost anyone he ran into he pick a fight with. Whether that was verbal or physical or even both. However, sometimes you would see him sit on his own and just contemplate about things. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on what could be on his mind, but in a way it did make you sad. All he ever knew was the league of assassins, it was like he had no childhood no fun on top of that. He never really knew your father.

It’s like you got to enjoy Bruce without him being around and this is his first time being an actual child to a father. Even though he was so stubborn about it and insisted on being an adult at the ripe age of 14.

In the following weeks, you even try to get up at around the time that he did. Which was around five in the morning, which is absolutely insane, but you would try to wake up either way and make breakfast for him. It was a small star, but it was something to show him how different life could be.

Perhaps having your blood related, brother, suddenly appear, wouldn’t be such a burden as it once seemed. Although he may clash with you and almost everyone around him, you think he just may need some guidance. He definitely needs a lot of time to adjust. But there are times you would look at him and you would just see a smaller version of your father, especially when it came to training or bettering himself.

And even when you thought he would bring nothing but trouble you can see just a sliver of light in his eyes. And there was no doubt that he had gotten it from Bruce. Maybe having a brother wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

🦇Taglist:

[skzhocomments]

668 w/ Changbin pls pls 🥺🫶🏼🩷

General Masterlist

Request me a story

---

Writing Prompt 668 - “I will always protect you.” - Changbin

Word count: ~800 words

Wattpad | AO3

~

Decided to make it a Royal AU with a sprinkle of angst because why not?

~

“The castle is under siege!” One of your guards shouted loud enough for you to hear, even if you were locked up in the tower.

You expected this much. After all, your father confined you in this place earlier that day specifically because it’s the safest, the hardest to reach. Once he gave you this order, you knew that your Kingdom didn’t have much longer.

Enemies have been taking over your territory little by little for a while now; a battle lost here, a battle lost there, and your Kingdom was bound to fall into ruins.

The worst part of it all was that there was nothing you could do to prevent it. Not as a powerless princess, anyway. You vowed to yourself that you would rise in power and change everything as your father fell sick, but there you were, locked in the tower, sitting idly on the floor and hearing your soldiers’ last screams in what would be the final battle before everything would fall apart for good.

You wondered briefly if they reached your father’s chambers yet. He was even less powerful than you now, with the impending death hovering over him like a kettle of vultures awaiting their prey. You wondered if his sickness would get to him first, or if the attackers would land the final blow.

Your thoughts were cut short when the sound of a powerful explosion rang in your ears, and you immediately turned your head to the small window above.

You could see your castle, your precious home, fully engulfed by flames, and your heart began beating alarmingly fast in your chest.

How long until they would find you? And what would come of you once they got to the tower?

Would they kill you?

Would they keep you alive and turn you into a slave to mock you for the rest of your life?

Would they put their dirty hands all over you, force you into submission?

You didn’t enjoy this pointless waiting for the inevitable. You loathed being so powerless, and if these walls were supposed to offer you any protection, you found yourself suffocated by them instead.

You wanted to escape, but how? The door was locked, the window was too small and way too far up for you to reach it. There wasn’t even a blade for you to use to end this suffering of anticipating the inescapable.

The only thing you could do was wait for the attackers to find you, and oh, how funny this game of waiting was. You almost wanted to laugh.

“Your Highness!” You heard a familiar voice from the other side of the door, before it flew open, broken by one of your guards.

“Changbin! If you’re here, that means…” You stood up immediately, running directly towards him.

He took into a tight embrace before grabbing your face with his hands and looking you right in the eyes. His look was grave, indicating the worst.

“Yes. I’m afraid our King has fallen. We must haste, Your Highness.”

“Where are we going?” You asked breathless as he gripped your right hand and began running outside of the room into some underground tunnels under the Tower.

“We can’t stay here any longer. We will escape to the Eastern Kingdom through the sea. A ship should be waiting for us.” Changbin spoke hurriedly, guiding you further into the dark abyss.

“But Changbin… what about our home? What about our friends and families?” You frowned, worry plastered all over your face. You unfortunately knew the answer already, but still had a glimmer of hope inside your heart that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

“Your Highness…” He spoke, shaking his head softly and trying to forget all about the once peaceful life you both shared.

“Then, why?” You suddenly stopped running, pulling him back to force him to face you. “Why did you come for me? You should’ve protected them…” You continued, feeling tears building up in the corners of your eyes.

“How could’ve I?” His voice fell. “How could’ve I run away with them and leave you behind?”

“Why would I matter more than them, then? I couldn’t even protect my own people…”

“And I’m no different. I couldn’t protect anyone… anyone but you, Your Highness. You are our only hope, and I swear on my life, I will always protect you.” Changbin spoke in a grave tone, and you knew he was serious, and that you could count on him to always be there for you.

“So will I.” You raised your head. “We will get out of here alive, and after we pull ourselves together, Changbin, I promise you that we will take back everything that rightfully belongs to us.”

Changbin took you in his embrace once again, and even though the whole world crumbled around you, you were truly thankful that you had him. A burning desire began rising in your chest, and you vowed to yourself that no matter what, you will take your revenge one day.

[ultra-raging-ghost]

oughhhhh rant under the cut about bads babies

Sorry im so ill about bad's kids tonight

I can imagine dapper obviously looks like him, but pomme looks like him, especially in her face.

I think the difference in dapper and pomme is Dapper follows in bad's current footsteps, self sacrificial and experimental but in a much different way than pomme. Dapper follows after bad in the way that he pays attention, and has been around long enough to listen to bad's stories and learn from them rather than having to experience them, but pomme's so little....

Being not only Bad's kid but etoiles and antoines..... A warrior with a strong moral compass, a seemingly passive immortal eldritch being, and another immortal being but not passive, with his own moral compass that differs from other people because of how long hes been around...

Etoiles is in his early years for lack of a better term, living what we can presume for now is a human lifespan, his morals as far as we can tell is based on those he loves, and maybe bad has that type of moral compass too, but theres such a strong difference when you've lived for as long as bad has.

As far as i know, Antoine doesnt talk as often about his lifespan, but Bad has actively and openly told his kids about people he's loved and lost, maybe not with the intentions of instilling any lessons in there but what else are we supposed to get from them??

Vesuvius, the unnamed lover from 500 years ago, hell even skeppy isnt around right now, although hes still alive.

I think theres a difference between them because Dapper, being bad's kid, was always under the expectation that he would outlive those he loved aside from bad and maybe foolish. We can see the extension of how bad treats foolish in how Dapper treats foolish, how they bond and how bad's wordlessly inflicted his "gift vs present" mindset that he had to explain to someone like Bagi, who made the mistake of telling bad she wanted to give someone a "gift" several times before realizing theres a difference and she had to specify she meant "present".

I gotta wonder if Antoine didnt really instill the idea of immortality into his daughter, i mean like who would right?? But two immortal parents?? She has to come to terms with the idea eventually, but right now shes so small...

