#i remember when i binge played all the endings

[storkmuffin]

What do you think about Yunho's marketed image as a "lucky guy"? I know it's a gimmick for variety shows but it genuinely amazes me how he somewhat manages to uphold this trait that's been a key part of his image since predebut. At this point, is it really just luck, or is it something else like being observant or having good memory? Is this linked to his competitiveness? Can one manifest good luck by being competitive and wanting it badly enough?

Saying this with these specific videos (though there are for sure many other exemples) on my mind after just binge-watching ateez content:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-oAq5tuLMA Him being the ony one to find the correct cup, twice in a row, while handicapped by not being allowed to touch the cups. That's a 1/64 probability?? I note that he's also the one who took this challenge most seriously.

https://youtu.be/QmoBHU8PrTM?list=PLolJoegDeAhSJoMsmmhxTAOa8GvWqU4NU&t=579 They played rock paper scissors arnd 3 times in this video and he won every time. Outside of this video, he generally never loses either.

Ooooh on the subject of luck I can wax lyrical, so here goes.

I'm a lucky person. I not only feel lucky, but I'm often also called lucky by others. This is one of the things that I guess I don't mind having in common with my bias (reluctant, angry, makes me prone to violence) Yunho. Am I right in suspecting, Question of Luck Anon, that you yourself don't feel very lucky? Because the questions you ask indicate that you don't, since you're clearly trying to figure it out.

To answer the questions you actually asked:

-There really is such a thing as luck. It hurts to think about this, but the privileged, the talented, the beautiful, the born-to-good-parents, the born-with-good-health, the born-in-safe-and-prosperous-nations of the world are lucky. There's no reason I, born in Seoul to my parents, should have such a significantly nicer life than the girl who was born exactly on the same day and time as me 200 kms to the north in Pyeongyang. I'm luckier than a LOT of people.

Setting aside depressing facts of the uneven distribution of wealth, peace, healthcare and education in the world, I would also say the following about the subject of Luck:

-Being lucky though is a matter of finders keepers, a lot of the time. Remembering details and having the capacity to pay detailed attention have helped me recognize when something is worth pursuing, which make it much more likely I get what I want. And then to people who didn't remember the details or people who aren't hypervigilant and hypersensitive it just looks like a weird turn of events that worked out to my benefit (and only my benefit). This is often described as luck.

-Lucky people are very competitive, yes. Some will lie about this, but it's just true. All lucky people are very competitive. Lethally, even.

-You can't manifest the trait of being born lucky. I am not sure how it works under all the traditional fortune telling of the world, but in the Korean methodology you are born with the winds of the universe on your side, or against you. You can't fix this part- all you can do is make the most of what you're given. BUT, you can actually manifest (bring about, I guess is the more accurate wording, but manifest sounds cooler) the next best thing, which is to make things work out for you in a way that you can keep wresting victory from the jaws of defeat.

You didn't ask but I will add - I think the key factor in luck is dual: You need to not accept that the bad place you may be in is the final destination (This can't be how it ends!) and be determined to find a better (or best) result and make that apply to yourself.

And now to discuss Yunho.

The second link you shared was this one:

So he wins the round here, and he wins an abnormal amount of rock paper scissors, but I raise you an earlier reality content, when Yunho says he's lucky and wins everything, but very much does not. FYI this video is a preview of the actual content so I don't know who actually wins.

My point is that the whole Yunho is Lucky holds up even through his defeats because he keeps telling himself (and everyone else) that he is lucky. It's propaganda. When something does work out for his benefit, it confirms what is already 'known' through the propaganda. If something doesn't, it's 'surprising' which only feeds into the propaganda. A sort of positive feedback loop, if you want to be complimentary. Gaslighting, if you want to be nasty about it.

If you look at what Yunho does though, during the selection process for pick the yummy vs corrupted option (like the things that look like coke - one is coke, the other is a cupful of soy sauce etc), he actually closely examines the thing before he picks it, but he also trusts his animal intuition (Intuition is the compilation of all your human thoughts and animal instincts and often will be more correct than anything else you have).

As for the "find the ice blocks" game that they played? This has nothing at all to do with luck. Yunho actually shows how someone gets 'lucky.' He thinks his way, out loud, through the problem. He doesn't fight being given the question. He doesn't get overwhelmed by it, or afraid of failing. He doesn't try to make the game be something it's not or play to a persona. He just accepts reality as it is (he's been tasked with solving this problem, on camera) and then he goes through an extremely logical deduction. This problem was set up by someone who needs to create content to be filmed, which means that the 'discovered' ice block needs to be easily captured on camera, which means that it will not likely be placed in the cups that don't show clearly on camera, which means.... Do you follow my drift? Yunho sets himself to win this game of what looks like luck by looking at all the facts, which he can do because he doesn't fight the problem, and figures it out from the point of view of the person who set the problem. This isn't luck.

Calling him lucky is actually the problem-setter's way of saving face. It's not that you made the obvious choices for someone who has to set up the problem, it's that Yunho is lucky. You didn't get outsmarted by your lab rat that you need to bleed for content, it's that Yunho is lucky. I will also note that they call both Yunho and Mingi scary here, but the ways that the word is used is completely opposite, for both.

One bonus one for you. The OP who put this compilation together uses the word luck, but if you watch, none of the games that Yunho's playing are games of luck, or more accurately, games of chance. They're all games of skill, and skill games that are physical of the type that Yunho just has a natural advantage for. The whack with a sword game is going to be easier for a very long, very tall, very fast, physically aggressive person to win. The game of Twisters, same thing - Yunho is just bigger, stronger and longer than the others. He's big enough to simply 'shrug' Wooyoung off. The cap-flicking game requires hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills. Isn't Yunho an exceptional gamer? The silly animal race - he picked a fast animal shape that wouldn't impede his legs and booked it. The pan-and hammers? Again, this is a physical skill game.

Claiming that something is Luck, by the way, is something that Yunho is happy to claim because not only does it serve to save face for his teammate/coworkers who keep losing to him, but it also saves his own reputation. He won because he was lucky, you see, it was just fortune smiling down at him. It wasn't that he won't let you win against him. If it's just luck, and Yunho is just lucky, then his winning is the natural order of the world, and everyone can be pleased.

Clever bastard.

[mephestopheles]

I need to get involved in a fandom again, I need to find a ship that will rot my brain the way bagginshield and destiel did. I miss the days when my brain was lost in that loop. The absolute closest ive come to feeling that feral about something was last year's A Court of Fey and Flowers. I mean I feel like I'm about to explode every time I listen to an episode of worlds beyond number, but I don't feel the need to add my mark to it, I want the story they're telling (as in the whole cast), and maybe that's because their story feels like enough right now. I have ideas on where it might go, and there is an entire world out there to be discovered, but I can put my trust in the cast to do well by the narrative and each other.

I suppose the stories I have in my head for my dnd characters could be considered headcanons, since they deviate a lot from the expected stories. Especially since the current one I'm playing is for hoard of the dragon queen, on the swords coast and while we have a group that avoids the fantasy racism tropes as much as possible, there are still stumbling blocks. My new character is too new and I could write some interesting stuff there but I don't know what the DM is going to use or how much I should know compared to how much I should let him decide on certain backstory elements.

[deardiarywrites]

dealing with the blues : how to manage negative emotions and more ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა rotting vs resting

i know how upsetting life can be sometimes. you want to get better but something happens and life just keeps pushing you down, and you fall further and further into a rut. and because of that, you start to feel even worse. "why am i not doing as good as the others?" , "why am i so xyz?" , "why am i not like her?" etc etc. cmon my love. this isn't the time to compare yourself to others and feel even worse but to slowly dig up the soil, and find out what is actually going on. ♡ just take a day off, babe seriously. sometimes you just need to let yourself be upset and be unproductive yk? there is nooo shame in being unproductive as hell for a day or two. take your time and have a good break. now talking about breaks, we have a problem. are you really resting or rotting? RESTING makes you feel good, happy and energised ROTTING makes you feel guilty, unproductive, sluggish a lot of the times, instead of resting and recharging our minds, we are feeding our minds with lots and lots of brainrot, indulging in bad habits in the name of "resting", avoiding important work etc which in return make us feel even worse! well, resting isn't supposed to do that, right? resting is supposed to recharge you, get you ready to fight again. so next time you choose to 'rest', be mindful. do not indulge in things that you know will make you feel worse. doomscrolling is not resting. stalking your friends is not self care. intentionally avoiding important work is not self care. binge watching series by wrecking your sleep schedule and then feel guilty abt being on your phone all day is not self care. self care and resting is doing things you love which will nourish your mind and distract you for a little while, so that you can take a step back and just be aive for a bit.

an example of a day off could be smth like this ( just an example, please remember that everyone's life is different and so is yours. adjust accordingly ) : ʚɞ do not set any alarm, let yourself wake up naturally and when you do, pick up that book you have been meaning to read for a long time. ʚɞ have breakfast ʚɞ do 1 thing you really love and which makes you super happy (dancing, singing, acting etc) ʚɞ talk to someone or write abt how you are feeling ʚɞ try to create smth. a quick diy project, a lil sketch, crochet, a new dance move, a song cover, a poem, a video, photography etc ʚɞ do 1 imp work which you have been putting off (homework, stdy for a test etc) ʚɞ delete instagram for a bit and surround yourself with positivity. use tumblr, youtube, pinterest instead. ʚɞ go outside, even for just 5 minutes. ʚɞ maybe call up your friend/s and play smth ʚɞ take cute pics of urself ʚɞ maybe post smth cute on tumblr wink wink ʚɞ have a cute night ritual and then go to bed. ₊⊹ monitor what you have been consuming lately what you feed your mind and body actually matters (lol what a shocker). so tell me, have you been eating well? sleeping well? surrounding yourself with positivity? or have you been consuming content which further degrades your mental and physical health? try to replace unhealthy junk with healthy stuff. fix your fyp, choose "not interested" for posts which no longer resonate with you. declutter and reorganise. i really, really suggest trying a quick digital detox for a day. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ talk to someone who you feel safe with. you can even text me, ill try my best to respond <3 please talk to someone when you feel upset, communicate bbgs, communicate! even if it is hard and uncomfortable. if you feel like you have no one to talk to, talk to a stuffed animal or a tree or yourself. let those thoughts and feelings out, don't hold them inside your body. release them. observe them. try to understand them. but never let negative emotions become a part of you. they come and go, like any other emotion. you will be just fine. even when it feels like it is the end of the world love you always,

@deardiarywrites

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 5:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Sorry for the long weight everyone! I had to binge allll of Stranger Things for a friend's future birthday event and ohhh wow I thought the episodes were gonna be 20 minutes not 40-1hr

Also I suffered a bit of writers block, it happens

But regardless, I hope you all enjoy! ^ ^

(also the taglist has migrated to the bottom of the fic because it's a bit too long now)

----

The office was large, sprawling walls contained by an even bigger ceiling. The faint humming of Tim’s computer provided no reassurance, nor did the soft leather of your seat. It felt as if you could sink right into it, and try to fade away. There was a faint aroma of coffee that lingered around the office, but it gave you no solace. It just reminded you of the mistakes you made, to end up here. The elephant in the room.

Tim’s smile was bright, a warm sun. You were burning.

“It’s.. nice to see you again.” You attempted, words stumbling about on your tongue. You couldn't help it, the mere presence of your soulmate sending anxiety skyrocketing down your spine. Why couldn't he just get to the point?

“I didn't really expect my company and Wayne Enterprises to be working together.” You continued, a fake smile plastered onto your face. “What a nice coincidence!”

“I hope for us to have a successful collaboration.” Tim replies, still smiling. “But enough about the companies, it's been so long since I've seen you, and I didn't have your number to text.”

You laugh in response, a pale imitation of a real laugh. You had hoped to focus on discussing the work you both had to do first, and then escape before any catch up talks were attempted. Unfortunately, it appears that Tim won't let you do any actual work before engaging with him.

Your nails dug into your knees, an attempt to stay calm. Your reply was measured.

“Oh are you sure? Surely it would be better to get work on the collaboration done first, then we’ll have all the time left to chat freely.”

“I wouldn't worry about that, really. We’ve got plenty of time together, and I wouldn't be able to work without knowing how you're doing lately. Since you didn't have the time to text, I presume you've been busy?”

“Ah, right! Yes! Yes I have been, busy that is, you know how it is with work. Endless and all that.” You were frustrated at being pushed into a lie already. Tim was in charge here and he knew it.

“Why don't you give me your number then?” His smile was perfect, as flawless as his manipulation. “That way, when you're too busy to remember to message, I can remind you.”

You frowned. Like he didn't know your number already.

Quickly remembering you had to smile, you gave him your number, watching as he slowly typed it in, then texted. Only when you showed you received his text did he relent.

The ‘meeting’ continued on from there, Tim asking about all your hobbies and passions. Time ticked on, daylight turning to evening. Any attempt from you to redirect the conversation to either himself or work was swiftly dismissed. A small part of you admired his skill, he was playing you like a doll. You knew it, but you had no option but to play along. It was like an older sibling playing pretend with the young sibling. You hated the comparison.

The attention was unnerving. Your only solace was that neither of you had soul animals present currently, which was an absolute miracle.

Actually… what if that isn't a coincidence at all? Could this too have been engineered? Was that even possible?

“So then what’s your opinion on..” The sound of Tim’s voice slammed you back to reality. You quickly focused back in, fearing losing any advantage due to a lack of attention.

Abruptly, an alarm sounded, the noise blazing a path through your eardrums. You jolted in surprise. Tim however, was barely rattled. A frown appeared on his face as he glanced at his phone.

“That was the Arkham Asylum breakout alarm. It's no longer safe to go outside.” With these words Tim got up, walking over to the door and opening it.

“What…?” You mumbled, horrified.

“Stay here.” He commanded, a firm tone in his voice. This was Red Robin. “I’m going to check on the building, don't leave, it isn't safe.”

“Wait! But.. the collaboration.. we didn't..” The words rushed out of your mouth, leaving you feeling like a fool as Tim paused for a moment, to look at you.

“Don't worry.” He smiled, the weight of it bearing down upon you. You felt small. “You can just come in tomorrow, I'm sure your company won't mind.” With the final word said, Tim closed the door, presumably rushing off to become Red Robin. The click of the door felt like a dismissal, a scolding. A reminder to stay in your place.

Once again, you were trapped.

