#i hurt her every other time before that and some times after that

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

You land hard, elbows hitting the ground with a jolt of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that someone is screaming—Blue is screaming. The heat in your veins fizzles, your heart jolting. Ghost has already sped off toward camp, pulling a knife from his ankle, and you scramble to your feet to follow.

Your movements are clumsy, your mind replaying the last few seconds, searching for any signs of trouble you might have missed. The air is clear, the trees are quiet, the ground is still. Yet, as you weave through the tall grasses that swipe at your ankles, you finally hear it—muffled voices, unmistakably human. They grow sharper with each step you take. 

Ghost reaches camp first, stopping in a lethal stance. You roll in just behind him, eyes snapping to where Blue stands behind the fence, alive and aiming one of her dad’s rifles at four strangers. Still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the rifle through a gap in the fortification. Two of the strangers are mounted on a brown horse, while the other two flank their sides, backs swollen with rucksacks and chests thick with gear. There is no doubt they have weapons.

"D-don't come any closer or I'll blow your heads off! I mean it!"

“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of them says calmly. A man.

“I don’t care why you’re here! You need to leave before my dad…” Her eyes flicker to you. “Dad!”

When their heads turn in your direction, you waste no time arching the knife over your head. You’re not much without your bow, but this is all you have.

In a split second, your eyes land on the burliest of the group, a man with a boonie hat and a dense, brown beard. He was the one speaking. The leader, maybe. You aim the knife for his head, but before you can throw it, Ghost grabs your wrist, wrenching you to his chest without warning, the knife falling to the ground.

"Wait," he says in your ear, his breath steady against your skin. There’s a detectable lilt of surprise in his voice. You try to squirm free, but he holds tight. "Stay here."

He lets go. Confusion reels through you. Everything in you screams to pick up the knife, but you hesitate as Ghost signals for Blue to lower the gun.

He calmly walks over to the intruders, heading to the man you were aiming for. The air feels thick as you watch with parted lips, stance still readied and breath racing. Ghost stops in front of him, and the two stare at each other strangely before the man smiles.

A strong hand reaches for Ghost’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.”

The clanking of metal against ceramic plates and the low murmurs of a fire fill the cabin.

Your spine presses into the wall.

There isn’t a free chair at the table, but you’re not sure you’d sit in one even if there was. Blue stands beside you, hands laced in front of her. She’s silent. You are, too. The cabin feels cramped with seven people in it. It makes your skin itch. 

You can inspect them more thoroughly now that you’re not thinking about who to kill first. 

There are two men—the older one you believe Ghost called Price, and a younger one you think he called Kyle. He’s fine-looking, you figure, underneath the overgrowth of facial hair and grime smudged on his dark skin. He had a tan cap on earlier but now a head of short, black hair is free for him to slick fingers through every now and then. Then there is a woman, some years older than you. She’s beautiful in a raw, Grecian sort of way, with long black hair and a violet undertone to her skin. Lastly, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. It doesn't take much to discern he is related to Kyle in some way.

They all look starving, though not as much as you once were. Nevertheless, Ghost is feeding them more than scraps. Canned beans, rice, and rabbit. They shovel it into their mouths. The men have muscles on them, so they can’t have been struggling much. Based on all the supplies they carry and the horse tied to a tree outside, you’ve figured they’ve been traveling for some time. A flurry of questions runs through your brain, but your lips remain in a tight line.

Ghost hasn’t said much yet. He hasn't even explained who they are. Your slitted eyes flicker to him. While the strangers fill up the table, he hovers beside it. His body speaks more than his expression. His shoulders are not tense and lethal as they'd been when you first sat at that table scarfing down food. But they're not relaxed, either; his arms crossed, still exposed from the black tee he'd put on for training, giving way to the slight flexes in his corded muscles that signal even he is thrown off by their presence. 

But he trusts them enough to let them in here. With the way they carry themselves, and the fact that Ghost hasn't killed them, they must've been in the military together. He doesn't seem like the type to have had normal friends. 

Kyle speaks first.

He thrums the pads of his fingertips against the wood and clears his throat, breaking your thoughts. "We were hoping you'd still be here, but it was a shot in the dark."

"I’ve never left," Ghost says, plainly.

Kyle sips from his mug and wipes his mouth, then his eyes shift toward you. You meet his gaze with a hardened look. 

"We're sorry for scaring you."

It takes a moment to realize his words aren't for you. Blue glances to her toes. "I wasn't scared." 

His lips lift. "Of course not. It's us who should've been scared of crossing paths with Simon Riley's kid. You did the right thing, you know. Protecting yourself."

"I didn't realize you knew my dad." She nibbles her lip and looks up. "My name is Blue, by the way. And this is..." Her eyes flick to you. "My friend, Twix."

Your tongue pokes your cheek as you look over the new faces. What are you supposed to say? 

"Hi," is all you settle on.

Ghost clears his throat. "Kid, why don't you clean some more water for them."

Blue nods dutifully, lingering only a second before pouring more river water into the pot over the fire.

"Thank you for your kindness. We haven't had a warm meal like this in days," the woman says kindly.

"It's a strong setup you've made for yourself," Price speaks, one hand stroking his beard while he pushes the cleared plate away with the other. He leans back, boonie hat still cradling his head and casting a shadow over his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of warm brown irises that might've comforted you in any other circumstance.

"It's lasted me this long." Ghost shifts his weight slightly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Near the base by the border, further north."

"Last I heard you were in Manchester."

"Once the radios went out, we picked up my wife," he touches the woman's shoulder, "Nereida, and Kyle's nephew here, Ari, from Newcastle. Made camp with a few others. Served us well for the past five years."

Ghost slowly nods and then drawls, "And Soap?”

Price leans his forearms on the table. "Not quite sure. The base was falling apart, but he stayed back, saying he'd meet up with us once he could. That was five years ago."

You're not sure who Soap is, someone else they worked with, maybe. There is a brief pause before Ghost asks, "Why did you leave?"

"More and more of 'em, Simon," Price replies with a slight shake of his head, emitting a low breath. "Made it difficult to even get food."

"Too many of them, not enough of us," Nereida murmurs distantly. Her hand slips under the table, out of view. You imagine it resting on Price's thigh as she leans into him with a weighted sigh. "They always seem to be moving. Not with a destination in mind, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they ruined our setup. We decided to leave before that could happen."

Kyles adds, "It wasn't an easy decision, but living in anticipation of the worst isn't really living at all."

Your brows lower. “Where exactly could you be headed that wouldn't mean living in anticipation of the worst?” you can't stop yourself from asking, the question burning in your mind. 

Price leans back, those warm brown eyes finding yours. A short heartbeat passes before he answers simply, "Switzerland."

The absurdity of that single word response forces a disbelieving, chuffed breath through your nose. Of all the things this stranger could have said, that would have to be the least expected. You anticipate an equally surprised reaction from Ghost, but he seems unnervingly unfazed. Blue, however, swivels her head from where she sits cross-legged in front of the fire.

"What the fuck is Switzerland?"

"It's another country," the boy—Ari���answers.

Blue glances between him and her dad. "Like... not in England?"

Ari snorts softly. "No, not in England. It's across the channel."

"The channel?" Blue frowns. "That's... far, isn't it?"

"Very far," Nereida confirms with a nod.

The subject is brusquely dropped when Ghost reaches for their cleared plates. "You must want to bathe while you're here. There's a river nearby."

Price clears his throat. "These two can go first." He gestures to the woman and child.

Soon enough, you become irritatingly aware of what's happening; you're being shooed away, along with the kids and Nereida, so the three of them can speak privately. There isn't much room to object as you shuffle out of the cabin, carrying a handful of rags for them to wash with along with the homemade soap that you once used to wash away the grime and earth that caked up from traveling. 

The sun beats hard, the river warmer now that spring has aged. Dried sweat clings to your spine from this morning, but bathing yourself is the last thing on your mind now, not when you're still reeling in the presence of people you don't know. You swing a glance at the cabin behind your shoulder, something in your gut twisting. Ghost doesn't want you there to hear whatever they're talking about. 

"This is a good spot," Blue says, stopping in front of a shallow part of the bank where the water is warmest. She hands Ari some soap and teeters on her toes. You realize why she keeps staring at him like that; he's probably the only other kid she's met in years. She is even more shy than when she first met you. "Twix and I will look away, don't worry."

You and Blue sit perched on a rock as they wash themselves. 

"This is weird," she admits quietly to you.

"Very," you mumble.

When they're done, you offer Nereida the only clean clothes you have at the moment: one of the oversized shirts Ghost gave you and some jeans. An annoyingly strange thought brandishes your brain... you don't like the way the black fabric sits on her bare chest, nipples poking through, and the hem hanging down to her knees as it does on you. You should've just given her the dirty blouse to wear.

She sits at the edge of the river, wringing her soaked hair with a rag. From the corner of your eye, you catch Blue helping Ari rinse his dirty clothes in the water. You want to keep an eye on him; your knife is still nestled around your ankle in case they try anything, though a woman and preteen don't heighten your paranoia as much. 

"How long have you two been together?"

Her soft voice makes you blink. "What?"

"You and Simon."

You're confused until you recall the revelation from earlier—the man you've known the past few months as Ghost, the one whose hard form laid beneath you just hours ago, is actually Simon. Simon Riley. You're tempted to say the name; try it out. But it is hard to reconcile with. It might taste strange on your tongue. The name fits a version of him that doesn't exist in this world now, you suppose. British. Simple. Like John or Kyle. The name of a lieutenant. The bits of his face you've witnessed crosses your mind; his nose, lips, and chin seem like Simon. The damn mask is Ghost, though.

"Jesus... I am not—" You shake your head, the sun even hotter on your neck. "I'm not with him like that. We're just allies." You glance back at the cabin in the distance and you fight a scowl. "If that."

She runs her fingers through ravenous tendrils. "Oh. I apologize for assuming."

You offer a small smile. "It's fine."

"How long have you been staying here then?"

"Um, a few months now. I used to stay with my sister and a friend, but they died."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You shrug. "Everyone has lost important people."

"Doesn't make it easier," she says. "Ari's mom and younger sister used to be with us," she adds quietly with a solemn downward cast of her eyes, as if a memory has taken her for a moment. "They passed two years ago during a really rough winter along with this other couple we knew. Then it was just the four of us."

You inhale through your nose and release, frowning. "No child should have to experience that."

"No," she agrees, nodding. "They shouldn't. Which is why we're looking for a better life for him."

"And you think you'll find it in... Switzerland."

Nereida offers a half-smile, as if reading your thoughts. "We'd heard of a commune there, up in the mountains."

"A commune? Like what, a town?" 

"Sort of. Just... more people, living together. Protected. Greys make awful climbers, and the mountains there are much higher than anything in the UK."

This catches your attention, and the divot between your brows deepens. "How do you know it exists?"

"Well, we can't know for certain. John heard about it at the beginning of the spread, but it was too difficult to make arrangements at the time, especially when he had to help out at the medical site and then come find me. Things were a mess, I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah, I do." You reel in her words, thinking. "That was... years ago, though. Aren't you taking a huge risk going there now? What if nothing is there?"

"Staying in England would be a risk, too," she counters. "There is nothing here except death and hardship. You can't hide from it forever."

You look down at the water. Cicadas fill your ears, the buzzing drowning out your voice. "No, you can't."

You go on a hunt that afternoon, itching for some space to breathe. Deer tracks are harder to spot without the snow, but you find the unmistakeable marks of antlers against a tree and follow them. You glance around the forest. It feels endless and like a cage at the same time. Which way did they come from? If they made it to camp by morning, that means they spent the night here somewhere. You don't like the idea that others could be so close by, like that car.

The sun has turned orange by the time a healthy doe skirts in your peripherals. You stalk it behind an oak. An arrow flies from your bow, but you miss; the deer flees. You return in the dark empty-handed. No doubt, the visitors are fatigued, with Ghost already setting blankets across the cabin's floor for them to sleep on. You offer Ari the couch, figuring an exhausted kid needs it more than you do. He knocks out the moment he lays down.

"Here. For the night." Ghost offers you a heavy blanket and nods to the only bare spot of floor left after they've all settled down. 

You avoid his eyes and accept it. The moment he's disappeared to his room, you slip outside under the starlit night, finding the flattest patch of ground to lay the blanket down, which happens to be only a few paces away from a sleeping horse. It's not the couch, but it'll do for a night or two, and you refuse to sleep in the shed again. 

You're in the midst of standing back up after straightening out your makeshift bed when you bump into something solid. A hand grips your bicep and whirls you around, a pair of darkened eyes glowering down at you.

"What are you doing?" you breathe up at him. "I don't like when you grab me like that."

"What are you doing?" he retorts, voice low and hard.

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Out here?"

You look away and shimmy out of his hold. "Does it matter where I sleep?"

"It's not safe out here."

"You had no problem sending me out here before."

"You have since earned your keep," he mutters, as if annoyed you're even mentioning the past. 

"My spot is taken for the night by your lovely friends, so for however long you plan to let them stay, I will sleep out here."

"There is a spot on the floor for you inside."

"I'm not sleeping in there." With them. 

The whites of his eyes flash as he darts his gaze over your face. His tone softens perceptibly. A mere breath. "They won't hurt you, Twix."

You roll your eyes away from him. "I would just rather sleep out here by myself, okay? I prefer solitude at my most vulnerable. And it's not like my experiences with militant men have been pleasant so far." You keep your tone neutral, but a chill touches your spine at the memory.

Ghost emits a low huff. He suddenly rips the blanket from the ground and turns his back to you. "What are you doing?" you gape at him.

"You'll take my bed," he throws over his shoulder.