Bad's talked about how his presence has consistently brought bad luck - eruptions, mass plagues, falling of kingdoms and death of gods, etc. But most of the events he's talked about happened so long ago. Hundreds or thousands of years ago bad learned and relearned the message that people dont stick around, you gotta pick and choose who you really invest yourself in. And why wouldnt it be the eggs? Your kids are immortal, its probably safe to invest yourself in them!

Pomme is self sacrificial, and really caring. We can really see how Etoiles' hero heart definitely instilled itself on her, but theres gotta be a difference between that kind of moral compass when you live for that long and experience that much loss.

Dapper is a little older, and was initially raised a lot differently, and while we see him experiment on herself with the soul vultures, she doesnt talk about self sacrifice nearly as much as Pomme, previously one of the youngest eggs, and the self proclaimed sole target of the codes.

I rambled so fucking much there but just. Bad sees himself in both his kids, but the difference between them is so heavy and i feel so hard for Pomme... shes so tiny, she doesnt need that burden to shoulder, but how can bad help snap her out of it or learn to not do that when shes still so young, and hes fallen back into those habits himself??? I dont wanna say theres a maturity difference in how dapper and pomme go about throwing themselves to the lions but honestly there kinda is... i just dont know how to word it concisely

most of this is probably wrong im probably missing a lot of lore or some shit but its 4:30 am and i have a headache, just let me be ill kjbhyvjhbk

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Propaganda why Bella Swan is insufferable:

Feels like low hanging fruit, but characters that are supposed to be self inserts will always be bland boring bad ideas if you want to make a truly interesting character. Especially self inserts that go along with things like stalking and abuse from their love interests for the sake of continuing the story, because it kinda makes them seem like a mannequin who just there to be passed around like the punching bag in super smash bros, you know what I mean

complete bland character that all the boys somehow fall in love with. just gets pushed around by the plot. she's interesting as cardboard while everyone around her is more interesting.

She spends the entirety of three books looking down on others, being completely braindead, worrying that she's old at age 18 for an entire book, has a horror movie pregnancyand birth, and then becomes the most specialist vampire to ever vampire. And through all that her personality and thought processes that she had page 1 of Twilight she has on the last page of Breaking Dawn.

She has the personality of a rock, but for some reason everyone is obsessed with her.

Propaganda why Tony Stark is insufferable:

She’s a hypocrite who is ready to restrict the freedom of others when they make one mistake, but when he makes a mistake he figures he’s able to handle himself

Super long, sorry lol

Thinking about how in Homecoming when Peter accidentally caused that boat to get split in half because the Vulture’s gun exploded and Tony was acting like as if Peter was completely in the wrong for going there just because he did it without his permission. He was acting like as if Peter was out of line and “disobeyed him”, trying to act like his father. And then I remember how in CACW he’s the one who scouted Peter in the first place just because he saw he might be useful against a personal squabble between him and Captain America despite knowing that he was a kid and he’s just now acknowledging how dangerous it is because Peter “acted on his own”

Completely hijacking Peter’s superhero story and trying to control his every move (Training wheels protocol and baby monitor thing he put in the suit), acting like Peter should’ve known that Tony would send someone in despite the fact that he’d been ignoring him for 2 months since Civil War and not keeping him updated on anything!!

How the hell is peter supposed to know Tony is going to listen to him when he treats him like a kid instead of a superhero when it’s convenient for him? And when Tony loses his temper after Peter says he’s 15 not 14 like “the adult is talking” bitch he could literally flatten you without your suit!!!

I guess in a way he is acting like a father but like the absentee kind. He’s more like a sperm donor father trying to act like he has any rights over Peter’s life smh.

It’s not that reprimanding Peter for the situation is bad, but the way he makes it seem as if Peter is irredeemable as if Tony wasn't a literal weapons dealer lmfao. He could’ve said what was the truth about it without completely invalidating him saying shit like “no thanks to you” after Peter asked if everyone is okay when it’s literally thanks to Peter finding a lead on those guys in the first place that they were even noticed and it’s not like the FBI being there could’ve in no way caused a similar situation.

And then near the end of the movie when he’s getting crushed by the building rubble screaming and crying for someone to help him where the fuck is Tony?? That scene just proved that he never needed Tony’s suit in the first place to be Spider-Man since he had to use 100% his own strength to lift it off of him. I know he would’ve found the motivation even if Tony hadn’t been involved in the first place to give him the suit, take it away from him and have the words “if you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it“ echo in his head. Why did Tony even take the suit away? Like as if he expects Peter to stop being spoderman without it??? Holy fuck. This is why you don’t make it out of endgame /j /srs.

When Tony took this suit away from Peter he was like “God I sound like my dad“ shouldn’t that be a red flag to him? Wasn’t he literally just saying that he wished his dad was better than he was?? Lmfao

Tony is so annoying. When they first meet he straight up bullies Peter into fighting for his personal bullshit, insults and objectifies Aunt May in front of him, spits into his trashcan and is in general being pushy af. He blackmails Peter when he doesn’t wanna come to Germany with him AND HE DOESNT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY HE WANTS HIM TO COME. Uncomfortable vibes lol.

Tony being the one to tell peter “if Captain America wanted to hurt you he would’ve” when Peter was trying to state his case, yet HE’S also the one who put Peter in harms way when he didn’t even want to go with him???

Telling Peter that he should stick to being a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” (stealing his thing once again) when that’s what Peter _was_ doing before Tony took him out of his zone and filled his head with grander things to be apart of….bitch? Die. Ohh waaaait (jkjk) but yeah

There’s the usual “he’s a war criminal who only felt bad about it when he realized his weapons were killing white Americans as well as Arab people” reason, and also he’s just super annoying. You had to be there for the original Avengers shitty dialogue a la “we have a Hulk” that had Tumblr in a vicious chokehold. Also he was supposed to FINALLY go away after destroying all his suits in Iron Man 3 but he just… didn’t! Which is bullshit.

Portrayed as a hero because? He chose to no longer mass produce war weapons and bombs after suffering the consequences. Huge hypocrite. Doesn't care about anyone but himself. Will backstab people if they believe in human rights when it's inconvenient to him. Seen as a hero while he's the personification of privileged people saying they're not privileged

>Makes weapons

>Billionaire

>Made multiple AI Surveillance Robots

>Gaslight a child into fighting a super soldier in a foreign country for him

>His fans are annoying

[mynameis-noe-body]

A story where Hopper is jealous would be so amazing and🥵

Oh my dear — my first request! Thank you so much anon, I hope you'll love this. 🖤

"Nothing to say, hm?"

Chief Jim Hopper × you (F)

Rating: Explicit

Status: Complete (one shot)

No one was supposed to know about your relationship. You were too young — even though you had already been of age for several years, and perfectly aware of all your deepest desires — and he was too old, even though you had never seen a gray hair or a wrinkle on his face. Jim was… Jesus, he was damn sexy. His imposing presence, his strong body, his deep gaze. You wanted to feel his hands on you at all times. But obviously, he prevented you with all his moral hesitations. But then, with an excuse, he would find a way to get you in his car — to give you a ride home after doing the shopping, or to take you to your parents' house, or simply to visit you after taking El to Max — and he would fuck you hard in the backseat, having you sitting on him and holding you against his chest until you couldn't breathe, smelling only the scent of his masculine aftershave and his bitter cigarettes. You would never have escaped from those hands, wrapped around your hips or around your neck.