You clenched your fists. He wanted you to stay here, in his territory. You didn't doubt that Wayne Enterprises had amazing security, probably some of the best considering the identities of the owners. This was likely the third most safe place in Gotham, with the first and second places going to Batman’s base and Wayne Manor.

But… you haven't learned anything yet. All that time spent with him and somehow he hadn't brought up that singular, obvious fact. There was no way he didn't know, not with the way he was acting. And yet, he hadn't brought it up. Why?

What was he getting out of this?

Was he hoping that if you assumed he didn't know then you could easily be monitored? Was he just gathering information before acting? Where was the rest of the vigilantes in this?

Your head was spinning, going in circles. You couldn't understand him, you couldn't understand any of them. Why choose to be vigilantes, knowing the costs that life endures? Why were you tied to them, when you were so against a fundamental part of their existence?

You couldn't understand this at all. How could this be the basis of a soulmate bond?

You were… opposites.

You felt the telltale beat of an oncoming headache. For your own sanity, you decided to fold the incoming soulmate crisis into a small cavity of your brain to panic about later.

Fact One: There was an ongoing Arkham Asylum breakout, everyone is either being attacked, hiding away or escaping the city.

Fact Two: Batman and all his partners are going to be occupied for at least several hours if not a day.

Fact Three: You were going to take advantage of this.

It was the perfect time. All your soulmates were occupied, so none of them would be able to pay any attention to you. Red Robin might know your identity, and so the other vigilantes may know as well.

That didn't need to matter. They may have the information, but information itself is useless, if they are unable to act.

Right now, any Gothamite that isn't involved with rogues is either hiding or escaping. You could join the escapes, and get out of Gotham in the rush.

You didn't have to stay here, to play the role of a caged bird. You could escape, before they even got a chance.

You had to try.

You suppressed a shaky sigh, getting up and walking to the door. You tried the door handle.

Locked.

Uh oh. You tried it again, and then a few more times after that, shaking the door eventually in your desperation. Oh come on! You desperately thought to yourself. The one time you finally got the perfect chance and it's being ruined by a locked door.

Wait. You glanced at the small window in the door, the beginnings of an idea sprouting in your head. You glance over at Tim’s desk, noticing a small paper weight. You smile.

Lifting the paperweight, you judge the weight to be enough. Holding it up, you get into position to throw.

Wait.. the door has a keyhole, not a sliding chain, you realize, almost too late.

Ah.

Well that would have been embarrassing.

Sadly, you place the paperweight back down. There goes that idea.

But that wasn't the only door in the office, there was another one, the one that the shouting voice left out of. You approach the door, trying the doorknob.

Click!

It opens! Giving a small laugh, you advance through the door and out into the halls of Wayne Enterprises, a jubilant smile on your face. Whoever was shouting at Tim earlier, you almost wanted to thank them.

You avoid the elevators, instead picking stairs, as you presumed they may also be in lockdown. It didn't take you too long to get down to the ground floor, since the main walking areas were now barren of people.

The ground floor had some unfortunate news to offer you though. The once wildly open doors had now been locked down and barred, an iron wall between you and freedom.

Although, maybe there was some other way, you thought, eyeing the anxious security guards patrolling the front entrance.

Pulling out of your hiding spot, you approach the guards, making to time your steps, making noise to not scare them. You really didn't want to get shot before you had even left the safety of the building.

“P-please help me!” You stuttered, trembling with tears in your eyes. The guards jolted in surprise, turning to face you. They were expecting threats from the outside, not the inside.

“I need to get home, I can't stay here.” You sobbed, the guards pausing in confusion. They didn't know what to do with you.

“What’s wrong?” A sympathetic guard asked, patting you gently on the back. You almost felt bad.

“I need to go home!” You repeated, tone frantic.

A disgruntled guard stepped up to you. “Look, no one can leave right now. Company policy. It isn't safe, there's been an Arkham breakout. Just sit tight, and whatever’s waiting for you at home will be there when you get back.”

“N-no…” You mumbled. “You don't understand.. I have.. I have a cat, waiting for me.” You glance up, watching the expressions on their faces. They seem unmoved. “A-and my child!” You cry out, realizing you needed a better lie.

“A child?” The disgruntled guard repeated, sounding a little more sympathetic, but clearly not convinced. He eyed you up and down, evidentially thinking you looked a little too young.

“They're so little, but my cat likes to take care of them and I needed the money so, so I left them at home alone today. But recently they're been figuring out how to open doors and if anything happened to them I don't know what I’d d-” Your frantic lie is cut off, the disgruntled guard laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright listen. None of us can escort you, we're here on the job.”

You nodded, feeling exuberation rush through you.

“But if anything happened, run right back here, alright?”

You nodded again, fighting a smile on your face. The guards unlocked the doors, watching you dash out with frowns on their tired faces.

They were obvious to the beaming smirk on yours.

Nights in Gotham are by nature a little terrifying, but they're nothing compared to an Arkham breakout night. Shadows crawled up alleyways, the smell of booze and smoke lingering in a way it never could on normal nights. The terror was so pungent in the air, you could almost taste it. It was on the tip of your tongue.

Every so often you'd hear a scream, and you'd walk a little faster. Ideally you would have committed to the stealth route, but you had wasted enough time already.

Your house was on the way to the bus station, so you could easily pop in, grab essentials, and get out. You wouldn't lie, you were nervous. Every so often you’d feel your knees lose strength, and you'd have to fight with your body to regain the strength to stand.

But at this point it was either the horror of whatever your soulmates had in store for you, or the horrors of Arkham night. You'd already picked your poison, now it was time to swallow.

You took a breath in, then out, and continued walking. You were almost there.

The streets of Gotham stretched on endlessly, a cacophony of fear.

Just a bit longer.

A gunshot sounded nearby, the noise blasting through your eardrum.

Almost there.

The hum of a van's engine rushed through the night, haunting laughter echoing through the road.

You could see your house!

You beamed, a smile lighting up your face, as you practically skipped up to the entrance. You reached into your bag to withdraw your keys.

You had just retrieved them when a crowbar smashed into your head.

----

Wow umh, please pray for reader guys, this is NOT going well for them. Who do you think that was?

Me writing shenanigans for this chapter:

I just really feel like reader should smash open this window, let's do it. Wait. They wouldn't have doors that work like that. so reader sadly puts the heavy object down :(

Also me: yeah so reader lies here and it's an absolute mess

Also also me: rip reader that's a lotta head trauma omg

Sorry for the lack of soul animals this chapter :(( there's a reason I swear

The next chapter is definitely gonna be a bit insane, for sure! The soul animals return then anddd in droves!

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @lavender-moony @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger @sociallyakwardpanda

@imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu

If I missed anyone out im super sorry! I generally check the replies for the current chapter and messages for people that want to be tagged, so it's possible for people to slip by

Just remind me again and I'll be sure to add you! (This also goes for if I misspell you accidentally, which also happens cuz I type them all manually)

For some reason I couldnt tag anymore people until I put a random space in-between the tags, so that's apparently a thing. If anyone has any ideas why, I'm listening

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

thank you so much to @rybunnie @rybunbun for the info/inspo for this and so many other posts!!! i owe u so much🥹

you knew that nagi seishiro loved you.

he clung to you, he played video games with you, he binged watch anime with you, he slept most nights holding you close to his chest, and he looked at you as if you were the most precious, extravagant treasure, as if you were irreplaceable and that he could never love another nearly as much. even if he didn’t express it through his words, his actions told you all that you needed to know.

you also knew that nagi seishiro was the bane of your existence.

skipping dates because he was too lazy to go, thinking that not replying to your texts was okay because it was a hassle, skipping dates because of soccer practice (in which he just scores 50 goals and falls asleep), being completely unaware of anyone else who had romantic interests in him and trying to steal him away from you, often flat-out ignoring you in favor of playing video games, insensitive words that he thinks are alright to say.

you’re sitting on the chipped and white wooden bench at the park, four fingers drumming on your thigh impatiently before you finally sighed, pressing the bright green “call” button once more. and once more, a robotic female voice replied. “the number you have called is currently unavailable. please send a voicemail.”

finally, you got up, hands in your pockets and grumbling profanities under your breath. angrily, you began typing on your phone, nagi’s contact photo clear as day.

you: ik that u didn’t have soccer practice today because reo said so

you: where the fuck r u???

another date, skipped for video games. probably a date that was completely forgotten about again. you were tired of this; this was the what, third time already these past two weeks? and you guys never even went on dates that often either. you groaned, walking back to your crappy little school dorm that was a whole damn building away from nagi’s.

when you were at school the next day, you ignored nagi’s overwhelming presence in the classroom. you ignored him following you around like a lost puppy. you ignored him trying to talk to you. you ignored his nudging and poking. you ignored his constant quiet apologies.

after school ended, you immediately walked back to your dorm swiftly, not turning back to see nagi almost chasing after you through the crowded halls. your eyes widened a fraction when you realized how quickly nagi was walking; he would usually find walking too fast a hassle. but just before he could catch up to you, you reached your dorm and slammed the door, leaving him outside.

“‘m sorry.” nagi muttered. “please let me in. it’s gonna rain soon, and i miss you.”

“go back to your own dorm. or go to reo’s bigass company-house-penthouse-apartment thing.” you replied hastily. “go away. you’re annoying.”

you could almost feel nagi’s pout through the door, and for a moment, you almost felt tempted to let him in. but he didn’t show up to your date last night and left you freezing on the park bench, so this is well deserved.

a few minutes later, a rainstorm thudded through the city, the clouds gray and dull. as you stared outside, you wondered if nagi had made it to his dorm safely. no, he probably had. he played soccer after all; he was fast. but your thoughts came to a halt when a loud knock came on the door.

“can you let me in? it’s really wet out here.”

you nearly sprinted to open the door, and there stood nagi, his hair and clothes wet, holding an all too familiar plastic bag. inside, you could vaguely see your favorite snacks and foods from the nearby convenience store. “sei? what the hell are you doing out here?” he stepped in, dropping the plastic bag on your counter.

“missed you, and i felt bad.” his puppy dog eyes made your own soften, and you even felt a little bad yourself. “i’ll try not to do it again. i told reo to text me whenever i have a date with you now, and i’ll try to remember more often now.”

your eyes softened, and despite how soaked his clothes were, you embraced him. “at least you’re trying.” nagi lazily draped his arms around you.

“i thought you thought that i was annoying.” nagi mumbled.

“i did. but then again, i remembered that your my boyfriend and i love you, and that my love for you cancels out my annoyance at your stupidity.”

nagi laughed before he looked down at you, and despite the rain and clouds outside, his eyes turned into glittering gems underneath the sunlight when he looked at the love of his life.

a/n: did you catch the kim possible reference???

[purinfelix]

plsplsplspslpsl write calling bf barca boys (pedri, fermin, joao) + jude bellingham "bro"

"bro"

featuring: pedri, fermin, joao, gavi (i had to include my bby sorryyy!) and jude warnings: teensy bit cringe at times, be warned ...

a/n: once again apologising for being ia, but an eternal thank you to anon and every one else who's still interacting with me and sending me requests!! trying my best to get through them, thank you all for your patience &lt;333

You don’t remember how it had happened honestly, the two of you had just been hanging out in his bedroom, a situation you had come to find comfort in since its frequency had become almost like a routine to the two of you. The air outside was cool, giving the two of you an excuse to curl up together under the blanket and binge watch episodes of your favourite show in a comfortable silence. That was, of course, until you heard the chime of your phone - causing you to perk up out of your boyfriends arms.

“Bro, could you get that for me?”

Pedri

Honestly he doesn’t think much of it at first, since your guys’ relationship has always been pretty casual in the way that you both trust each other enough not to overreact. He reckons that it probably slipped out by accident, and given that it’s what most of his teammates and friends call him, he doesn’t react that much. Sure, he noticed it, and filed it away to the back of his mind as a sign that you might be mad with him but he’s a pretty calm boyfriend only offers an amused eyebrow raise.

It’s only when he leans over and grabs your phone do you realise what you’ve said - but only decide to double down on it to get a reaction out of him.

“Thanks bro,” you say as nonchalantly as you can manage when he hands you your phone, immediately going to respond to whatever message had caused the notification sound. And at first it seems like he’s not going to indulge your obvious bait for a reaction - of course until you hear the rustle of bed sheets and his strong arm snake around your waist.

He lets out a soft mumble that roughly translates to - “What is it baby?” - as he buries his face into the crook of your neck in a loving, yet almost pleading manner. It doesn’t take long for you to give in to his charms.

“I’m only messing with you,” you giggle, patting the top of his head reassuringly.

Fermin

If there’s one thing you know about Fermin, it’s that he’s observant. However, another thing about him is that he’s a sly little shit. So whenever he feels he can sense you trying to prod at his temper it only ends in him serving you back your own attitude.

“Of course, bro,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at him as he turns to grab your phone, you can tell he has a wide smirk spread across his face.

You only give him a knowing look, and try your best to maintain your composure while stifling your laughter - but the minute he drops your phone into your hands you know he’s not going to back down on this.

“Thanks, dude,” you quip.

“Any time, my man.”

Silence, and you’re trying to figure out your next comeback while ignoring the weird way him calling you ‘my man’ made you feel. You feel oddly stupid for starting a game you know you couldn’t keep up with, but luckily your boyfriend has already caught wind of this by the look of amusement on his face.

“Something wrong, mate?” he chuckles as he leans over to peck your lips that you hadn’t realised had formed a pout. All you can do is sigh in faux-exhaustion before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Joao

It’s only once he’s reached over to grab your phone, that he clocks the odd new nickname. Immediately, but silently, his mind starts racing through the possible reasons as to why you’ve bestowed it upon him - did he do something wrong? He did only kiss you twice before leaving for training that morning, and he did accidentally move away from you when the two of you were cuddling earlier. He’s worried, but he’s also up to play your game if need be.

His grip on your phone tightens, and you hear his voice low, daring - “What was that darling?”

You truly meant it as an accident this time, and he manages to snap you out of it with his words. “Oh, sorry, babe,” you correct yourself and he nods as if to silently say that’s better.

You get your phone from him, and a quick kiss on the cheek before he settles back to wrapping his arms around you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck so he can look at your phone next to you.

Gavi

Whilst something like being called “bro” might not matter to most other guys, it definitely did to your boyfriend. His reaction to your words was immediate, his head whipping up from where he had been laying beside you, eyes round and pleading.

