#if I don't include this part in chapter 13

[cordycepsbian]

team snakemouth gijinka but more of a Fantasy™️ au than just regular humans. featuring our spin on the concepts of halflings and dwarves where they are creature animal. and leif is uh ??? the horrors

bonus doodle

[akanemnon]

TWIN RUNES MASTERPOST

Because of the limited amount of links you can put into a post, you can find the links to each page in these sub-posts:

To be continued...

FAQ under the cut!

TWIN RUNES MINI COMICS

Glasses - Frisk Dance - But nobody came - An acquired taste -Smalltalk - All You Can Eat - Page 75 EXTRA - Page 84 EXTRA - Kris the Detective - Don't Try This at Home

AFTER RUNES:

Not-To-Do-List - Beach Episode - Salute the Frick - Morning Routine - The Universe is a Hologram - Trick as a Treat - Taste the Painbow - Dungeon Doofus - Tour de Nope - Explosive Start - Conveniently shaped... - Sibling Bonding - Home for Iinfite Avoidance - Be Mine Moss - Canine Collision - FUUUUUUTUREEEEE - Nontendi - Mango

PRE-RUNES:

Fallen down - First steps - Press [C] - Eye opening - Whatstheirface - This Nugget is Not in Service Acid reflux - Connection issues - Normal Human Behavior - Hide and Squeaky Clean

TWIN ROOMIES:

______________________________________________________________

TWIN RUNES - FAQ

What exactly is this AU about? Twin Runes is essentially a comedic crossover AU between the universes of Deltarune and Undertale. No fancy nicnacs. Just the characters being their chaotic selves. But there might be some darkness lurking up ahead... ____________________

When is the next comic? The comic updates most Sundays at 6:30 PM Central European Time. ____________________

Why is this AU called Twin Runes? The name is more or less a play on the typical naming format of most AU's by featuring the "Runes" part. There are no literal Twin Runes. The whole name is more of a stand in for Undertale and Deltarune as parallel worlds. Hence the "Twin" part. ____________________

When does Twin Runes take place? This AU takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of Deltarune. On the Undertale side of things, it takes place post neutral route just as Frisk was about to deliver Undyne's letter to Alphys.

How many pages are there going to be? The script for this comic estimates that the comic is going to be 137 pages long (if I don't make any major changes). ____________________

What software do you use to make your art/the comic? I use Clip Studio Paint. ____________________

Is the Player a thing in this AU? The Player(s) lost control over both human children as soon as Frisk entered the world of Deltarune. Essentially, the reader takes on the role of the Player. You have no influence on the outcome of the story anymore. All you can do is watch. Both Kris and Frisk refer to the Player as "It" and "the THING". ____________________

Is there going to be a Weird Route? Due to the lack of Player, all choices made by Kris are now their own. How to engage in battle all depends on Kris, and not the Player. Because of that, there are NO DIFFERENT ROUTES. There is only one route and that one is based on Kris' choices. Because of the lack of save points, there is no "what-if" scenario. ____________________

When Chapter 3 and 4 are released, will it affect the story? Any chapters after Chapter 3 won't affect the story in the grand scheme of things. Twin Runes created a new timeline so to speak. UPDATE: We are nearing the final arc of the story. The script has been long completed. Even with Chapter 3 and 4 realeasing in June there is no way for me to incorporate anything from Chapter 3 (read the rest of the FAQ) into the story without making a mess of things. Yes, that also includes your favorite charcater Springdlybab. ____________________

How old are the characters in this story? Frisk appears to be around 9 years old. Kris thinks they're 14. (Both Frisk and Kris don't know their actual age.) Chara died when they were around 10-11. Susie is around 15-16 (she was held back once) Ralsei appears to be the same age as Kris. ____________________

What's up with Kris' and Frisk's hair? The red bits of their hair is more or less a representation of their souls. That in turn is also why Chara doesn't have that feature. They are soulless. It's a stylistic choice. ____________________

What's that thing on Kris' chest? It's a scar they got from tearing out their soul.

And why do they have weird lines all over their body? Both Kris and Frisk's anatomy resemble that of ball-jointed dolls. They appear just as markings across their bodies. Think of them as elaborate birthmarks. Kris and Frisk are still made of flesh and blood, but are in fact hypermobile. The reason as to why they do is still a little secret :) People here like to refer to these markings as "puppet limbs". You can get a better look at them and the scar in this artwork

Why does Kris have braces? This is why:

Are old art, comics and asks from your blog part of Twin Runes? Unless stated otherwise, all art that was made prior to the start of the comic are not canon to Twin Runes. That mainly includes the old asks. __________________

Why is Dark World Frisk green? Frisk changes their main sweater colors with Kris when they enter the Dark World.

Could other ghosts see Chara? (pre Darkner transformation) No, only Frisk and Kris were able to see Chara. ____________________

IS KRIS NOW FRISK'S COUNTERPART OR CHARA'S???? :) ____________________

Where are Jevil and Spamton? Are they in Castle Town? The Fun Gang have already fought these two in the previous chapters and added them into their inventory. Outside of that little dream sequence, neither will be making an appearance. ____________________

Is anyone from Undertale Yellow gonna make an apperance? Outside of a tiny cameo from Clover (that has no greater bearing on the story) no one from Undertale Yellow is going to make an appearance. ____________________

How would the characters from Deltarune react if they met their Undertale counterpart? The universe would implode if that happens. ____________________

But what abou- The. Universe. Would. Implode. Next question! ____________________

How did you come up with the idea of Twin Runes? Twin Runes is an offshoot of a separate script I started in 2023. The concept of this script is similar to Twin Runes, but turned on its head. The funny moments in that script made me continue what now is the start of Twin Runes. I pretty much just wanted to see if I am actually capable of drawing a comic to begin with. So... in a way Twin Runes is my first attempt at a comic ever. If I ever finish Twin Runes, then I know I can tackle turning that mammoth project of a script into a comic too. In the grand scheme of things these two projects are sister series. They have A LOT in common and even share similar plot elements. When Twin Runes is over you will automatically also know certain mysteries of The Other Script. ____________________

What is The Other Script? As of this moment I call The Other Script: "Lost in the In-Between". At its core it's an inverse of Twin Runes. I.e. Kris falling into the underground and being aided by Frisk on their quest to return home. The story is considerably more grounded than Twin Runes and so are the characters. Though they do have their silly moments from time to time. The overall mood of that script is a lot darker in nature and it's a 200+ page passion project of mine. ____________________

Is there x ship in Twin Runes? The focus of this story is not on shipping. If it's in the game it will very likely be mentioned or brought up, but that's about it. ____________________

What pronouns do the human children use in this story? THEY/THEM FOR ALL OF THEM WITHOUT ANY EXCEPTIONS. That is what they are in this story. This is not open to interpretation. Please respect that. If this is a dealbreaker for you, then unfortunately this story is not for you.

___________________________________________________________

ABOUT FAN CONTENT

Am I allowed to make fanart? ABSOLUTELY! You are very welcome to make fanart if you feel like it. Please let me know if you do by tagging me, so I can share it with everyone to see so that you get the appreciation you deserve! ____________________ Can I use the funny faces you draw for memes or for stuff like memes or for profile pictures? That's what they're here for! ____________________

Am I allowed to translate the comic and post the translation to a different site? For transformative work like this, please ask me beforehand. If I have given you my permission, please link the original work with the proper credit given. ------------------------

Am I allowed to dub your comic? Just like the point above, please ask for my permission first. That is just common courtesy. -----------------------

If I have gotten your permission to create content off your comic (dubbing, translations, etc...), am I allowed to monetize it? NO. I don't make any money off this comic either, as it is purely fan content.

______________________________________________________________

ABOUT ASKS

Asks will open after a new comic has been released. I will queue the questions from Monday until Friday. Once the queue is full, asks will close. Your questions will then be answered over the course of the week.

Try not to submit multiple asks. If necessary, just keep everything in one post.

Keep in mind that I receive AL LOT of asks. There is no guarantee that every question will be answered.

Questions containing spoilers will not be answered on principle. Wouldn't be as fun if the surprise was ruined, right?

Before leaving an ask (mostly for everyone who's new), please make sure to read the FAQ section above. A lot of times your question might have been answered already.

I love memes and dumb jokes as much as the next guy, but try not to spam

It probably goes without saying, but please stay civil. I want to give everyone the respect they deserve, and naturally like to be treated the same way.

Please be mindful about drawing requests. It is understandable if you're eager to see a certain character drawn in my style, but I do not like to be bombarded by requests. The more it happens, the less likely I am to do it. Be kind and ask nicely.