But then again, he told you he loved you and still didn't want go public. It was frustrating. Also because this allowed others to be too flattering towards you.

You had picked out a couple of movies at the video store, two silly romantic comedies to watch on lonely evenings, home alone. You didn't expect to meet Billy Hargrove when you left the store. You had to admit that his blue eyes were enchanting, that boy was truly beautiful. Too bad about his bad attitude, you thought. You grinned tensely, a small, circumstantial half-smile that you hoped you could escape with — but no, of course, he had to insist. Rolling your eyes, in your heart you knew you were giving him the freedom to come closer. After all, it was nice to get a little attention when the man you loved denied it, right? It wasn't the first time Billy had shown some interest.

He took a step closer… you were now between his chest and the door of the shop. Hargrove smiled fully satisfied. "Well, well. Look what I found."

You shook your head, failing as you tried to hide a vaguely embarrassed, but also amused laugh. “My God, will you ever give up?”

“Of course” he whispered, leaning closer to your ear. "Come home with me tonight. I swear I'll stop chasing you then, little bunny."

Bunny? Bah. "Oh, William. You are such a child... and I am no toy. I gotta go home now, if you will —"

But he placed his hand on your hip, you felt his fingers caressing your back and a shiver ran over your skin. No. Only Jim could touch you like that. He insisted on taking you home, you told him again that no, it wasn't a good idea. You would have even pushed him if someone hadn't abruptly moved him away from you.

The Chief had a terrible look. He told Billy to move away, since you didn't want any of his attention. The boy withdrew... and you prepared yourself for yet another fight.

Jim opened the car door for you, but he secretly wanted to lift you onto his shoulders and throw you in the car, strapping you tightly to the passenger seat to keep you seated next to him. Christ, he couldn't leave you alone for half a day when the vultures were already swooping on you. Hungry pigs. At first, he said nothing. He drove in silence along the highway, toward his cabin in the woods, gripping the cigarette so tightly in his left hand that he crushed the white filter like a chewing gum, until it was so thin he could barely smoke. All his muscles were damn tense.

Then, finally, he growled. "Nothing to say, hm?"

His voice was filled with anger. You, however, huffed. "No, Jim. I have nothing to say."

Continuing to the woods, he abruptly parked the car. "Fucking nothing. Good. Very good."

Shaking your head and clutching your bag in your hand, you climbed out of your seat. "Now you play jealous? You're ridiculous" you hissed, before slamming the door.

Jim could have caught fire with anger. His eyes remained fixed on your figure, gripping the steering wheel with the irrepressible desire to detach it with his bare hands. But he looked at you hurring up the stairs to the cabin, and chased after you. "Hey. HEY!"

You didn't even turn around.

"Fucking — what the fuck do you expect, hm? Hargrove's being an asshole and I'm supposed to watch, right?"

You tossed your bag onto the couch. "Yes, Billy is a dick, but at least he doesn't pretend not to notice my existence, in public!"

Jim laughed. But it was a bitter, resentful laugh. "Ah, so you two go by first names now!"

“Fuck you, Jim!” you screamed. You couldn't stand any more of his madness. "You wanna know why Billy flirts with me? Because he doesn't know that I'm yours, nobody knows that I'm yours, because you won't let me tell anyone how fucking in love with you I am!"

A heavy silence fell on the room. Jim's eyes, so fiery, calmed down gently. His hard face turned a different color, lighter and clearer, at your declaration. Your eyes covered in a veil of crystalline tears broke his heart. He took off his hat, placed it on the chair, took off his shoes and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Then, he took your face in the large, rough palms of his hands, wiped away your tears with his thumbs. “I'm sorry” he whispered, kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose, making you smile. "You're beautiful, and I'm an asshole. But I still love you."

He kissed you. His mouth barely touched yours, a small seductive kiss before opening his lips on yours and deepening it, seeking your soft tongue with his. He tasted like burnt tobacco and beer — and it was damn delicious. His kiss was voracious, impossible to escape. And you just wanted to abandon yourself to him, give yourself body and soul. Every other touch on your skin was canceled by the two hands that now wrapped around your body, caressing your back up to your buttocks, lifting your skirt, creasing your shirt and continuing on the bare skin of your belly until they found the delicate lace of your bra .

“You'll be the death of me, sweetie” he murmured into the soft skin of your neck, and you smiled, unbuttoning his shirt.

His immensely broad chest and large bod pressed against you, you wanted all of his body against yours. “How about we take this to bed?”

He nodded, kissing you again. He got you on his shoulders and took you to the bedroom.

There, you undressed. Naked, on the bed, sweaty in that warm night, pressed against each other, you just wanted to belong. Jim pulled you against his chest: one arm around your shoulders, his left hand on your breast to play with your swollen, sensitive nipple, the other had slipped in front of your groin, between your legs. His fingers were wet and he slid them from your hard clit to the soft, wet lips of your sex, so ready for him.

You were barely breathing, moaning, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin and massive chest against your back.

"That's right, baby. Keep riding my fingers — god, can you feel it? So fucking wet" he growled. You moaned a little louder and he buried his face in your neck. "You like that, uh? You're so needy — so needy for my attention. What do you want, sweetheart?"

You pleaded. "Just — fuck me, please. Fuck my pussy."

He laughed, the bastard. "Your pussy? Nu-uh. It's mine, baby. All mine to fuck."

And his cock — so hard, and so thick — pushed all the way inside you, to the end, sliding perfectly into your wet intimacy. Jim had to stifle a moan against your shoulder, biting down hard. You were perfect, made for him in every way. Fuck what other people would think. He began thrusting into you with slow, but strong thrusts. So strong that it makes you gasp and beg his name like a prayer. He sucked on your skin. He would leave marks everywhere, you'd feel his lips on you forever.

"So tight, so fucking warm — God, you're perfect" he breathed. "And you're mine, only mine, all mine. No one will ever touch you again, I swear — ah, shit, so good — you're fucking delicious. My sweetheart, my perfect pussy." And slowly, with every word, your cunt contracted around his cock, desperately, begging until he too, so needy for your pleasure, came with you, breathing in your sweet scent, quenching your fiery orgasm with his seed.

In the end, tight in that embrace, you loved each other that night too. Jim didn't let go of you for several long minutes, leaving small kisses on your skin. He now knew that he would no longer bear seeing you close to anyone else. With a deep breath, he whispered. "How about dinner tomorrow? At Enzo's."

You tried to hide a happy smile, failing miserably. "Sounds perfect to me."

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne (52)

A Miguel O'hara x OC fanfic - link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 52: Lost - previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x Female Spidersona OC

Words: 3.5K+ words

Warnings: PG for mentions a panic and/or anxiety attack

Summary: The webslingers hatch a plan to rescue Kasey.