“What?” his voice was quiet, almost unbelieving and you had to try your best not to laugh at how dramatic your boyfriend’s reaction was. Still, a small chuckle escapes your lips, only making you feel worse as a small pout forms from his lips.

“Sorry, it slipped out,” you reassure him, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek lovingly. He furrows his brows as if to pose the question - are you sure? But you only take this as a sign to mess with him, just a little more.

“What, you don’t like me calling you bro?” You’ve completely forgotten about your phone at this point.

“No, definitely not.” He’s oddly serious when he says this, but this only adds to how amused you are by this situation.

“Alright baby,” you hum out your apology, trying your best to further express this through your thumb on his cheek - and luckily he seems to get the message. Before you know it, he’s melted back into your arms, your fingers curling lazily around his hair.

Jude

“What?”

Jude is quick with it, turning to you immediately as soon as the word leaves your mouth with an expression that makes you realise your mistake all too quickly.

“Bro?” he asks again, almost daring you to repeat it, but the shocked laugh he lets out reassures you he isn’t taking it to seriously - only getting an unfair amount of amusement from your mistake.

“Whatever, babe, there,” you say in mock-annoyance, not wanting to let him get the better of you.

“Nuh-uh, you called me bro,” he pushed, leaning in close to you, his voice teasing.

“It was an accident, okay?”

“Sure,” he hums, finally grabbing your phone and handing it to you, all the while having a stupid smirk on his face, “I’ll just have to start calling you mate or something, yeah?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter through pouted lips and he finally gives up the act, settling back by your side and pecking your cheek as an apology.

[penultimate-step]

Lately, I've been thinking about the effect of real-world time on perception of media. Or, wait, let me start from the beginning.

When I was 11, I read the book Ender's Game for some school assignment or another. I don't remember ever considering Ender a relatable character, but certainly my understanding of the events was shaped by being of an age to see the protagonist not so much as a young child but as someone of my peer group, someone who could have been slotted amongst my classmates without anybody batting an eye.

Over a decade later, I read the sequel, Speaker for the Dead; it takes place many years later, when Ender is in his thirties, and my feelings about the in-universe time skip were undeniably shaped by the real life time gap between my reading of the novels. Reading the first book back then and then the second book now created a feeling where it's almost like, I'm browsing the facebook page of someone I had known in middle school but lost contact with, checking up on how they're doing today. The real-time factor caused me to perceive it less like a timeskip, and more like a reunion - the feelings were closer to "oh wow, that's my boy! I haven't seen him in years! Wonder what he's up to?" Which in turn gave me a better position to appreciate the parts of the narrative about him struggling to find a place in his adulthood than I would have been had I perceived it more strictly as a quick skip from 11 to 20 to 36.

While musing about this, I considered a VN I played a few years back, which took place over three in-game days - except at the end of one in-game day, the game would lock you out from progressing for 24 hours real time. So that as the in-game investigator protagonist was ruminating on the information that had been discovered that day, the player would be forced to do the same. In this example, by forcing the player to experience the same timeframe as the in-game characters, the sense of it being an in-depth and extensive investigation increases, even though without the forced pauses the game would be short enough to blow through in a handful of hours real-time.

Which brings to mind how time effects things in long-running serial works. It's well known that an audience which watches an episode or reads a chapter week by week has a very different experience than one binging through whole seasons or volumes at a time, but I wonder if the real time relative to the in-universe time makes that effect stand out more? Fight scenes, for instance, have been known to take up several chapters in certain manga or webnovels. What does it do to the reader's perception, if from their point a view a fight takes a whole month, while for the characters they read about it's only been a couple hours? Readers might feel that the situation is more stressful, since the pressure of the fight has been ongoing for a long time for them, while in-universe it was a rough afternoon but no more than that. Contrastingly, when a series skips ahead or otherwise has long periods of time for characters that feel short for readers, it can feel like no time has passed and everything is still the same, unless the author really stresses the differences in world-state that occurred offscreen. Because the reader hasn't changed at all.

No conclusion here exactly, I just think it's interesting how often an audience's response to a work, the emotions felt, are more closely tied to their real-life timescale, something almost completely out of the author's control, as opposed to in-universe time, which can be intentionally shifted or played with for the sake of the narrative.

[xotoru]

Boyfriend Hc's➳❥

Wc:554

Synopsis: what I think the MHA boys would be like as boyfriends :3

Warnings: Mentions of weed/vaping, changing infront nt of someone, Swearing, super cute fluff!

Izuku.M◡̈

He’s just the sweetest little pumpkin

Seriously whenever he takes you out he’s all nervous and giddy the whole time

Will buy you as much stuff as you want, and he doesn’t even have money like that

Has a customized plushie of you and you have one of him

Was really worried at first to show you his room cause well…it’s all might themed

Falls asleep everywhere so you guys end up cuddling in the most random places

Will cry about movies with you

When you change in front of him he kinda freaks out and gets super nervous

Katsuki.B☠︎︎

Loves loves LOVESSS cooking for you

No matter how much of a burden he says it is or how tired he is he always will

Isn’t mean to you but can’t change his tone so some things come off as mean and freak you out

Unfortunately hates going shopping with you

Will bitch and moan the whole time and you will not get a single second of peace

Wears really yummy cologne that’s probably mad expensive

Although he’ll never admit it, he lovessss cuddling after a mission or just a long day in general

Fighting with him is not fun…

Denki.K˘͈ᵕ˘͈

Loves making you laugh, like whenever he can he will

Food dates are his favorite

It doesn’t even matter just as long as it involves food and you he’s excited

Will match your energy so well

Although he tends to be unserious and silly he knows when your upset and always knows what to do to help

Best 2am 7-11 partner

Loves sharing AirPods with you

Has zapped you a few times cause he gets really nervous around you

Eijiro.K ♞

Takes gentleman to a whole new level

Hold every door, carry’s everything, cooks and cleans whenever your tired

You can’t help but feel bad at times but then remember he finds personal pleasure in it

Will try any sort of spicy food with you

And if you don’t like spicy stuff, no worries cause he takes it all!

Will beg for you to dye his hair cause your the only one he trusts to do it right

Loves playing video games with you

Would 100% wear matching clothes with you, even if they are kinda girly

Hanta.S♣

Biggest fricking movie nerd

You guys have seen like every “classic” movie there is

Unfortunately a fein

Will chief the fuck out of your vape/pen and will not be sorry abt it

Loves hugging you from behind!!??:!@

He loves binging your favorite shows with you, even if he has no clue what’s going on

Just shows up at your dorm in the middle of the night through the window

Buys you little stuffed animals and trinkets as gifts cause he knows you love them

Shoto.T☾

buys you overly expensive things and won't listen when you tell him to return it cause it costs too much

never have to worry act him flirting with another girl cause he's so quiet and closed off

on the off chance a girl does try and flirt with him he politely declines(too politely)

genuinely loves watching you try on clothes and asking his opinions

#2 biggest gentleman!!!

you in fact will not be meeting his family...

really clingy when he's tired

is willing to heat up your tea or food when it gets cold:'(

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 21 | END

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

You can’t leave. Not when he’s already found you. And now… you have no choice but to play Bucky’s game.

You force a smile, even though your hands are trembling. Your heart races, thudding against your chest like it’s trying to escape. Bucky steps closer and shrugs off his jacket, placing it gently around your shoulders like it’s nothing—like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere in the dead of night.

“You must be freezing,” he says softly. His voice is full of fake concern, the kind that would melt anyone else. “Where are you going this late?”

His eyes are too kind. Too knowing. His tone might fool another woman—but not you.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “My dad’s doctor just called. The surgery’s happening sooner than expected, so I was going to check in.”

Bucky exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “I knew it. I had this feeling something would happen tonight. I’m glad I followed my instincts.”

Bullshit.

You glance at your phone, trying to pretend everything’s normal. “Mind if I join you guys back to the hotel?”

Bucky smiles again, that warm, practiced smile that’s all mask and no soul. He pats Thor’s shoulder. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Inside the car, you sit in the back, clutching the jacket tighter around you even though it makes your skin crawl. Bucky slides into the passenger seat like a king reclaiming his throne. Thor starts the engine without a word.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad this town is small. Your broken-down car wasn’t that far from the hotel. Just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, you tell yourself.

To kill the silence, you blurt out, “When do you think the renovation at my house will be done?”

Bucky doesn’t turn around, but you can hear the smugness in his voice. “Probably next week.”

“Next week?” Your voice rises a little too quickly.

“Not fast enough?” he asks, amused. “I’ll tell the crew to finish in three days.”

“No—no. Next week is fast enough,” you quickly backtrack. Don’t push. Don’t make him suspicious.

You pass the new hospital under construction. The steel skeleton towers in the night, surrounded by floodlights and scaffolding. It’s quiet, too quiet—like something in a dream that doesn’t feel real.

“When it’s finished,” Bucky says with pride, “I’m bringing in the best doctors in the country. Tom won’t have to leave town again.”

You go still. He’s not just talking about your father. He’s talking about you. He’s building a town no one can escape from. A town where he decides who stays—and who belongs to him.

“That’s... great,” you say, voice thin. “No one will have to worry about their health anymore.”

The car pulls into the hotel parking lot. Relief swells in your chest like a wave—until you remember it’s only temporary. You’re still trapped.

Bucky steps out first, then circles around to open your door with exaggerated politeness. You hesitate before accepting his hand. You wish your nails were sharp enough to cut him. But now’s not the time. You have to play nice.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He studies your face. “You look pale. Want me to have dinner sent to your room?”

Your stomach twists. The last thing you want is him at your door tonight.

“No thanks,” you say quickly. “I’m not that hungry.”

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing for a split second. “Alright. But if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“All right. If you need anything, just call,” Bucky said, his voice smooth like velvet—warm on the surface, but something colder lurked underneath.

You forced a smile. A shallow curve of the lips. The kind people give in tense family dinners or awkward public events—where they have no choice but to play along. You turned from him, heels clicking against the polished tile as you walked toward the lobby.

Each step felt like walking through molasses.

You couldn’t breathe. You needed air, distance—space to think. But no matter how fast or far you tried to go, he was always one step behind. Always.

And then you heard him. The heavy footfalls. He was following.

The elevator was waiting at the end of the corridor. You tapped the call button and stared ahead, not daring to look back. You could feel him close, like a shadow stitched to your spine.

The doors slid open with a soft metallic shhhk. You stepped inside. Of course, he followed.

Now it was just the two of you in a small box of mirrors and steel. Trapped.

The hum of the elevator filled the silence. You could hear your own heartbeat. You kept your eyes trained on the digital numbers above the door. As if they were your countdown to safety.

Then his voice sliced through the stillness—calm, casual, like he was sharing a bit of gossip. “Oh, right. Since what happened to Tony… the director’s seat at the hospital is empty now.”

You blinked, confused for a second. “What?”

Bucky turned to face you slightly, his expression unreadable. “Drysdale was supposed to be the hospital’s biggest investor. But after what happened to him…” His jaw tightened just a fraction. “That’s on me.”

A chill crept up your spine.

His voice remained calm—steady—but there was something cold behind it. Like he wasn’t confessing. He was warning.

“And now that you’re here,” he continued, “it makes sense for you to take over. The hospital needs someone smart. Someone trustworthy. Someone close.”

Your throat tightened. Every alarm in your body was screaming.

You nodded quickly, trying to keep your voice level. “I’ll… think about it.”

The elevator dinged, and you didn’t wait. The doors weren’t even fully open before you slipped through the gap, striding down the hallway with quick, clipped steps. Your hands were shaking.

“Good night,” you tossed over your shoulder.

Behind you, Bucky still hadn’t moved. Still in the elevator. Still watching.

But just as you reached your room, you heard him again—so soft it sent goosebumps crawling across your skin.

“Get some rest. I have to go pick up your car.” Pause. “I’ll make sure it gets fixed properly.”

You glanced back once—just once.

He was still in the elevator. Still smiling. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t just followed you, hadn’t just dropped a cryptic statement about a man who mysteriously vanished.

You swallowed the fear rising in your throat and turned away, heart hammering.

You fumbled the keycard into the slot with shaking fingers. The green light blinked. You slipped inside and slammed the door shut with your body pressed against it. You threw the bolt, locked the chain. Every click of the lock felt like placing a weak bandage over a bleeding wound.

The room was dim. Quiet. But not peaceful.

You weren’t safe here. Not anymore.

You backed away from the door, breathing hard. Your fingers trembled as you grabbed your charger, plugged in your phone, and called Jake.

No signal.

Your blood went cold.

You stared at the phone. That couldn’t be right. You’d used it here before. You called your lawyer from this room a few nights ago. Texted your lawyer. Checked your emails. There was always signal.

You stepped closer to the window, holding the phone up. Nothing.

Tried again. Nothing.

“Come on. Come on,” you muttered, biting your lip as your hands shook. You tried toggling airplane mode. Tried Wi-Fi. Tried every trick you knew.

Still nothing.

It didn’t feel like bad reception.

It felt… deliberate.

“Did he—” You couldn’t even say it aloud.

Was this part of it? Did Bucky somehow jam the signal? Cut it off? How far had he planned this?

You dropped the phone onto the bed and sat beside it, rubbing your hands over your face.

You felt sick.

Your body was trembling and your chest was too tight. This wasn’t a coincidence. Too many little things. Too many gestures that looked sweet on the outside but were twisted underneath. Too much control hidden in kindness.

The hospital. The car. The signal. Everything. Controlled.

You had to get out. You had to find a way to leave this town before it was too late.

Because now you understood— This wasn’t protection. This wasn’t affection. This was possession.

And you were already in the cage.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

You woke long before the sun rose. Not that you’d slept.

You'd laid in bed for hours, body still but mind spiraling—trapped in a loop of every unnerving detail from the day before. The silence in your room wasn’t comforting. It was thick. Suffocating. You kept glancing at the door, half-expecting it to rattle.

By the time light began to seep in through the curtains, dull and gray like an old bruise, you were already dressed and ready.

You tiptoed to the door, your fingers brushing over the chain lock before sliding it free. Quiet. Don’t wake him.

You cracked the door open and peeked into the hallway. Empty.

Still, your heart pounded as you slipped out, carefully pulling the door shut without a sound.

Bucky lived just across from you. Too close. Every creak of the hallway floor felt like a flare gun going off. But his door didn’t move.

You made it to the elevator and hit the button. The wait felt eternal. Ding.