I don't take unsolicited comic ideas.

Don't use other people's posts that I reblogged to ask me questions! It has happened before and I do not wish to see this!

This isn't an ask blog. The comic has a script that will not deviate. Reader interaction with the characters won't be possible due to the overall "no Player" subplot.

Please do not ask me to put your characters into the story. Like I said, the script is already finished and I'm quite happy with it. Your characters are in better hands with yourself and your own stories. Please have respect for mine.

______________________________________________________________

ABOUT SUBMISSIONS

The submission box is for FANART ONLY!

It is meant for those who do not want to submit their fanart to their own blogs, in case they feel scared or intimidated to do so.

ASKS AND REQUESTS THAT ARE SUBMITTED THIS WAY WILL NOT BE ANSWERED.

Please wait until the ask box opens. You can read more on how asks work in the section above.

______________________________________________________________

REFERENCE SHEETS

The following are ref sheets of characters that don't have established Dark World forms yet (as of writing this comic). The list will be updated as soon as a new character enters the Dark World. Here you will also find references of characters that might appear as surprise cameos, or maybe even completely new faces...

______________________________________________________________

FULL ART

[fatedrisk]

bad idea ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♱✮♱ social media au

♱✮♱ kim sunoo x male reader

featuring! all of enhypen, huening kai beomgyu and yeonjun (txt), keeho intak and jiung (p1harmony)

synopsis! after a year since their breakup, sunoo impulsively decides to text his ex again, despite the obvious disapproval of his friends. little does he know, his ex had been thinking of him as well.

content warning! angst, fluff, profanities, suggestive jokes, kys/kms jokes, nsfw themes, mean jokes, ♫ means chapter includes written parts

authors note! heavy inspo from @solkver!! 𖹭 feel free to comment your @ or send an ask on my inbox to be added to the taglist! obviously mlm && sporadic updates bc i cant make a schedule for the life of me....

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 started...! 250320 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 updated...! 250408

ongoing! taglist still open ᯓ★

i. PROFILES !!

♪ chapter 00 ! goofy goobers ♪ chapter 00 ! sassy men apocalypse

ii. CHAPTERS !!

♪ chapter 01 ! why can't i let go of it? ♪ chapter 02 ! take one more chance on me ♪ chapter 03 ! push and pull to get closer ♪ chapter 04 ! is that too much to ask? ♪ chapter 05 ! you make me go crazy over you ♪ chapter 06 ! you got me moonstruck ♫ chapter 07 ! i loved that lie ♪ chapter 08 ! 'cause i don't have nothing to lose ♪ chapter 09 ! a little bit of fun is just enough ♪ chapter 10 ! maybe someday memories fade away ♫ chapter 11 ! 'cause i'm intoxicated ♪ chapter 12 ! complicated games of love ♪ chapter 13 ! try to let go ♪ chapter 14 ! all or nothing, i want all of you

taglist! @firstclassjaylee @gnusihcom @aussie-boys-wife @lelestarmy @solkver @akeurajii @desafortuno @azumi-alezee @rikiimuraaa @rairaiblog @bahngiezzv @dudekiss3r @conwunder @mimimiloomeelomi @fairyssongs @kaiyunsim @timascorner @pedifero @steddie-steddie

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 13.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

-

A/n: Since the Avengers are all gonna be doing their own thing with each group, I want to make sure to include everyone and introduce the rest of the avengers! Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

-

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

rehab masterlist. chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12

There were voices all around her, some familiar and some not. As her head pounded with pain, the soldier was unable to open her eyes. They were so heavy, feeling as though they were like concrete weights stuck to her face, and there was a sicky sweet scent wafting into her nose.

There was an oxygen mask stuck to her face, and though the soldier wanted to tear it off, her limbs were too heavy to really move. She could hear the Fist of HYDRA speaking to someone, but she couldn't place it. All she knew was that he sounded young and sounded worried.

But why?

'Nobody would ever worry about you. You're weak. You're nothing. I don't know what Doris saw in you.'

Doris? The woman from her dream? Why was she relevant? The soldier tried to open her eyes again, but she was unsuccessful still. Her body was too heavy for it to be normal fatigue. They must be drugging her.

"What do you want me to do if something goes wrong?"

The younger man was speaking now, sounding nervous, and if the soldier listened closely, she could hear the boy shuffling from foot-to-foot with anxiety.

"I mean, if she's a super soldier like you, wouldn't she be able to break through the webs?"

"Aren't they supposed to be strong enough to hold two halves of a ship together?"

The young boy chuckled nervously, asking in a small voice.

"Please don't remind me about that. That was almost the worst day of my life."

The Fist of HYDRA just sighed before he stated.

"You'll be fine. With how much anesthetics she's been pumped with, I think she will be too drowsy to fight if she does wake up."

But that wasn't true. She was a machine. A soldier. It was in her nature to fight no matter what condition she was in. Failure was not an option.

Her fingers twitched slightly as she tried to regain movement, and it seemed as though the two men didn't notice as she began to become conscious and aware.

"Didn't Shuri state that she had removed the programming? What even is the programming? All I know is HYDRA is, like, the worst."

As the Fist of HYDRA began to go into depth about what the Winter Soldier program was and how they did the programming, the soldier couldn't help but to pause as her eyes fluttered open.

"-If you began to show signs that you were remembering your old life, they would put you in a Mind Chair and pump as much electricity into your brain as they possibly can without killing you to erase those memories."

"That's...that's horrible. I'm so sorry."

The lights above her were so blinding that she had to squeeze her eyes shut. They opened again, and she sluggishly began to move, ripping the mask off of her face. The young boy who had been speaking seemed to gasp and jump up from the fright, his red and blue suit almost an eyesore to her pounding head.

"Bucky!"

The Fist of HYDRA immediately stood up, hands in the air as if to calm her down, and she had to hold onto the side of the bed as her legs became jelly.

"Все в порядке. Ты в порядке."

She felt nauseous, bile swimming in the back of her throat, and she gripped the side of the table so tightly that she bent it within the shape of her grip.

Standing up carefully, there was a brain fog that was clouding her mind. Things looked too bright; sounds were too loud, and her head began to pound. She stumbled slightly as she stood up completely, and she hissed out.

"Нет!"

The soldier groaned and fell to her knees, and the Fist of HYDRA bravely came to her side, placing a warm hand against her back as he knelt on the ground beside her.

"Все в порядке. Вы помните что-нибудь, что произошло после моего ухода?"

For some reason that the soldier could not understand, tears began to fill her eyes. She looked away from the man with shame, whispering as her shoulders began to shake.

"Voices....people...places...Что вы со мной сделали?"

She looked back at the Fist of HYDRA and she became guarded when she remembered that the boy in red and blue was here as well. He was keeping his distance, his hands raised in a strange position, and the Fist of HYDRA said gently.

"Shuri got rid of the HYDRA programming...or, at least most of it, I think. You're no longer under HYDRA's complete control."

The soldier began to grow anxious and irritated, her hand shooting up to grip the Fist's throat as she hissed.

"Who am I if I am not HYDRA?"

The Fist was calm, his metal hand gripping her wrist tightly, and she knew deep down that she would not win a fight with the Fist of HYDRA if it came down to it.

She never could.

"If you calm down, I can tell you. We found you, (Y/n). We found who you were before you were with HYDRA."

That name. Why was he calling her that name? The soldier gripped his throat for another moment before her hand relaxed slightly, and she whispered in a broken whisper.

"Эта красивая женщина - я?"

The Fist of HYDRA nodded, whispering softly.

"Yes. The pretty woman from your dreams is you."

Suddenly, the faceless mannequins from her strange dreams began to morph into faces, a beautiful woman greeting her by the record player and an angry sneering man yelling at her to get out of his office. The soldier began to feel sick again, and she whispered softly, crying.

"I don't understand. I...I....I'm malfunctioning...my programming is flawed. I...I need to be recalibrated...reprogrammed. I don't want to remember."

In a bout of bravery, the young boy in red and blue knelt to the ground, asking her softly.

"How come you don't want to remember? Don't you want to know who your family is?"

"My only family is HYDRA!"

She threw a metal table at the boy, who yelped and shot out some strange substance that clutched onto the metal and stuck it straight to a wall. The Fist immediately stood up, standing in front of the boy protectively as he urged.

"It's okay. It's okay, we're not going to hurt you. Peter's gonna say sorry, aren't you?"

The Fist gave the boy, Peter, a firm look, and Peter looked sheepish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

He then leaned in close to the Fist, hissing in exasperation.

"She just threw a whole table at my head!"