[gguk-n]

hey could you maybe write a lando x reader where when it was clear that lando lost the championship the reader just comforts him but he is distancing himself from her but she doesn’t give up on him so pls a happy end ❤️

established relationship, not very angsty, short

My World Champion

Things had been rough between the pair for a few months. With the mounting pressure on Lando to perform had left him pushing all those close to him away. He wasn't very happy with it but he felt like maybe he could focus better. The person who had to deal with the brunt of Lando's distance was his girlfriend, Y/N. They'd been together for a while and friends for longer. They just got each other like no other but lately Y/N felt like she didn't know Lando as well as she used to.

Y/N did try to bring up the distance. It was Azerbaijan, "Lan, don't you think we barely talk" Y/N spoke slowly, trying to start a conversation with her boyfriend who was sat across from her on the sofa. He didn't bother to even look up, "What's there to talk about when I'm busy trying to win a championship. Let me focus" he huffed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just thought we could spend some time together" Y/N trailed off. "We are sat together right now. How much more time do you want to spend with me?" Lando sighed and finally looked up from his laptop. "I just" she felt her voice die in her throat. 'I don't remember the last time we kissed Lan' her brain thought as she got up and left the room before another fight ensued.

It was during the winter break when things were starting to look up. Lando had just won the Singapore GP, he was more attentive and present; they even cuddled the whole day. Y/N thought that she had her boyfriend back. Oh how wrong she was because as soon as they were back on track; Lando was back to square one. The Austin loss hit deep, making Lando double down on strategising and spending every waking hour with the team or thinking about Formula One. It was like he forgot Y/N existed or for that matter himself. She would sit there and stare at her boyfriend who looked more and more like a stranger with each passing day.

Things had become rocky between them. She felt the divide growing with each passing weekend. Mexico wasn't any better. But Brazil landed a huge blow to Lando. He shut down, he stopped talking to anyone and spent all his time scrolling on his phone. There was nothing she could do without Lando walking out or shutting the door on her face. So, she sat and waited. She would cook his favourite food or leave out his favourite snacks to munch on. But she didn't make much break through on him; as he still chooses to stay reserved, opting to carry the burden alone.

It was after the Las Vegas quali, when Y/N noticed the light begin leave Lando's eyes. All she could offer were words and cuddles but Lando had put up a wall between them. The bed seemed too big for the two of them with either on each side. She stared at the space in between them wondering when it had gotten this big.

After the race, Y/N sighed a sigh of relief. The Championship battle was over and that meant she got her Lando back. She saw glimpses of him when he congratulated Max and couldn't wait to jump into his arms. But it was like Lando was back, just not for her.

That night, they spent it like any other, on either side of the bed. But as Y/N tried to fall asleep, she felt the bed shake. On further inspection, she saw Lando's frame quietly shaking from the sobs as he tried to not make any noise. Her heart hurt watching him, she slowly scooted over causing Lando to stop crying for a moment. She wrapped her arm around his torso and buried her head in his neck. "I love you, my world champion" she whispered causing Lando to turn around. His face was streaked with tears which she carefully wiped off. "I don't like it when you cry" she muttered and pecked his lips. "I thought you fell asleep" Lando mumbled. "Can't sleep without my cuddles" she quipped. "But, I'm not the world champion" was all he muttered, remembering her first comment. "For the world, no. For me, always" she smiled. Lando searched her eyes for anything, but all he found was undeterred love. "And you're not angry?" he asked. "No. I'm happy to watch you compete for the championship because I know, sooner or later you'll win it. Just waiting for that day" she reassured. "I'm sorry for being a dick. I was just" Lando spoke before she cut him off, "over whelmed. I know. But you didn't have to do it all alone. What am I here for?" she spoke tenderly. "I love you" he whispered kissing her for the first time in a long time. "I love you too, muppet" she whispered back. He looked at her for a long time as his hands pulled her closer, running along her frame; "What would I do without you?" he asked. "Crash and burn" she chided. "Agreed" he mumbled pulling her in for another kiss. "You alway know how to make me happy" he mumbled in between kisses. "Only when you listen to me. Otherwise you're Mr Grumpy" she chuckled. "I promise not to be Mr Grumpy anymore" he laughed kissing her again. "Next time I'm grumpy, kiss me. I think all my worries melt away with your kisses" he said pressing her against him. "So, the next time you start an argument, I'm gonna kiss you" she said cupping his cheeks. "Best way to end an argument" he smiled pressing their foreheads together. "I won't disagree" she kissed him again, making up for all the lost time.

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 17

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.8k

Note : This is the second to last chapter :) Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“All This Living”

Friday.

The mission had started out so promising. You were eager, determined to prove Yelena wrong— that you and Bucky going on the same job was not going to be a disaster. 

You’ve gotten better, and you've been on more missions after the artifact retrieval fiasco, but something about this one felt more personal. Maybe because it wasn’t just Yelena— Bucky had also doubted this from the start.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he’d asked, during the hot chocolate date the night before. His voice had been calm, but there was a flash of panic in his eyes.

“Yes, Bucky,” you had promised, putting your hand on his, “I’m sure.” 

And now, crouched beside him in the shadows of the Hydra facility, you couldn’t help but think maybe Yelena was right.

Everything had gone south so fast. You’d been working to disable the cameras when, somehow, you tripped the alarm. Your fingers had hovered over the holographic keypad for just a second too long, but a second was all it took.

“Damn it!” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the blaring siren as the lights started flashing.

“I can fix it,” you hissed, turning back to the console.

“No, you can’t.” But he grabbed your wrist firmly. “We need to go. Now.”

“Bucky, I—”

“Now,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. He tugged you down the corridor, his eyes scanning to every shadow, every corner, for signature if hostility.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and frustration building with every step. You weren’t helpless. You weren’t some rookie needing hand-holding. But the way he was acting, you might as well have been.

The two of you ducked into a storage room as the sound of boots thundered closer. Bucky leaned against the door. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, counting the bullets in your rifle. “I didn’t mean to trip the alarm.”

He didn’t look at you. His metal fingers clenched the doorframe, his human hand flexing at his side. “Let’s just get you out of here alive.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You said harsher. You twirled your knife, the golden one you retrieved months ago. “I can handle this.”

His head turned toward you, exasperated. “Can you?”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you refused to let them sting. “If you don’t trust me, then why the hell did you agree to this mission?”

“I didn’t agree to this,” he sighed. “You just— you wanted this.”

The tension between you was suffocating, but the sound of footsteps outside the door yanked you both back to reality.

“Stay here,” Bucky ordered, his voice cold as steel.

You reached for your gun. “Not a chance.”

“I said stay here,” he snapped, his metal arm blocking your path as he moved toward the door.

“No,” you shot back.

The door rattled, and a split second later, it burst open. Three hostile operatives stormed in, guns raised, but they found two avengers on the other side. He slammed one into the wall with his metal arm while disarming the other with a brutal twist of his wrist. You sliced the third guard’s chest and brought your knee to his head, knocking him out.

The fight was over in seconds, and neither you nor Bucky broke a sweat.

“Stay behind me,” He turned to you, concerned, “please.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “I’m not a liability, Bucky!”

He didn’t answer, already moving toward the hallway. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You followed him, your blood boiling. The two of you moved through the maze-like corridors, every step laced with unspoken tension. The sirens screamed around you, but the only sound you focused on was the thudding of your boots against the concrete and the pounding of your heart.

The silence— it was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, it was getting heard for you to breathe. “Why won’t you trust me?”

He stopped so abruptly you nearly ran into him. His shoulders were stiff, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to face you, and the intensity in his eyes froze you in place. Anger. Fear. Love.

“I just can’t lose you again, okay?” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

The words hit you like a blow to the chest.

“But—” you started, but he shook his head, his jaw tight.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rising now, his frustration spilling over. “You think this is about trust? About my damn ego? It’s not. It’s about the fact that I’ve already watched you get hurt— twice!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The pain in his voice, his broken vulnerability, left you speechless.

“I can’t let you go through that again,” he said, quieter this time. “I won’t.”

The hallway was silent except for the distant echoes of shouts and the relentless blare of the alarm.

“Bucky, I can’t—I can’t promise I won’t get hurt,” you said finally, your voice shaking. “That’s the risk we both take.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders tense.

“We need to move,” he said gruffly, already heading down the corridor.

You followed, your chest aching with the weight of his words. You wanted to say something— anything— to fix the growing rift between you, but the danger around you left no room for it.

And as the two of you fought your way out of the facility, every punch, every bullet, every explosion seemed calm compared to the storm raging between you. 

—

The Quinjet’s hum filled the silence as you sat beside Bucky, the adrenaline from the fight draining away rapidly. You had put the jet on autopilot while tending to his injury— a small would he caught on his arm. 

Bucky winced as you dabbed antiseptic on the gash, the fabric of his shirt now stained slightly red. He hadn’t said much since he got back, only the occasional grunt of discomfort. 

How could you put yourself through this? You’d made so much progress, or at least you thought you had. Just yesterday, you were laughing together over mugs of hot chocolate. But today? You were screaming at each other over a stupid tripped alarm.

Had Yelena been right? Was this mission a mistake? 

And deeper still, the question that you couldn't shake: Was your relationship always doomed to be this way? Was it destined to fall apart, to spiral into frustration no matter how hard you tried to fix it?

You noticed his teeth clenching, eyes cast down toward the floor of the jet. There was so much left unsaid— so much anger, frustration, so much fear.

"Does this still hurt?” you said as you started wrapping the bandage, your voice swimming with guilt. 

"I’m fine," he muttered with a sigh. “Just a scratch."

Your fingers tightened around the gauze. You knew it was more than just a scratch. You knew it was also an unspoken rift between you two.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words coming out before you could stop them. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean to trigger the alarm, to put us in danger.”

His silence only made the ache in your chest grow. You finished wrapping his arm, moving carefully, as if he was made of glass. All you wanted was for things to be… better.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” you continued, looking down at your hands. You could feel your heart racing. “It was going so well. I thought we were finally—"

“Yeah, we were,” Bucky interrupted, his voice gentle. He shifted in his seat, leaning back a bit, his eyes still fixed on you. His posture was rigid, like he was trying to keep himself together. “We were moving forward with… us.”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. You couldn’t look away from him, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers tight around the bandage. 

“I know it’s been hard,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “I thought it was… I thought going on a mission would move us forward. I thought we were getting there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, and for the first time in a long while, you saw a glimpse of the hurt he’d buried so deep. “We still are,” He insisted, his voice strained. “I just, I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was the first time he’d said it outright. The first time he’d acknowledged what had been building between you— the way the tension had been pulling at the fabric of your relationship for months.

Maybe, you were right. Maybe,you just needed this mission to acknowledge all of this.

“I know.” Your voice cracked.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the Quinjet’s engines, a low, steady hum that seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath your feet. You could see him processing, his brow furrowed, gears turning like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this fear anymore,” he finally murmured, his voice strained. “Every time you’re in danger, every time something happens to you, it feels like my heart stops. I don’t know how to protect you from that. I can’t—"

His words broke off. He did my have any idea how to put it into words— fear that had been gnawing at him every time you left for a mission, every time you came back bruised or hurt. 

"I can’t keep losing you," he continued, his words barely above a whisper. His eyes closed briefly as if he could shield himself from his own pain.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing over his hand before you intertwined them, gentle but firm. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath yours, the callouses and scars that spoke of a life well fought for— a life deserved. It felt like holding a piece of his heart.

“You won’t,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? ”

Bucky turned his face toward you, his eyes more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them before. His lips parted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to speak. Instead, he just nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around yours.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You swallowed hard, the words hovering on the tip of your tongue. “Bucky…” You paused, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, for some cue that it was too soon or too much. But all you saw was him—waiting, holding his breath, as he was waiting for you to save him, even when didn’t need saving.

Your heart raced, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I love you.”

It came quietly, but with a certainty you hadn’t felt in months. It wasn’t rehearsed, it wasn’t a grand declaration—it was simply the truth. 

Three months ago, you hadn’t been sure you’d ever say it again. You hadn’t been sure he was ready to hear it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. It felt… right. 

Bucky froze, his eyes widening. He blinked, his eyes scanning your expression, like he was trying to figure out if you were being serious.

“I—” He stopped himself, his breath shaky, “You’re not just saying that to make things better, are you?”

“No,” You shook your head slowly, “I mean it.”

A long pause stretched between you. Slowly, Bucky’s eyebrows softened, the tension on his shoulders easing. 

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before. “I… I do. More than anything in the world.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, leaning in slightly, as if that physical connection would be enough to bridge the gap between you. “We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite everything that had gone wrong, you felt… right. Maybe it wasn’t all ruined. Maybe, just maybe, the road ahead wouldn’t be as hard as you thought. 

—

The cool evening air drifted through your hair as Bucky walked you back to your apartment.

The debrief had surprisingly been calm, echoing each other’s understanding as you told Sam what happened. 

Despite everything that went wrong, tonight felt different. It felt… right. 

When you reached your door, Bucky stopped a few paces away and turned to face you. There was a hesitation in his eyes, a mix of longing and uncertainty. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just gave you a small half-smile.

“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long before flicking down to your lips. Then, almost reluctantly, they met yours again. It was like he was searching for permission. Or maybe an excuse to stay just a little longer.

You felt your chest tighten— he was looking at you as if you were the only person in the world. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, your fingers curling around the edge of the door. 

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open an inch, enough to wedge your foot between it and the frame. You glanced up at him, cupping his face. Your fingers trailed down, eventually stopping on his chest. You felt his racing heartbeat underneath your fingertips.

He wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

His gaze dipped to where your hand rested, and you felt the faintest hitch in his breath. He looked as though he was waiting for something— a signal, a moment, a reason to come back tomorrow, or maybe to stay today.

“This is progress, right?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Going on a mission, fucking up, coming back stronger… That counts as progress, right?”

Bucky’s eyes softened, the hallway lighting illuminating the faint lines of worry etched into his forehead, but they faded as he found your smile. Gently, he reached up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there and couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, confirming your hope, “it is.”