////////

“So Hugh Everett’s theory about other dimensions is legit?” Toya’s eyes were bug eyed wide, as well as Touga and Hannah after I had finished sharing my story. 

I told them everything. From when I got bitten by the spider, Miguel and Peter B. rescued me whilst introducing me to the Spider Society and ultimately joining them to control my new powers. The rest they had pretty much already knew to an extent, as far as me and Miguel dating goes. 

“Pretty much,” I innocently shrug my shoulders. “If there’s another universe that has Spider-Man in someway, shape, or form, it exists.”

“So like a spiderverse?” Touga asks, his fingers waving with a dramatic flare. 

“Spiderverse?” Miguel huffs, crossing his arms over his puffed chest. “The technical term is the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse.”

Everyone gawks in Miguel’s direction, myself included. I clear my throat, offering him a playful smile as I nudge his side. “Soooo, the spiderverse?”

Miguel rolled his eyes, but gave me a ghost of a smirk. “In the simplest of terms I suppose, yes, a spiderverse, if you will,”

“So the characters, er, I guess, those people, everyone we saw was real?” Toya went on, stepping forward as the more he talked, the more calm and relaxed he appeared to be processing all of this. 

Hannah gulps suddenly. “Including the villains?” She shuddered, Touga wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

“Especially the villains.” I nodded firmly. 

“So, Chameleon, Vulture, Green Goblin. . .” Touga mumbled as his voice wandered before shaking his head, speaking up. “All of that was real.”

I nodded again.

“But they looked different from what we know of them,” Touga quickly realized, his mind racing thinking back to just mere minutes ago.

“Think of the Multiverse like a giant spider-web, with lots of interconnecting webs and nodes,” Miguel explained, his arm open wide as if mapping it out in his head. “I’d show you my own illustration but time is of the essence.”

“Why are they here?” Hannah asks, her voice a bit more calm with Touga’s presence. 

“They’re after me,” I swallowed, curling my fingers into a fist so tight I thought I’d puncture my skin with my finger nails. “The spider that bit me and gave me my powers came from dimension Earth-1997, home to Harry Osborne who orchestrated this attack.”

My friends eyes lit up with concern and worry, anxiously holding their breath as they waited for us to speak more. 

They’re here because of me. 

“I wanted to wait to tell you a theory of mine, but Spider-Doc’s research confirmed my suspicions,” Migue spoke up as his long fingers trailed down my arms to my fists, uncurling my fingers and intertwining our hands. “Better late than never. Harry was trying to recreate the venom that gave the Spider-Man of his dimension their powers. He made a modification that amplified the specific targets' natural talents and enhanced them. In Lisa’s case, it amplified her athleticism when it came to her dancing, and her voice.”

“Her voice?” Toya repeated with a confused glint in his eyes. 

“My webs glow when I sing, triggering various effects if I use them on someone,” I suddenly became nervous, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. It kind of sounds outrageous saying this all out loud here. “I can put my targets to sleep, issue commands, and I uh– triggered them to explode once?”

“Exploding webs?!” Toya exclaimed, eyes wide as Hannah jumped, Touga holding her protectively. 

“I didn’t kill anyone! I only used it against a giant rock monster!” I started, waving my hand reassuringly. 

“You fought rock monsters?” Touga gawked, his grip tightening on Hannah. 

Miguel coughs into the fist of his free hand, regaining everyone’s attention. “Can we stay focused, please? Trying to have an adult conversation, or at least something close to it.”

“Right, sorry, Spider-Man– Miguel, or  Mr. O’hara, er, sir!” Touga apologies before both he and his twin offer Miguel a salute, straightening their posture. 

Hannah glances between them, unsure whether to do the same. I cast her a reassuring glance, waving my hand down. “That’s not a thing in the Society, you don’t need to do that,”

“Please, just call me Miguel,” Miguel nods over to the boys, putting them at ease. “Mr. O’hara was my father. I am not him.” 

“. . . Doesn’t Pavitr call you Mr. O’hara?” I gently remind him, lowering my voice to a whisper. 

Miguel keeps his gaze on my friends, not breaking eye contact as he matches my tone. “I don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He’s a good kid, so he gets a pass.”

“So does Kasey’s disappearance have something to do with Harry going after you?” Hannah asks me. 

“Yes,” I sighed deeply, lowering my head. “They’ve. . . come after me before.”

“Wait, the attack at your apartment that one time was them?” Hannah’s voice dropped as she covered her mouth and I could see the exact moment when her heart dropped. 

I nodded. “Yes, and now they’re trying to get to me through those closest to me. That’s why they took Kasey and Chameleon disguised himself and took Kasey’s place so I wouldn’t notice.”

“But if you have spider-powers now, wouldn’t your spider-sense warn you if something was up?” Touga asked me, his voice a little hesitant. 

“Truthfully I’m still getting used to how it works exactly,” I shake my head with a grim expression. “I can sense danger right before it happens, but not in the long term it seems.”

But maybe if I could. . .  

I winced, hearing white noise in my ear. An image flashed in my head, but I couldn’t quite catch what it was as I vigorously shook my head. It had to be the stress of all that was happening, at least that’s what I told myself to keep calm. 

I didn’t miss the look Miguel gave me. Could he hear my thoughts through the mental bond he had connected with me? Before he had a chance to talk, Hannah’s voice spoke up and his eyes gazed upon her. 

“So. . . where is Kasey?” Hannah asked me nervously. 

My shoulders slacked as my head hung low. “I have no idea.”

Chameleon had mentioned that he disguised himself long enough for the plan to work. But how long was that even? The day before the show? A week ago? Or when we had that fight?

“Has anyone tried contacting her since you all got here?” Miguel’s eyes wandered between the group, looking at each of us. 

Everyone looked shocked, puzzled as to why they didn’t think to do that before. Myself included. We all whipped out our phones, trying to text, call, even facetime Kasey’s number. But it all went to voicemail. 

“She’s not answering.” Toya shook his head with a frustrated growl. 

“But it went straight to voicemail,” I quickly realized, whipping my gaze to Miguel. “Her phone is still on!”

Miguel nodded, the gears in his head turning as he was one step ahead of me. He pulled away from me, lifting a hand to his gizmo, typing in a command on the touch screen. “Lyla, can you track the signal to see where Kasey’s phone is?” A holographic map of my dimension’s New York appeared before us, my friends surprised gasps could be heard in the back. 

“Sure can!” Lyla beamed happily as her avatar took form on Miguel’s shoulder and the gasps returned, this time louder and more alarmed. “Oh, Lisa, these must be your friends!”

“Introductions later, Lyla, we really need your help.” I insisted. 

“Anyone got a phone charger she can borrow?” Lyla asked as she zipped over towards my friends, studying them. 

“Uh, h-here!” Touga turned back, walking over to the kitchen counter as he pulled a drawer back and pulled out a charger. 

“Thanks,” He handed the charge to me and I found a USB port on the side of my gizmo. 