"At least it's not a knife. That wasn't very fun either."

Peter's eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, and the soldier shook her head as the pounding became worse. The soldier couldn't deal with standing anymore, so she sat down on a metal chair and clutched her head.

"(Y/n)?"

A strange feeling filled her, and the soldier looked up with confusion. Why did he call her that?

"Who is that?"

The soldier winced as the lights became unbearable, and the Fist of HYDRA looked at Peter, asking him gently.

"Can you turn the lights down low for her?"

Peter quickly jogged to a control panel on the wall, dimming the lights just enough that the pressure within her head lessened. The Fist of HYDRA carefully sat down in front of her, saying as he slid over a file to her.

"We found out who you were, (Y/n). We found who you were before you were HYDRA."

The confusion and fear spilled from her eyes as she stared at the file; stared at the pretty woman in the picture on the front, and she whispered brokenly; sounding unsure as the words sputtered out of her chapped lips like a desperate plea.

"Ты мне врешь. I was born in HYDRA. HYDRA is my only family."

The Fist shook his head before he sighed and chewed on his lip slightly, trying to figure out a different way to approach the subject before he asked the soldier.

"Do you remember what I told you before you were reactivated about how my name was given to me before I was with HYDRA; About how I had a family before HYDRA kidnapped me?"

The soldier was struggling to remember, bits and pieces of the conversation coming to mind despite the difficulty, and she nodded after a moment. The Fist replied, his expression calm.

"You had a family and a name too. You had a whole life before you were taken by HYDRA and made into a Winter Soldier. Just like how my parents named me James, your parents named you (Y/n)."

Peter asked, mostly to himself, though the Fist gave him a dirty look.

"Wait, your first name is James? Why do they call you Bucky then?"

"My middle name is Buchanan."

Peter made a face of understand, and the Fist rolled his eyes. Settling his attention back onto her, the soldier felt her body tremble uncontrollably as his body seemed to loom over her. In her mind, she was becoming a speck on the floor; an insignificant piece of trash that deserved nothing while the Fist seemed to grow a thousand times taller. His eyes were angry; his lips snarling, and the soldier began to cry; covering her face and whispering softly.

"Please stop. I'll stop remembering. I'm sorry. There are...flaws in the programming. I need to be rebooted. I must be punished."

She began to ramble, the words spilling from her lips despite the voice in her head yelling at her that she must not speak unless spoken to. She does not deserve to have a tongue in her throat for speaking out-of-line. She must shut herself up and if she cannot, she must utilize her surroundings.

"Hey, hey, slow down. Breathe, (Y/n)."

The name sparked so much confusion; so much pain within her pounding head that she could not help but to scream, lashing out and throwing her balled fists wildly.

"Stop calling me that! I have no name!"

Suddenly, that same sticky substance that had attached to the table was wrapped around her hands. The force of being hit with the web smacked the back of her hand against the wall, and she tried as hard as she could to pull away. However, she was still too weak; too panicked to think clearly.

She became frustrated and upset, kicking at the bed and screaming loudly as the flesh of her hand began to pull painfully; the web stuck on like glue. Despite the pain, however, she kept pulling her hand; even when the webs finally cut deep into her skin and blood ran down her arm.

Arms came around her, making her scream louder; fear running through her scrambled mind. This was it. She was finally going to be punished. She had been out-of-line for too long. She'd been remembering too long. They were finally going to put her in her place.

"Hey, it's okay! It's okay. Listen to my voice. Listen to me. You're okay. Follow my voice, солдат. Вы не в беде."

Tears streamed down her scarred cheeks, and the soldier was hyperventilating. She was still struggling, trying to break free of his hold, but he was much stronger than her.

He had always been much stronger. Much better. Everything that she could not be.

'You're despicable. Even the Fist of HYDRA would do better than this. Shall I call him to teach you a lesson?'

"Мне очень жаль. Прости, Кулак ГИДРЫ! Пожалуйста, не делайте мне больно. Я буду слушаться!"

Bucky swore his heart had never shattered so hard before in his life. He remembered when his mother had passed away; Rebecca too young to really understand what was going on and why their mother wasn't waking up. His father hadn't even been home that day; too busy working that Bucky had to run for a neighbor.

He remembered being scared; confused and distraught about his mother suddenly passing and the way he just couldn't understand why. Why did his mother die? Why did she have to leave them so soon? How was he going to take care of Rebecca?

That weight that had settled on his shoulders had eased when he met Steve, but that side of him that had been jaded by his mothers death and the world and the ignorance of how to care for another human being...it truly never went away.

To hear the woman in his arms plea for The Winter Soldier not to hurt her...it was almost akin to death.

"What on Earth is going on in here?!"

Shuri's voice trilled through the air, and though (Y/n) was still thrashing in his arms, Bucky let her go as his arms fell; too shocked and winded to be able to function properly. Peter took over, webbing the girl completely while giving Bucky a concerned look, and though his mouth was moving, Bucky couldn't hear a damn thing.

Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me.

Fist of HYDRA. The Winter Soldier. That is who you are and who you will always be.

I'll obey!

Oh, god, Howard!

"James."

Bucky's head shook slightly as he was roused from his thoughts, and he was immediately aware of the lack of screams. Glancing down, he noticed that (Y/n) had been sedated and was completely out; webbed up and lying on her back on the ground. Her cheeks were wet, eyelashes dewed with tears, and Bucky could feel bile rising up in his stomach.

"James, I need you to focus on me, alright? Listen to me."

Shuri's voice was calming, but Bucky could only stutter out his words as the shock continued to blow through his body.

"I...I'm here. I just...I...I think I need a moment."

Bucky immediately made his way to the balcony outside the lab, breaking the door from how hard he had pushed it open, and when he got outside and around the wall, Bucky immediately braced himself against it and began to cry.

You can never escape HYDRA. Where one head falls, two shall grow back in its place.

You will always be HYDRA. Even if you escape, you will miss your time here. It will call you home whether you like it or not.

I don't care. He killed my parents.

He was hyperventilating; panicking. His hand was going numb; the tips of his fingers tingling, and he could feel the need to vomit growing. His skin was sheening with sweat, but Bucky only felt cold.

He felt the cryogenic frost crawling up his body and invading his ears and nose and mouth, and he slid to the ground, placing his hands over his head to drown out the sound of the screams; of Maria Stark's cries; of (Y/n)'s pleas.

"Um, Mr. Barnes?"

Peter's voice was gentle, though Bucky was still lost within his head. Peter shifted from foot-to-foot, unsure of what to do, so he just sat next to Bucky quietly. He stared at the ground and pursed his lips, a furrow in his brow.

Peter didn't really know how to deal with panic attacks. He could recite complex inorganic compound formulas like the alphabet and he could describe the Standard Model Lagrangian like it was another day...but Peter had never been good with mental health.

Hell, he wasn't really a star model when it came to mental health and had no room to talk, but seeing Bucky like this...to see that woman in the lab that had been so badly abused by HYDRA plea for her life...it was horrifying.

At least, it sounded like she was pleading for her life. Peter didn't really know any Russian despite Natasha teaching him a few words. Taking a deep breath, Peter spared a glance at Bucky, hearing the way his heart was starting to slow down a bit. He was patient, just sitting with Bucky quietly as the man began to come down from his panic.

Bucky's jaw clenched slightly before he looked down at the ground, wiping his eyes and cheeks, and he said softly as Peter glanced over at him with a caring expression.

"Thanks, kid. I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

Peter shook his head, replying carefully.

"Oh, it's not a problem, Mr. Barnes. Sometimes we...sometimes we need a friend, and sometimes we need to be a friend. It's what we do. We help people."

Bucky nodded carefully, muttering.

"I see why Steve likes you, kid."

"Captain America likes me? That's so cool."

Bucky snorted, and Peter chuckled in embarrassment. The boy then paused, looking nervous before he asked.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Bucky replied without missing a beat.

"Don't push it."

"Understood."

Bucky shook his head before he watched Peter get up and dust his suit off. Bucky was quiet, just observing the kid for a moment, and he turned his gaze away when Peter stated.

"I'll go back inside and check on her. I'm here for you if you need it, Mr. Barnes. Honest."

Bucky nodded, and he called after Peter before Peter could get into the lab again.

"Hey, Queens."

"Yes, sir?"

Bucky almost bristled at the way Peter called him 'sir' and instead retorted with a pointed look.

"It's Bucky. Mr. Barnes was my dad."

Peter smiled gently, nodding his head before he said.

"I'll make sure to remember that, Bucky."