You stepped inside. The doors closed with a soft hiss. The moment they sealed shut, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

For the first time in hours, you were alone. And for a moment—just one trembling moment—you felt safe.

At the Restaurant

The scent of coffee and baked goods drifted toward you as you stepped into the hotel’s restaurant. The soft clatter of cutlery and murmured conversations felt oddly surreal—normal, almost—like the world hadn’t shifted under your feet.

But then you saw him.

Jake had just walked in, brushing rain off his jacket. You didn’t wait. You marched straight toward him.

“Jake.”

He turned, surprised. “Hey, you called me—” You grabbed his wrist.

“Upps.” He chuckled, but you didn’t.

Without a word, you pulled him into a quiet corner of the restaurant—out of view from any guests, and more importantly, out of reach from the hotel’s security cameras.

“I called you last night,” you whispered, eyes darting around. “Because I need your help.”

Jake frowned. “What happened?”

You shivered.

Not from the cold.

From the memory. From the things you were piecing together. From the weight of knowing—really knowing—who Bucky had become.

Jake’s brow furrowed. “Y/N… are you okay?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, voice trembling. “Jake… Bucky is evil.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know what he did to you before. But he’s changed now. He seems—”

“No,” you cut him off. “This is different. He’s the mastermind of it all.”

Jake’s expression shifted. He was quiet. Then: “Mastermind?”

You hesitated. You had no proof. Just instincts. Fear. The way every piece of the puzzle seemed to lead back to Bucky’s hands. His watchful eyes. His reach.

“I need your help,” you said, pulling a crumpled paper from your pocket. “Call this number. When someone answers, just say: The contract has terminated. That’s it.”

Jake looked at the paper, confused but trusting. “Okay… But we might have to wait. I heard on the radio this morning—the transmission towers are down.”

Your breath caught. “So it wasn’t just my phone?”

“No. It’s town-wide. Radio, calls, internet… Everything’s messed up.”

You stared at him. Your last thread of hope thinned. “Can you do something? This is urgent, Jake. Please.”

He studied your face. Something in your eyes must’ve told him this wasn’t paranoia. This was real.

“I… I’ll try,” he promised.

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Jake stepped forward, voice softer. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

Then— A voice behind you. Smooth. Inevitable.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “Turns out you’re here. I was knocking on your door.”

You froze. Your pulse jumped. Jake turned stiffly. “Oh, hi Bucky. Y/N was just helping me with… calculating my taxes.” He talked too fast, shit. He's a bad actor.

“Simple, actually,” you added, voice tight. “I’ll see you later.”

You bolted. Walked quickly into the breakfast hall. But you didn’t have to look to know—he followed.

Breakfast Hall

You filled your plate slowly, eyes focused on the scrambled eggs and toast like they held state secrets.

Bucky stood close behind. Too close. His hand brushed the small of your back as he leaned forward.

“There’s no signal,” you murmured, testing. “I can’t make any calls.”

He sighed as if it annoyed him. “Yeah. Something happened at the network tower. I don’t get the details, but the mayor issued an order to fix it fast.”

Of course he did. You nodded slowly. Pretending. Smiling. Playing the part of the patient guest. But your fists clenched around the tongs.

You sat down with your tray, picking at your food. Bucky, as expected, joined your table.

You laughed at the right moments. Asked polite questions. Let your eyes soften when he talked.

And the whole time your skin crawled. Like you were being watched by something wearing a mask.

Eventually, finally, he stood. “Duty calls. I’ll check on the staff.”

You didn’t breathe until he disappeared down the hallway.

At the Information Desk

You moved fast. Straight to the information desk. Your voice low but urgent.

“Could you call a taxi for me? I need to get to the train.”

The young man behind the desk looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. The trains can’t operate either. Network’s down. Even the scheduling system is frozen.”

Your chest tightened. “The train, too?”

“Yes… Sadly, yes.”

Shit. Everything was locked. Controlled. Every way out cut off.

But then you remembered— Natasha. She mentioned heading back to the city later today. Maybe she hadn’t left yet. Perhaps she could help.

It was a long shot.

But it was the only one you had left.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The arcade reeked of sweat, old popcorn, and something faintly metallic—like rusting wires. The light inside buzzed unevenly overhead, stuttering as you stepped in. The manager sat hunched over a cracked monitor, his eyes bloodshot from too many late shifts and not enough sleep. His chair creaked as he turned slowly to face you, his face already sour with contempt.

“You,” he growled. “It was because of you she quit this morning.”

Your chest tightened. “Really?”

“Ah-ha. She came in, said she was done, and left. Packed up her locker in five damn minutes.” He tossed a grimy towel over his shoulder. “Can’t say I blame her.”

You hesitated. “Do you have her address?”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t answer for a moment, just stared at you like he was trying to burn a hole through your skull. But eventually, maybe because he didn’t care enough to fight it—or maybe because he wanted you gone—he scribbled the address on the back of a receipt and shoved it toward you without another word.

You followed the address. The roads were quiet, too quiet, like the entire town had shrunk in on itself. When you finally reached the apartment building, the air felt different—heavy, charged. You barely raised your fist to knock before the door swung open.

There stood Natasha, her jacket half-zipped and a battered suitcase dragging behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp. Defensive.

“I thought…” You swallowed hard. “I thought I could come along with you.”

Her eyes narrowed, scanning you like she expected something to explode. But then, something in her posture loosened. If you were with her, it might actually work in her favor. You were well-spoken. Clean-cut. You’d be the best walking recommendation letter she'd ever have.

She sighed. “Sure. But you’re paying for gas.”

“Of course.”

Her car was old, faded yellow paint peeling at the edges, the kind that creaked when you opened the door like it might snap in two if pushed too hard. Inside smelled like gasoline and stale fast food.

As the engine sputtered to life, Natasha grumbled, “Seems like the universe fucked me. No signal. No train. So I’m stuck driving this antique.”

“You tell me.” You looked over your shoulder again.

Natasha noticed. “Why do you keep checking behind us?” Her voice was calm but probing.

You hesitated. “Did someone chase you?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, eyes glued to the rearview mirror.

Ten minutes out of town, the needle on the fuel gauge dropped to red. Natasha swore under her breath.

“Shit. We have to refill.”

You pulled into the nearest gas station—an old, creaky thing at the edge of nowhere. A single flickering fluorescent light buzzed above. Natasha stayed near the car, lighting a cigarette, shoulders hunched against the wind.

Inside the convenience store, the air was warm but stale. The cashier looked bored, flipping through a magazine with chipped nails. You approached the counter.

“I’d like to fill up. Can I use a card? Do you have signal here?”

The cashier looked up slowly, puzzled. “Of course. Why? You don’t have signal?”

“No. Do you?”

“I’ve got full bars. No issues.”

Your stomach twisted.

Something wasn’t adding up.

You handed her your platinum card and forced a smile. “Can I… borrow your phone for a second? I need to call someone. It’s important.”

She hesitated. Looked at the card. Platinum. Her eyes softened. “Sure.”

You took the phone in trembling hands and typed in the number. It rang. You clenched your jaw.

“Come on. Pick up. Please. Please…”

Through the window, something caught your eye.

A black SUV rolled in. Smooth. Expensive. You recognized it instantly.

Thor stepped out first.

Your blood froze.

You watched in horror as he reached for the passenger door. Natasha’s eyes went wide, but before she could react, Thor was dragging her out of the car, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other twisting her arm behind her back.

“No,” you whispered, panic crashing over you in waves.

And then— The call connected.

“Hello?” a deep voice answered on the line.

You didn’t hesitate. “The contract is terminated. The contract is terminated!” The words fell from your lips like a lifeline.

You shoved the phone back to the stunned cashier and snatched your card.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You ran for the door—

—but he was already there.

Bucky.

He stepped out from behind the SUV like a ghost, too calm, too fast. His eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, his mouth flat, his body blocking the exit.

You turned to bolt the other way, but his hand clamped around your wrist like iron.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, struggling, but his grip didn’t even flinch.

Customers turned. The cashier looked up, startled.

“Ssst…” The sound was soft. Almost gentle. You barely had time to register it before you felt a sharp sting in your neck.

Your eyes went wide. Your limbs jerked instinctively, a burst of adrenaline flooding your system—but it was already too late. The syringe was already in.

Bucky’s grip tightened just enough to steady you. Not enough to bruise, not enough to panic the few people watching. But firm. Practiced.

Your mouth opened in a breathless gasp. The edges of your vision blurred almost instantly, like ink spreading across paper. The world tilted.

“You always made things difficult,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low, almost fond—almost.

Your knees buckled. He caught you before you hit the floor.

He held you for a second, making sure the sedative had taken full effect. His eyes scanned your face, watching the last flicker of consciousness flicker out like a dying candle.

Only then did he exhale—slow and controlled, like a man who’d been holding his breath too long. Relief and possession curled around his expression like smoke.

He turned, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. The cashier blinked at him in confusion, the silence pressing in like thick fog. Your limp body in his arms turned a few heads. The other customers froze in that awkward half-awareness, unsure if this was an emergency or a domestic drama.

“She ran away from the hospital,” Bucky said calmly, adjusting your weight in his arms. He gave the cashier a reassuring smile, that picture-perfect charm that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s not dangerous. Just scared.”

The cashier’s brows drew together. “O-oh.”

He smoothly pulled a laminated card from his coat and handed it over. The name. The logo. The government seal.

“Here’s my card if you want to confirm anything,” he added. His voice was velvet, but underneath it was the unmistakable edge of control.

She took the card with trembling fingers, eyes flitting between the official badge and your unconscious form.

“I… okay,” she murmured, uncertainty etched into every syllable.

Before he turned to leave, he paused, still wearing that polite, terrible smile.

“Mind if I ask something?”

She nodded, slowly.

“What did she say when she called?”

The cashier swallowed. “She said… ‘The contract is terminated.’ That’s all. Just that. Nothing else.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t flicker. But something behind his eyes changed. A beat. A calculation.

“Really?” he said with a mild curiosity that didn’t match the way his jaw ticked ever so slightly. He reclaimed the ID, slipped it back into his pocket, and nodded once.

“Well. Thanks for your cooperation.” His voice was soft. Final.

He walked out with you cradled in his arms like a sleeping child, but the way he moved—sharp, focused, efficient—was the farthest thing from tender.

In the parking lot, Bucky opened the back door, laid you down gently beside Natasha, and closed it with a soft click that echoed louder than a gunshot in the still air.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, expression unreadable now.

“Contract’s terminated?” he repeated under his breath, starting the engine.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He had no intention of letting that happen.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

You woke up slowly.

Your head throbbed, and your body felt unnaturally heavy. You blinked up at the pale ceiling, watching shadows shift as soft light filtered through drawn curtains. The air was still. Too still. There was no buzz of city traffic, no hallway chatter, no hum of a minibar. Just silence—thick, padded silence.

You sat up a little. The sheets smelled clean, unfamiliar. The bed was too soft.

Where is this?

This wasn’t a dungeon. There were no chains or stone walls. But it wasn’t your hotel room either. Not the one you remembered. The muted wallpaper, the furniture—none of it matched. For one terrifying moment, you thought: Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe you’d imagined running away, the syringe, the gas station.

You closed your eyes, trying to will the panic away.

Then came the voice.

“You’re awake.”

Your eyes snapped open.

Bucky was sitting in a chair beside your bed. Close. Too close. His posture relaxed, one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on his knee like he’d been waiting for hours.

Your heart shot up into your throat. You pushed back, inching away, your hands clutching at the blanket like it could protect you.

He saw it. The fear in your eyes.

And it hurt him.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, softly, like a promise he wished you could believe. But you didn’t. And he knew it. That terrified look on your face—it wasn’t part of the plan. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were supposed to understand. To forgive. To stay.

“The one piece missing,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “is you.”

You forced your voice out, your throat dry and scratchy. “Where is Natasha?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing how honest to be. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“She’s fine,” he said at last. “Unless you try to leave me. Then maybe not.”

Your breath hitched.

“I admire you, you know,” he continued, tone unnervingly gentle. “Even after everything she’s done to you… you still helped her. You still cared.” He leaned closer, voice almost reverent. “You’re different. Completely different from all of us.”

There was something too smooth in his voice now. Too careful. He was speaking sweetly, lovingly—but it tasted like poison. The tension in the air was unbearable. It coiled around your throat.

“Why… why are you doing this?” you whispered.

He blinked. Then his eyes widened, surprised you even had to ask.

“Is it not clear enough?” he said, softly.

He leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. And then—finally—he let it spill.

“I never apologized to you. Not once,” he said, eyes unfocused, voice lowering. “I made your life hell. I ruined it. Because I blamed your family for stealing my dad.”

Each word came like a confession he’d been holding for years. His face twisted, as if the weight of it all was finally too much.

“I made everyone hate you in school. Every cruel rumor, every whispered lie—I was the one pulling the strings. I was the designer of your misery.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Couldn’t.

“But then I found out it wasn’t your family’s fault.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Your mother had cut ties with Alex. Your mother never wanted anything to do with him again. It was him. My dad. He was the one who couldn’t let go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“He listened to her wish… but he never stopped watching her. Wanting her. Imagine that—seeing the woman you love every day and knowing you can’t have her.” He looked up at you, and this time, there was something broken in his eyes. “That’s how I feel when I see you.”

You stared, frozen. It was too much. Too fast.

“After graduation, I ran. Left the town. I was ashamed. I studied overseas to get away. But I never stopped thinking about you.” He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I lost my mind. I know that. I went too far.”

He looked back at you. “I orchestrated everything. Jake, Natasha losing his job. Thor and Steve—those accidents weren’t accidents. I’m the reason their lives fell apart.”

Your stomach dropped. “You… you’re the one who—?”

“I’m the mastermind,” he said without flinching.

You felt cold spread through your entire body.

“Why?” you whispered.

“Because they deserved it. I deserved it.” His voice cracked—finally cracking.

You wanted to scream. To run. But your voice caught in your throat. You stared at the man in front of you—this boy who once haunted your high school halls with smirks and whispered threats—now grown, twisted, obsessed.

He leaned forward again. “All I ever wanted to hear from you… just once… was this: ‘Thank you, Bucky, for what you’ve done. You punished everyone who made my life hell.’”

You looked at him, blinking through the disbelief.

“…No,” you said quietly. “You’ll never hear that from me. You’re not a judge. You’re just obsessed with rewriting the past.”

His face faltered. His expression cracked open like a window in a storm. Disappointment flashed like lightning across it. For a long, long second, he didn’t say anything.