After connecting the two devices, I dialed Kasey’s number again. My heart dropped deeper and deeper into the pit of my stomach the longer it rang. Loading icons appeared on Lyla’s eyes as she studied the holographic map carefully. Then suddenly she exclaimed before flying over to a part of the map and tapping it with her finger. 

The map zoomed in on the spot before the hologram reconstructed itself and took the shape of a very familiar small island, with a very familiar historical landmark. I cursed under my breath. My knees buckled as I took it all in. “She’s back there?”

The Statue of Liberty. 

“Specifically, here,” Lyla zoomed in on the hologram again, this time, directing it beneath the monument to a series of tunnels and passageways. “I tracked the signal underground.”

“She was beneath us this whole time?” Toya’s jaw dropped as he stepped closer to the holomap, studying the pathway. 

“Are you absolutely sure, Lyla?” Miguel asked the AI, hands on his hips. 

“That’s where the signal is coming from,” Lyla nodded before looking over at Miguel. “It’s not a bad place to keep a hostage.”

Miguel’s stance was collected, calm and his eyes narrowed seriously as he looked back towards me. “What do you want to do?”

My eyes trailed down to my phone, seeing the failed calls and texts to Kasey’s phone before looking back towards the holomap. I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and exhaled out of my mouth as I glared at the red dot indicating Kasey’s proximity location. “If there’s even the smallest chance, I have to go.”

“We will go,” Miguel corrected me, stepping to my side as he placed a steady hand to the small of my back. “I’ll call the others, and figure out a plan.”

Footsteps caught my attention as I looked up, seeing Hannah, Touga, and Toya approach the opposite end of the holomap, determined looks on their faces.

“How can we help?” Touga crossed his arms over his chest, offering me a smile. 

“What?” My eyes widened at his offer as I looked between them and Miguel just to check if they were joking. I narrowed my eyes cautiously. “I’m not asking you to put your lives–”

“Oh, we’re not asking, we’re telling,” Toya spoke up with a grin, cracking his knuckles. “We’re a team, remember? The Webslingers?”

I gawked at his words, feeling like I was going to cry right there and then. “Guys. . .”

“Kasey is our friend too, and we want to do everything we can to help.” Hannah stated, appearing a little more calm and confident in herself. 

I looked over towards Miguel. “Well?”

‘We could use the extra help?’ 

Miguel’s eyes narrowed before he sighed, shaking his head lightly as he glanced over to the floor. Hands still on his hips, he glances up to my friends. “It will be dangerous. If we go in there. . . there’s a chance we won't come back out.”

My body froze at that moment, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I thought it was going to burst as I watched my friends exchange looks with one another. The idea that more than Kasey’s life could be at risk, or worse. . . I didn’t want to think about it. The white noise and flickering came back briefly, and I shook my head again as my friends looked up towards Miguel. Determination still painted on their faces. 

“We understand the risks,” Touga spoke as Toya and Hannah nodded their heads. “We’re coming.”

“Then we got some work to do.” Miguel stated as he rose his gizmo to his face. “Spiders, rendezvous at my coordinates. All hands on deck.”

////////

Operation: Rescue Kasey and save Earth-1218 was a go. 

Avoiding the police and the checkpoints they set up on practically every block leading up to the harbour was a cakewalk, as we navigated across on the rooftops. After dropping down and getting by the patrols, we found the twin’s family yacht. Using cloaking technology on the S.S.Saki to avoid being seen by the Coast Guard, we sailed back to the island under the cover of darkness. 

There was an eerie silence as we sailed across the lake and into the port. To think only mere minutes ago, the place was covered with fire and explosions. I could still smell the ash and smoke from here. 

Not to mention that stupid portal was till glowing and hovering up in the sky like the biggest eyesore. As we navigated closer to the statue, I prayed to any God that would listen to me to not let another villain variant or anomaly pass through and cause more destruction to my home. As far as I could catch through the radio chatter on the police walkies as we snuck by, the villains never left the smaller island and attacked the mainland. 

It was the smallest of blessings, but I didn’t take it for granted. 

“Everyone in position?” Miguel spoke through the gizmo’s commlink. 

Miguel and I had snuck our way to the top of the Statue of liberty to catch a peek at the portal to check if any more villains would be coming through any time soon. Thankfully it didn’t appear so, but the place was crawling with Oscorp guards, the same ones that abducted me back when all of this first started. I had shuddered when I first caught a glimpse of their uniforms. 

“We’re ready to go in when you are, Miguel,” Noir responded. 

Noir would be leading Gwen, and my friends through a back door at the bottom of the statue that led into the underground maintenance facility where the network of tunnels started. Miguel and I would make our way down through the statue itself by the security entrance. Pav, Peter B., Jess, and Hobie were on standby for backup in case we needed it. 

“We go on my signal,” Miguel spoke before he glanced over at me, noticing how my eyes had yet to stray from looking at the portal. “I’ll call you back.”

He hung up the feed, approaching me softly as we stood within the crown of Lady Liberty. 

I had changed into my real, and very much cleaner and not tattered, spider-suit via my gizmo. The nano-technology fit me like a glove as I lowered my head down to look at my mask. My fingers curled tighter around it as a wave of shame and guilt coursed through my body. 

“Something has been eating at you,” Miguel spoke gently. “I can tell.”

“. . . This is all my fault, isn’t it?” My voice was barely a whisper. 

“Mona Lisa, none of this is your fault,” Miguel eagerly insisted, his voice still stern yet gentle as he squeezed my hand in his. 

“But what if it is?” I turned my head to look back at him with worry. “Even if my universe doesn’t actually have a canon like Lyla told you, I still can’t use my powers here. I tried to when I pushed Touga out of the way. I saved him, but I blacked out in that split second.”

Miguel’s eyes softened in sympathy, his fingers squeezing my hands tightly as his thumbs brushed against the fabric of my gloves. “Lisa. . .”

“I should have been more vocal with you with my worry about Harry coming here when you first told me the other week. I trusted you to handle it and I still do, but. . . without my powers, how can I rescue Kasey?” My voice trembled, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears. “How can I protect my home?”

I could see Miguel’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear him. Everything seemed to blur as the white noise returned, erupting my ears. Spots flickered in my eyes as I began to see things, someone that wasn’t there. 

For a brief moment, someone else took Miguel’s place. First it was Hannah and my eyes widened in fear when it looked like she was beaten up, bloodied even. Then it was Toya, and Touga, then Kasey, and I recoiled, fearing the worst for her. 

“What if they get hurt because of me?” I choked. 

Miguel’s form flickered as he continued to try and talk to me, before I closed my eyes and when I opened them again I saw my mother. I nearly fell to my knees. As if he were shouting from a distance, I could hear Miguel’s muffled cry to me. 

“What if—!” The words were there but I couldn’t get them out as I shut my eyes again, shaking my head. 

But when I looked back, Miguel wasn’t there again. It was a woman, an elderly with snow white hair tied in a bun. She wore a visor with multiple red eyes staring at me, in a long red suit like gown as she sat on a black throne that was covered in webs. 