-

STORY NOTES: The soldier has woken up despite the anesthetics going through her body, possibly due to her heightened metabolism adapting and gaining tolerance to the drug, and she is aware that Bucky and another person are in the room with her, who turns out to be Peter Parker aka Spiderman. They are conversing on what to do if she wakes up, and Bucky makes a comment about the incident with the ferry in Spiderman: Homecoming.

Peter then asks about the Winter Soldier programming, in which Bucky explains the process and what it was and how they would take the memories of their subjects if they started to remember their old life. At this time, the soldier finally gets up, and Peter alerts Bucky. While the soldier is trying to orient herself, Bucky tries to comfort her, but the soldier is unwilling to accept comfort.

The soldier asks what Shuri had done to her, and Bucky explains that Shuri had removed most of the Winter Soldier programming that it would no longer affect the soldier. The soldier is distraught by the loss of her HYDRA identity, and she makes a comment internally about how if she wanted to fight Bucky, she wouldn't be able to as she never could, implying that she knew Bucky when he was the Winter Soldier as well. Bucky takes that time to introduce her name to her and let her know that he found her previous identity.

(Y/n) becomes distraught, and though Peter tries to ask her about her feelings and family, (Y/n) lashes out and tells Peter that her only family is HYDRA. She lashes out, and Peter uses his web to detain her. She suddenly has a lapse in her memory when Bucky calls her by her given name, and Bucky tries to tell her that they found out who she was before HYDRA again. He shows her the file, and (Y/n) is perturbed by seeing a picture of the woman she had seen in the mirror.

Bucky reaffirms to her that her name is (Y/n) (L/n) and she had a whole family before HYDRA, and she begins to panic so badly that she begins to hallucinate. Bucky calls her by her name again, and the soldier finally snaps, trying to lash out at him again. She begins to have a meltdown, and though Bucky tries to comfort her by holding her, the soldier has an auditory flashback of when she was told she was going to be punished by the Winter Soldier.

She begs Bucky not to hurt her, that she is sorry and she will comply, and Bucky is devasted. He recalls how he had felt when his mother had passed away, and he relates the feeling to (Y/n) begging him not to hurt her to the feeling of death. Shuri comes in, asking what is going on, and Peter finally completely webs (Y/n) when Bucky becomes too shocked to keep a firm hold on her.

Bucky begins to have a panic attack and exits out of the lab, and Peter follows after him to make sure that Bucky is okay. Peter thinks about how he doesn't really know how to deal with mental health properly and that seeing Bucky in such a state of disarray and hearing (Y/n) plead for her life was scary for him to witness.

Peter chooses to sit with Bucky quietly, and Bucky is thankful. Peter reassures Bucky that he doesn't mind helping him and asks if Bucky would like to talk about it, and Bucky tells Peter not to push his luck. After Peter tells Bucky he is going to check on (Y/n) and calls him Mr. Barnes, Bucky tells him to call him by his nickname, implying that they have further their friendship. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS

Все в порядке. Ты в порядке. - It's okay. You're okay.

Все в порядке. Вы помните что-нибудь, что произошло после моего ухода? - It's okay. Do you remember anything that happened after I left?

Что вы со мной сделали? - What have you done to me?

Эта красивая женщина - я? - That beautiful/pretty woman is me?

Ты мне врешь. - You're lying to me.

солдат - soldier

Вы не в беде. - You're not in trouble.

Мне очень жаль. - I'm so sorry

Прости, Кулак ГИДРЫ! - I'm sorry, Fist of HYDRA. (This translated directly as "I'm sorry, HYDRA Fist")

Пожалуйста, не делайте мне больно. Я буду слушаться! - Please don't hurt me. I'll obey!

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10

[causenessus]

new grounds. | kageyama t.

a self-fulfilling prophecy is a psychological concept in which something comes true in part due to one's belief or expectation that it was already true. she thought he hated her and began to hate him until he started to act differently around her.

kageyama x f! reader

COMPLETED haikyuu smau

taglist: closed

playlist <3

warnings & notes: language, pining ig, enemies to lovers, coffee shop au, college timeskip, college is based off my knowledge and experiences which are all american, reader is into technical theatre, i will unashamedly weave in psychology nerd stuff, time stamps don't matter although i try to make them coherent :), dates don't really matter but i thought they'd be cute to include, makes more sense when you read the intros (specifically kageyama's)

the menu: the baristas + beefy man | the freeloaders

table of contents (☕︎ for any chapters with written parts <3):

part one: cow mug part two: christmas tree part three: mr. nice guy part four: abrasions part five: hell week part six: toxic trait (☕︎) part seven: off to war (☕︎) part eight: sidelines (☕︎) part nine: regularly scheduled programming part 10: two truths and a lie (☕︎) part 11: hopeless part 12: second time's the charm part 13: high stakes (☕︎) part 14: flowers (☕︎) part 15: epilogue (☕︎) thank you for reading new grounds <3

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, violence, blood, strong reader, arranged relationship, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, possible smut in future chapters (including mlm), polyamory, pansexuality, more to be added

A/N: I don't have enough ongoing series. So...suffer with me...

Indecent Proposal (1)

Indecent Proposal (2)

Indecent Proposal (3)

Indecent Proposal (4)

Indecent Proposal (5)

Indecent Proposal (6)

Indecent Proposal (7)

Indecent Proposal (8)💦

Indecent Proposal (8.2) 💦

Indecent Proposal (9) 💦

Indecent Proposal (9.2)

Indecent Proposal (10) 💦

Indecent Proposal (11) 💦

Indecent Proposal (12)

Indecent Proposal (12.2)

Indecent Proposal (13)

Indecent Proposal (14)

Indecent Proposal (15)

Indecent Proposal (15.2)

Indecent Proposal (16)

Indecent Proposal (17)

Indecent Proposal (17.2)

Indecent Proposal (18)

Indecent Proposal (18.2)

Indecent Proposal (19)

Indecent Proposal (20)

Indecent Proposal (21)

Indecent Proposal (22)

Indecent Proposal (23)

Indecent Proposal (24)

Indecent Proposal (24.2)

Indecent Proposal (25) FIN

[solkver]

airdrop ⋆·˚ ༘ *

#%! social media au

#%! lee sohee x male reader

featuring! kim daniel (kyuded) as yn, giselle (aespa), mrld as their band songs, w2e as their band pics

synopsis! bored sohee decides that airdropping memes at his best friend's gig would be the best way to kill the boredom. much to his luck, the drummer of his best friend's band, who he's been crushing on for years, is the one that got his meme airdropped to.

content warning! angst, fluff, smut, profanities, suggestive jokes, kys/kms jokes, nsfw themes, mean jokes, ☁︎ means chapter includes written parts

authors note! sohee down bad and a boy kisser! heavy on the smut, sporadic updates but I'll try to create a schedule, feel free to comment your @ or send an ask on my inbox to be added to the taglist! obviously mlm, some parts would be half written.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 started...! 241018 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 updated...! 250415

ongoing! taglist still open ⌗

i. PROFILES !!

𓏔 chapter 00 ! goofy goofertons 𓏔 chapter 00 ! studio crashers

ii. CHAPTERS !!

𓏔 chapter 01 ! a little life might've been nice 𓏔 chapter 02 ! outfit repeater 𓏔 chapter 03 ! fuck the digital footprint 𓏔 chapter 04 ! f around and find out 𓏔 chapter 05 ! rate my rizz 𓏔 chapter 06 ! I wish he was real 𓏔 chapter 07 ! now hold on a minute 𓏔 chapter 08 ! I'm watching you weirdo 𓏔 chapter 09 ! what did I just say ☁︎ chapter 10 ! what in the skibidi 𓏔 chapter 11 ! can you be normal 𓏔 chapter 12 ! homosexuality chooses no time ☁︎ chapter 13 ! you guys are freaks! 𓏔 chapter 14 ! alright mysterious princess 𓏔 chapter 15 ! chop chop liar ☁︎ chapter 16 ! are the gays done fighting yet? 𓏔 chapter 17 ! fucking hate faggots 𓏔 chapter 18 ! you just don't get love like I do 𓏔 chapter 19 ! woah what the sigma ?? 𓏔 chapter 20 ! how many likes to kms 𓏔 chapter 21 ! time to investigate 𓏔 chapter 22 ! honest answer or no ☁︎ chapter 23 ! good for you

taglist! @pinklemonade34 @luvkyu @naseobseob @kmusicreblogs @desafortuno @dontwannaexsist @onementally-unstabel-kid @kaijunodos @kaiyunsim @xavi-in-kpopland @prettybluei @gnusihcom @shuaeunie @leoleoleone @nootnootpinguuu @conwunder @lookateeznutz @reveluvie-12 @007chan @seokiebin @fatedrisk @suunani

© solkver 2024 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms. thank you.