Then he stood.

“Just rest,” he murmured. His tone was resigned. “Soon, you’ll appreciate what I’ve done.”

He walked to the door and closed it behind him with a heavy click.

You sat frozen for a beat, then launched yourself from the bed. Your legs trembled but you forced them to move. You ran to the window—locked. You rattled the door—also locked.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. You finally realized. You were trapped.

Days passed.

You didn’t know how many. The room blurred into itself—same sheets, same soft lamps, same suffocating stillness. Bucky came every day. Brought food. Always calm. Always too sweet. Like this was normal. Like you belonged here.

You never ate.

Until one day, he set the tray down and said:

“Do you want me to put a strap on you so you can eat?”

That made your blood run cold.

“No,” you said quickly.

You picked up the spoon.

After that, he changed. Loosened.

You weren’t confined to the room anymore. You could walk. Breathe.

And when you finally stepped out—barefoot, heart hammering—you realized the truth.

You weren’t in a facility. You weren’t in a bunker.

You were in his home.

A beautiful, sterile house tucked away in the woods, where no one could hear you scream.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The house was quiet—too quiet. Every footstep echoed like a warning. The walls were white, sterile, with picture frames that felt too curated to be real. As you followed the faint sound of murmuring, your heart thudded louder with each step.

Then, you saw her.

Lydia sat in a dimly lit lounge, slouched in a faded armchair that had likely once been elegant. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in thin slashes of daylight that made her skin look almost translucent. Her frame had withered into itself. Collarbone sharp, wrists too delicate. A robe hung off her body like it belonged to someone else. On the table before her—dozens of pill bottles scattered like forgotten chess pieces. Half-empty. Some knocked over. Some with their labels torn off.

You froze. You didn’t mean to stare, but the shock rooted you.

She noticed. Her bloodshot eyes flicked toward you. Her voice was raspy, drained from something that went far deeper than exhaustion. “I wish I never gave birth to him,” she said, like she was coughing up venom.

You blinked, stunned—but only for a moment. “Every child is a blessing,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “He became like this because of you. And your husband.”

The slap came in words. “You bitch!”

The hiss of her voice cut the air just as—

“Mother.” Bucky’s voice, sharp and low, sliced through the tension like a blade.

Both you and Lydia turned. His shadow filled the doorway. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in them flickered—panic, protectiveness, maybe even guilt.

“Don’t you ever speak to her like that again,” he said, jaw clenched. He stepped further inside.

Lydia didn’t flinch. She scoffed, picked up a pill bottle, turned it in her hand. “It’s not like she understands your feelings. Just like her mother. Playing every man’s heart like a toy.”

The room dropped ten degrees.

He exhaled—long and heavy. A quiet fury, tightly reined in. Then, with a hand lightly on your back, Bucky guided you out.

The hallway swallowed the confrontation behind you. He didn’t speak until you were out of sight from her door.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said quietly. “She won’t talk to you like that again.”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed ahead. His hand lingered on your back like it belonged there—but it didn’t.

There was a pause. Then he tried again, gentler this time. “I’ve prepared dinner. For the two of us.”

You stopped walking. His words hung in the air, brushing your skin like invisible wires.

Your stomach curled at the thought—but what were your choices? Say no and risk another version of a locked room? Say yes and play the part?

You nodded. Just once.

That was all he needed. His entire face softened with relief, lips curving in a small smile—as if your silence meant progress. As if he believed he was winning you over.

He didn’t know your silence was survival. He didn’t know every nod you gave was calculated.

Still, that smile... it chilled you more than his threats ever did.

The dining room was beautiful, and wrong.

A chandelier spilled warm light over the long table, casting soft shadows that danced on polished wood. The clink of cutlery, the glow of red wine in crystal glasses, and the soft music playing somewhere far in the background tried to sell a lie: that this was normal. That you were just another couple sharing dinner in a grand home.

The food was plated perfectly—steak, mashed potatoes, a side of greens. The wine bottle stood tall between you, uncorked. But your appetite was buried beneath nausea.

Bucky poured the wine with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms relaxed—but his eyes never left you.

He smiled. “The mayor will retire this year.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ll replace him,” he said calmly, as if it were already set in stone. “You’ll be the hospital director. Both of us… ruling this town. Like it’s meant to be.”

You stared at him, fork trembling in your hand. “I don’t want to.”

He set down his glass, jaw twitching. “This is a good thing. Why do you always reject me?”

“Because you’re not giving me choices, you’re giving me cages.”

“I gave you everything!” His voice cracked against the walls. “Respect, power, a future! And you act like I’m the villain!”

“You are the villain!” you shouted, shoving your chair back. “You stalked me, drugged me, locked me up—! You think because you cooked me dinner, I’m supposed to fall in love with you?”

His face contorted. “Don’t you—don’t you dare pretend like you didn’t ever want this. That you didn’t dream of getting out of your pathetic little life and being someone.”

Your heart pounded like a war drum. “Never.”

Then silence.

Your hand moved before your thoughts caught up.

CRASH. The bottle of wine shattered against the side of his head.

Bucky staggered back, red staining his temple—wine or blood, you didn’t know. He crumpled to the floor with a groan.

You didn’t wait to see if he’d get back up.

Your breath hitched as you turned and ran.

The house twisted around you like a labyrinth. You turned corners blindly until you burst into the lounge again—and saw Lydia, still slouched on the couch.

“Lydia!” You rushed to her, shaking her gently. “We have to go!”

She didn’t move.

You leaned in—her chest didn’t rise. Her skin was pale. Eyes open, staring at nothing.

Dead.

“Kyaaaa!!” The scream ripped from your throat. You stumbled back, hitting the table, collapsing to the floor as your body curled in on itself. Your stomach turned. Did he do this? Had she overdosed? Did she… give up?

Your eyes darted. A lighter sat next to her on the side table. You grabbed it. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to burn the whole damn house down.

You ran again, frantic, feet flying over hardwood.

“Natasha!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Natasha!!”

“She’s dead too.”

You skidded to a stop, turned—

Thor. He stood at the end of the hallway like a nightmare, too broad, too quiet, too solid to move past.

Your stomach dropped. No. No, not him too.

You ran. He followed.

You ducked into the study, your lungs screaming. Bookshelves loomed around you, walls of knowledge offering no safety.

You threw yourself into the wardrobe, door creaking shut behind you. You held your breath.

Darkness swallowed you. You crouched in silence, heart hammering like it might betray you. And then—something cold pressed against your back.

You reached slowly. The shape, the curve, the steel.

Footsteps creaked into the room. Thor's voice rumbled, cold and close. “Give up. You can’t run away.”

You didn’t breathe. But you whispered, just loud enough:

“Behind you.”

A pause. His boots shifted. He turned.

BANG. A sharp crack exploded in the air. Thor jerked, eyes wide in shock, as the bullet tore into his chest.

He dropped like a tree.

You stepped out of the wardrobe, hands trembling but steady enough to hold the cold weight of the shotgun. The bullet belt was slung across your shoulder, heavy against your chest, metal clinking with each slow, deliberate step.

Thor lay on the floor, still breathing—barely. Blood soaked through his shirt, seeping into the carpet, dark and thick. His broad chest rose and fell with ragged effort. His eyes met yours—wide, glassy, full of disbelief. The great enforcer of the house, brought down by you.

He choked, mouth twitching with one last breath.

“Where is she?” Your voice was ice. No fear, just fire beneath your skin.

His throat clicked as he forced out his final words.

“In the basement.”

You didn’t thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

You marched through the twisted halls, shotgun clutched in your hands, past the portraits of smiling liars and rotting love. The house felt alive now, breathing smoke and secrets with every creaking board.

The basement door was hidden behind a curtain, locked with a deadbolt. You smashed it open with the butt of the gun. The staircase creaked beneath your feet as you descended into the dark. Each step down was a step into the pit of your nightmares.

The air was damp. Cold. The hum of a single flickering bulb buzzed above you like a dying insect.

And there she was.

Natasha. Strapped to a wooden chair.

Her head slumped to the side. Her skin was pale. Lips faintly blue.

You dropped the shotgun.

“No—no, no, no…” you whispered, stumbling forward. You fell to your knees in front of her and shook her shoulders. Her arms dangled limp.

“Nat, please—” Your voice cracked into a sob. “Please wake up. Please." You cried for her. A future ahead of her was taken away. She could have started a new chapter.

You pressed your fingers to her wrist. Nothing.

You let out a sound that wasn’t quite a scream, but wasn’t human either. The kind of grief that breaks something in you forever.

You stood, staggered back, fists clenching.

You hated him. This house. This bloodline. This lunatic fantasy he built on the bones of others.

Your eyes scanned the basement—rage sharpening your vision. You saw shelves of chemicals. Canisters. A broken-down workbench. Oil drums.

You grabbed one. The liquid inside sloshed like gasoline. You ripped the lid off and poured it over the floor, over the walls, over Natasha’s lifeless cage. You grabbed another. And another. Until the stench of fuel choked the air.

Your hands found the lighter in your pocket. You flicked it.

Click. Flick. Flame.

The fire danced to life—hungry, beautiful, merciless.

“You wanted an empire,” you spat through your teeth as the flames caught. “Here’s your goddamn legacy.”

The fire swallowed the basement like it had been waiting for this moment. Flames curled up the walls. Smoke billowed toward the ceiling, thick and black. The heat pulsed against your skin.

You grabbed the shotgun again and ran.

The house moaned as you sprinted through it, fire chasing your heels. Furniture cracked. Glass shattered from the heat. Flames kissed the staircase and licked the paintings off the walls.

You reached the front door, lungs burning. Just as your fingers touched the doorknob—

“Click.”

“BANG!”

The shot rang past your head, grazing the wood beside your face.

You turned—heart in your throat—and there he was.

Bucky. Blood ran down his temple, staining his white shirt crimson. His left eye was swollen, but he still held the shotgun like it was an extension of his body. His smile was twisted, more unhinged than ever.

“I see you’ve found my grandfather’s treasure.”

The fire crackled behind you. The heat rose between you both like hell itself opening wide.

The barrel of your shotgun tilted up just slightly. The smoke clawed at your throat, but you didn’t blink.

“It’s a good toy,” you said, cold and calm, voice carrying over the snapping fire.

Bucky’s face broke into a wide grin, teeth flashing like a madman’s mask. “Hahaha… this is the Y/N I remembered.” His laugh twisted into something unhinged, echoing through the burning house. Then, abruptly, his tone dropped, eerily calm again—like the switch of a broken man trying to hold on. “I won’t hurt you. Just put the gun down… and we’ll start over.” His voice softened. Hopeful. Like nothing around you was turning to ash.

Your grip tightened on the shotgun.

“We?” you whispered. “There’s no we.”

His smile faltered. And that was all it took.

Something broke behind his eyes.

“Well, since I asked nicely…” He lifted his shotgun with mechanical precision. “I’ll use the hard way.”

“Shit!” You threw yourself behind the overturned dining table as a blast ripped through the air.

The house shook as both of you started firing—BOOM! BOOM! The walls cracked, glass shattered above you, and the fire groaned like it wanted blood. You ducked behind a pillar, breath short, heat blistering.

“Who taught you how to shoot?” Bucky shouted from behind a smoky corner.

You peeked through the flames and yelled back, “Ransom’s grandfather.” Another shot. Another duck. “I spent summers with the Drysdales. Harlan taught me how to shoot wild animals.”

You could almost hear Bucky’s eye twitch.

“Tsk.”

The moment he emerged—you fired. The shot caught his shoulder.

“Arrrgh!” He screamed and crashed into the wall, gripping his bleeding arm. He looked down at the blood like it betrayed him.

His voice was hoarse now, but desperate. “Why do we have to hurt each other? Don’t you understand why I’m doing all this? It’s for you!”

You crouched low, creeping behind the smoke-thick curtains, hands slick with sweat and soot. You found a corner with partial cover and aimed again.

“Why?” you demanded, voice cutting through the chaos.

Bucky stood crookedly, one arm limp at his side. “Because I love you.” He said it like it justified everything. His voice cracked. His eyes burned more than the fire ever could.

You stared at him from across the scorched room.

Your lips parted.

Your voice dropped, quiet but lethal.

“We can’t be together. Not in this life… or another… not even in your dreams.”

The words hit him like a second bullet.

He didn’t scream.

He laughed.

But it was broken—manic—a dry, cracked hysteria. “HAHAHAHA!” Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned back against the wall, shaking with laughter that wasn’t joy. “After everything I’ve done for you…” His smile collapsed into grief. “It won’t matter. Nobody will believe you. I’ll burn it all down. I’ll frame you. I’ll make it look like you killed Lydia… Natasha… Thor. You know what I’m capable of.”

The flames hissed louder, licking the ceiling. A chandelier fell behind him, shattering into sparks.

Silence fell, thick and heavy.

Then your voice returned—low, confident, and chilling.

“Are you sure about that?”

Bucky’s breath hitched.

Then—a voice played. His voice.

From a recorder buried deep in the folds of your jacket. From somewhere you left playing just loud enough for him to hear.

“…so you’re the one who made Jake and Natasha lose their jobs, made Thor and Steve have that accident that ruined their careers?”

His voice. Calm. Boastful. Careless.

Then: “Yes. I’m the mastermind.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror. His mind couldn’t keep up with the trap snapping shut around him.

And then—he laughed again. Not maniacally.

This time, it was hollow. Like everything had finally cracked.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. Almost with reverence. Even in his dying moment, he can't keep up with you.

You stood a little taller, your finger near the trigger. “You still have the chance to pay for your sins. To stop. To do one thing right.”

But the fire was already consuming the hallway. The walls behind him were collapsing.

And then he spoke.

His voice was quieter now. “It’s too late for me.” He wasn’t yelling anymore.

The world had gone quiet—but not in peace. It was the silence of something dying. The kind that came before a scream.

All around you, the fire surged higher, roaring like a beast finally let off its leash. Heat pressed in from every direction. The wallpaper curled. Beams cracked overhead, moaning as the structure gave up.

Then— CRACK—THUD!

A burning wooden beam split from the ceiling and crashed just inches from your body.

“Kyaa!” You stumbled back, shielding your face from the embers that flew like angry sparks. Your lungs choked on smoke, and your heart pounded so violently it rattled your ribs.

Then—his voice cut through the inferno like a ghost reaching out.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t angry. Not like before. It was… still. Too calm.