“What if you’re right? What if my universe won’t accept me as its Spider-Woman because of all of this?” I whimpered, my fingers clutching on to the sides of my head. 

The woman suddenly lunged for me, arms out. 

“Lisa, look at me!” 

But it wasn’t the woman’s voice that came out of her mouth as I shut my eyes feeling someone grabbing on to me, shaking me back into reality. I slowly opened my eyes to see Miguel kneeling before me, his hands on my shoulders as they trembled, as if fighting not to grab me too hard. His eyes poured into mine, his pupils flickering between his normal brown and his powerful red irises as if trying to keep himself calm through all of this. 

“Maybe. . . Maybe I’m wrong. I’ve seen what you can do with these powers and how you’ve used it to protect those around you, to protect me. But even if I am right, I will be there and help you every step of the way. I’ll work with Lyla and the Doc, research and study the spider-venom DNA for anything that can help you to use your powers here and reduce the pain that you’re feeling, because I’m so shocking proud of you, Lisa!”

Slowly the white noise whine down, and I started to hear music? Violins playing a soft, enchanting and also familiar melody. 

“Not done fightin' (no way), I don't fear I've lost

Am I dreamin', is there more like us?”

My lips trembled as I looked at him, eyes watering as something warm swelled in my chest. “Miguel. . .” The white noise and voices started to dissipate. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He panted, managing a smile as he laughed. 

I could see his fangs glisten in the moonlight, flashing that signature grin of his as his hands came up to cup my cheeks. He closed the distance between us, his lips crashing into mine in a confident, pulling my flush against him. I was worried that someone might see us, a patrolling guard or another anomaly sneaking through the portal, but when Miguel’s fingers dug into my hair at the back of my head, I melted into his touch completely. 

“Got me feeling (no way), like it's all too much

I feel beaten, but I can't give up”

His tongue slowly brushed against my bottom lip suddenly, testing the waters, silently asking for permission. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I wrapped my arms around his neck to hold myself closer, and I parted my lips. It was brief, only for a few seconds, but I felt his tongue slip into my mouth and massage itself against my own in slow, gentle strokes before Miguel pulled away completely. 

“Your best is enough.” he stated, his fingers brushing stray strands of my hair away from my face. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you save your dimension. You have my word, Lisa.”

There was a look in his eyes, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back, as I stared at him wide eyed. He reached down to the floor, gently plucking my mask that I had dropped during our kiss. Offering it to me with a soft smile, he spoke confidently, “Ready to get to work, Spider-Muse?”

“I'm still fighting, I don't fear I've lost

Am I dreamin', is there more like us?”

My gaze flickered between him and the mask as the surroundings around us became more clear to me. I couldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest anymore as I reached for my mask, taking it from his large fingers. I didn’t hear the voices anymore as I tied my hair back before slipping the mask over my head and pulled my ponytail through the hair opening. 

“Got me feelin' (no way), like it's all too much

I feel beaten (no way), but I can't give up!”

The HUD of my mask came to life as vital signs and data measurements followed my UI menu and the eyelets of my mask glowed to life as I met Miguel’s stare. I reached my hand back out, grasping his and intertwined my fingers tightly with his. “Let’s go save the multiverse together.”

////////

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[ghostflowerhotpotch]

You know, what's another good reason why Miguel’s canon theory is faulty?

It’s because in his quest to save the multiverse and preserve the ‘canon’, Miguel and his Spider Society keep breaking the ‘canon’.

I rewatched the movie, and something occurred to me… Miguel and Jess broke the Canon in like the first 30 minutes!

Because of Miguel, Jess and Vulture actions indirectly caused the loss of a canonical event: The death of Gwen's father, George Stacy. And because of that, Gwen’s father is not only alive, but he quit the police force, so he’s not a police captain anymore.

Not to mention, there is a very real implication that the Spider-Society is inadvertently preventing Spider-People from realising their own heroic destinies in their own universes.

Because the more I thought about it, I realized that the five months that Gwen spends with the Spider Society are five long months that her own home is unprotected by Spider-Woman…

Think about how many other worlds are in danger because their Spider-Man/Spider-Woman wasn't/isn’t around to protect it because they were with the Spider Society or they might have died on some mission with the Society.

Okay, I don't remember if I answered this, so let me start with this:

Miguel and Jessica didn't technically interrupt any canon when they appeared in Gwen's universe. Gwen is suppose to lose her father due to a battle against her own arch-nemesis.

Fun fact, in the comics the Vulture is the first villain we see her take; but Gwen say it: this isn't her vulture. She doesn't know this man.

There is no canon to interrupt, because that event is suppose to happen with her own arch-nemesis. Is this exact reason why I say that Pavitr couldn't have a canon event, Spot wasn't his nemesis; so I need to keep that consistently.

That being said: yeah, Gwen being a few months away from home is bad, but-

As far as I know, nowhere in the movie it says that Gwen has been away for 5 months, but I could be wrong, so if you or someone else knows when that was mentioned, please say so.

Regardless- I did find strange the idea of Gwen staying in the Society; after all, she is suppose to deal with her own canon events.

I never went too hard on this, because is one of those plot holes that are there because the story works better for it.

What I mean by this is that Gwen having be at stake her safe place after running for home is much, much interesting; that let's say, Gwen needing to deal with the consequences of the fallout and now she doesn't have a reason to keep her loyalty.

If you want a similar plot hole; in ITSV Gwen comes a week early in the movie...and the entire logic falls apart because of this.

As far as we know, there is no reason why Gwen came early unlike the others; despite being a week in this universe, she doesn't seem to be glitching more or to look closer to disappearing than the rest. Speaking of which- how did she got there? Spider-sense is about sensing danger, not detecting a new spidey that has yet to be bitten. To not say, how she could just get a room, be part of classes, and not only no one noticing there is no paperwork of her existence, she doesn't glitch in public AT ALL, after being there for a week?

Now, chances are you weren't familiar with this last issue; because is not the point. Establishing Gwen's and Miles' connection earlier is more important than all of this; the movie never brings attention to fact, which means is not relevant.

The reason I go hard about Pavitr not living a canon event, is that it is shown in camera to us, which means we are suppose to pay close attention.

Now, I know a lot of people would insist that a perfect story has no plot holes, and I am not going to argue if you don't like when the story has these loose ends.

But in my personal opinion? If it makes the story more interesting, and you don't need to bring attention to it, sometimes bending the rules a bit good.

Though, if I am honest, if I am correct about my predictions...then there is an aspect of the movie that could be a plot hole that I have an issue with.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 13: I Can’t Give It Back

~1030 words

CW: dread :)

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~~~

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Matthew bellowed, “How could you let him do that?!”

He didn’t care that he was yelling at the Director of the entire VIU, or that the rest of his team and Harper’s team were watching him.

Well, not all of his team.