[buckets-and-trees]

I love that Steve and her mom got to connect and build a better understanding. And loving the development of the marriage. ❤️🤍💙

I'm so glad you enjoyed that! It was a chapter that was a uniquely fun part of the story for me to explore with them - as much about our reader as it was about Steve and her mom.

This chapter has many more married moments...

Red, White & True: Pittsburgh & Harrisburg [13/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: With only two weeks until Election Day, the truth behind photo-gate finally breaks on national news, potentially changing the game for all the campaigns. Steve changes the energy for his own campaign when he addresses his largest crowd yet, and afterwards, the two of you get to spend a few quiet moments together before hitting the next campaign stop.

Content/Warnings: political policy discussion, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Author Notes: It's been a long time since the last update, and that's what I'm blaming on delivering such a long chapter with the muse! I really almost split this one in half, and I did cut a couple of scenes (that I hope to include later), but I had to keep the rest here as it is.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 20 - LATE MORNING - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said. 

“Like what?” you countered.

He turned his head squarely to look at you, arching an eyebrow. “I can feel the disapproval in your gaze.”

“I’m not…” you huff, “I’m not disapproving, I’m just not convinced you’re getting enough sleep at all.”

Outside, the autumn landscape blazes in a riot of crimson and gold, the trees lining the highway creating a fiery corridor that seems to mirror the intensity of the campaign trail. You've been on the road for what feels like an eternity, crisscrossing the country in a blur of rallies, town halls, and fundraisers.

Steve looks down at the speech notes spread across the small tray table over his lap, the papers covered in handwritten revisions and highlighted passages. The light of the late morning highlights the fatigue etched into his features - subtle shadows beneath his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he keeps blinking a little too deliberately as if fighting to keep his eyes open. 

"I'll sleep after the election," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile that usually makes your heart flutter. Today, it only deepens your concern. 

Across the aisle, Bucky scoffs silently, his metal arm whirring as he flips through a stack of polling data. The sound is barely audible, but the judgmental raise of his eyebrows speaks volumes. You catch his eye and share a moment of mutual exasperation. 

"Election Day is still two weeks away," you remind Steve, your voice gentle but firm. 

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up in endearing tufts. "I'm fine. The serum—" 

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," you interrupt, narrowing your eyes. "Super soldier or not, you're still human." 

Bucky snorts, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "She's got you there, pal." 

Steve shoots him a betrayed look. "Whose side are you on?" 

"The side that doesn't want to see you faceplant in the middle of your speech at the rally this afternoon," Bucky retorts, setting down his tablet. 

Steve scrubs a hand over his beard. "I just need to finish these revisions. This speech is crucial – Pennsylvania could make or break us." 

You reach across the table, gently taking the pen from his fingers. "And that's exactly why you need to rest. You can't win Pennsylvania if you're running on fumes." 

His shoulders slump slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. "I can't afford to waste time sleeping when there's so much at stake." 

"It's not wasting time," you say softly. "It's making sure you're at your best." 

"Fine. I'll rest," he concedes, though his eyes drift back to the speech notes in front of him. 

“This is why you have an impeccable speech writing team,” you remind him, gently tugging the notes from his hands, which he allows, though with a deep frown. 

Bucky stands, you hand the notes to him, and he heads to the back of the bus where said speech writes are clumped together. 

As Bucky disappears, Steve's eyes follow him briefly before returning to you. The campaign bus sways gently as it rounds a curve, sending a shaft of sunlight through the window. It catches in Steve's hair, turning the blond strands to burnished gold, and for a moment, he looks almost like the propaganda posters from the 1940s—Captain America, illuminated and larger than life.

But then he blinks, and he's just Steve again. Tired, stubborn Steve, with worry lines creasing his forehead and that particular set to his jaw that tells you he's still mentally revising that speech.

"Elspeth's been with you since your announcement to run. She knows your voice better than anyone."

"Elspeth's going to think I'm micromanaging," Steve mutters, but there's less conviction in his voice now.

"She will, but Elspeth's used to it," you counter with a gentle smile. "And she always anticipates your edits."

"I know," Steve admits, his voice softening. "Elspeth's brilliant. It's just..." He trails off, his eyes drifting to the window where Pennsylvania's rolling hills pass by in a blur of autumn splendor.

You understand what he can't quite articulate—the weight of responsibility he carries, how deeply personal this campaign has become. Not just another mission, but perhaps his most important one yet.

"Each face out there," Steve continues, "they're looking for something real. Something true." He turns back to you, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. "I can't give them polished words that don’t hold their weight.”

“Steve, you’ve meant every word you’ve said on this campaign - probably every word you’ve said in your whole life - and you’ll continue to say the right thing whether it’s what’s been written or something you know should be said in the moment.”

His eyes burn more intensely at your words, and your chest swells. That fire is one of the things that has drawn you so much to him these past months. 

Once you catch your breath again, you say, “But only if you’re well-rested.”

Steve shakes his head and chuckles softly. “I see you refuse to relinquish your point.”

“Part of my wifely duties,” you tease. 

He looks down at your hand on his arm and covers it with his own. 

"You know," Steve says after a moment, his thumb tracing absent patterns on the back of your hand, "if I'm not working on this speech, I'd rather spend the time with you than just sleeping."

The tenderness in his voice makes your heart skip. Will he always have this effect on you?

"We've barely had a moment to ourselves since Cincinnati," he continues, his eyes softening as they meet yours. "Three rallies, two fundraisers…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” you interject. “Fifteen minutes of shut eye. That’s what? The equivalent of three hours of super soldier sleep?” You put even more sarcastic teasing into your tone.

“You know what, Mrs. Rogers?” His voice is stern, but his grin matches yours. 

"What I know is that you need to—" 

Your retort is cut short by an eruption of noise from the back of the bus. Raised voices cascade forward like a wave, punctuated by gasps and exclamations. 

Steve's posture changes instantly, fatigue forgotten as his body coils with alertness. His hand squeezes yours once before releasing it, already half-rising from his seat. 

"Everyone shut up!" Jake's voice booms over the commotion. "Just shut up for a second so I can—"

The campaign manager’s fingers fly over the remote control for the bus's sophisticated video system, the multiple screens embedded up and down the large vehicle flashing to life as Jake gets the system to tune into CNN. 

"—breaking news just coming into CNN," Wolf Blitzer's voice fills the campaign bus, commanding everyone's attention. "We're following a major development regarding those controversial photographs that surfaced last week." 

The entire bus falls silent. Your blood runs cold as Wolf's face fills the screens, his expression serious. Steve's hand finds yours again, gripping it tightly, and you’re grateful for something to hold onto. 

"For those just joining us," Wolf explains, "on October 12, Fox News aired what they claimed were exclusive photographs showing the wife of presidential candidate Steve Rogers entering a Planned Parenthood clinic. The images appeared to show her in what Fox commentators described as a 'visibly pregnant' condition."

Your stomach twists into knots. Those fabricated images had been a nightmare—more than a crude photoshop job showing your face pasted onto someone else's body, they were crafted so well that you would have believed them yourself if not for knowing that you’d never been pregnant. 

“Mrs. Rogers responded almost immediately claiming the photos were fake and then turning her comments to focus on the services Planned Parenthood provides; the need for better healthcare, access, and education for women’s health in America; and then later the same day, the way women are targeted for political points.”

You held your breath, waiting for what he would say next. 

“While the Rogers-Young campaign focused on their platforms and messaging, the debate over these photos died down, but it still hasn’t gone away. We have new sources, however, that have confirmed that the photos were given to Fox News by the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today - or CSFAT, that the photos were created with extremely sophisticated artificial intelligence, and that CSFAT obtained them from former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross.”

The bus erupts in chaos again—a mixture of outrage, relief, and vindication washing over the campaign team. This is exactly what Bucky had managed to uncover the week before. Jake is already on his phone, barking orders, while Elspeth starts frantically typing on her tablet next to communications director Lisa, no doubt drafting potential statements. Bucky's face has darkened dangerously, his metal hand clenching into a fist. He and Steve exchange another look, and Bucky shakes his head. 

Steve had no doubt been asking if Bucky had leaked the information. 

Wolf Blitzer continues, "CNN has obtained exclusive emails between Ross and CSFAT leadership dating back three months, discussing what they called 'strategic image deployment' ahead of the battleground state swing. Ross has not responded to our requests for comment, but his former chief of staff confirmed the rumors that Ross and Rogers always had a terse relationship that was never repaired, even after the reversal of the Sokovia Accords. The Justice Department has just announced they are opening an investigation into potential election interference."