You opened the door a little wider, your hand still on his chest.

For a moment, you thought he’d say goodnight again and leave, but instead, he cleared his throat. “This might be the wrong time to ask again, but… can I kiss you?”

He said it so quietly, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be. His eyes searched yours, his brows furrowing just slightly, like he was bracing himself for yet another gentle rejection. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. 

Oh god, you’d been waiting for him to ask.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, bridging the space between you. Your lips found his in a fragile kiss, as if you were both testing the waters. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his mouth on yours, to the way his hand came up to cradle your cheek as though you were a precious gemstone.

Three months. It had been three months since you’d felt this kind of comfort from him, and it was almost overwhelming in its familiarity.

And it was definitely worth the wait.

He responded cautiously at first. As the kiss deepened, his grip on you tightened, pulling you closer. Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him as close to you as possible.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. The tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding melted away.

“So… I guess that’s a yes,” he teased.

You grinned, leaning in again to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more urgent, more certain. His hands slipped to your waist, as your fingers found the edge of his shirt, slipping beneath it to feel the warmth of his skin.

It was like finding your way home again.

Bucky groaned softly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you even closer if it was even possible. The touches became more heated, more desperate, like you were both trying to make up for lost time, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between you that once felt unfixable.

In between kisses, you managed to pull away just enough to ask, “Do you want to come in?”

He didn’t even hesitate. His lips found yours again, and he nodded into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you. Without breaking the moment, you stepped backward, pulling him inside.

The night was only just beginning, and you had no intention of rushing through it.

-to be continued…

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[rambles-on-dragon-age]

Solas also continually operates in small cells that can't be traced back to him and sent the freed slaves about their business. Why would he keep his slave army wrapped around himself at all times. That doesn't make sense. There's a banter where he explains to Sera how he works, after all. They're either freed and doing what they want or acting as his spies; we learned that much during Trespasser. He's not going to make them work for him and frankly he probably started working more and more alone and just using the information the spies give him. They still work for him in the Missing Collection and I think mentioned in Tevinter Nights that's part of how he's keeping tabs on the Inquisitor and friends. He sees some stuff in dreams but that's not the extent of everything he knows and how much stuff he's keeping track of. The point of them being spies is moot if you know who and where they are after all. :)

Now you're confusing "bad writing" for "suspension of belief so the story can continue" and "quality of life is important to move the game narrative forward". The Blight changing and acting different and being a tool of the Evanuris was a major plot point; they can't have characters shying away from it "for the realisms lol"

The Wardens say, repeatedly, that everyone is infected at different rates. Even if Rook & Co got "just a scratch" and were infected, they could reasonably survive that infection for weeks/months before Antoine and Evka went rogue and performed the Joining on them like they've been shown to do/offer to other people that are infected.

But that's not conducive to the story. Like @postcardsfromheapside said, the Inquisitor & Co mucked about in tons of red lyrium and yet never got infected nor affected. You know. Like basically everyone else was re: Cory's army and the people mining it. Would it have made story sense for the Quizzie and friends to fall to the lyrium before the end? No. So they aren't infected/affected by it.

Rook keeps fighting these huge dragons? Uh, yeah. Rook and Co. fights exactly ONE dragon that was blighted, realized they probably couldn't kill it and were lucky to hurt it, and then went out and hired a dragon killing specialist to help them with that dragon and its friend when it comes back. Quality of life team building won't lock you to needing Taash every time you fight a dragon, but they are considered side bosses for the most part that are completely optional.

As for Minrathous falling, yeah it's not the dragon that takes down the city. The Floating Attack Palace is focused on the dragon, it's the murderous nationalist death cult killing the leaders while they were distracted fighting the dragon, taking over the city, and routing out the Shadow Dragons and later the Threads as those are the people still standing against them. If Rook is distracting the dragon so the Murder Palace isn't focused on it, then the magisters could focus on the death cult knocking down their door instead. No one's invincible, especially when the Ventatori also have powerful blood mages. Their focus is split, they fall. Their focus not split, they could defend themselves.

And, again. Bellara acting hateful and distrustful would have been out of character for her. If you want a Mean Dalish Bellara instead of Sweet Veil Jumper Scientist Bellara, write one for yourself. She wasn't written badly, that scene was written exactly right for her character. You are trapped in the bubble with her, the only person that can take it down, and she knows it. You are in the palm of her hand. Also ? If you were going to kill her you could do so on sight. You'd still be trapped in fade bubble prison until you die one way or another. (And yeah, that look she gives you at first reeks of distrust until you tell her who sent you. :) You know her leader and didn't attack on sight. Not the behaviors of evil Tevinter mages or bad humans.)

You're looking at the previous games through years of nostalgia and with rose-colored glasses. All that "rich, cultural atmosphere" is similarly shallow in every single one of them if you don't take the time to delve into the extra content the game offers.

Frankly, it feels like 90% of our time is spent in fantasy Britain's mudhole because we've spent so much time in Ferelden and when we got to Kirkwall it's similarly shitty. There's even memes about how awful and dragging the Hinterlands is. That's not dense or rich, it's literally the same place over and over again. Are you confusing fantasy racism and oppression being rubbed into your face extensively for all that dense culture? Is that the dense culture you're missing? Is it the brief glimpses we get of the Deep Roads and Dalish elves? Is that the rich culture? (You know, the stuff we see again in Veilguard. We even get to explore TWO Dwarven areas! Not counting the Fade one. There's so much cool shit to explore in Veilguard I'm never going to get tired of looking around for more details.)

This is the exact same world, the exact same setting, and we're being shown all these places we've only ever heard of. They're no longer just a name in passing, they're real places and we can see them and their architecture and the types of people that live there and how the weather is different and how the people are different and their different styles of dress and different foods and EVERYTHING. It's that environmental storytelling thing the game does very well and it's SO COOL. The maps had to be more compact but they're absolutely jam packed with puzzles, people, visuals, codex entries, etc... You're calling it shallow because what, they didn't add 500 codex entries from past games rehashing the same exact things we've already done three times before? We've been there, done that, learned it, we're doing something new now!

I thought you missed the context and content in the game but I'm steadily realizing that maybe you just flagrantly ran past it at full speed with your fingers in your ears and screaming because you think hating on this game is cool at this point in time. Gods forbid you take anything from this game at all besides regurgitating the same tired complaints that showed you approached this game hating it and didn't bother giving it a chance because "It's not like the other games!!"

a really cool part about dragon age veilguard is the first scene where you meet bellara, especially if you're a shadowdragon mage and you have neve with you

so to set the scene: bellara, the dalish elf who's devoted her life to the conservation, discovery and protection of her people's lost and ancient history, meets two strangers, two tevinter mages, in sacred arlathan. They tell her, hey your gods are back in the world but also they suck and we gotta kill them, and instead of telling them "fuck off you vile enslaving shem, you defile this land with your presence" like most normal dalish, not only does she instantly believe them that her gods are bad for some reason, they're back among the people and need to be stopped, she also happily starts telling them all kinds of secrets and valuable knowledge about ancient elven magic and is even so kind to, without question, take them on a grand tour of this very historically important and sacred ruin in arlathan to find a truly priceless artifact, a one of a kind archive of ancient elven knowledge thought lost forever, because really, what could these unknown tevinter mages possible want with that!

...

are these writers smoking crack?? is that it? theyre smoking crack??

[fanficsformyfaves]

Us

Agatha Harkness x Fem Witch!Reader

WARNING: ANGST, SMUT 18+, Mentions Abandonment, Mentions of Violence, Mentions Of Death, Panic Attack, Hickeys, Fingering (R Receiving), Oral (R Receiving)

PREFACE: Reader and Agatha met during the 1920's in New Orleans, when Agatha had to move once again as to not arouse suspicion for not aging. They were together for years, but one night, everything changed and Agatha leaves. A century later, she finds Reader again and convinces her to walk down the Witch's Road alongside her and her new coven

A/N: Flashbacks In Italics!

Letter In Purple And Italics!

ONE THING I'MMA DO...IS NOT CRASH THE FUCK OUT AFTER WRITING THIS (I'm reminding myself)

After narrowly escaping Alice's trial and making sure Teen was okay, gathered and started a campfire to brace the cold winter night, before resuming our journey down the road.

"(Y/N)", called out, as I turned to face her.

"Why don't you show us your battle scars?"

I take a quick glance around the group and shrug, thinking 'why not?'.

I pull up my shirt and show them the scar on my stomach, taking notice of the way Agatha's eyes lingered on my exposed skin.

"Bar fight with some random chick who thought I was looking at her boyfriend", I scoff.

"Damn", Alice muttered.

"Yeah, she took a bottle and broke it off on the table and...well. I'm pretty sure you guys can guess how that ended", I say, rearranging my blouse.

"Like I swung that way", I added, watching the ladies turn to each other chuckling.

Just then, Agatha pipes up.

"I have a scar"

"Yeah, the one on your arm", Lilia pointed out.

"Not just that one", she interjected, shaking her head.

I narrow my gaze, looking down at her. More than a hundred years later and I still remembered every inch of her body from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. If my memories served me right, that was the only scar she had.

"A long time ago...I loved someone", she began.

My heart sunk slightly, realizing who she was talking about.

"And I had to something I did not want to do...even if I had no other choice"

That was bullshit and she knew it. She did have a choice and she chose to be a coward.

"And it hurt them", she added.

Back in nineteen-twenty, the start of the Roaring Twenties era, Agatha and I met, when she walked into the speakeasy I was performing at. I was singing my final song of the evening and I spot her sizing me up from the front row. Of course, I grew bashful at the attention, but remained committed to finishing my set.

Once I was done, I take a bow, expressing my gratitude for the crowd's enthusiasm.

"You've been lovely this evening, I'm (Y/F/N), goodnight!", I bid farewell, as the room erupted with applause.

I get back to my dressing room and change into a more comfortable dress, before making my way to the bar.

"You did great, kid", the barkeep praised, handing me my usual.

"Thanks, Rusty", I say, taking the martini.

"Dirty", I hear a voice say behind me, causing me to look over my shoulder.

It was the woman from earlier.

"Pardon?", I say, narrowing my eyes.

"The drink?", she said, smirking.

I look back at my drink and that's when I realized what she was referring to.

"Oh!"

She chuckles, taking the seat beside me.

"You've got quite the voice", she complimented, bringing a pinkish hue to my cheeks.

"Thank you", I replied, avoiding her piercing gaze.

I could sense a certain air about her that intrigued me. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"The name's Agatha Harkness", she introduced, extending a hand.

Harkness....why did that name sound so familiar?

"(Y/N)", I said, offering mine, lazily bent at the wrist.

She takes it and runs her thumb over my knuckles, causing my breath to hitch over so slightly. I couldn't help but bend to my curiosity's will.

"You said your last name was...Harkness?"

"Yeah, sound familiar?", she asked.

I had to be careful. I couldn't risk exposing the fact that I was a witch to the wrong person.

"I believe so. It might sound silly, but a long time ago, I had family that migrated out of Salem"

Her brows raise and she looks me up and down again, releasing my hand.

"Or at least that's what my mother told me. Any who, she had this book of our family's history and I think I might've seen that last name somewhere"

"Is that so?", she questioned.

Her voice sultry and soft.

"I told you it was silly"

"Not at all", she disagreed.

She takes a quick glance around the room, before subtly nodding at a waiter serving drinks.

"Watch him right there"

I do as she says and in that moment, the waiter's eyes glow a brilliant shade of purple, before he drops the tray.

My hand goes over my mouth in shock, as she let out a snort of laughter.

"You're a witch", I whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"Yes and I know you are one too", she says, looking over at me.

I couldn't help but grin in excitement. Not only had it been years since I'd even seen another witch, but I was actually speaking to one.

"Wanna blow this joint?", she questioned, offering her hand once more.

And since that night, we'd become inseparable, spending every waking moment together. If we weren't out and up to mischief, we were on each other like fever on skin. Not a day would go by before she replaced one fading love-bite with a fresh one.

"Just so people know you're happily spoken for", she exhaled against my neck.

I was sure I'd finally met the person I was meant to be with. The twin flame that reignited the parts of me that I thought were gone for good...which only made it hurt all the more, when that fateful night came.

We were walking home through the quiet empty streets, after one of my gigs.

"Hey", she leaned in to whisper.

"Keep the corset on tonight", she said, making me chuckle to myself.

"You are insatiable"

"Can you blame me?", she sarcastically quipped.

Just then, women in cloaks began to emerge from the shadows. Sensing potential danger, Agatha immediately shields me behind her.

"Can we help you?", Agatha questioned.

"Traitor", they hissed, before the head of the group stepped forward.

"Agatha Harkness", she called out.

"You are found guilty of the murder of your coven"

My stomach drops, hearing the accusation.

"Agatha, what is she talking about?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetness", she reassured, not taking her eyes off of the seven women before us.

"Seize her!", the head ordered.

I use my powers in an attempt to knock them back, only for her to ricochet my spell and heating me right in the stomach, causing me to double over in pain.

"No!", Agatha exclaimed, before facing them once more.

They all began reciting an incantation and a beam of blue struck Agatha, causing her to groan out.

"Agatha!", I say, trying to get back up to help.

"Don't!", she yelled, holding out a hand to keep me where I was.

Just then, the stream of blue magic turned purple and within seconds, the woman began to age rapidly and grow weak. My brows knit in confusion, as I tried to process what was happening.

Eventually, they all dropped to the ground one by one, leaving Agatha in a stand off with the head of the group.

"You...were born...evil!", she struggled, before following the other women's fates with a harsh thud.

Agatha dusts herself off, rushing back to me.

"Are you okay?", she whispered, cupping my face.

"Yeah", I exhaled.

Whether or not I was honest about how I was feeling, I didn't want to burden her more than I knew she already was.