“Could you look at me?” he said gently. “I won’t shoot you.”

You froze, back against the singed remains of a bookshelf. Slowly, you lifted your head.

Your eyes met his.

He stood on the staircase above you, framed by flames, his shadow long and flickering behind him. Ash clung to his hair. Blood soaked through his shirt. His shotgun hung loosely at his side.

But his eyes— They didn’t hold rage anymore. Only something final.

“You have to go out now,” he said, voice strained but firm.

Your throat tightened.

“You too.”

He shook his head once, slowly. That same soft smile lingered on his lips, cracked and bleeding.

“There’s no redemption for me.”

The floor beneath him creaked—sickening, ready to collapse. You stepped forward anyway, fists clenched.

“Y/N, listen.”

You stopped. Your eyes burned—not from the smoke.

And then he smiled. That broken, tender smile. Tear stains cut through the soot on his face, streaks of something too human for a monster.

“Remember me like this,” he said, voice trembling. “Just this last time. I love you. Even after you shot me… burned my house… my love for you never changed.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

You stood in the glow of the inferno, unable to move, unable to breathe. Maybe it was the smoke. Maybe it was the heartbreak.

He sighed—a long, tired sound. Like he had hoped for something that never came.

And even now, you still wouldn’t say it.

His expression didn’t shift. Not this time. There was no anger, no madness left.

Just… surrender.

“Goodbye.”

He didn’t hesitate.

In one swift movement, Bucky brought the shotgun to his chin.

BANG!

The sound shattered the air like thunder.

“BUCKY!” you screamed, a raw, guttural sound that ripped from your throat.

His body crumpled backward—limp, weightless—before the flames swallowed the staircase whole. You ran toward him, but the fire surged up the bannister like it wanted to keep him. Keep his secrets. Keep you out.

“BUCKY!!”

But he was gone.

The smoke clawed at your lungs, the heat forced you back. You stumbled out of the collapsing house, the sky above black with ash, your scream echoing long after the fire silenced everything else.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The house, a shell of its former self, was now nothing but a smoldering ruin. The fire had devoured everything—walls caved in, timbers fell in a fiery collapse, leaving nothing but ashes. The sirens from paramedics and police vehicles pierced the air, but even their arrival seemed distant, the weight of what had happened still pressing down on you.

They didn't even bother to check on you. The paramedics only moved in to assess the damage, eyes steely and distant. The local police moved past you with barely a glance, their focus solely on the charred remains of the house.

You stood there, isolated, the weight of the world in your chest.

Then, a voice broke through the haze. “Y/N!”

It was Jake’s voice—loud, relieved, and so familiar it almost made you crack.

You turned and saw him, rushing toward you with Ransom, Steve, and your dad right behind him. They were a shield, a reminder of something you thought you'd lost.

“Guys…” you whispered, a tremor running through your voice.

Jake’s face softened, but his brow furrowed in concern. He reached out for you, but before any of them could get too close, the local sheriff stepped forward, blocking them with a hardened stare.

“She’s the prime suspect,” the sheriff said flatly, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Ransom’s jaw tightened. His eyes, always calculating, now burned with anger.

“Prime suspect? She's a victim here! She was kidnapped! We've been looking for her!" Ransom spat, stepping forward aggressively. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

The sheriff didn’t flinch, his stance unwavering. But Ransom wasn’t done. He turned to Jake, who was still standing back, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“We’ve got a lawyer here. The Chief of Police is already on their way.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s supposed to mean something?”

Before anyone could respond, a black SUV pulled up, its tires screeching on the gravel. The door swung open, and out stepped a tall, authoritative figure in a dark suit—Chief of Police.

The sheriff’s expression shifted, uncertainty flickering for just a moment. His shoulders stiffened, a visible sign of tension as the Chief of Police approached.

The Chief of Police ignored the sheriff entirely and walked straight up to you, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. He gave a small nod, a silent signal that you were no longer alone in this.

“Chief…” the sheriff stammered, unsure of what to say.

The Chief of Police didn’t answer at first. Instead, he turned his gaze to Ransom, who had a smug look on his face.

“That’s enough, right?” Ransom asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

The Chief of Police raised a hand, signaling for quiet, then finally spoke.

The local sheriff and his deputies stood frozen, their mouths agape as they watched the Chief of Police back you up. This was clearly a scene they weren’t prepared for.

You sighed, the weight of everything slowly lifting from your shoulders. You reached into your jacket bag and pulled out the evidence—the recording.

You handed it to the Chief of Police, watching as his eyes scanned over it. Bucky’s voice crackled through the speakers, his confession echoing in the silence around you.

“This is it,” you said quietly. “He was behind it all.”

Ransom leaned in, crossing his arms, a satisfied smirk still on his face. “You know what to do next.”

The Chief of Police paused for a moment, then looked at the sheriff. “That’s enough. She’s free. You can’t touch her.”

The sheriff’s face twisted in confusion and anger, but he couldn’t do anything. Not now.

The Chief of Police turned to you, offering a rare, genuine smile. “You’re safe now.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you let out a long breath, finally feeling the release you so desperately needed. This fight—it was over.

But there was one last thing you needed to say.

You caught Ransom’s eye, and without a word, you slipped him a small nod. A code only the two of you would understand.

'The Contract Has Terminated means I’m going to die. Help.'

The remainder of those dark days, the dangerous people you’d encountered, flashed briefly through your mind. Working in investment had always meant navigating treacherous waters.

You were free. And, for once, you didn’t have to run anymore.

Finally, this nightmare of yours is over.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

1 Year Later

You returned to work with Ransom again. After everything he’d done to you, you felt like you owed him a lot. Yet, over time, you noticed a change in his behavior towards you. He didn’t want you to get hurt anymore. His actions were more protective now, almost as though he cared in ways he hadn’t before. And he's less of an asshole than before. Perhaps there could be romance between you two? There's a chance.

As for Tom, your dad, he had recovered from his kidney surgery. He decided to stay in the city and live with you, enjoying his retirement. He found a new community at a local golf club, which you had encouraged him to join. There, he met many new friends—surprisingly, more than you had. Living in the city seemed to suit him well.

Steve, on the other hand, had become a famous artist, just like he’d always dreamed. He traveled the world, and he made sure to pay what he owed you. He never forgot how you opened the door to him when he needed it most. Sometimes, Mr. Rogers would even travel with him, and they would share stories about their adventures.

As for Jake, with your evidence and the help of lawyers, he was able to clear his name. He got his old job back, while his mother continued her travels around the world on a cruise.

Everyone had moved on, yet you couldn’t shake the memories of what had happened in that town. The scars it left on you were deep. You still went to therapy to work through the trauma, but even now, there were nights when the haunting images resurfaced. The weight of those moments stayed with you, lingering in the corners of your mind, reminding you that some things, no matter how hard you tried, would never truly leave.

Until one day, Steve visited you and handed you a letter. It was from Bucky. You didn’t want to open it. You placed it on the table, where it remained untouched for a month. Eventually, you found the courage to open it. Taking a deep breath, you read the letter:

“I can’t think of a better way to defend what I’ve done for you. It was bad. I acted like a judge to punish people.

Still, you don’t deserve it. I robbed your childhood, your teenage years.

Every day, I thought to myself: What if I never meant to you? What if we were friends? What if you never hated me? What if we loved each other? What if you don’t hate me after I’m gone?

I write this letter to you in case I’m gone. My love for you never changed.

Hate me all you want, but I knew you would never be able to forget me. Just like the town where we grew up, the one we hated the most.”

You regretted opening the letter. You couldn’t stand reading his words anymore. Grabbing a lighter, you burned it, watching the paper curl and blacken in the flames.

How you wished you could make him see how wrong he was.

After that day, everything in the town began to change. The mayor’s corruption was exposed, the illegal casino shut down, and the bodies that Thor had buried in the forest were discovered. Bucky’s schemes, the ones that led to his own mother’s death, Natasha’s murder, and the malpractice by Dr. Stark, were all unveiled. Both he and the mayor would rot in jail for the rest of their lives.

As for Natasha, you built a grave for her. You couldn’t hold on to the past anymore because, in the end, Natasha was also a victim—just like you.

Ransom was furious and wanted to rid the town of its rotten core. He transformed the once-dying town into an exclusive area, completely changing its landscape. The Barnes residence, a symbol of Bucky’s twisted life, was turned into a flower park. No business, no reminders—just peace.

The town was unrecognizable, and the letter Bucky sent was nothing but a lie. It felt wrong in every possible way.

You realize that you've kept living and breathing since that day, and everything is different. You don't let that day make you afraid. You’re still able to go outside, meet people, and work. And that damn town has changed too.

You raised your middle finger to the ground and muttered, “Fuck you, Bucky. Rot in hell.”

-The End.-

Woohoo... finally, it's done!!!

I never thought I could complete this story. I realize that writing mystery stories is more difficult than the other stories I’ve written.

Thank you to everyone who has been following this story from the beginning.

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

[deejayrockz]

Chris md x dem reader angst angst angsttttttttt

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL •

C. DIXON

SUMMARY ౨ৎ when he left you all alone and never really told you why. that's how he lost the girl.

WARNINGS ʚ fem!reader but idk if it's really mentioned?? angst, ends with slight fluff i guess? i know this isn't quite angst but i suck at angst sorry!

౨ৎ

it had now been officially six months since you and chris last spoke. six months since you were last at his apartment, cuddling on the settee while binge watching lord of the rings. six months since you both shared a kiss that felt it would last a lifetime.

six months since you had cut it off. it started over some silly argument about something you couldn't even remember now. a screaming match in the kitchen, making you feel lucky that arthur and george were out for drinks.

words were thrown back and forth, mentions of past relationships and heartbreaks, trust issues, and walls being built back up.

"i don't know why you're so upset over this," chris sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.

"i'm upset because you've chosen to do a film with the boys, after we had made plans, chris," you said, you voice becoming quiet, tears brimming your eyes.

"we made plans for a date, and you've blown me off so you—"

"i've hardly blown you off, us two can schedule a date another day, but this filming requires everyone involved to reschedule!" he cut you off, a hand rubbing between the bridge of his nose.

looking back, you could understand where he was coming from, however the pain of his words still lingered.

he watched how your face seemed to drop, blinking becoming more rapid to hopefully halt the tears. his face contorted into something you could only describe as guilt. he opened his mouth to talk, however, you cut him off before he could.

"this isn't working." you muttered, looking down at your feet. you didn't dare look up to meet his eyes, as you knew they were full of regret and guilt.

"we clearly aren't on the same wavelength here, priority wise." you said, before leaving him stood there in the kitchen, mouth slightly open, as unsaid words were stuck on the tip of his tongue. the last you heard was your name being called, before you slammed his front door shut.

you ran into arthur and george in the corridor of the apartment building, however gave them a cold shoulder when they attempted to ask what was wrong.

six months later, and here you were, sat on your settee, in your cold and empty flat. you had received a few messages from arthur and george, however chris was radio silent. you never opened their messages.

a message from liv had pulled you out of your trance, asking you if you wanted to come for drinks. you politely declined, knowing chris would most likely be there. it felt petty avoiding him, but he was doing the same to you. you were slumped back, phone thrown across the other side of the room, and 'friends' being played on the tv.

it was around a few hours later, when you heard a knock on the door. weird, the food delivery usually buzzes up, as they don't know the passcode?

you sigh, standing up, brushing off your pyjamas bottoms, and making your way to the door.

and there he was, stood in your doorway, hair slightly damp, and his hands shaking, clearly having walked in the rain. you both stood in silence for a minute, flowers in his hand.

"are you insane?" you whispered, taking note of how his eyes were slightly red.

"this has been the longest six months of my life," he whispered back, slowly stepping forward, as if you'd run if he moved too quick. "please, can we talk?"

you had wordlessly let him in, closing the door behind him, as he effortlessly put the flowers in an empty vase by the door, tugging off his wet coat, hanging it on the rack, before making his way to the living room.

"i'm really sorry, for everything," he started, looking down at his hands in his lap, "for what i said, for what i did– didnt do." he looked up at you, your eyes barely meeting, before you forced yourself to look away, trying to stop the tears from forming already.

"i should have simply cancelled the recording, i shouldn't have let you leave, and i definitely shouldn't have debated for six months wether to call you or not." he said, a hand running through his wet curls.

"what made you come here now?" you asked, voice small.

"george was sick of seeing me rot away in the apartment, i guess," he shrugged, a small smile on his face, "talked me out of my slump and forced me out the flat."

it was around two hours later, where long conversations were shared, apologies were made, and now the only worry you had was how chris was possibly going to get home in the storm.

"you could always just stay the night," you shrugged, sharing a pizza with him, as he looked at you.

"are you sure? i don't want to rush you back into things-"

"chris, we had sex on the first date, i think we'll be fine," you said, a small smile on your face, as a cheeky grin came on his.

"it wasn't sex, it was love making–"

"shut up."

yourusername •••

liked by livvydimartino, arthurfnhill and others.

yourusername that's how it works, that's how you get the girl.

comments ;

user OMG ITS MUM AND DAD !!!!

georgeclarkeey but is he better at free kicks than most premier league footballers?

↳ chrismd10 funnily enough, he is!

↳ yourusername he fucking wishes

arthurtv are you guys married yet or what

user guys my parents are no longer divorced this is INSANE

↳ user we don't even know if they broke up?

↳ user girl they didn't post with eachother for half a year. felt like half a fuckinf decade

↳ chrismd10 ain't that the truth

[fel-09]

A Woman who can't drink is a disaster 18+

Pairing: tommy Shelby x reader

Warning: Alcohol consumption ,Content 18+

Author's note:The only thing I did badly was the ending, because I could have written it much better. And I want to sleep

She doesn't often get drunk, but when she does, she turns it into an art form. Alcohol dissolves in her blood, softening her movements, making them smooth, graceful as a cat's, and yet completely reckless. Once she's had a couple of drinks, all her restraint goes to hell: she becomes talkative, sarcastic, unbearably free.

Thomas hates it.

He hates the way she absent-mindedly shakes the glass in her fingers, lazily watching the amber liquid play. The way she squints her eyes, trying to remember a word, and wrinkles her nose when her memory fails her. The way he stretches out the words, as if savoring them, and then finds a special pleasure in it and laughs, throwing back his head. He hates even that laughter itself - too sonorous, too lively, too frank.