The screen splits to show a panel of commentators, one of whom immediately jumps in. "This is unprecedented, Wolf. Using AI to create false images of a candidate's spouse to suggest she terminated a pregnancy—clearly targeting conservative voters who might otherwise support Rogers and dissuade them from moving away from the Republican—it crosses a dangerous ethical line in political campaigning." 

"What's more disturbing," another panelist adds, "is that Ross has up to this point vocally claimed that he wasn’t supporting any campaign. This appears to be a personal vendetta that he’s latched onto the Republican Party to wage against Rogers." 

Steve's jaw tightens as he watches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. His hand remains firmly clasped around yours, his thumb now moving in slow, grounding circles against your skin. 

"I knew it," Sophia hisses from behind you. "I knew it was Ross."

Jake raises his hand, silencing the growing murmurs. "Everyone, listen up. This is our true October surprise. This changes our strategy for Pittsburgh. We need to be ready to answer questions simply, directly, and then pivot directly to our core messaging. Strong but dignified. No gloating, no goading.”

Steve's eyes haven't left the screen, where the news ticker rolls beneath the panel discussion: "BREAKING: ROSS IMPLICATED IN FAKE PREGNANCY PHOTOS." 

"Good advice," Steve says to Jake, his voice steady despite the storm you can feel brewing beneath his calm exterior. "But I'll be addressing this head-on." 

Jake's expression tightens. "Steve, we need to be careful about—" 

"Not to score political points," Steve interrupts, his gaze finally breaking from the screen to survey the bus. The entire campaign team has gone quiet, watching the exchange. "But this isn't just about me or the campaign anymore. 54This is about deliberately using technology to deceive the American people." 

You squeeze his hand, understanding exactly where his mind is going. Steve has always been wary of how easily information can be manipulated in the digital age—something he's witnessed evolve from wartime propaganda posters to the sophisticated disinformation campaigns of the modern era.

"My wife was deliberately targeted, and everyone should be concerned about this kind of deception," Steve continues, his voice taking on that resonant quality that makes people stop and listen. "They can do this to anyone."

"We’ll reframe the Convention Center speech," Elspeth says, through a moment of silence that had formed after Steve’s declaration. 

Steve nods at her. "This is our chance to talk about truth, integrity, and the future of information in American democracy."

Jake paces the narrow aisle, phone still clutched in his hand. "The press is already blowing up. Everyone wants a statement." 

"Let them wait," Steve says firmly. "We do this right, not rushed." 

[OCTOBER 20 - EARLY AFTERNOON - PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA]

Ninety minutes later, the David L. Lawrence Convention Center thrums with an energy that feels almost tangible, like electricity crackling just beneath the surface of the air. Twenty thousand people fill the enormous space, their collective presence turning the cavernous hall into something intimate and alive. The steel beams arching overhead—a nod to Pittsburgh's industrial heritage—gleam under the red, white, and blue lights that bathe the crowd in a cool glow.

You stand in the wings, watching as Mayor Ed Gainey approaches the microphone. The buzz of the crowd ebbs slightly as he raises his hands, though the anticipation remains palpable, a living thing that breathes and pulses throughout the hall.

Steve stands beside you, his shoulders squared, his focus absolute. The fatigue that lined his face on the bus has ebbed away for now. “Ready?” he asks. 

You reach out to brush your fingers against his, and he tangles them together. You look up at him and nod. “Let’s do this.” 

Mayor Gainey's voice reverberates through the convention center, his words riding on waves of anticipation. "Pittsburgh has always been a city that knows the value of truth!" His declaration brings a surge of applause. "When the steel mills closed, we faced hard truths and rebuilt. When our rivers were polluted, we faced those truths and cleaned them. When our economy needed to evolve, we embraced new truths and transformed!" 

The crowd responds with thunderous approval, a sea of signs bobbing like buoys in an ocean of supporters. From your vantage point, you can see the handmade offerings: ROGERS FOR AMERICA and TRUTH, JUSTICE & THE AMERICAN WAY alongside cleverly repurposed vintage Captain America propaganda posters updated with campaign slogans.

"And today," Mayor Gainey continues, his voice swelling with pride, "we stand together as Pittsburghers, as Pennsylvanians, as Americans, to welcome a man who has fought for truth his entire life. But first—" he pauses, a warm smile spreading across his face, "I have the distinct honor of welcoming to the stage someone who has become a powerful voice in her own right during this campaign." 

The crowd's energy shifts, a ripple of recognition moving through the packed convention center. 

"Someone who has shown grace under fire, who has turned personal attacks into opportunities to speak about issues that matter to all Americans." Mayor Gainey's voice rises above the growing applause. "Please welcome the woman who has stood shoulder to shoulder with Captain Rogers through every step of his campaign—not just as his wife, but as a champion for healthcare, for education, and for the future we all deserve—ladies and gentlemen, the next First Lady of the United States!"

The roar that sweeps through the convention center hits you like a physical force.

You blink and then look up at Steve who looks just as humbled as you feel. You figured the mayor would say positive things, but neither you nor Steve had any idea the mayor would give tantamount to an endorsement.

Mayor Gainey steps back from the podium, applauding enthusiastically as you feel Steve's hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure urging you forward.

"You've got this," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You climb the steps up to the stage, stepping out from the wings, blinking against the sudden intensity of the stage lights. The crowd's reaction surges again, a wave of sound that crashes over you as you cross to center stage. 

Mayor Gainey embraces you briefly before stepping aside, leaving you alone at the podium facing the sea of faces. For a heartbeat, the enormity of the moment washes over you—twenty thousand people, all waiting for your words. The lights are blinding, the noise deafening, but as you adjust the microphone, a strange calm settles over you. 

These people, many of whom have traveled hours to be here, aren't just cheering for you; they're cheering for what you have been working to represent, for the vision of America that Steve and his running mate have been fighting to articulate.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," you say, your voice steady despite the frenzied fire of nerves in your chest. The crowd quiets, though the energy remains electric. "Thank you for that incredible welcome. And thank you, Mayor Gainey, for those kind words." 

You take a deep breath and look out across the sea of expectant faces.

"I wasn't scheduled to do more than introduce my husband today," you continue, a small smile playing at your lips. "But I think we've all learned that sometimes plans change. And I won't take much more of your time, except to say this: the truth matters. It has always mattered."

A knowing murmur ripples through the crowd, and you can feel them with you, present in a way that transcends the physical space between podium and audience.

"I'm not here to dwell on deceptions, or to point fingers. I’m here today to bring to the stage a man committed to honesty, to people, to hard work. A man who has faced impossible odds before, and who will face them again, because that's who he is." Your voice strengthens, finding its rhythm. "A man who believes—who knows—that this country deserves leaders who will look you in the eye and tell you the truth, whether it's easy or hard. Whether it wins votes or costs them."

A swell of applause rises and falls quickly as people are eager for your next words.

"And I promise you this, he’s worth your vote. He will carry your votes with him every single day of your his presidency if you put him into the Oval Office. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my husband, Steve Rogers!"

The applause erupts into something seismic as Steve strides onto the stage, his presence immediately filling the vast space. His smile is warm as he embraces you, holding you just a moment longer than protocol might dictate. His lips brush against your ear. 

"That wasn't in the script," he whispers, the pride in his voice unmistakable. 

"Not everything that needs to be said is," you whisper back.

As you step away, the crowd's roar intensifies. Steve approaches the podium with that particular gait of his—purposeful, measured, shoulders squared—the stance of a man who has carried the weight of responsibility for so long it's become part of his physical bearing. 

You move off to the side of the stage, watching as he raises his hands, waiting for the cheers to subside. It takes nearly a full minute before the crowd lets him speak.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh," Steve begins, his voice cutting through the remaining applause like a warm current. "And thank you to my wife for that introduction." 

He pauses, his eyes finding yours across the stage, a brief moment of connection before he turns back to the crowd. 

"As some of you may have seen on the news today, there's been a development regarding the photographs of my wife that circulated last week." His tone shifts, becoming more measured, more deliberate. "It's been confirmed that they were fabricated—created using artificial intelligence and distributed as part of a coordinated effort to mislead voters - to mislead you."

A ripple of murmurs and scattered boos crosses the audience. 

"I could stand here and talk about who was behind it or why they did it," Steve continues, his hands resting on either side of the podium. "I could spend my time expressing outrage over having my wife's image manipulated for political gain. But that's not why I'm here with you today."

His voice drops slightly, taking on a resonance that makes the massive convention center feel suddenly intimate, as if he's speaking directly to each person in the room. 