The walk home was silent, but not the kind of silence that brought comfort or peace. It was tense and daunting. I had so many questions, but knew it wasn't the right time. Even as we got to my apartment and slipped into bed, my mind raced. Who were those women? Why did accuse Agatha of such a horrible thing? Most importantly....were they telling the truth?

"I'm so sorry", Agatha muttered, holding me closer against her.

Her voice giving away that she was on the brink of tears.

"Why?", I say, turning to face her.

"That you got caught up in all of this"

I sigh through my nose, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"You would've done it for me"

Her face crinkles in agony.

"Let's just get some sleep. You can explain everything in the morning", I reassured, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

She nods, pulling my head into her chest.

But when that morning came, my eyes fluttered open to a cold empty side. Panicked, I got up and immediately went looking for her, afraid more of those women came back in the dead of night. But when I reach the living room and find a note on the table, my heart met the floor with a smack.

My dearest (Y/N),

Meeting you was single-handedly the best part of the life I was given. You've shown me kindness, patience and a love I could never forget. I didn't think I was capable or even worthy of that kind of love, but you came in like a whirlwind and turned my whole word upside down.

And as much pain as it brings me to say this, that is also the reason why I had to leave. To ensure that I'd never bring harm to you ever again. Where I go, trouble follows and you deserve better than to live your life in fear simply because of me. I love you far too much to allow you to do that to yourself.

Sincerely,

A.Harkness

I collapse to the floor in tears, sobbing and struggling to breathe.

She was gone. Just like that. It felt like a part of me, the part that was only ever hers, was ripped away from my grasp. Years pass, people grow old and die and there I was, haunted by the one that got away.

"She is my scar"

Her eyes meet mine and the moment they did, I could feel my eyes begin to tear up and my throat start to tighten. Not wanting the group to see me upset, I got up.

"I'm gonna take a walk", I announced, trying hard to hide the tears threatening to spill.

I walk a good distance away, whilst breathing in to keep the tears from escaping. Agatha takes a deep breath, going to follow me, when Lilia grabs her by the wrist.

"She needs time", she reminded.

Agatha scoffs and rips her arm away. She eventually finds me at the top of the hill, overlooking the rest of the road. Her hand gently meets the small of my waist and that was all it took for my tears to escape.

"Don't", I say, shrugging away from her touch and turning to face her.

"Don't", I repeated, shaking my head.

"(Y/N)-"

"I don't wanna hear it. I'm only here cause Teen asked for my help", I struggled through my fading unbothered-facade.

She sighs, bowing her head.

"You're hurt", she muttered.

"Like you care"

"Don't say that. I do care"

I scoff, wiping my tears.

"That's rich coming from you. The same person who dragged Sharon into this, knowing she wouldn't survive"

"I did what I had to-"

"Stop saying that!", I cried out, causing Agatha to be taken aback.

My face scrunches up in agony, as I clutched my chest. Each breath was getting harder and harder to find.

"You...You", I broke out into sobs and Agatha rushes to sit me down.

"Is it a panic attack?", she questioned, hastily.

I try to get her away from her, but to no avail. No words would come out and all I could do was pathetically wail in her arms. All the feelings I managed to bury were all hitting me at once and there was now way of stopping them.

She takes my back against her chest, rubbing up and down my arms in an attempt to ground me.

"Count the trees. Count the stars", she ordered.

I look around and in my haze, I could make out the six surrounding trees and about a dozen solemn stars spread out across the sky.

"How many?"

"Mmm", I shake my head, fighting to find the words.

"How many, (Y/N)?", she repeated, firmer.

"Six...thirteen", I take in a shaky breath between the numbers.

"Good....good. Follow my breathing", she whispered, brushing my hair back away from my face.

We take a deep inhale, hold it for a few seconds and let it out. She repeated this till I was calm again to sit up on my own.

"That's it", she muttered softly.

She still remembered how to ease my anxiety, something I was sure she'd forgotten how to do. We sat in the tense silence for a minute, before I finally found the courage to speak again.

"Why did you come back for me? And don't say it's because of the road"

She looks down at her lap, hesitantly.

"I wanted to see you again"

It was now my turn to avert my gaze.

"What? Do you think I'm lying?"

"Well, that's kind of what you're known for-"

"Not to you", she cuts off, taking my hand and causing me to turn back to her.

"I knew you could handle it and survive, yes...but I had to know you were okay"

I stilled, contemplating whether I should take my hand away, but seemingly unable to do so.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. How you were, what you were doing, who you were with, if you were still alive. The not-knowing drove me crazy, but it didn't matter...cause I knew keeping you safe was more important. I was a walking target and I couldn't risk getting you caught in the cross-fire", her words faltering, as her eyes began to brim with tears.

"It scared me too much", she admitted, hanging her head in shame, as tear after tear hit the ground.

"So I left...because it was easier to lose you by choice"

Her words shattered the parts of me I had just finally put back together.

"I still loved you...even after what happened", my voice reduced to nothing but whispered sobs.

"Even after you left...even now"

She turns to face me with a look of surprise.

"And I hate it", I whisper to myself, as my eyes fell shut.

She carefully cradles my face with shaky hands and my eyes reunite with hers once again.

"You have every right to", her voice stern, yet gentle.

"You needed me and I bailed. That was on me...but I need you to understand where I was coming from. If you were in my place, what would you have done? Would you have dragged me along, even if it meant putting me in danger?", she questioned.

I had no answer. I thought long and hard, but eventually came up short.

"What I did hurt you, I'm not denying that, but it was for the best. I would've never forgiven myself if...", her voice trembled.

I was stumped. Thinking about if I was in her place opened my eyes. Maybe she was right.

"If I let anything happen to you", she whimpered, sniffling.

Her eyes of ocean blue bore into mine with a sense of desperation.

"Please...I am so so sorry", she choked, sliding onto her knees and burying her face into my lap.

I take in a shuddering breath, gripping her shoulders to pull her back. I cup the sides of her face, as her eyes pleaded me not to let go.

"I love you", she muttered.

I could no longer fight it. The years of grief and solitude had finally caught up to me and before I knew it, my lips met hers in a heated exchange.

She pulls me atop of her by my waist to straddle her thighs and my fingers tangle into the roots of her hair. She then turns us over to gently lay me down against the fallen flower petals. Her lips stray from mine to my cheek and down my neck to leave a fresh bruise on my skin. I hiss, feeling her teeth graze against it, as her hands tightened like vice around my waist.

Finally, she pulls away only slightly to bunch up my skirt to reveal my lower half. Looking at me once more to ask for permission to proceed, I nod breathlessly. She spreads my legs apart, pulling my underwear to the side and wasting no time to lick up my slickness. I moan out, grasping at the roots of her hair.

"God, I missed you", she mumbled, dragging the tips of her fingers up and down my entrance.

"I missed you", I emphasized through my pants.

She hummed against my sensitive bundle of nerves, sending vibrations through it. I had almost forgotten just how good she used to make me feel. With a gentle motion, she slips two fingers into me, as I cried out her name.

"Agatha!"

"I know, baby", she reassured, stroking my outer thigh with her free hand, as she continued to devour me.

With each stroke of her fingers, she coaxed me closer and closer to my climax.

"Oh god!", I whined, bringing a smirk to her lips.

"That's it, my love", she encouraged, as she quickened her pace.

She knew just what to do to drive me up the wall and she relished in that fact, for no one else could make me feel the way she did.

"You taste so good", she praised.

I felt myself beginning to pulse around her, bringing a red hue to my cheeks from how embarrassingly fast she managed to get me to my peak.

"I feel you, baby. Do it...give it to me", she demanded, ramming directly into my g-spot.

I was then thrusted over the edge , as my vision faded to black from the overwhelming pleasure. After she was finished licking up the mess I made and helping me ride out my high, she crawled back up to share the taste of me with a desperate kiss.

"Do you taste yourself?" I nod, continuing to move my lips against hers.

Once I stilled, she rolls over and pulls me atop her chest, basking in the sweet afterglow.

"I'd say that was successful reunion", she teased, earning a scoff from me.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴡ ᴏ ʟ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ɴ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: James Howlett x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Requested by lovely @fexi626. Hope you enjoy!

Logan first notices you when you move into the same small town he’s been hiding out in. It’s supposed to be a temporary stop for him—stay low, avoid attention, move on. But then there’s you, sweet and quiet, with a kindness that catches him completely off guard. It’s the way you smile when you pass him at the local diner or the soft “Good morning” you murmur when you see him on the street. It sparks something primal inside him.

Logan’s the kind of guy who tries to convince himself to stay out of it. "Don’t need to drag her into my mess," he tells himself, nursing a beer at the bar while you laugh with your friends a few tables over. But he keeps looking your way, and when some jackass sidles up to you and tries getting handsy, Logan’s out of his chair before he’s even thought it through.

The guy gets the message fast—hard not to when Logan slams him into the nearest wall. "You touch her again, you’re leavin’ here in pieces. Got it?" The look in his eyes isn’t one anyone would argue with, not if they wanted to keep breathing.

After that, Logan decides he’s gonna keep an eye on you. For your own good, he tells himself. You’re too damn sweet, too damn trusting, and the world’s full of people who’d take advantage of that. He’s doing you a favor, really. "You don’t even know how much trouble’s out there, darlin’," he mutters, walking a few steps behind you on your way home, just close enough to make sure nothing happens.

Logan’s not subtle, though he thinks he is. You start noticing him everywhere—leaning against the counter at the diner where you work, walking past your building more times than coincidence could explain. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs. "Town ain’t that big. Guess we keep runnin’ into each other." But there’s something in his tone, in the way his eyes linger on you, that makes it feel like more.

He starts inserting himself into your life. Fixing your car when it won’t start. Showing up at the bar when you’re out with friends. "Just lookin’ out for you," he says gruffly when you question it. "Not like anyone else around here’s got the balls to."

Logan’s protectiveness is… intense. If someone so much as looks at you wrong, he’s ready to start a fight. And if someone flirts with you? Forget it. You don’t even hear about half the times he’s dealt with someone behind the scenes. He doesn’t see it as a problem—it’s just him taking care of things. "Don’t need you worryin’ about shit like that. That’s my job."

Despite the rough edges, there’s a softness to him when it comes to you. When you’re upset, he doesn’t say much—just pulls you close, lets you bury your face in his chest while he rubs your back. "I got you," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. "Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m around."

But make no mistake—his love comes with a possessive streak a mile wide. If you ever tried to pull away, Logan wouldn’t take it well. He wouldn’t yell or plead; he’d just… make sure you understood. "You don’t get it, do you? You’re mine, darlin’. Always gonna be. Doesn’t matter where you go—I’ll find you. And I’ll bring you back."

Logan doesn’t think of himself as a good man, but when it comes to you, he’s downright delusional. "You deserve better, I know that. But better ain’t what you got. You got me. And I ain’t lettin’ go."

His jealousy burns hot, but his devotion runs even deeper. You’re the one thing in his life that makes him feel… human. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means crossing every line he swore he wouldn’t. "The world’s a shitshow, sweetheart. But you? You’re the only good thing in it. Don’t expect me to let that go."

Logan’s a rough-around-the-edges—possessive, protective, and dangerously loyal. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, doesn’t try to hide who he is. His love is raw, fierce, and unrelenting, just like the man himself.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

pairing: Paige x Azzi

themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @pattyshome @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @d3arapril @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme

[willowwithaheart]

Angst to the max with Arlecchino x reader. Please make it established relationship. I would like the situation for reader to die after they had an argument

|| Death rattle.

|| pairing; Arlecchino x gn! Reader

|| summary; Arlecchino had helped you recover from a devastating attack on your family that forced you to leave Mondstadt. But one day, you find out that she's one of the reasons you had to run in the first place...

|| cw; ANGST, major character death, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of people dying,

|| wc; 1.8k

|| note; DAMN anon. I was gobsmacked when I read this ask. You sure do love angst…

How long had she been lying to you?

Parading around, acting like she wasn't the whole reason hundreds of people were killed. Lying to your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You sneered, face sticky with long-dried tears. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Arlecchino stood stiffly before you, cold gaze not wavering once. That was what you loved about her, originally. She had a good head on her shoulders and didn't let her emotions get to her. But now? Now, you knew–she was just a lying bastard good at keeping up a poker face.

“It was to protect you,” she spoke up, taking a single step towards you. Her footprints barely left a dent in the thick snow surrounding you, and you found yourself shuddering against your will. “Come inside, [Name]. It's cold.”

“No,” you answered, tugging your thin shirt closer to your body. Fuck this, you thought, I'd rather freeze than go with her.

“You're a harbinger,” you swallowed, and you weren't sure if you were shaking because of the cold or because of the sheer emotion coursing through every vein in your body. The cold nipped at your exposed skin, but somehow, it hurt less than the idea of your lover being the reason you had to run away from Mondstadt in the first place.

Arlecchino stayed silent.

“I told you- I told you everything that happened. I told you I hate the fatui for everything they've done. And you didn't think to tell me? What the fuck? What else have you been hiding?” You accused, jabbing a finger in her direction. It was so cold. Freezing, even. But for some reason, it felt better than being with her.

“You know I love you,” she started, slowly taking another step towards you, “and I only did this to keep you safe. If you knew, how would you have reacted?”

Oh, you found yourself thinking, what the fuck? So she decided to pin it on you? How on earth did she even hide it? Why didn't she answer your fucking question?

“I'm done. We're done. I can't fucking do this,” you muttered, taking a few steps backwards. She wasn't even reacting. How did you keep up with her for so long? How did you not notice your relationship had been built on lies?

“[Name], stop acting like this. I can explain everything. I really do love you, I promise,” Arlecchino insisted, and you would've thought she was begging if you didn't know any better. She was ordering you. Like a fucking dog.

“No. No, I'm sorry. I need to leave. I need a break.”

Again, she didn't react. At least, you didn't think she did. You could barely see through the tears clouding your vision, hot against the crisp winter air. Snowflakes slowly descended from the sky, and you wished you could have stopped to appreciate the scenery more before walking away.