They all sat around a table, in a conference room with the blinds pulled down, while Matthew paced. He sported a black eye, and a cut open shirt that flashed fresh bandages underneath. None of them had been given time to change or recover before being pulled into the meeting room. NDA forms were scattered across the table, all signed except one.

“He volunteered,” Director Yarl said for the fifth time, “You heard him on the call, it was entirely his idea and I couldn’t have stopped him if I wanted to.”

“But you negotiated time and place!” Matthew accused, “You drove him there! You let him walk over to them!”

“What was I supposed to do,” Yarl finally snapped back, “Let them torture ten agents to death?”

“YES!” Matthew shouted, “Because that’s our job! We all signed up for this knowing the risks! We went in there knowing there was a chance we wouldn’t make it out, because that’s the job.”

“And Simon chose to use his position to rescue you, isn’t that part of his job? To look out for his team?” Yarl countered.

“Not like this!” Matthew insisted.

“Just sign the NDA, Beck, that’s all I need from you right now,” Yarl said, trying to get out of the looping argument.

“No, none of this would have happened if the VIU weren’t making deals with vampires. People need to know.”

“If you don’t sign, you’re fired.”

Matthew was pretty sure that was some kind of labor law violation, but he didn’t care.

“I quit,” he spat.

“Then if you don’t sign, you will be banned from the premises and will have no access to Simon’s living quarters. His belongings will be stored or discarded as the VIU sees fit, without your input.” Yarl knew it was a cruel move, but it was all he had.

Matthew glared at him a long moment before muttering, “Fine,” and signing his name, large and angry, on the final NDA.

Yarl watched him, not without sympathy.

“You can gather what you like from Simon’s apartment, barring furniture. Then I want you to clear out your locker and turn in your badge and gear, if you really are quitting.”

“You’re not even going to try and rescue him, are you?” Matthew asked.

“No,” Yarl admitted, “I’m sorry. He’s out of our reach now.”

Matthew looked at him, then at everyone else in the room.

“I expected better from all of you,” he spat, and stormed out.

He had to get to Simon’s apartment. Never mind that it was nearly midnight, he needed to make sure all of Simon’s most precious things were safe before any vultures arrived. His books. His CDs. All of it.

He heard quick footsteps catching up to him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Gina.

“I can’t believe you signed,” he started in on her, “You, of all people -”

“I didn’t sign,” Gina interrupted him, “I just wrote ‘no thanks’ in cursive.”

Matthew stopped in his tracks and stared at her. A laugh bubbled out of his throat, then a sob. Gina pulled him into a tight hug, neither of them caring about his stitches.

“My cousin’s a journalist,” she said, “I’m going to stay here and learn as much as I can, until they figure out I didn’t sign and find a way to fire me. Then… I don’t know, we’ll do something.”

“But what about Simon?”

“Maybe if we get the story out, that’ll motivate the VIU to rescue him.” She stepped back to look him in the eye. “I’ll talk to Isles too.”

Matthew groaned.

“I know, I know,” she said, “I don’t like him any more than you do, but he might have some ideas. He’s been here a long time, he knows how the bureaucracy side of things works.”

“Okay, I get it,” Matthew nodded, not feeling any better. “Help me box up his things?”

Gina nodded.

“Of course.”

~~~

After moving Simon’s personal belongings into Matthew’s apartment, Gina didn’t hear from Matthew for a week. Then he showed up unannounced at her apartment, bearing a lockbox, his black eye now a dark yellow shadow under his brow.

“Want to come in?” she offered after they exchanged greetings, but Matthew shook his head.

“I actually have… a really weird request,” he said.

“Oookay, spill.”

He held out the lockbox, and she hesitantly took it, hefting its weight in her hands.

“What is this?”

“It’s… What I need you to do is to keep it. Someplace really secure, that only you can access. Don’t tell me where. And no matter what I say, you can’t give it back to me until Simon is home safe.”

She squinted at him.

“Whaaat…”

“Please, just do this for me, Gina,” Matthew pleaded, “You’re the only person I trust with this.”

“Okay, but,” concern clouded her face, “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

Matthew smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.”

~~~

A day later he was back, knocking rapidly on her door late in the evening.

“Hey,” he said as soon as she opened the door, “I need back the box that I gave you.”

“You said not to give it to you, no matter what you said.”

“Yeah, well… That was stupid of me. I thought it would motivate me to help Simon, but it was a mistake. Can I have it back?”

Gina folded her arms, studying him closely.

“No,” she finally said, “Not until Simon is home safe.”

He stared at her, his eyes pleading, desperate; but Gina didn’t budge. When he realized she wasn’t going to cave, his entire demeanor changed. He stood up straighter, his shoulders relaxed, and his expression dropped to neutral. He sighed.

“Oh well. See you soon, then.”

He turned around and left.

Gina knew better than to call after him.