"I'm here to talk about something more fundamental. Something that matters to every single American, regardless of who they plan to vote for in two weeks." Steve pauses, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "I'm here to talk about truth. About reality. About the fact that these campaigns aren’t games to be won.”

A hush falls over the audience, the kind of attentive silence that comes when twenty thousand people collectively lean forward to listen. 

"I was born in 1918. When I woke up in this century, one of the first things that amazed me was the access to information. When I was a kid, you might get news once a day from the radio or newspaper. Now, it's constant, immediate—a miracle of technology." His expression turns solemn. "But with that miracle comes responsibility. And today, we're facing a crisis of truth unlike anything in our history."

Steve's voice resonates through the convention center, commanding the space with a quiet authority that has nothing to do with volume and everything to do with conviction. 

"I've seen propaganda before," he continues, "posters of me selling war bonds, films edited to shape public opinion. But what we're facing now is different. When technology can create images, videos, and voices indistinguishable from reality—when what we see can no longer be trusted—the very foundation of our democracy is at risk." 

You watch from your spot backstage, feeling a surge of pride mixed with something deeper—the recognition that this is Steve at his most authentic, speaking not as a candidate but as a man who has witnessed a century of change.

"Some will say I'm old-fashioned," Steve says, "that I don't understand modern politics. Maybe they're right about the first part." A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. "But I understand something fundamental about democracy: it depends on informed citizens. And you can't be informed if you're being deliberately misled." 

The crowd stirs, murmurs of agreement rising and falling like waves. 

"I'm not here to tell you who to believe or what sources to trust," Steve continues, his voice growing more passionate. "I'm here to ask you to question. To verify. To seek out primary sources and diverse perspectives. To remember that convenience should never trump accuracy." 

He pauses, his eyes scanning the crowd with that piercing intensity that makes each person feel seen. 

"I'm running for president because I believe we can do better," Steve says, his voice gaining momentum like a wave building strength. "Not just in how we govern, but in how we communicate. In how we disagree. In how we find our way back to a shared understanding of reality."

Steve's hands grip the podium more firmly, his knuckles whitening slightly. You recognize this gesture—it's what he does when he's restraining stronger emotion, channeling it into focused energy.

"I've spent my life fighting for this country," he continues, his voice dropping to a deeper baritone that carries to every corner of the convention center. "Not for a flag or a piece of land, but for an idea. The radical notion that people should govern themselves, that we can come together across our differences to build something greater than any one of us could achieve alone."

The crowd hangs on his every word. The usual campaign energy has transformed into something more reverent, more attentive. 

"That idea—that experiment in democracy—it only works when we share a basic understanding of facts. When we can disagree about interpretations and solutions, but not about the fundamental reality we're all facing." Steve's voice grows stronger, more resolute. "The fabricated images of my wife weren't just an attack on her or on me. They were an attack on your right to make informed decisions based on truth." 

The convention center is utterly silent, twenty thousand people captivated.

"I've been asked why I don't fight dirtier in this campaign," Steve continues, a wry smile briefly crossing his face. "Why I don't hit back harder when I'm attacked. The answer is simple: because that's exactly what's tearing us apart. 

"The constant escalation, the dehumanization of our opponents, the willingness to say or do anything to win." Steve's voice rises, filling the convention center with a passion that resonates in your chest even from where you stand backstage. "I refuse to contribute to that cycle. Not because I'm naive, but because it’s not a future I want to be a part of. It’s not the future I want for our country.”

You watch as Steve straightens, his shoulders squaring as he blazes forward with this crowd hanging onto his every word.

"Now let me yell you what I do want for our country,” he says, and then Steve pivots seamlessly into the stump speech of policy points he had planned to give all along, pointed highlights about healthcare, climate change, housing, immigration, and the economy.

You take a deep breath, realizing you’d been holding your breath, just as captivated by Steve’s words as everyone else in the convention center.

Jake steps up next to you and hands you a bottle of water. 

You smile and take it wordlessly. 

“That’s why I signed onto this campaign,” he says. 

Your smile grows. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the paycheck is nothing to sneer at,” Jake adds, “but I can negotiate a nice fee from any campaign. But it’s candidates like Steve that made me want to be a political consultant and run campaigns in the first place.”

“There’s no other candidate like Steve though,” you respond. 

"That's absolutely true," Jake acknowledges, his gaze still fixed on Steve as the crowd erupts into applause. "In twenty years of doing this, I've never seen anyone who can speak from the heart like him and still hit every policy point without sounding rehearsed."

You nod, watching as Steve gestures emphatically, his conviction radiating across the convention center. The crowd responds with another wave of cheers, signs bobbing like a multicolored tide.

"He believes every word," you say softly.

"That's why he's exhausted," Jake replies, a hint of concern threading through his professional demeanor. "So many candidates turn it on for the cameras and speeches, then collapse into cynicism or retreat behind closed doors. Steve's the same person in private as he is up there."

On stage, Steve has reached the crescendo of his speech, his voice rising not in volume but in intensity, his words binding the audience together in a shared vision. 

"He's always been that way," Bucky interjects, stepping up next to both of you. "The weight of the world on his shoulders and the determination to carry it."

"After Pittsburgh, we have a three-hour drive to the hotel in Harrisburg," Jake says, checking his watch. "You two make sure he actually sleeps. We need him at full strength for the final push."

You nod, your eyes never leaving Steve as he reaches the conclusion of his speech. 

"I'm not asking you to vote for me because I was Captain America," he says, his hands gripping the podium. "I'm asking you to vote for me because I believe in an America where we face our challenges together. Where we don't hide from hard truths or difficult conversations. Where we remember that our neighbors aren't our enemies, even when we disagree.

"Two weeks from today, you'll make your choice," Steve continues. "Whatever that choice is, I ask only this: make it based on truth. Make it based on substance. Make it based on the future you want to build—not just for yourself, but for generations to come in this, our United States of America!"

The crowd erupts into a thunderous standing ovation, the sound rolling through the convention center like a physical force. Steve stands tall at the podium, allowing the moment to crest before raising his hands in a gesture of gratitude. The campaign's playlist begins to blast through the speakers as red, white, and blue confetti rains down from the ceiling, catching the stage lights and transforming the air into a shimmering curtain.

"Thank you, Pittsburgh!" Steve's voice rings out over the roar. 

You watch as Steve moves away from the podium, waving to the crowd, his smile genuine despite the exhaustion you can still see lurking behind his eyes. Mayor Gainey returns to the stage along with several local officials, all eager for that crucial photograph with the man dangerously close to leading in the Pennsylvania polls.

"He nailed it," Bucky murmurs beside you, his eyes tracking Steve as he navigates the crowd of dignitaries with practiced ease. "That part about propaganda—he's been wanting to say that for weeks."

The backstage area has transformed into organized chaos—staffers darting between equipment cases, security personnel murmuring into earpieces, journalists hovering at the edges hoping for a quick comment. Through it all, Steve moves with that particular grace of his, giving each person his full attention despite the crush of bodies and demands.

"We need to get him moving toward the exit," Lisa says, appearing at your side with her ever-present tablet. "The press line outside is getting restless, and we're already going to take heat from them for not fielding any questions on the way in.”

Steve walks toward the edge of the stage where you're waiting, and his eyes find yours immediately. The public persona slips just slightly—enough for you to see the exhaustion he keeps ignoring creeping back in around the edges. He reaches for your hand as he descends the steps, his fingers lacing with yours immediately. 

You reach your other hand up, curling it around the side of his neck, and pull him in for an enthusiastic kiss. Steve's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. When you finally break apart, his eyes are bright despite the fatigue.

"You were magnificent up there," you tell him, your voice low enough that only he can hear. 

His expression softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. "I meant every word."

"I know you did.”

"We need to move," Lisa urges from behind you, her voice slightly tense with the pressure of maintaining the schedule.

“You heard her,” Bucky intervenes, backing her up, “move it along, love birds.” 

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle, your happiness at a peak in this moment. The energy from the enthusiastic and enormous crowd, Steve’s powerful speech, nailing your own impromptu changes for his introduction, but mostly from still being pressed close to Steve, the warmth of the spontaneous kiss lingering on your lips. 

Steve's hand finds the small of your back as you both begin moving toward the exit, navigating through the backstage labyrinth. Security personnel form a discreet barrier around you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

"Two minutes with the local press, then straight to the bus," Jake instructs, falling into step beside Steve. "We touch on the Ross revelation only if directly asked. Otherwise, it's healthcare and manufacturing for Pennsylvania."