Arlecchino didn't follow. She stayed still, almost rigid in place, watching you leave but unable to do or say anything.

Part of her was almost shocked. Another was disappointed. And something deep inside her was screaming: “I knew this would happen.”

You'd come back. Surely, you'd come back. This would be just like all the other arguments you'd have in the past. You'd storm off, have some time to yourself, and then the two of you would make it up to each other. That was how it always worked.

And yet, something told her this time was different.

–

The cold wrapped around you like claws ensnaring you in a dangerous trap.

Your breath came out as puffs of steam against the harsh winter air. You hadn't quite adjusted to the climate of Snezhnaya, and for once, you realised–you were all alone.

All these years, you had entirely relied on Arlecchino. Well, you didn't have anything, now did you?

After you were forced to flee Mondstadt, leaving your family and belongings behind, you had nothing. No money, no food, barely any clothes, no one to trust.

And then she found you.

Her, with her harsh, commanding gaze and deadly authority that made a shiver run up your spine when she met your gaze. “Are you alone?” She would ask, “do you have somewhere to stay?”

And you, being the foolish, desperate person you were–you answered.

“T-The Fatui–” you gasped, grasping onto the material of her thick coat. She didn't push you away. “They…they took everything. I had to run. I-I don't…”

You didn't know what kind of expression you had on your face. All you could remember was the feeling of hot tears spilling over, and how terrifying it was to realise–your family was gone. Everything was gone.

And Arlecchino–who was a woman of very few words, but you liked to think she had a soft spot for you–helped you back up to your feet. She did so much more than that. She gave you a home, a steady income, something to live for.

But now? Now you knew she was one of the reasons you were at rock bottom in the first place. And it fucking hurt.

The cold didn't seem nearly as bad as that realisation. Nor did the hunger, or the exhaustion dragging you down as you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't remember why you were running in the first place.

You could barely even think straight. The air was nipping at your exposed skin, and each desperate drag of breath felt like it was cutting up the insides of your lungs. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

You loved Arlecchino. The snow crunched beneath your boots. You could feel the cold seeping through your clothes. You didn’t know where you were.

You loved her, you really did. Was that a cave in the distance? Maybe you could stay there for a while. Just for a little while. You were so tired…and sore…and cold.

With your whole being, really. You dragged a hand against the jagged rocks of the cave, covered in a thin layer of snow. It made you shudder.

She saved you, in a way. It was dry inside the cave. It was still cold, but really, did you care? Did you have anything to lose?

But she also cursed you. You circled around the cave, pacing back and forth. You couldn’t feel your legs.

Love was one hell of a curse.

You paused, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your gaze stayed stuck to the ground, as if you’d see her if you looked up.

“It’s okay, baby, it really is,” a voice rang in your head. One you tried so hard to forget. One that purged your dreams and haunted your waking thoughts, always creeping in the back of your mind.

Behind your eyelids, you saw the splatter of blood on a once pristine wooden wall. You heard a gasp—a death rattle. A haunting sound consisted of someone’s last breath, all the air being pushed out of their lungs as they fought for their life.

Death rattle. Like a snake, you thought. A sound that shook you to your very core, that sent a jolt of fear down your spine which urged you to run. But what were you running from? You’d been running for so long. You’d been cold for so long.

You were on the floor. Since when were you on the floor? Why were you so dizzy?

Why did your head hurt?

But oh. Oh, it was warm. It was lovely, feeling the warmth ooze from your head and spread to the rest of your body. You felt a dull throb. Was that warmth?

You found yourself calling out to your mother. But she was gone, wasn’t she? She felt so close. Just out of reach. Just like the day you lost her, the day you saw the light leave her eyes and heard her take her last, shuddering breath.

How did she die? You couldn’t remember.

You remembered the fatui had something to do with it.

Something like…an argument. A heartbreak. Someone was running until they could barely breathe. Why did you know all of this?

Oh. You remembered now.

Something caved her skull in.

No…wait. Was that her?

Was that her or…was it you?

You couldn’t make sense of anything. Were you dying? Were you already dead?

You felt so safe. So warm. So peaceful. If you died right now, would you really mind? You were happy here. At least…at least it was you.

A faint memory played in the back of your mind. Was it a memory? You weren’t sure. A small child was laughing.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a big, goofy grin on his face, showing all of his missing teeth and the joy only a child could have. He hadn’t yet learned to hate his smile. He hadn’t yet learned that the world really was a terrible place.

His hands were warm in your own. He sounded so happy, warm eyes gazing up at you as he regarded you with a nickname only he used.

You couldn’t remember his name. You couldn’t remember who he was, but oh, how you loved him. You loved him like your own child. You remembered being oh-so proud of him.

But…what happened? You couldn’t remember. But you were sad.

So, so sad. It was like a pit had opened up in your chest, caving in on itself and eating up the peace you felt so strongly until now. Something was wrong.

He must be alive. You couldn’t remember his death.

So, then…were you sad because…of your own death? But it was so peaceful. So quiet. You were so glad it wasn’t him.

Maybe you were just confused. Maybe you were just tired. If you closed your eyes, you’d probably wake up right next to him. Yeah. You’d wake up. Of course you would.

You closed your eyes.

—

White hair was ruffled by the wind. It was cold, seeping into her very scalp.

But it was so much better than the sight before her, even if her face betrayed her true feelings.

Blood seeped into the expensive leather of her boots. She didn’t care. It was yours, after all. All yours.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. You didn’t move. How could you? You were likely long gone.

Long gone. The thought made something stir in her chest. You were gone.

What if she’d gotten there sooner? What if she didn’t let you leave in the first place? You’d be upset, but you’d still be here. You’d still be in front of her. Your blood wouldn’t be soaked into her boots.

Oh, but…you were smiling.

You were happy. Peaceful. At least, she hoped. She hoped you’d spent your last moments not in fear or anger but in peace. It was all you deserved, especially for putting up with her for so long.

Arlecchino turned away, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. She knew you’d hate her for it, but she didn’t let herself cry.

You were happy. You had to be.

After all, you had a smile on your face.

|| note; fun fact! A death rattle is a very real thing. Reader did, in fact, hear their mother make a death rattle. But that only happens when someone is choked to death. The blood splatter on the wall was the kids. Reader was very confused in their moment of death, and since they didn’t see the kids death first hand, they assumed it didn’t happen. Don’t worry, they reunite in the afterlife :)

|| disclaimer; please don’t copy, translate or repost my work without credit.

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[zhouzouzhouzou]

In case I can’t finish drawing the entire story, I’m providing some background details and a rough outline of the plot in text form. This is directly copied from messages I previously sent to someone in a private conversation.

I’ve been reading Jedi Apprentice recently and noticed that Obi-Wan has an intense obsession with becoming a Jedi, to the point where he was willing to give up his life once he believed he could never achieve that goal. For a thirteen-year-old Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn represented the lofty ideals of being a Jedi. As a result, Obi-Wan likely developed a special fascination—perhaps even an infatuation—with Qui-Gon. He sacrificed so much to become Qui-Gon’s apprentice, yet Qui-Gon was willing to defy the Jedi Council to train Anakin Skywalker as his Padawan, based solely on an unproven prophecy. This even happened before Obi-Wan had completed his own training. Later, Qui-Gon’s death dealt Obi-Wan a severe blow. At the same time, during his years as an apprentice, Obi-Wan may have realized that the Jedi Order wasn’t as great or sacred as he had imagined in his childhood. In fact, on some planets, the Jedi were even seen as symbols of chaos. This led to cracks forming in Obi-Wan’s faith, and Qui-Gon’s death—representing the shattering of Obi-Wan’s idealized view of the Jedi—became the true spark that drove him toward the dark side.

He resented the Chosen One prophecy. He also hated Anakin.

Young Obi-Wan didn’t realize that Anakin wasn’t the root of the problem. He failed to understand that his negative emotions stemmed from his crumbling faith in the Jedi Order. However, pain always needs a target, an outlet, and unfortunately, Anakin bore the brunt of it. Obi-Wan was still young at the time and couldn’t fully conceal his emotions, which allowed Anakin to sense that “Obi-Wan doesn’t really want to be my master.”

Another reason Obi-Wan despised the prophecy was that, if a Chosen One could save the entire galaxy, then it essentially dismissed the sacrifices and contributions of other Jedi. What did the Masters who died on missions count for? Were they less real than a baseless prophecy? Obi-Wan, already dissatisfied with the corrupted and inefficient Jedi system, came to believe that the Council was blind—or that the Jedi who believed in the Chosen One were blind.

Then, when Dooku reached out to him in the darkness, Obi-Wan accepted the gift of the dark side. It wasn’t because he enjoyed chaos or evil, but because he wanted to construct a better world using more efficient methods—methods forbidden by the Jedi Code. In Obi-Wan’s eyes, the world was never black and white; at the very least, the line between them was never clear. Can you really call someone evil if they use immoral means to accomplish good deeds? As a Sith, Obi-Wan took the name Darth Sanctus, meaning “the Fallen Saint.” This philosophy might have been somewhat similar to Dooku’s, which is why, after Qui-Gon’s death, Dooku became another hidden mentor for Obi-Wan. The rest is predictable: when Anakin killed Dooku, it deeply hurt Obi-Wan and planted the seeds of his rebellion against Sidious.

With his dual identities, Obi-Wan trained Anakin while simultaneously nurturing the darkness within him. How could Obi-Wan not understand what Anakin needed? After all, he had been a young apprentice who longed for recognition and feared loss. But Obi-Wan’s goals extended beyond simply securing the Chosen One for Sidious; he wanted to destroy both Anakin and Sidious. Every complaint Anakin had about Obi-Wan’s actions—these were deliberate manipulations designed to make it easier for Sidious to seduce Anakin.

Obi-Wan may have even deliberately done things that could be misinterpreted, only to turn a blind eye to Anakin’s feelings for him. As a Council member, Obi-Wan could interact with Padmé under the guise of duty while secretly using mind tricks on her, exploiting her to deepen Anakin’s weaknesses, making him easier to control.

Every hurtful thing Obi-Wan ever did to Anakin in the movies, series, and novels can be interpreted as part of his carefully laid trap. Every step was calculated to push Anakin into the abyss. The confrontation on Mustafar was Obi-Wan’s final act as a Jedi. He could have revealed his true identity to Anakin but chose not to. Instead, he defied Sidious’ orders to have one last fight with Anakin as a form of release. Once Sidious had Vader, Obi-Wan was no longer necessary. Moreover, Obi-Wan’s “mistake” was so grave that Sidious would have killed him immediately if not for one thing: Sidious knew about Anakin’s unhealthy attachment to Obi-Wan. As long as Obi-Wan was alive, he could be used to manipulate Vader until Vader was completely under Sidious’ control.

One key point to note is that Obi-Wan was never entirely consumed by hatred. During his interactions with Anakin, he developed feelings he shouldn’t have had, but he didn’t dare accept or acknowledge them. He feared that his own weakness would destroy everything he cared about. But love and hate don’t simply disappear; these emotions tangled together until they became something utterly twisted.

———This is basically the comic’s backstory. Below is what I might draw next:

⚠️⚠️Explicit content: Includes genital modification. Do not continue if uncomfortable.⚠️⚠️———

During a mission, Obi-Wan discovered a unique lifeform on a certain planet—an insect (or microorganism) that fed on necrotic tissue. These creatures secreted a protective layer over wounds, promoting tissue and nerve regeneration. For Force-sensitive beings, the creatures could even resonate with the patient to enhance the healing process. Obi-Wan secretly studied this organism for one specific moment: when he wanted to kill Anakin yet had to keep him alive. Because Obi-Wan had kept this research hidden from Sidious, the technique was known only to him, making it impossible for Sidious to execute him immediately, no matter how furious he was.

During Anakin’s treatment, Obi-Wan ordered modifications to Anakin’s reproductive organs. His original male anatomy had been irreparably burned, so he was given a surgically crafted female vagina instead.

Since Sidious was eager to deploy Vader as quickly as possible, Anakin was pulled out of the recovery tank before he had fully healed and placed into his iconic armor. The suit functioned as a rudimentary mobile recovery chamber, still housing the organisms that facilitated his healing. However, Obi-Wan regularly removed Anakin’s armor to tend to his wounds and assist in the recovery of his female anatomy. Using vaginal dilators, Obi-Wan ensured the new organ could adapt—gradually moving from smaller to larger sizes until he could “truly possess Anakin.” All these post-surgery procedures were carried out by Obi-Wan himself, creating extended periods of time for them to be alone. As a Sith, Obi-Wan took a starkly different approach to manipulate Anakin—he gave him the love, approval, and trust he had always craved. Obi-Wan knew exactly what Anakin wanted and hated, but the timing of when to offer these became key to training him, like taming a dog. As a master manipulator, Obi-Wan’s mastery of the dark side allowed him to completely control Vader, who repeatedly failed in his attempts to kill him. Vader was entirely in Obi-Wan’s grasp.

Obi-Wan knew he wouldn’t escape death, but his goal was never to die by Anakin’s hand, nor was it to sacrifice himself in vain. If the prophecy of the Chosen One was true, and the scales tipped toward darkness, the next step would be the destruction of the dark side itself. Obi-Wan’s ultimate plan was for Sidious to destroy the Empire with his own hands. After successfully “breaking in” Anakin, Obi-Wan would orchestrate his death at Sidious’ hands, knowing that Sidious’ leash on Vader would snap—and the first to be attacked would inevitably be Sidious himself.