His black eye was gone.

~~~

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes @seasaltandcopper

[pall0r-mortis]

"The things I collect don't usually come with names and life stories," he pointed out; there was some exception to the rule in town given the overlap between people he actually did talk to also being the ones that he had to scavenge from like a vulture for lack of other means, but generally he didn't want to know what was going on with the people he got reagents from. He assumed the baseline was people with issues and traumatic pasts and he didn't really go digging very much because he didn't really need to know.

What was he supposed to do about it? Tell them they needed therapy?

Usually when people said that they didn't want a conversation to turn unpleasant they already had the intention for it to do exactly that, and the guy didn't look very intimidating but appearance meant practically nothing. Sid knew it was a risk coming inside of a confined space with someone who could reasonably be dangerous. But it was a risk that might pay off, and desperation was good motivation.

"Nobody with reagents that dark is having a great time in life," he replied, no use in being too subtle about it, was there? He did make a very pointed motion of lifting his hand as though acknowledging the fact. "I don't want to know why, by the way; I don't know what to do with other people's problems, I just find them useful when they want to deal with them because it works in my favor."

The honest answer wasn't always the pretty one.

Sid didn't blink, so far as threats when it wasn't even thinly veiled; Sid found it even more entertaining because what could he possibly know about the guy? It wasn't like he could read the history behind reagents, that history factored into their power and something was very powerful there, but Sid didn't deal in pulling apart memories, he worked specifically in emotions when it came to reagents.

But apparently the guy didn't know how that worked, which wasn't surprising since it hadn't seemed like he knew how it worked at the party either. So he wasn't a sorcerer, that much was all but confirmed.

@oswaldxmarks

Delivery Fees || Silphidae

[andaisq]

The Perfect Day

Imagine, right, that you're going about your business, one day, and then someone says to you - your brother's dead. House burned down, him and his wife and his kids are all gone. You're heartbroken. It's awful, it's the worst thing that could possibly happen. But you've got a framework for how to deal with it? You know that bad things happen. This is worse than anything you could've imagined happening, but it's in the space that could happen.

But then you're at his funeral, and you're dressed in black and everyone's crying - and it's a beautiful sunny day, and there's a rainbow in the sky. Birds are singing. There's a fat little bumblebee visiting the nearest flower, dusting pollen on everything it bumps into on the way. It's the perfect day. And your brother's dead.

And in that moment it seems like the world isn't working like it should work. It isn't supposed to be the perfect day, not when you're never going to see him again and you'll never see his kids grow up and you'll never get to win that fight you were having about whether Romeo and Juliet's a stupid story because he's dead, he's in Heaven or Hell or he's reincarnated into a snowshoe hare or whatever.

And the moment passes, and you try to get over it, try to remind yourself it's not personal, you know, it's not the universe thumbing its nose at you in particular, it's just a nice day. And... the sun rises the next day and there's a rainbow in the sky, and birds are singing. And you ask someone what the hell's up with this weather you've been having, to distract yourself from how miserable you are, and they look at you funny and ask what you're talking about, and you say it's so sunny and warm, and why are there rainbows anyway when I haven't seen a drop of rain, and they say it's overcast today. Really they wouldn't even say that, they'd think you were talking metaphorically - but it is cloudy, for them. You're the only one seeing the rainbow.

And it gets worse. Every day, the weather's more perfect, the rainbow a little bigger and brighter in the sky. The birds sing your brother's favorite songs. That damned bumblebee is everywhere you look, getting pollen over your rug or your desk or your cat.

You haven't seen the rain in weeks, or months, or years.

And then you walk out your front door and the garden path leads up to the foot of the rainbow. And you think, maybe this can help me. And you walk up the rainbow, and as you walk along it you feel the colors bleeding through you, the birdsong filling your ears, the bumblebee circling like a vulture... and you die. You collapse on that rainbow bridge, the rainbow that was your evidence of how the world is wrong, and you fall through it and through the world. You fall straight through Hell, because Hell has no place for you, into the void. And you could dissolve there, you could be unmade - it'd be easy. But you're so angry, about the rainbow. There shouldn't be a bloody rainbow. Your brother's dead. What kind of world throws a rainbow at people whose brothers have died?

And you force your way back into the world. But you're not of the world anymore. You're Excrucian. You're more that rainbow than you are yourself, and the rainbows of the world see you and they see an impostor, a monster, something that must be destroyed. And they do destroy you. Again and again, you die, in ways more or less ambiguously rainbow-themed, and then you drag yourself back. Because the world is wrong. Because you're the only one who can do anything about it.

You are Cadwin Belitun. You are dying of the Perfect Day.

[themculibrary]

Peter & Bucky Mentor/Bond Masterlist

A Helping Hand or Two (ao3) - PinkAvidReader N/R, 3k

Summary: A still-on-the-run Bucky stumbles across an injured Spider-Man - AKA Peter Parker - and decides to help him escape the HYDRA agents that've got them surrounded on all sides in a dingy alley somewhere in New York.

OR

Spider-Man, the Winter Soldier, and a HYDRA squad walk into an alley. Only two come out.

atlas (the weight of the world on his shoulders) (ao3) - luminis_infinite T, 2k

Summary: So it’s Bucky, with his pistol to their leader’s head, that’s keeping them still. That and the stories that follow Bucky around like the ghost he used to be.

They know who he is. They know who he is and what he’s done. They know who he is and they are afraid.

---

“Anytime.” Then Bucky seems to think about what he’s saying, “Ah. Actually. No. I don’t want to be saving your ass all the time, Peter. You could get yourself killed.”

“I can’t not,” Peter mutters, to which Bucky snaps, “Of course you can. You got school, a girlfriend right? A whole life that doesn’t involve getting your head smashed in by members of a Mexican cartel!”

everything, all at once (ao3) - turtle_bean T, 2k

Summary: With a barely audible groan, Peter pulls the softest sweater he owns over his head and lets it swamp his skinny arms. It had been Ben’s, but Peter doesn’t need to think about that right now.  

Peter also doesn’t need to think about how goddamn bright the bathroom is and does Rufus four floors down always bark this loudly?

--

or, peter has a sensory overload. that's something bucky can help with.

gone and going (ao3) - lostintheclouds321 G, 6k

Summary: The Asset wakes up in a cold room. There’s a ringing in his ear. He doesn't know who Peter Parker is or why he keeps calling him Bucky but he doesn't exactly care to find out. All he knows is there is no escape from Hydra, he simply has to wait for his next mission.

If I Could Do It All Over, I’d Find You Sooner (ao3) - snarkymuch E, 131k (WIP)

Summary: Bucky escapes from Hydra briefly and meets Tony in a bar. Their one-night stand leaves Tony pregnant. Over a decade later, Steve enters the picture, still raw over the loss of his alpha Bucky. He and Tony fall for each other, but things get complicated when the Winter Soldier appears.

Peter Parker Meets The Avengers (ao3) - arabellagaleotti G, 9k

Summary: “Hey Mister Stark, so I’ve got some homework and I was hop-” I cut off abruptly. Sitting in the middle of the polished granite kitchen of Tony Stark is the runaway Avengers. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson. Strewn about, they look familiar with the space, but still slightly unused to it. I suppose months away does that. “You’re not Mister Stark?” I say, slightly awe-struck.

“No. We’re not.” Natasha says dryly, eyeing me up and down from her place perched on top of the counter.

OR,

Peter meets the Avengers, and they all love him, because how can you not?

shelter also gave their shade (ao3) - Mellaithwen steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Injured after his final battle with the Vulture, Peter Parker gets some unexpected help.

“As if anything would’a kept you away from that beach.” Captain America scoffs. “Brooklyn’s ours, Buck. Besides, we look after our own.”

Stalker (ao3) - MetalPhoenix G, 962

Summary: Bucky Barnes decides to "guard" Peter after Pete fixes his arm in the middle of the night.

Standing Steady (ao3) - YouAreTheBrightest234 (TransLucas) N/R, 15k

Summary: Peter just reminds Bucky so much of Steve and God knows how Steve turned out

Starbucks in Manhattan (fanfiction.net) - Introvertasaurus G, 35k

Summary: Who knew I would meet so many famous people while working with my friend at Starbucks? Takes place several months after CAWS. Bucky and Peter Parker will be included.

The Spider and the Wolf (ao3) - Doctorpants T, 22k (WIP)

Summary: Bucky and Peter are super soldiers that HYDRA has designed. When a prison break is successful among Hydra's top experiments, the two boys need to figure out how to stay on the run and find some place safe, and the only way to that is together.

the barnes-romanoff babysitting service (ao3) - tempestaurora T, 3k

Summary: Bucky volunteers to look after Peter for the weekend and Natasha just wants to hang out with her favourite spider.

Three times Peter Parker met Bucky Barnes (ao3) - orphan_account T, 2k

Summary: Peter Parker meets Bucky Barnes three times. Each three times, they have a connection.

Unexpected (ao3) - tiredRobin G, 948

Summary: Peter Parker meets James "Bucky" Barnes on accident.

What a Coincidence (ao3) - notyoursherlock G, 4k

Summary: Peter was having a relatively good day when it was announced to his AcaDec team that they were going on a field trip.

To Romania, of all places.

He could only hope that nothing would happen.

(Spoiler alert: something happens)