He sits across from her, exhaling blue smoke, but he can't help but stare. Catching every gesture, every curve of her lips, every drunken sigh. He can't bear to see her gradually lose control, her guard dulled, and the world around her become nothing but a haze.

She doesn't belong to him, but at times like this it feels like she belongs to something else-this warm, clammy, foggy state that alcohol draws her into.

And that makes him angry.

Because she has to be edgy, defiant, sharp as ever. Should respond to his glances with equally barbed ones, full of hidden challenge, but now-now she's different.

And yet he doesn't take his eyes off her. Because even so - insufferable, drunk, unceremonious - she's still the one who keeps him in suspense.

And the funny thing about all of this is that she, on her fifth binge, decides to teach him.

Okay, he can understand it when she's sober when she's telling him her grievances. When she says, with her usual sarcasm, that he should be friendly once in a while, or, for example, "don't barge into the house like a torpedo". These are her words, her quotation, thrown to him once with an irritated wave of her hand when he came in too sharply, too impetuously, too ... Shelbyesque.

But now--now it was different.

Now he was looking at a woman who could hardly stand on her feet, who was lazily running her finger over the rim of a glass, speaking in a stammering tongue, talking nonsense. He doesn't even listen to what she's talking about. At first he tried to catch the meaning, but quickly gave up. At some point her speech became so ridiculous that even he, who had seen everything, became annoyed.

Thomas nervously lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag, one hand resting on his hip as if trying to keep himself in reality. He doesn't know what to do with her. Completely.

Chase her away? She'll only laugh.

Leave her here? Tomorrow she'll accuse him of being heartless.

Try to calm her down? It's ridiculous to even try.

He looks at her sideways, slowly exhaling smoke, and she, all in her drunken philosophy, doesn't notice his murderous stare. She keeps on talking. Something important, I guess. Something important to her.

And he--and he just doesn't know where to put this woman anymore.

And then it finally hit.

A phrase that would scar his mind forever. A phrase that made him wonder if he had made some fatal mistake when he let this woman into his life.

- Did you know that if you put a frog on a drum set, it becomes a musician against its will?

Thomas froze. Just froze in place, unable to even inhale. He stared at her, blinked once, then again, but the words still didn't make sense.

And she, satisfied with her thought, continued, finishing him off:

- "And anyway, someone looked at the cow first and decided: "I'll milk this one."

It was too much. It pressed on his psyche harder than war, than business, than any betrayal.

He took a nervous drag on his cigarette, feeling that a little more and his sanity would simply refuse to take it.

She opened her mouth again, but he raised his hand sharply, cutting short the nightmare:

- Shut up. Just...shut up.

Even Arthur preferred to disappear at times like this. He could be anything - reckless, irascible, irascible, boisterous - but not an idiot to voluntarily stay by her side when she was drunk.

John... John was already broken. She had plunged him into the abyss of her "fairy tales" time after time, and now he, traumatized, had been sitting in the closet for hours and didn't seem to have any intention of coming out. Perhaps he was trying to make sense of his life there. Perhaps he was simply resigned to his fate.

And Thomas... Thomas was now taking the fall for everyone.

He exhaled heavily, watching her stretch lazily, still carrying the hell out of her, satisfaction in her eyes. She's enjoying this. She knows damn well she's getting on everyone's nerves, but she keeps going.

Poor Finn. Finn escaped that fate. He was lucky.

He was the youngest, so he was entitled to be saved.

Another drop in the ocean.

A single drop in this never-ending barrage of nonsense, but it was the last.

Thomas couldn't stand it.

His gaze fell on her face, sliding over her squinting eyes, her eyebrows, slightly mockingly arched. Her lips - slightly swollen from alcohol and endless chatter, moist, unbearably irritating... but they were the ones he lingered on.

At that moment. he realized.

He realized that even though she pissed him off, even though she drove him crazy every night when she got drunk and started her nonstop stream of words, even though he was ready to run away anywhere to avoid hearing it....

He listened anyway.

Every word. Every goddamn letter. Not because he was a masochist.

It was because it was her.

- And you know, I--

He didn't let her finish.

Her voice-that melodic, slightly dragging, drunken voice that made him both mad and maddened at the same time-had to stop. Now.

His patience was wearing thin.

Thomas grabbed her wrist, and before she realized what was happening, he had her in his lap.

She blinked, but before she could even squeak, his palms firmly gripped her thighs, forcing her against his torso.

to wrap her arms around his torso.

Hot breath, heavy, slightly hitching-she was still trying to figure out what was going on, but he didn't leave her a second to think.

Their lips met.

Not gently, not slowly, not tenderly - greedily, demandingly, with a complete determination to shut her up once and for all.

She shuddered, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, instinctively clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

Lips hot, soft, yet firm, hard, commanding. Thomas wasn't asking, he was taking.

His breathing became confused. He wouldn't let go.

Kissed, going deeper, greedier, with the same desperation that built up in him every time she spoke, spoke, spoke....

Lips. The taste of whiskey and something sweet. Her hands lost in his hair.

She twitched as if trying to pull away, but he was stronger. He held on.

Until at some point he felt her respond.

Warm fingers traveled down his neck, slid into his hair, clawed.

He wheezed into the kiss as her nails scratched his skin slightly.

- Just shut the fuck up.

Deafeningly. Powerful. Deeper than a whisper, but louder than he wanted.

She gasped, but didn't push away.

Shit. She was letting him.

The heat grew, coating her head with heat.

Her body responded to his every gesture, every strong, insistent kiss.

His fingers gripped her thigh greedily, digging into the soft skin, leaving hot marks that would be felt for a long time to come.

She could barely breathe.

Thomas felt her breathing hitch, her body involuntarily pulling closer, pressing tighter against him.

He wasn't thinking anymore.

His hips moved on their own, measured, pressing against her center through her clothes, stretching this moment to the point of madness.

A deep exhale, slightly hoarse, tinged with raw pleasure.

She could feel everything.

The heat of another man's body, the weight of his hands, each careful but unbearably maddening thrust forward, as if he were testing her patience, pushing her to the brink.

His lips found her neck.

Hot, greedy, demanding. He wasn't just kissing - he was digging into her skin, leaving marks, absorbing her reaction.

Thomas moved, slow, steady, endlessly teasing.

And he could hear her breathing.

Nervous, short, barely contained.

Shit.

She was reaching for him.

His patience was breaking.

Her nails scraped his neck, her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as if she were trying to stay afloat, but things had already taken another turn.

Thomas squeezed her hips harder, pulling her against him, provoking her, forcing her to feel him fully.

Muffled, heavy, he exhaled through gritted teeth:

- I warned you, don't fucking bring me down.

Clothes had long since been lying on the floor, forgotten, unwanted. The room was thick, enveloping darkness, and the air, soaked with the warmth of their bodies, was heavy, rich, electrified

.

The climax came like a thunderclap, like a flash of lightning, shattering reality for an instant, leaving behind only a sense of finality.

She collapsed in his arms, barely breathing, lips slightly ajar, lashes quivering with residual impulses.

Thomas stared at her for a long moment, almost wistfully. Her features seemed softer in the darkness, a shadow falling across her collarbones, and her lips looked kissed to oblivion.

His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he was in no hurry to move.

Just watched.

She looked completely different. Not defiant, not cocky, not like she'd been in a drunken stupor when he'd been ready to throw her out the door, but different....

Calm. Real. His.

He was in no hurry to let her go, no hurry to speak.

Just ran his palm down her back, slowly, from neck to waist, letting her feel every movement of his fingers.

Thomas leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead, slowly, thoughtfully, discreetly but gently.

He knew that in the morning everything would be back to normal.

She'd argue again, claw at him with phrases again, pretend she didn't care again.

But right now - right now he was just being with her.

Thomas exhaled, ran his hand through her hair, letting himself freeze in that brief moment of silence, of peace, of truth.

And then, leaning back, he stared up at the ceiling and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe....

Maybe he didn't mind so much the whole damn disaster that was calling her.

She was just coming to, feeling someone else's warmth slowly drifting away from the sheets. The air in the room was saturated with cigarette smoke, the smell of whiskey, and something else-something that hadn't belonged to her before but was now embedded in her skin.

Her body ached. But it was a pleasant soreness.

She moved, feeling the soft fabric against her skin. The shirt was clearly not hers - too loose, slightly wrinkled, soaked with his scent. When she lifted her hand, the cuff slipped off, exposing her wrist.

She wasn't quite awake yet, but she could feel it - feel his gaze.

Thomas stood nearby, silent, smoking.

Naked to the waist, with a slight shadow of stubble on his face, he looked at her as if he'd already made up his mind.

There was none of the usual mockery, irritation, desire to leave.

Only a strange, unaccustomed calmness.

He smoked slowly, lazily, as if he were thinking something over, and then - without unnecessary emotion, simply as a statement of fact - he said:

- I take responsibility.

She froze.

The dream was gone instantly.

He didn't even look at her - he just threw the cigarette into the ashtray, shook the ash out with his hand, and continued smoking as if nothing had happened.

But to her, it had.

Her brain refused to make sense of those words.

Responsibility?

For what? For whom?

She sat up on the bed, one hand holding the collar of her shirt, her hair tangled, her breathing still ragged from sleep.

- Tommy...

He didn't let her finish.

He simply stepped closer, keeping his eyes on her face, and, slowly, with the same devilish confidence that drove her mad, he leaned over and said

her into a frenzy, he leaned over and said:

- Get used to it. You're mine now.

Get used to it.

It's not a request.

It's a sentence.

Part 2>>>>

[forsaken-headcanons]

sum bluudud content be hes my favorite of the colorful children <333

he LOVES shitpost status videos so much. Yk those 20 minute meme comps? He LOVES them. He once found a channel that only makes them and binged every video theyve ever uploaded over the course of a month (around 130 videos total)

he's a high school freshman to me. Got forsaken the summer between freshman (first year) and sophomore (second year) probably a little after cOOlkidd and 007n7 to get more specific.

he's cousins with cOOlkidd and visits him and 007n7 a lot, to the point where he has his own room at their house. He sometimes stays for weeks at a time. In fact, his whole streaming setup is at 007's house. Prettyprincess is also another cousin, although he doesnt see her often.

he knows how to drive, and has his learning permit. That's usually how he gets between houses since it's too far to walk.

he LIVES for edgy satire. He ESPECIALLY loves alpha wolf bullshit, he even bought a full set of those alpha wolf clothes PLUS a galaxy wolf backpack for the bit. Mainly to see how hard he would get bullied for it if he wore it to school (some older kids slammed him into a locker and laughed at him, but that was about it) but it genuinely ended up being his favorite outfit because it was so comfortable so now he wears it all the time.

he loves shooters. His fav games to play/stream are tf2, sgo, valorant (only streams it if someone donates 50 dollars), marvel rivals, ULTRAKILL (only plays when not streaming) and fortnite. He also has a sims 4 save where all his sims are messed up abominations that barely count as people.

he would cry if someone at school found out about his twitch/yt

he streams with chance sometimes. Yes chance is a streamer boy. Nobody knows that tho lolz. The voiceline about chance owing him a dono is referring to this one time he bet on a tf2 1v1 and lost. He still has yet to pay the 10 gifted he put on winning the fight.

he has a sibling rivalry with cOOlkidd, usually making fun of him or roughhousing with him, but if someone else tried to beat cOOlkidd up, he'd punch the guy till they bleed. This has happened on multiple occasions.

on the topic of this, he has broken someone's nose before while defending cOOlkidd, no he was not in trouble, 11808 said he did the right thing protecting his cousin. 007n7 wasn't as thrilled about this, but he was just glad cOOlkidd was okay.

bluudud wears cat ear headphones. He says they give him a tactical advantage (they dont)

he calls his fanbase "tem bluudud" (team is misspelled on purpose) and his fans themselves his "bluugoons". His hoodie, saying "tem bluudud get inn now" is part of his merch line.

speaking of which, he's seen people at his school wearing his merch and got really scared that they'd recognize his voice, which REALLY stands out from most people's. and yes, his voice is naturally that way.

he doesn't stream with face cam, rather he uses a persona he drew in his phone's photo editor which looks almost exactly like what he looks like in canon. In reality, he's a skinny teenager with a normal amount of teeth. He is blue though, and he does in fact glow. It's very subtle though.

He looks no different after being forsaken outside of constantly holding his comically large lollypop. It's terrifying for the survivors to watch as the others get brutally murdered by a glowing, blue, slightly underweight 5'6 child.

anyway thats all i have for now ^^ lalalalala i love bluudud lalalalala ^^

— hybrid anon (aka like probably number 153 bluudud fan if we're being honest TwT)

BLUUDUD WEARING CAT EARPHONES IS CANON NOW TRUST US WE'RE SOUL /j

dude. dude. we remember this one hc with 1x saying the dude was eons old so he probably didn't know a lot of modern terms.... bluudud DEFINITELY teaches them brainrot culture. hell he's aware of what he's doing, 100%, and probably has the greatest laugh EVER when asking her what she's been saying to the survivors ("𝓽𝓼 𝓹𝓶𝓸 𝓲𝓬𝓵…") LMFAOSFOAFH

he and noli are gaurantEED to be best buddies trust trust /SILLY

[gardenwalrus]

Paul McCartney at Wings' Christmas photo shoot, 1979(?)

PaulMcCartney.com Q&A (19 December 2022):

Q: When you first released ‘Wonderful Christmastime’, did you think it was going to be a Christmas hit that would come back every year? Or does it surprise you that it’s still so popular now? Paul: I like the idea of Christmas songs purely because they only come around at Christmas! They remind us of the fun atmosphere of the whole season, and when I was writing ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ I was trying to capture that party aspect. I did hope it would keep coming back – which it has. Sometimes people will go into a shop and hear it a little too much, but I don’t care! I’m happy!