Post-Death: Supplemental Ending

Obi-Wan didn’t truly create the utopia he envisioned. The wheels of history keep turning, and sacrifice and destruction are inevitable. Yet the Force guides its course. Like a forest consumed by flames, it will eventually regrow, vibrant and full of life. The Jedi controlled the galaxy for too long, stagnating its flow until it became a lifeless pool where Sith Lords could fester. Even without Anakin or Sidious, the Jedi Code had long lost its essence through generations of tradition. Its fall was inevitable. As the ancient Chinese text Tao Te Ching states: “道可道，非常道；名可名，非常名（The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name.）” This implies that truths lose their purity when they are spoken or named. Similarly, the essence of the Jedi was eroded over time. Perhaps it was better to dismantle the Order and let the Force guide the galaxy’s evolution naturally. Life always finds its way; excessive intervention is the real destroyer. This might feel a bit scattered since I haven’t thought it through in detail yet—just some overarching ideas before bed.

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐒𝐢𝐭𝐡!𝐎𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧(𝐎𝐀)(1/2)

This is my first attempt at making a comic—it’s just a prologue for now. If I have the time, I’ll try to keep going, but I’m not sure I can see it through to the end! It’s been super tough as a beginner, so please go easy on my messy dialogue and paneling!

[alwaysthefool]

Coincidence (Sylus x Reader/MC)

Tags: Angst, no comfort, jealousy, misunderstanding, GN Reader, MC Reader

Warnings: major insecurity,

Synopsis: You see Sylus with someone else, causing a misunderstanding between the two of you

It definitely wasn’t one of your best days. Your hair had been dull from exposing it to too much heat, and your skin was facing a breakout. He’d seen you at your worst and best before, and besides, Sylus didn’t care for those things so you didn’t think much about it when he called you over.

Maybe you should have.

She was everything you weren’t, everything people said you lacked, with a beautiful smile and perfect teeth. He called her closer to whisper something in her ear, to which both of them laughed, before she noticed you, gracefully bid her farewell to Sylus, and walked to the door.

“Will I be seeing you at the banquet tonight, sir?” She asked, turning slightly.

“I’ll let you know.” Sylus turned his attention to you, his lips curling up, and suddenly it did not feel so genuine. It felt cunning, manipulative, and the second you found your own brain blaming you for insecurity, you realised your thoughts were being manipulated. He wasn’t using his aether core or evol, it was all a plot, a power play to lift up your spirits and let you down, over and over again. Right?

“…you coming?” Sylus, whose voice was generally hard to ignore, had been talking about something.

“What?” You frowned, not sitting down or making yourself comfortable in his office like you usually would, which made him stand up and walk towards you.

“Would you like to come with me to the protocore auction tonight?” He repeated, staring deep into your blank eyes. He said he could see people’s deepest desires, and at that time you didn’t know what you even wanted.

“I’m actually busy.” You cautiously stepped back, feeling worse than you did when he first called you there. It hurt worse than your heart at its weakest state, than your throat all those times you’d scream when nightmares terrorised you, probably more than any other time an opponent hurt you.

He was about to say something, but a bailing ring on your phone interrupted you. You glanced quickly at who it was— Tara— and excused yourself to pick up the call, a cheerful voice saying something about being bored on her week off, and without a pause, you replied saying you’d be there.

“Really?!” She exclaimed, and you also realised how you’d been neglecting your friends, spending your free time with him instead.

“Really.” You replied solemnly, just walking out of his manor, only dropping a text that a friend needed you for something important.

You thought he’d chase after you, try to stop you, at least text you to stay, but he did nothing of that sort, and you were soon at Tara’s house with a pack of beer, chips, and hidden feelings.

“Maybe you should see other people.” She suggested, looking down at your palm to read the lines. “It seems like you’ll have many romances- ooh, I know, why don’t we go out tonight? Maybe we’ll find the one!”

“Tara, we’re not finding ‘the one’ at the club.”

“You never know!” Although she took the week off to recover, she was quite jumpy when getting ready, helping you too. It was pleasant to have someone like that around in times like those.

You looked better, finally, dressed well with your hair done, although you shouldn’t have done that considering how weak it was, but it felt nice to just feel adored for the first time in days. Tara took you to a tiny get-together with some of her team, the club thankfully not being too crowded. You got along with her friends, the free cocktails helping you get your mind off things.

It seemed you really hit it off with Andrew, captain of the analytics division, who also didn’t seem to mind Tara partying on her time off. “Everyone should have time off every once in a while.” He said, as the two of you watched her dance her heart out with a smile on your faces… and then trip on her own feet and fall.

The two of you rushed to her, helping her up, and calling a taxi for her. She insisted for you to stay and enjoy, telling you she’d be fine by herself. Andrew started to scold her for being reckless but she told the Taxi driver to step on it before he could finish, earning another laugh from you.

The cool breeze made you shudder, and the team leader gave you his coat. You thanked him shyly, the two of you talking for a while outside, until you spied a shiny eyed crow perched on a light pole, immediately ticking you off.

He was with someone else, so why was he interested in what you were doing? You put your arm on Andrew, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, holding his hand as the two of you went back inside.

Back at the base, Sylus watched you through Mephisto’s eyes, not having attended the auction himself as you wouldn’t be going.

“So that’s why you blew me off.” He mumbled to himself, turning off the screen after commanding Mephisto to make sure you got home safe.

He wondered what happened, where he went wrong, how he could fix things. You seemed down for a while, so he set up a perfect date night for the two of you, acquiring tickets for a ball in another city, having a designer deliver garments that would suit you personally earlier that day, because a week ago you told him you wished to attend one of those while mindlessly scrolling through the Pinterest board on your phone. He thought he’d surprise you, but then you hurried away from him, making him think something bad happened.

Now he supposed you just liked the simpler things in life, and a simpler man, too. Is that who called you when you ran without a bye? When he stared deep in your eyes and saw disgust again? You hated him, right? You liked someone else, right?

“Have it your way, sweetie.

Now I won’t chase after you.”

-x-

Pssst if you liked this, i wrote this concept (with a follow up happy ending chapter) for ZN too, I’ll link it in the reblogs!

Also let me know if you want a Part 2 to this and what it should be!

[void-ink-studios]

Rinse and Spit [Part 6] - A Mouthwashing AU

FINALLY, this chapter is written. Enjoy it y'all, there will be More Development next time.

The dynamics shift on the Tulpar as the crew carries on without a certain shadow. But where does Curly stand in these new dynamics?

And why can't he shake the feeling he's one mistake away from being next?

Content Warning:

PTSD episode is depicted

Word Count: 2,400

Anya had left after tending to his new injuries.  Curly almost found it funny that, by some cursed miracle, he could possibly get more hurt than he already was.

Presumably, she left to speak with Swansea and Daisuke.  That had been a long time ago.  He could hear, even through the heavy metal doors, that they were yelling.  Swansea raising his voice, Anya raising her voice, even Daisuke.

He knew what they were arguing about.

One Captain laid dead.  It was time to decide what happened to the other.

Curly had weighed in his head his chances.  Daisuke seemed to still like him, at the very least.  That’s one vote in his favor.  Swansea, on the other hand, didn’t seem like he’d spit on him if he was on fire.  That’s one vote against him.

That only left Anya.

Anya.  Who he utterly failed every chance he had to be a good leader for.  Who he abandoned to go save her attacker’s hide over protecting her.

He didn’t see the next few hours panning out well for him.

Take responsibility

So all he could do was wait.

And all the while, Jimmy was laying there.  A pool of blood had settled under his head and neck.  The entire room smelled metallic, with the stink of mouthwash mixing unpleasantly with it all.

It was at least easy for Curly to not look at him.  He’d learned to do that very well, not looking at Jimmy.

Instead, he could focus on what he was feeling.  The image of the scalpel so close to his eye burned into his mind.  The feeling of the saw’s teeth in his leg still radiated through his entire body.  The burn of vomit still sat sticky in his throat and mouth.

Maybe he should stop focusing on what he’s feeling.

He couldn’t look at the screen anymore.  He couldn’t listen to its buzzing anymore.

And yet, that’s all he could do.

That’s all he deserved to do.

When had this all gone so wrong?

Was Jimmy always a monster?  Curly didn’t know.  He knew that Anya and Jimmy’s relationship had started to fall apart, even before this hell of a voyage.  He had thought they were just arguing.

“There’s better nurses, you know.”

Jimmy played with the lighter in his hands, flicking it on and off, letting the lid make its little clicking sounds as he stared down at the floor.

“Excuse me,” Curly asked, looking up from the clipboard.  Jimmy had been silent for the entire inspection of the cockpit.  That was okay.  Curly had been doing this for years, he knew what to look for without his help.

“I’m just saying.  There’s gotta be better nurses working for Pony Express, right?  Ones who actually made it into medical school?  I mean, fuck, even school nurses need a degree, don’t they?  How come you don’t request one of those?”

Curly shrugged.  “I mean… It’s Pony.  I don’t think anyone with that much school debt is gonna be working in a dump like this, yeah?”

Curly tried to laugh.  Jimmy didn’t.  Curly clicked the pen uncomfortably.

“Plus, Pony offers medical school courses.  Don’t need a degree if they’re teaching you what you need themselves right?  That’s how you’re a pilot.”

Curly regretted it the second it left his mouth.

“Yeah.  I get it.  I owe it all to you.  Consider me fucking thankful.”

He didn’t look at Jimmy, but he could feel the glare burning into his head.  “...Sorry.  But, why bring this up anyway?  I like Anya.”

Jimmy didn’t respond, just huffed and leaned as far back as he could in his pilot’s seat.  Curly heard the click of the lighter, and Jimmy take a dragging breath.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You know there’s no smoking on Pony property.  I’ve told you that a million times now.  It’s my ass they chew for that, you know.”

“You and Pony can bite me.”

Curly sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Look.  I’m sorry for what I said.  My point was Pony gives people chances.  It gave you a chance, and you like being a pilot, right?  So, it’s fair Anya’s got a chance too.  And she’s a damn good nurse.”

Curly finally looked at Jimmy.  He was never really good at reading the man’s expressions.

“I guess.”  Jimmy finally cracked a little bit of a smile.  “I do like being in control for once in my life.”

Curly turned that memory over in his head a lot.  That had to have been a hint.  He should have pushed more.  Should have questioned it more.  It was so obvious.  A red flag he missed.  One of many…

Even lifeless, Curly could feel Jimmy’s gaze burning him.

At least Curly wasn’t alone anymore.

He finally brought himself to look at Jimmy.  The color had completely drained from his face.  His eyes were unseeing, staring at nothing, yet everything at the same time.

He didn’t know how long he sat there until the door opened again.

He couldn’t look.  He wondered how they’d do it.  The ax?  The gun?  Something else?  He didn’t know.  But maybe a selfish part of him is at least glad it’ll all be over soon.

I hope this hurts

“...You got lucky.”

That was Swansea.  There was a sound of a thud, and something dragging over the metal floor.  He finally turned his head to watch Swansea drag Jimmy’s body away.  The older man didn’t look the Captain in the eye.

“Very lucky.”

Curly watched as Swansea dragged the former pilot away, Anya entering soon after.  That’s odd… She already took care of his injuries, didn’t she?  She looked tired.  And sad.

Anya looked at him.  For a very long time.  He looked away.

“...Try to get some sleep, Captain.”

She reached behind Curly’s head, fluffing up the pillow a little before she took her old seat next to him.

Curly didn’t move.  He didn’t look at her.  He tried to breathe as quietly as possible.  Because… Well, if he moved, it might break whatever spell has come over the Med Bay.

Anya was back…

The days carried on like that.  Anya was back at his side.  She wasn’t as chatty with him as she was at the beginning but… She seemed at ease.

You know why.

She carried on with her duties.  She changed Curly’s bandages, cleaned him, and brought him more IV calories… Curly didn’t know how she’d managed that, he had zero faith that Pony would have packed something that helpful. She had something about that, long ago.  Something about how Swansea rigged the fabricator.

She even started chatting with him again.  Just a little bit.  But it was something.  Something to listen to that made Curly feel like he wasn’t just a pile of raw meat on the table.

She even became the one to give him his pain killers.

When she first approached him with a pill bottle, Curly hated how much he flinched.  Anya just looked at him, her eyes full of sadness and regret.

“It’s… It’s okay now, Captain.  I can manage this.”

She was far more gentle in giving him the pills than Jimmy was.  She sat him up, she eased his mouth open, she was careful and delicate with her fingers.  She even gave him a glass of water to help it down.

Curly trusted her.  He knew he shouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve to feel at ease around her, but he did.  She very easily could have made this all more painful than it needed to be, and she’d have the right.

But she never did.

She set him back down as gently as she lifted him up.  Yet Curly still felt ghosts of hands on his neck.  Of fingers probing the back of his throat.  Of nails digging under his bandages.  He watched her for movement.  For signs of vengeance.

But nothing ever came of his watching.

She read her books quietly.  Listened to her music and smiled.  She laughed when Daisuke poked his head into the Med Bay.  She didn’t tense up whenever the door opened anymore.  She looked happier than even before the crash.

Take responsibility

He wished he could feel as at ease as she seemed to.  Curly heard the metal doors slide open, a familiar, gruff voice filling him with dread.

“Anya, please, take some time to rest.”

“Swansea-”  Curly could see Anya standing a bit behind him.  She looked worried.  She was wringing her hands together, her gaze flicking between the older man and the captain.

“I promise.  You know I’m good for it.”  Swansea had his back to Curly.  He wished he could see the expressions on his face.  Or, maybe it was better he didn’t.

She held eye contact with Curly for a very long time before she finally nodded.

“...Okay.”

The door closed again, Swansea taking a deep breath, before finally turning around.

The two men stared at each other for a long time.  Curly was certain he could hear his own heart beat picking up speed.

“...Anya needs sleep.  You need meds.  I’m filling in for her.”

Please no…

Curly watched as Swansea strolled over to the desk with the pain killers.  He looked at the bottle intensely.

“Paracetamol?  This shit is for fevers.  Joint aches.  You can’t be getting much from this, can you?”

Curly waited a few moments.  For what, he wasn’t sure.  Maybe for him to dump the few painkillers he had down the drain.  Or maybe for him to threaten him.

But it didn’t happen.

“Whatever helps, I guess.  That’s what Anya said.”

Swansea turned back around, a pill in his hand.  His expression looked generally bored.  Maybe annoyed.

I hope this hurts

Curly couldn’t help but start to shake.

Swansea hated him.  Granted, for a good reason.  But Swansea hated him, and was now approaching him with a pill.

“You’re real lucky Anya has a soft spot for you right now.”  He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand.  “You got us into this fucking mess.  And now we’re taking care of you.  Isn’t it the Captain’s job to take care of the crew?”

I hope this hurts

Swansea was standing over Curly now.

Curly knew what Swansea looked like.  He’d been looking at that tired face for almost 8 years.  He knew what he looked like.  He knew his receding hairline, his full face and thick neck, his pot belly and stocky limbs.

So why did his hair suddenly look longer?  Why did his face and limbs suddenly look thinner?

“Whatever.”

Why did his eyes look so empty?

“I hope these make you fucking feel better.”

I hope this hurts

Jimmy was standing over him.  He was smiling his empty smile and standing over him, reaching towards him.  Of course.  Of course Anya killing him had to be a dream.  He couldn’t escape it that easily.

He couldn’t dodge responsibility that easily.

Take responsibility.

There were hands on him.  A voice talking to him.

No, no, please no…

He flailed his limbs.  It wouldn’t help, it never did, it only ever made things worse, but he had to do something.  He couldn’t go back to this nightmare.  No matter how much he deserved it.  No matter how much he knew Anya’s gentleness was too good for him.  He couldn’t go back.

“...urly!  Curly!  Stop!”

Suddenly he was being held.  Tightly.  A hug?  Anya?

He could smell something metallic, something like oil and sweat.

Swansea…

Curly froze in Swansea’s grip.  The man was hugging him.  Or maybe he was trying to hold him together.

“Are you done?”

Curly couldn’t see his face.  And he wasn’t about to lift his head to check.

“Stop fucking staring at me.”

He couldn’t place the tone in Swansea’s voice.  He wasn’t sure when he got so bad at reading people.  Then he felt the ghosts of hands on his throat.  Maybe he was never good at reading people.

The captain then realized he was asked a question.

Answer the question, you won’t be hit as hard.

Curly nodded, his body still slightly shaking.

Swansea’s grip gently released, an arm moving to support his back to keep him sitting up.  The engineer seemed to be feeling for something.  His fingers traced along his side, feeling his ribs through the hospital gown.

“Jesus…”

Curly didn’t know if he was meant to respond to him.  He usually had to guess with Jimmy, but he at least knew what to expect from Jimmy.

He didn’t know what Swansea would have in store.

Gently, although not as gently as Anya, Swansea tilted Curly’s head back and opened his mouth.  The captain couldn’t help but flinch again.

“Hey.  Curls.  Look at me.”

Curly shook his head.

“Can you look at me?”

Take responsibility

Curly slowly turned his eye to finally look at Swansea.  The man’s expression was harsh but… something seemed tempered.  Softer than before.  Frustrated, maybe conflicted.

“Look, I don’t know what he did to you.  Fucked up shit, probably, if you were freaking out that badly.  But I’m not him.  Yeah, I’m pissed at you.  But I’m not going to hurt you.”

Curly still didn’t move.  The two looked at each other for a long time.

“Can I give you your medicine now?  It’s probably not doing too much, but hey.  It’s something, right?”

The captain waited for Swansea to move.  Get angry.  Say something about how ungrateful he’s being.  To do… Something. 

“Gotta give me a nod, bub.”

Curly hesitated another moment before nodding.  Swansea sighed, nodding back.  He tilted the captain’s head back, gently feeding the pill down his throat, and helping it down with some water.  Swansea wasn’t as delicate as Anya.  But it was probably due more to his broad and callused fingers than… malice.

Swansea set him back down softly, making sure his head reached the pillow.

“Goodnight.  Get some sleep.  Daisuke’s been working on something for you.  Won’t tell me what it is, but says it’s going to be ‘super important.’  Whatever that means.  So… I guess be ready for that.”

Curly was only half listening.  A part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  For Swansea to say that one last thing to make sure he remembered his place in the pecking order.

But he didn’t.

“...Jimmy’s not here anymore.  You can relax a little.”

And he left.

Curly listened to the static buzz for a long time.  He felt tears stinging the side of his face long before he realized he was crying.

He swallowed the sobs down, even though it hurt his chest.  He clamped his mouth as closed as he could manage, until his teeth hurt.

He had only just gotten this small blessing of peace.

He was not going to ruin it by bothering them anymore.

[itsa-me-lily]

So here's y'alls first fight! Aren't you excited? Also I get to introduce y'all to one of my favorite girls.

Here is the Simon x Thimble playlist

Here is the MPS AU masterlist

Reminder, reader is fat. It's not a morally right or wrong thing, she's just fat.

Content warning;

Swearing, some weight stuff, Goggles

You woke up in bed, which typically wasn't a strange thing to do. But you hadn't gone to sleep in bed this time though. You'd crashed out on the couch after trying to read a book your mother had recommended, it was always obvious that the two of you had very different tastes in literature. So the fact that you had fallen asleep on the couch, but woke up in bed, was perplexing. Hopefully you weren't developing a habit of sleep walking. Sleep arguing was bad enough.

Padding out to the living room, you were prepared to look for clues to your mystery. Only you found Simon. On the couch. Reading the book that had put you to sleep. And judging by how much further into the book he had made it, he was enjoying it more than you had. He didn't even notice your presence until you were right in front of him. You even had to clear your throat for him to peer at you from over the pages.

"Was I still on the couch when you got home?"

"Yeah."

Ever the well of conversation your husband was.

"Did I sleep walk?"

"Negative."

Well that was not an answer you were expecting.

"Then how did I go from..."

You motioned between the couch and the bedroom door, as if the space was vast and truly impossible to have crossed other wise.

"Carried you."

"What?"

You didn't mean to sound flat in your question, but the idea that you had been carried around, regardless of if you were awake or not, wasn't one you liked. Not that Simon seemed to understand that, given how he raised a single eyebrow at how unenthused you sounded.

"That a problem?"

How could you answer this in a way that wasn't going to cause an issue. Because you could see this becoming an issue that would be annoying to have to deal with. Unfortunately the longer it took you to answer, the more likely it would be.

"No? Just wake me up next time."

Simon didn't seem satisfied with the answer given how he closed the book with a snap, giving you his undivided attention.

"You'd rather I wake you up."

You think he meant it as a question, even if he didn't say it that way.

"Yeah. Don't pick me up."

You could feel that curl of anxiety start in your gut, and it only got worse as Simon got up, his height causing you to have to crane your head back to look up at him.

"You hate getting woken up."

"Yeah well I don't like being picked up more."

"How come?"

Was this man serious? Was he honestly going to question you about why you didn't like something? Really you wanted to argue, tell him that it was none of his business and that you had made your request clear. But you remembered your mother's words that she had dispensed the last time you had complained to her about Simon, and his...lack of sharing at times. 'You don't get what you don't give'. Maybe you should stop complaining to your mother. Still, wouldn't hurt right? So with a sigh you just shrugged, meeting Simon's eyes once before looking aside.

"I'm heavy."

You had accepted what your body looked like ages ago. Understood that there were more important things than fitting into a certain size. Didn't mean you weren't aware of your body, the space you took up. You knew your body, and you knew you were heavy.

Instead of asking, or elaborating, Simon Riley did probably the worst thing he could have done. He picked you up. His arms were around your waist and your feet were off the floor before you register what he was doing. The second you did though it was like every nerve ending in your body was screaming no. You did not like this. You went tense, shoulders up to your ears and volume control wasn't your first concern as you practically shouted into Simon's face.

"Put me down. Put me down right now damnit!"

Whatever reaction Simon thought he was going to get from you, that hadn't seem to be one he was expecting. He did so, though the landing was a little jarring, most likely due to the sheer suddenness of your demands. It only served to make you angrier, you could feel it shooting up your spine. You could have been gentler as you pushed yourself out of his arms, but you didn't particularly care to be at the moment.

You didn't know if it was better or worse that he didn't say anything in his defense. Actually it was probably better that he was silent because it made it easier to cuss him out as you went back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Fuck the sleeping arrangements. He could sleep on the fucking couch that night.

Simon had heard other soldiers complain when they had marital disputes. He didn't always listen in, but when he did he could typically agree that it was somehow the soldier's fault. Now that he was on the other end of it though? He didn't get it at all. He had only been trying to show you that it wasn't an issue for him to pick you up. He went to the gym, he could lift. But then you got all huffy and loud, and slammed the door in his face. You had even made him sleep on the couch.

And it wasn't like it had gotten better the next day. Apparently you had still been mad because you hadn't talked to him at breakfast, just gone through your usual routine and left without a goodbye. All he did was pick you up. It wasn't even like he dropped you or anything.

The puzzle left him feeling sour, though he couldn't really pinpoint what it was about it that made him feel such. Was it the cold shoulder you gave him? Maybe it was the fact you made him sleep on the couch. Either way he didn't like the fact that apparently you were still mad at him and it apparently was obvious to anyone given how Soap pestered him all morning about it until Simon finally spilled during PT in the weight room. It did make him feel better though, that Soap was equally as confused as to why you were so upset.

"I mean I don't get why the hen's mad, but have ye tried apologizing LT?"

"I would if I knew what I was apologizing for."

"Wow you're both fucking stupid."

The new voice caused both him and Johnny to whip around, hackles raised at being caught unaware. Some woman racked her weights, brushing her hands together before paying them attention again, expression such that seemed to beg what they were waiting for. Thankfully Soap bit the bullet before Simon could rudely do it.

"You are?"

"Goggles. Mechanical Engineer Unit."

She held her hand out for a greeting as if she hadn't just insulted the both of them. Simon only stared at it before crossing his arms over his chest, puffing himself up a little to sooth his ego. Again Soap stepped in since he was probably going to be the more civil of the two.

"What makes ye think we're stupid?"

"Oh it's not a thought." There was a brief pause afterwards, intentional, before she continued, "Anyways big guy here clearly wasn't listening to this Thimble person."

Big guy? Since when had Simon become 'big guy'. Clearly his reputation for being a hardass was suffering since his marriage to you. He was going to have to fix that. And what did she mean that he 'clearly wasn't listening'. He listened to you fine. He slept on the couch didn't he? Simon tuned back in at Soap's sputtering, confused as to why the Scotsman's cheeks were a little flushed. He clearly had missed something.

Clearing his throat, Simon got everyone's attention again and he could give Goggles a firm stare down. Not that it helped much given how nonchalant she appeared. He had a point to make.

"I listen to my wife just fine."

"Clearly not since you did the thing she didn't like, right after she told you she didn't like it."

Simon did not enjoy the tone she was using with him. In his affront it took him a second for the words to really sink in. Sure he had kind of disregarded what you had said, but it was just to show you it was okay.

"I can pick up my wife just fine."

The sigh Goggles gave him sounded like it came from the depths of her soul, and he couldn't quite get what she had mumbled under her breath, but Simon could imagine it wasn't flattering. He was just pointing out the truth.

"And that's why you're stupid."

"No I'm not."

The look Goggles gave him begged to differ. He was going to have to find out her rank and CO, he was not going to tolerate this kind of flack from someone ranked under him.

"You made it about you and your ego."

"No I didn't."

"Why'd you pick her up then."

"To show I could."

"But she didn't want you to. She told you that, and you did it anyways."

"Cause she said she was too heavy and I was proving she ain't."

"It doesn't matter. You still ignored what she said and steamrolled over the boundary she set."

That...might have caught Simon off guard. Just a little. Goggles seemed to have taken his lack of rebuttal as an acceptance of the point she was trying to make because she continued.

"Look I don't think you were trying to be an asshole but you still were. What if she ignored you when you said you didn't like something."

Simon wanted to argue that you basically always did what you wanted, his opinion be damned but...that wasn't really true was it? You didn't make a fuss about the face masks, you were always careful to not just go grabbing at him, and even if it was with dramatics, you respected his space. At least he hadn't seen you attempt to get a pin board into his home office. He couldn't really remember him ever having to tell you that he needed or wanted those things. You just...seemed to pick up on it. And when you had told him something you didn't like he ignored it. Not maliciously but...roads to hell and good intentions as they said.

It was his turn to sigh, in defeat, shoulders slumping as he accepted the fact that he had messed up. Without much fanfare he turned to leave the gym, firmly ignoring Soap's confused shouts to wait and Goggles' 'you're welcome' that floated to him. He had an apology to give.

Simon didn't know how to give an apology. Sure he had heard that the usual was chocolates and a bouquet of roses, but that was typically for someone you were in a relationship with. What did one get their technical wife but really more a roommate person as a way to say 'I'm sorry'? He could go with chocolates, but he knew that you tried not to over indulge in them since it messed with your sugar levels, and roses seemed to romantic. He stood in the card aisle at the shops looking at the wide selection without really liking any of them. They were either too sappy or too impersonal, or just stupid.

With a rising sense of frustration Simon grabbed the first apology card that had caught his eye and made his way over to the hot food section. Fuck it, you were saying you wanted a bird the other night. Chicken could be a decent apology gift.

When you got home, you weren't as angry as you had been when starting the day. Honestly you kind of felt stupid. Most girls seemed to kill to have a man that could pick them up willynilly, you were just...an outlier. When you had asked a coworker for advice she had told you you were being dramatic and that if you weren't going to appreciate Simon she would. You didn't think Simon was into the geriatric type but you had told her you'd pass along the message at least. So apparently you were a dramatic outlier that needed to apologize. Great.

It seemed that Simon had gotten home before you, and wasn't expecting you back so soon given how he froze up at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched as he had his back to you. Might as well get it over with.