Q: We really wanted to ask you about this ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ fan theory that has gone viral on social media. The theory suggests the song is about people practising witchcraft, chanting ‘the moon is right, the spirit’s up’, and when someone walks in, they must play it cool and pretend they are ‘simply having a wonderful Christmastime!’. Is this theory true? Paul: Oh yeah. Well, thank goodness they found me out. This is completely true and in actual fact I am the head wizard of a Liverpool coven. (Paul laughs) Either that… or it’s complete nonsense. And you know it’s the latter! Q: This theory may have come from people mishearing the lyrics. Could you confirm if the lyric is ‘the moon is right’ or ‘the mood is right’? Paul: It’s ‘the mood’! This is the mood; I’ve gathered together the witches and wizards… I’ve got ‘the mood’, which is what we in wizardry call it (laughs). The thing is about this stuff, it’s so easy to convince half the people in the world. You do have to be a little bit careful! No, it’s ‘the mood’. And you know what, I’m thinking about Liverpool Christmas parties, that’s really all I’m doing with that song. “The mood is right, let’s raise a glass, the spirit’s up” – you know, all the stuff you do at Christmas. Particularly with my old Liverpool family parties. Q: You’ve spoken before about singing around the piano at parties in Liverpool, and in ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ the choir ‘sing their song’ - but do you have any memories of going carolling at Christmas? Paul: I can’t remember ever having done it, so I probably didn’t. The fun thing about Christmas carolling, that probably would have influenced my decision NOT to do it, was that my dad always used to make fun of them. He'd say, ‘Here’s a shilling to go sing in the next street’. He was not a big fan of Christmas carols. I quite like them! Q: Are there any Christmas traditions from your childhood which you have continued into adulthood, and shared with your own children and grandchildren? Paul: I have actually started some new traditions. When the kids were little, I suddenly thought there wasn’t the ideal Christmas record, in my opinion. There’s some great Christmas records like the Phil Spector one, and Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby on the old standards, but I just wanted an instrumental of all the tunes. So, I ended up recording one for the family in my studio. And Eddie Klein, my engineer at the time, helped me. I now have this album I pull out every year, and it’s a bit of fun for the kids when we’re carving the veggie roast. I’ll stick it on and it means Christmas is here. It’s quite a cute little record actually! But it’s just for the family. Q: Some fans already know this exists, it’s part of the Paul McCartney folklore! I think they’re hoping to hear it one day. Paul: I’ve often thought it’s good enough if people would like it released, and I’ve thought I could do it for charity or something, but never really felt strongly enough to make a decision. It’s just a family record, and I’ll pull it out again this Christmas. My main job is to carve the roast. That was one of the things I liked when we became veggie years ago. I said it would be nice for me to able to do what I thought of as the traditional ‘dad’ job, so that’s the carving of the turkey in the old days, and now it’s the carving of the veggie roast. I normally do that – unless someone gets in there first, and I get miffed! Steady on! So yeah, I put on the Christmas record, carve the roast, and then we do all the normal Christmas things. Christmas crackers and reading out all the terrible jokes and trying to really be happy with the little gift that comes inside, which is something you’re never going to use or keep. This is the spirit of Christmas! We mainly do all the stuff that everyone else does at Christmas time.

[jelloapocalypse]

If I'm not mistaken (and I fully could be so please let me know if I am) but didn't you used to be much closer to 2 million subscribers? I swear I remember seeing you at like 1.98 or something.

Either way, is there a good way to support you on Youtube? Or is that something I shouldn't worry about too much? Do you know if there's a good way to promote your videos to the algorithm that will have a good effect?

I've been hovering in the 1.8-1.9M range for like ~3 years or so now. The internet as it is now only boosts consistent uploads that are 15+ minutes long or TikTok-style vertical videos that are <2 minutes long with captions.

I don't do either of those and I have no interest in pivoting my stuff in that direction, so I think it's likely I'll probably never hit 2 million. It is what it is.

Subscribers have mattered less and less over the years. I remember them feeling really valuable in like... maybe pre-2015 when your subscriptions were at the top of your homepage and they prioritized showing you the stuff you said you were actually interested in, but now the sub page is super buried and unless you sign up for individual notifications from a channel you probably won't even know they uploaded anymore.

The internet is a slave to algorithms now. Stuff gets popular pretty much entirely independent of subscription count.

Jenny Nicholson and Hbomb are two of my favorite YouTubers who make absolutely incredible marathon-length videos once or twice a year (which is the exact type of thing you'd want subscriptions for), and even though both of them have been putting out mega-viral documentary-length videos every year for the last three years or so, their sub counts haven't exploded. People write articles on the things they make, in real publications too. New York Times and HuffPost shit. Yet both of them have less subs than me. Jenny has 1.3M and Hbomb has 1.8M which is insane. They should both be at like 3M+ easily for the stuff they make, and if they had the popularity they do now back in 2012, they probably would have the equivalent to that.

By the same token, I have a streaming channel that I do fully-voiced readthroughs of games on and there are people who try to watch almost every stream that often show up late and complain about how YouTube never notifies them. They had to hear about it via a friend on Discord even though they're subscribers AND they have notifications on. Being subscribed quite literally does not do anything these days.

It's worth noting that YT subs aren't really reflective of a channel's overall "health", if you want to call it that. My streaming channel has been doing really well the last two months. We played Danganronpa for charity and had the best viewership we ever got with 1100-1600 viewers for any given episode, which is really high. That's like Top 0.1% of Twitch numbers. We also get a ton of donations and artwork from our fans and watch time is up 40% from the last month right now. Forty percent. That's crazy!

But our sub count keeps dropping. We lose about 100 subscribers a month, for whatever reason. But isn't that weird? That literally every other metric on your channel can be skyrocketing while subscribers go down? It seems like they really don't matter.

We've had over 100k subscribers for a year and a half now, but YouTube still hasn't mailed us that plaque. I doubt they ever will. I'd be surprised if anyone on their staff even checks that anymore. Today's internet is focused on keeping viewers moving to new content and showing them as many ads as possible while they do it. There isn't as much of a benefit to keeping someone watching one particular person anymore.

I appreciate you trying to support us! I think just watching our stuff when you feel like it and maybe showing your favorite videos to friends every once in awhile if you think they'll like it is the best thing you can do. If even one person ends up watching and binging all my Epithet stuff that's like 6 hours of watchtime right there.

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hi there I was wondering if you would be comfortable writing a poly!maurauders x reader where the reader struggles with an eating disorder. Like she is from a pure blood family and it was a bad habit she picked up. I totally understand if you wouldn’t want to write something like that however!

hi lovely! thank you for requesting, i hope this is okay

cw: general discussion of ed struggles and thoughts (including restriction, binging, and purging, not detailed), swearing, sexual joke implying rough play (towards the end)

1k words

You weren’t sure how long you had been in the kitchen for, but it started to feel like an excessive amount of time. You stared into the cupboards, scanning the shelves for something to eat. Both everything and nothing was appetizing. You would then give up, sighing in disdain before repeating the same process with the fridge, then the freezer, then back to the cupboards, then the freezer again to make sure-

The door opened, a bag dropped, shoes squeaked against the hardwood floors. 

“Hey, angel!” James barrelled into the kitchen. You turned towards him so he could embrace you. 

“Hey, Jamie. You’re back early.” He looked at you questioningly, cutting his eyes to the oven clock. 

Shit! It had been that long? 

“Oh wow!” You laughed uncomfortably. “I must’ve lost track of time.” You shrugged as Sirius slid into the kitchen, patting your ass as he walked past. You turned your now-warm face in his direction. He opened the cupboard, immediately finding a snack and eating with ease. It made you jealous to see the boys eat with so much levity. They never denied their cravings in favor of something smaller, or even nothing at all. They never stared a hole into every nutrition label, wondering how days of food would have to be restricted to compensate, or how many steps would have to be taken to burn every bite off, or how easy it would come back up. They never wallowed in hunger for hours, or ate to the point of pain. Their moral value had never been questioned based off of the food they chose to eat (or not eat). You must’ve been staring in wonder for a long time, because Sirius had quirked a dark brow at you. 

“You checking me out, babydoll?” He teased. You shook your flaming face, looking away from him and mumbling an apology. The quick motion had you seeing spots though, and you brought a hand to your head in hopes of steadying yourself. 

“Shit, sweetheart.” James grabbed your face, looking you over for any visible injuries. 

“Sorry, I just got a bit lightheaded.” This called the two boys to alert fast. 

“Yeah, baby?” Sirius asked carefully. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you over while James quickly went to get you some water. He felt your face, which was now cold, he scrunched his brows in concern. He moved his hands to your hips, hoping that would keep you steady. You took the water from James, noticing the pinkish hue.

“It’s electrolytes. It will taste good I promise.” He reassured. The taste wasn’t what you were worried about. “When did you last eat, angel?” That was the dreaded question. You struggled through the dense fog of memory. 

“Umm, me and Remus ate together earlier. I’m not sure when, though.” You did remember exactly what you had eaten, though. With a little too much clarity for comfort. Like magic, Remus appeared, holding three empty mugs of tea. 

“What are you gossiping about me for?” His voice would seem monotone to most, but you could hear the humor in it. 

“Remus, love,” James asked gently. “When did you and Y/N eat?” 

“We had a late breakfast after you two left today.” He responded suspiciously. You winced. It hadn’t felt like that long ago. The time it took for Remus to understand the situation was very little. 

“Did you forget to eat today, honey?” James’ anxiety was evident. You could tell he was hoping it was forgetfulness, as opposed to the other possibility. 

“Yeah. I tried to find something a while ago but nothing looked good.” They knew you got like this. Too much choice, nothing made the voice inside your head happy. 

“That’s okay.” James’ hand was rubbing a soothing path up and down your arm. “I haven’t had dinner yet, we can find something together.” He pressed his lips to your forehead before turning to the other two in the room. “Have you two eaten yet?” 

“Not since lunch, no.” Remus slipped back out of the room. 

“I mean, I could always eat.” Sirius said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Remus returned, carrying upwards of ten bars of chocolate. 

“Have some of this, dovey.” Remus picked out your favorite, starting to break it into chunks for you. 

“Rem, it’s okay.” You panicked. Your brain was screaming, both in want for food and in rejection. “I don’t need it.” 

“Sure you do.” He said, nonchalant. You picked up a bar of chocolate, flipping the package over. You didn’t have a chance to look before James took it from you. 

“Baby!” He laughed in disbelief. “I can’t believe you thought we would let you do that.” He was right. Since the boys picked up on your issues, they always tried to hide these things from you. Bottles would be handed with the label facing away from you, they would read items off of the menu at restaurants, hoping you wouldn’t look yourself, and the scale in the bathroom had strangely disappeared. Something that apparently Sirius ‘didn’t even notice, dolly, that’s funny.’

“Here, open up.” Sirius grabbed a square of chocolate from Remus’ stash. “Say, ahh.” He teased. 

“Siri,” You laughed. “I don’t need you to feed me.” 

“So? I want to. Stop being so selfish.” You let him place the chocolate in your mouth, rolling your eyes at him. He apparently took great offense to your attitude, deciding to worm his fingers into your waist in revenge. You tried desperately to bat his hands away. 

“Careful, pads.” James tried to scold, obvious humor and affection slipping into his tone. “You’ll make her choke.” Sirius grunted in disdain. 

“I guess you’re right.” Sirius kissed you, mouth still full of chocolate. You pulled away, dizzied to chug water.

“Thought that choking was my job.” Remus said casually. You nearly spit your water out.

[xtrafluffyteddy]

Regret

Simon “ghost” Riley x reader

Summary: simons goin on a suicide mission so he tries to make his last day with you as special as possible since he can’t tell you that he won’t be coming home

Tw: angst, no happy ending, heartbreak, character death

When Simon got the news of the mission he already knew he wouldn’t be coming home, being that deep into enemy territory there was no way that he could reasonably think of, it seems Soap and Gaz had come to that realization as well there faces grim and eyes full of sadness probably thinking about how they would say goodbye to the ones they love.

“Love I’m home” Simon called out into the quaint little apartment you two had called home for the past 5 years taking in all the framed photos, the water ring stains on the table from countless mornings of sharing tea together, the divots in the couch from your respective spots, oh god how he’ll miss it, oh god how he’ll miss you. All that got shoved to the back of his mind as you came out rubbing the sleep from your eyes wearing his shirt “mmmm hi darling welcome home I ordered takeout from that Thai place I’ll go warm it up hm?” You rasped turning away only for Simon to quickly catch your elbow pulling you into his chest “Si? You okay?” You questioned looking up at him with concern as he held you close memorizing everything he could feel about you “yeah love, yeah I’m fine just missed you was all” he reassured though the confession that he’d be gone in just two days hung heavily on the tip of his tongue “aw I missed you too Si, now why don’t we go eat hm?” You press a chastise kiss to his lips turning away again.

Simon held you as close as he could that night his mind keeping him awake as you slept peacefully “I know I don’t say it often” he whispered “but your the best thing that has come out of this fucked up world, and coming home to you is the only thing keeping me goin, I think of you all the time even when I should be focused on the task ahead” he sniffed clutching you tighter “I love you so much, promise you’ll forgive me when I go” he murmured staring down at your sleeping form tucked safely in his arms where he wished he could keep you forever.

Simon was out of bed before you making your favorite breakfast his mind plagued with how he would tell you the news “mmmm that smells good” you mumbled wrapping your arms around him from behind “your favorite love just like you like it” he smiled his eyes betraying him with how he really felt, not that you could see it “I was thinkin today why don’t we go shopping hm? Then that nice cafe you always wanted to go to? Then a nice dinner at the house binging all those cheesy horror movies you like” he set down your plate next to his smiling as you dig in “that sounds great lovey, but why all that today? You leaving soon?” You questioned mouth full of pancakes “somethin like that, and what I can’t wanna spend the day with my baby?” He joked heart cracking in his chest at lying to you, you let out a little laugh shooting him your dazzling smile.

The day was beautiful and left the both of you exhausted snuggled up with each other on the couch arms and legs entangled as some shitty horror movie played “I’m leaving tomorrow love” Simon began “and I don’t know when I’ll be back, but you have access to all the bank accounts and files if anything happens” he continued running his fingers through your hair soaking in the softness “I know that Si, but you’ll come back you always do” you looked up at him confusion evident on your face “I always try love but it’s just in case” he reassured blinking back the tears “I want my baby to be taken care of while I’m gone” he caressed your soft cheek “when do you leave?” You questioned placing your hand gently ontop of his “early tomorrow morning before the sun even rises” he replied “then let’s make this a night to remember hm?” You smiled

Simon woke up the next morning pulling you as close as possible eyes drifting to his bag packed by the door “gotta get goin love” he murmured kissing you softly over and over “mmm okay Simon come back to me okay? I love you” you whispered sleepily drifting back under “goodbye my love I love you so much” he sniffed pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head turning away before he stayed “be good for me yeah?” He whispered picking up his pack, calloused fingers caressing the door to yalls apartment one last time before he climbed into the car that would lead to his death, to him never telling you he loved you again, to never seeing you smile.

Oh god how hell miss you.