"Hey Simon I-"

"Wait."

You weren't expecting Simon to interrupt you while you were trying to say I'm sorry, neither were you expecting him to turn around and step away, revealing an entire rotisserie chicken and a card.

"You got chicken?"

"As a sorry."

"A sorry?"

You looked from the chicken to Simon, who somehow looked both stoic and sheepish at the same time. It was probably how he stuffed his hands into his pockets, like he didn't know what to do with them.

"Yeah. 'm sorry. Shouldn't have ignored what you told me."

Oh. That was...unexpected. You had anticipated having to apologize and pretend like the entire situation hadn't happened. You didn't think he'd apologize first, or at all. You both stood in awkward silence as you tried to think of what to do next. Should you still apologize? Just accept it and still pretend nothing happened?

Before your brain could make a choice, your stomach did it for you, grumbling loudly as the scent of the cooked meat wafted to you. You could feel yourself flush as Simon huffed in what was probably amusement, turning to grab what you were hoping were plates. There was a chicken to eat after all.

"Thanks. And...I'm sorry too. For just yelling at you...and making you sleep on the couch."

Simon seemed to shrug off your apology, handing you two plates and sets of silverware before digging around in the freezer for some sort of steam bag to throw into the microwave.

"I've slept in worse places."

"Still we have an agreement."

"Hn."

You figured that was the end of your rivetingly awkward conversation as you worked on carving the bird into portions to eat and then store away. You didn't mind the silence as the two of you set up dinner together and started to dig in, though it did catch you off guard when Simon decided to have a different one.

"Is it okay for emergencies?"

You looked up from phone, blinking owlishly as you tried to understand what he was saying.

"Is what okay?"

"Picking you up? It's okay during emergencies ya?"

Was Simon planning on burning down your house anytime soon? Before you could question him on it though, an idea struck you. He was trying to ask what the boundary was, so he wouldn't break it again. You tried to ignore the warmth that bloomed in your chest.

"Yeah, it's okay for emergencies."

"Good."

You nodded, going back to your phone to wonder why the hell your friend still hadn't responded to your messages.

"And Thimble?"

Once again you looked up at Simon to see him looking back at you seriously.

"Yeah?"

"You're not too heavy."

You wanted to argue differently, but before you could he cut you off.

"Not for me at least."

You had to look away, feeling a blush climb your cheeks.

"Thanks Simon."

"Hn."

Edit;

Why wasn't Soap really talking in the gym scene? Because I imagine Goggles said something kind of out of pocket that left him reeling for a minute. She is no better than a man some days and I love her for it.

Also this isn't my favorite piece but I wanted to introduce Goggles with her calling the boys out for being dumb, because that is just so her.

As always I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to drop an ask about anything.

[iwillstabifnecessary]

Tma headcanons: some of these hurt

So I like to think pre-coffin daisy had long hair that was ether in a ponytail or braid, which she cut off post because it was choking around her and post coma jon has pretty long hair grown during the events of previous seasons usually puts his hair back with office supplies like paper clips the office rubber bands, has had Daisy who keeps a hair tie on her wrist as a former habit from long hair coming up to him abd just asking if she can braid it as something to do, so after the coffin its not uncommon to find Jon with his hair and a braid or Daisy braiding Jons hair as he reads a statement

Research era Jon had very long hair and cut it when he got the promotion but during that research era with his hair he would use paper clips and actual rubber bands to hold his hair back and did it until Sasha gave him an actual hair tie which he kept on his wrist after he cut it and after the not!sasha reveal he kept it until he could use it again ie 3-5 was wearing it in his hair in a braid that martin learned how to do when he killed the not!them

the archival assistants dragged jon to a pride parade in season 1 and there was a Polaroid taken that is one of the few photos that Jon, Martin, and Tim had of the true Sasha and Jon regrets that he wasn't truly smiling in that photo even though he was having actual fun and jon also risked every thing to get the photo and brought it with him and martin to the safe house and kept it with them during the eyepocalypse it was in Jon’s front coat pocket in the end

This is a sad one after escaping the lonely when martin makes tea it can stay warm and comforting for very long because he's unintentionally lonely this does have a plus side because Jon can't make tea for anything so in the safe house martin teaches Jon how to make both their properly and Jon gets to pay martin back for all the times Martin made him tea

Jon is some form of neurodivergent ie either autism or adhd and when in a hyperfocus will sing/hum any song he hears and in this state is very impressionable so Tim will take advantage of this ie sing toxic by Britney Spears

Jon and Tim both love Monty Python and the two before the transfer to the archives would quote it to each other

Sasha and Tim are each others support system so if tim has a nightmare about Danny he will call her and if Sasha has a very bad day Tim will come over and just give her a shoulder to cry on, this stopped after Sasha got replaced because the not!them wouldn’t pick up the phone

The mechs were in fact Jonathan Sims, The Archivist’s university band, and were his found family

Jon wears skirts

Georgie is trad goth

Melanie is 5’1-5’2, Jon is a singular inch taller

Tim is tall wears Hawaiian shirts, heelles, and has dyed pink or blue hair

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

City Marks AU

I know i said i'd explain the Brother in all but Blood AU first, but i'm still working on that one. In the meantime, have fun with this one that i came up with!

In this AU, a city, or a place, or just... an area can sometimes develop a consciousness, or a spirit. No one knows how. They just do. 

Sometimes they 'claim' a person, as their own, their child, theirs. 

To show this, at some point, a faint birthmark-looking thing will appear on the person's body, usually their hand or wrist, in the shape of the area's symbol. 

At some point, often during an extreme moment, the 'faintling' mark, as it is called, will suddenly darken, turn black or close to black, it will feel like burning, for some it hurts, but mostly it just feels *intense*. 

This is a Claiming. The city/town/area has Claimed the person, Marked them as his/her own. 

Double-Marked can exist, people who have been taken by more than one city. Actually, there is no limit to how many Marks one can have. Are are triple-Marked, quadruple-Marked, and so on.

Marked of the same area can sense each other if they learn how and concentrate hard enough, and some can even sense those Marked by other areas, too. If a Marked is in danger, the other Marked, usually the ones close to them or at least the others Marked by their area will sense it, many times even experiencing pain on the Marked area of their body. 

Many Marked have subtle abilities from being Marked, usually related to whatever area they're from. Most Gothamites have more survival-based abilities like good memory or good athletic abilities and some Metropolians will have more fun stuff like being really funny or good at cheering other people up. 

They don't count as Meta or powers, really, just subtle abilities.

Often in many areas, Marked often have a meeting or gathering every month, or every two weeks, or there is no pattern or regulation, they just meet up when they feel like it. Not even they know how they know, they just know. Everyone will somehow get it in their subconscious, 'there's a meeting tonight' and that will be that. This is the way it is with Gotham.

Not many non-Marked know of the Marked. Oh, there are legends and rumors here and there, but they remain a secret and they keep it that way.

Anyway, each and every single Bat has been Marked. 

Bruce got the 'faintling' when he was around four, it just showed up on him and got a little darker each year. Thomas and Martha (and Alfred) all noticed it, but Thomas and Martha were also Marked, so they knew what it was and decided to wait till the boy was fully Marked before explaining. 

Fast forward to when Bruce is seven and he sees his parents murdered in front of him. His wrist, it starts to hurt, but not like his whole wrist, just where the faintling is, each line and curve hurts and where the faintling isn't it feels fine. It *hurts* and it feels intense, and as he cries over his parent's bodies, it feels like it's burning and as he clutches his wrist, it seems to burn its way onto his skin. there, dark, to never be gone, is the Mark of Gotham. 

Later some random other Marked explains to him and he shows up to the meetings and they hang out, chill. The meeting also serves to explain new Marked and trade stories and such surrounding the mystery of Marks.

Dick gets his faintling the day his parents are killed, t he never sees it, but Bruce does. Bruce waits. A few nights later, Dick comes to him, clutching his wrist, and Bruce explains. A week later is Dick's first Marked Meeting. 

Jason's faintling was there for as long as he could remember. His Marking happened one night not long after Bruce adopted him, after a nightmare. 

Cass's faintling appeared not long after she first came to Gotham, and her Marking happened one night during patrol.

Tim's faintling also appeared at some point when he was young. He noticed it, but never thought much of it. Later when he became Robin, Bruce was quick to notice it but again, said nothing. Later sometime during the whole Red Hood drama his Marking happened.

Steph, much like Cass, got her faintling a little later than the others, but her Marking happened during patrol once right after taking down a gang of thieves. The Spirit of Gotham is dramatic that way. 

Duke's appeared sometime after his parents were taken, and he got his Mark during patrol. 

Damian's faintling appeared during his time growing up at the LoA, and he got his Mark during patrol. 

Since they are vigilantes, their subtle abilities and sensing is partially taken to the next level. AKA the Spirit of Gotham favors them. 

All of them can sense when the other is in danger even before other Marked do. They are stealthy by nature and are more feral than they let on. 

They *all* tend to blend into shadows and foliage and anything faster and better than most people can. They seem to fade into the dark, appear and disappear from thin air, make no noise as they step. Red Hood is a large man but quiet as an owl in flight. This goes a few steps further with Batman and Black Bat, because *duh*. They are the most stealthy and to some criminals they seem to fade into the background in front of them. They are also faster and all than most humans.

Bruce has the stealth and strength factor, his memory is really good, he notes every detail, even the small ones, and he sometimes has this sixth sense of things. 

Dick is flexible and fast, agile and light on his feet, more so than even other acrobats.

Jason is scrappy and strong, fast, and slightly enhanced hearing and smell. Also he's an extremely good marksman (though they only saw the full extent of it when he became Red Hood and somehow got a bulls-eye without even looking).

Cass is a living shadow. Enough said. 

Tim has a really good memory and sometimes gets information and facts from the literal aether. He doesn't know how he knows these things, he just does. Also he was fast as heck from the start. 

Steph is deadly good at reading people and coming up with ways to get back at people. Frequently uses this to get back at anyone who messes with the others at school. 

Duke could hear and smell and see better after his Marking happened.

Damian became even more stealthy and observant, was faster on his feet and now his way with animals is even better.

Anyway, no one in the JL knows about the Marked or that the Bats are Marked. The Bats often hide their Marks by wearing long sleeves, using finger paint over the area, or wearing armbands.

I don't think many of the JL would be Marked by their cities besides the Bats, but I think Billy, Mary, and Freddy would bear the Mark of Fawcett and Oliver would have the Mark of Star City. 

[sayokoni]

“The Search”🔎

Part 2 of “Gone to far”

Warnings: a little bit of cursing

Summery: Toji spends a frantic day looking for you after your fight, growing desperate with each failed lead. Swallowing his pride, he seeks out your friend, finds you, and prepares to make amends.

The moment the sun rose, Toji was already out the door. He had spent the night sleepless staring at the empty space in the bed where you used to be. The fight replayed in his mind like a broken record, each harsh word he’d said weighing heavier the longer you were gone. He hated how helpless he felt. Toji Fushiguro wasn’t the type to chase anyone or beg for forgiveness. But this was different. You were different. He needed to find you.

The first stop was the café you liked to visit. Toji walked in, his sharp green eyes scanning the tables, his towering presence making the few patrons uneasy. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, but his tension was obvious—he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Excuse me,” he said to the barista, his voice low and firm. “Have you seen her?”

He held up his phone, showing a photo of you from a happier time.

The barista squinted, then shook her head nervously. “Uh… sorry, no. Not today.”

Toji clicked his tongue in frustration, his jaw tightening. “If you see her, tell her I came by.”

Before she could respond, he was already out the door, heading to the park.

The park was quiet in the early morning, dew clinging to the grass. Toji wandered along the paved paths, his gaze sweeping over every bench and shaded spot where you might have gone to think.

As he passed an older couple sitting on a bench, he stopped abruptly, turning toward them. “Sorry to bother you,” he said gruffly, “but have you seen this woman?” He showed them your picture.

The older man looked up, startled, while his wife studied the photo. “No, I’m afraid not,” she said kindly. “Is she missing?”

Toji nodded once, curtly. “Thanks anyway.”

He moved on, his steps growing heavier with each empty corner. The thought of you wandering around upset—or worse, in danger—gnawed at him.

By midday, Toji’s frustration was boiling over. He searched the streets, asking shopkeepers, passersby, anyone who might have seen you. Some people answered politely; others avoided him altogether, intimidated by his intense demeanor.

At one point, he stopped at a food stall where you used to grab snacks. “Hey,” he barked, catching the vendor’s attention. “Have you seen this girl?”

The vendor glanced at the photo and shrugged. “Not today, sorry.”

Toji slammed his fist against the counter in frustration, startling the vendor. “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, man, relax,” the vendor said nervously.

Toji shot him a glare before walking off, muttering curses under his breath.

As the sun began to set, Toji was growing desperate. His search led him to your friend’s apartment building—a place he had avoided earlier out of sheer pride. Now, his pride didn’t matter. Finding you did.

He knocked on the door sharply, his patience hanging by a thread. When your friend opened it, her expression immediately darkened at the sight of him.

“Toji,” she said flatly, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

“Is she here?” he asked, his voice rough and urgent.

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze scrutinizing him. “You think you can just show up here after everything you said to her? You’ve got some nerve.”

Toji’s lips thinned, and for a moment, he almost snapped back. But then he caught himself, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look,” he said, his voice softer this time. “I know I messed up. I need to see her. Please.”

Your friend stared at him, clearly debating whether to slam the door in his face. Finally, she sighed. “She’s inside. But if you hurt her again, Toji, I swear—”

“I won’t,” he cut in, his tone firm. “I just want to fix this.”

With a nod, she stepped aside, letting him in.

As Toji approached the door to the guest room, his steps faltered for the first time that day. He raised a hand to knock, but hesitated. What if you refused to hear him out? What if it was too late?

Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

Part 3???