Once you’re back on the campaign bus and rolling to Harrisburg, you are able to easily coax Steve to “rest” in the back of the bus. 

The door to the private quarters has barely clicked shut when Steve's hands are at your waist, spinning you around, backing you against the wall with an urgency that makes your breath catch. His mouth finds yours, hungry and insistent, the restraint he shows in public nowhere to be found.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer as if the inch of space between you is too much to bear. "Just today?" you tease, gasping as his lips trace a path down your neck.

"Every day," he corrects, his hands framing your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the smooth fabric of your blouse. "Every minute."

"Steve," you breathe, your body responding eagerly even as your mind reminds you of his need for rest in this rare break in the schedule. His lips are tracing a path along your jaw that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult. The gentle sway of the campaign bus adds a dreamlike quality to the moment.

Your hands move to his chest, not quite pushing him away but creating just enough space to look up into his eyes. The blue of his irises has darkened with desire, but you can still see the shadows beneath them, the slight redness that speaks of too many late nights and early mornings. 

"As much as I'd love to continue this," you say softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "you're supposed to be resting." 

A flash of stubbornness crosses his features, and you can't help a small laugh tumbling out. 

Steve makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm fine," he insists, but the way he leans into you betrays a hint of the exhaustion you’ve been worrying over all day. 

"You're running on fumes," you counter softly, tracing one finger over the delicate skin beneath his eye where the shadows have deepened over the past week. "We have a three-hour drive to Harrisburg. That's three precious hours you can sleep."

"I'd rather spend them with you," he murmurs, his lips finding a sensitive spot just below your ear that makes you shiver. "Awake."

You close your eyes, momentarily lost in the sensation of his touch. The campaign bus hums beneath you, the rhythm of the highway creating a gentle, rocking motion that feels oddly intimate in the confines of the private quarters. 

"What if we compromise? You sleep," you suggest, your fingers now working at his tie, loosening the knot. "And I'll be right here beside you."

His hands cover yours, stilling your movements. "That's not much of a compromise," he points out, a hint of amusement in his voice despite the fatigue etched into his features. "I agreed to rest. Not necessarily to sleep."

"Alright," you continue, slipping the tie from around his neck and draping it over the hook on the back of the door. "We can rest together. Just lie down. Talk. Be still for a while."

Steve studies your face, his expression softening. "Just talk?" 

"Just talk," you confirm as you edge past him to the tiny bunks. It will be a cozy fit for the two of you, but you know neither of you will mind. You scoot in and get situated with Steve climbing right in behind you. He goes in for a kiss, and another laugh bubbles up from your chest, even as you melt slightly against him. "You're impossible."

"And you're wonderful," he counters, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "Especially when you're watching out for me."

Your expression softens. "Someone has to."

Steve's playfulness fades slightly, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I know I push too hard sometimes."

"You always push too hard," you correct gently. "I’ve only known you for five months, and I know it's who you are."

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours again. "The stakes feel so high."

"They are high," you acknowledge, one your hands coming to rest on his chest as he settles on his back and you curl up to his side. “But that crowd we just came from was incredible. And you connected so well with them. I can feel a shift.”

"You really think so?" Steve asks, his voice lower now, a hint of uncertainty threading through the words that most never get to hear from him. You certainly didn’t for your first months together.

You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly, taking in the fine lines around his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows that never fully smooths away these days. "I do. The way they responded to you... it wasn't just political enthusiasm. It was something deeper."

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles. "Pennsylvania is the key. If we can flip it..." 

"We can," you assure him, settling back down against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is comforting, a metronome counting out the moments of this rare peaceful interlude. "But not if you collapse from exhaustion first." 

Steve chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. 

"And it wasn't just the content of the speech," you say, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt. "It was you. The way you speak—it's like you're having a conversation with each person in that room individually."

"That's how my mother taught me to talk to people. 'Look them in the eye, Steven, and speak from your heart.'"

"Sarah Rogers sounds like she was quite a woman."

"She would have loved you," Steve says.

You feel his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, his breathing beginning to deepen despite his resistance to sleep.

"What would she think of all this?" you ask softly. "Her son running for president?"

Steve is quiet for so long you nearly wonder if he's already drifted off, but then his voice comes, quieter now. "She'd probably say I was being stubborn again, taking on more than I should." You laugh softly together. "But then she'd roll up her sleeves and ask how she could help."

You smile against his shirt. "Like mother, like son."

Steve tips your chin up, and kisses you again, softly. 

The kiss lingers, soft and unhurried, a gentle contrast to the frenetic pace that has defined your lives these past months. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, and you find yourself melting into him, the campaign, the polls, the speeches, the turmoil all forgotten in this moment of connection.

When you finally break apart, Steve's eyes remain closed for a moment longer, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks in the dim afternoon light.

"Tell me something," you murmur, settling back against his chest, your head tucked perfectly beneath his chin. 

"Hmm?" His voice vibrates through his chest against your ear. 

"Something I don't know yet. Something from before." 

Steve's arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as the campaign bus rumbles beneath you. 

"Before," he repeats, his voice taking on that distant quality it sometimes gets when he reaches back across the decades. "You know, when I first woke up in this century, I kept a list." 

"A list?" 

"Things people told me I needed to catch up on. Thai food. Star Wars. Disco." A gentle laugh rumbles through his chest. "I was so focused on what I'd missed that I barely thought about what I remembered." 

You trace idle patterns on his shirt, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your fingertips. "And what do you remember most clearly?" 

Steve is quiet for a long moment, his breathing deep and even. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. 

"The smell of apples cooking down with cinnamon in my mother's kitchen," Steve says, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "The way sunlight looked filtering through the clotheslines strung between tenements. The sound of kids playing stickball in the street." 

You close your eyes, trying to picture it—Brooklyn before the war, before skyscrapers and smartphones, before Steve became Captain America. 

"We didn't have much," he continues, his fingers absently stroking your hair. "But there was a richness to life then that's hard to explain. People looked out for each other because they had to. Mrs. Calabrese from the third floor would watch me when my mother worked late shifts at the TB ward. Mr. Goldstein at the corner store would save bruised fruit for us at half price." 

"It sounds wonderful," you murmur. 

"Parts of it were," Steve says, his voice soft with memory. "And parts were harder than anything you can imagine. The winters when we couldn't afford enough coal. The Great Depression was more than the physical lack. There was a constant worry about having enough." 

You listen intently, feeling privileged to hear these pieces of himself that he rarely shares with others.

"But there was something real about it all," he continues. "When you have so little, you appreciate everything more intensely. A warm meal. A new pencil. The first sunny day after weeks of rain."

"That's why this matters so much to you, isn't it?" you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him. 

Steve's eyes meet yours, clear and focused. "I've seen what happens when people lose hope. We lost so much hope after the Snap, and some things are better since we brought everyone back, but the new chaos and unrest has cast its own shadows." His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. "The Depression, the War—they taught me that systems matter, that leadership matters. That the decisions made in far-off offices change lives on streets like the one I grew up on. I wanted things to work out without me because I’m just an Avenger, but Pepper persuaded me we needed to try for a president who isn’t a politician."

You settle back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. “She’s masterfully persuasive. She convinced me to marry a stranger.”

He laughs and his arm tightens around you. “Well, that seems to be a pretty good call so far, so maybe this other thing will work out, too.”

You smile against his chest, and you’re both quiet for a moment. 

"Tell me more about Brooklyn," you prompt gently. "About your home." 

You continue talking softly together until you both fall asleep, though you’re not sure if it is you or him who drops off first. 

[OCTOBER 20 - EVENING - HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA]

You are alone when you wake up. 

You sit up quickly, slightly disoriented. The light in private quarters of the campaign bus are dim, but you can see through the window that night has fallen. The bus is no longer moving.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bunk and gather the shoes you had discarded earlier, slipping them back on your feet. You move to the tiny bathroom, and grimace slightly when you take in your appearance. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely nap-rumpled. 

Someone must have heard you bustling around, because there’s a soft knock on the door that you recognize. 

“Come in,” you call out, and you see Sophia open the door over your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. 

"Hey, sleepyhead," she says. "We're in Harrisburg."

"How long since we arrived?"

"Maybe an hour,” she answers. “There were press interviews before the event tonight, so the rest of the campaign went on ahead, and we’ll catch up. Steve insisted we let you rest.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Of course he did. Did he at least sleep for more than five minutes?”

“He said to report to you that he promises he slept for at least an hour,” Sam says, appearing behind Sophia. 

You repress a Cheshire grin as you deduce that Sam elected to stay back to wait on you with Sophia. But you only just manage it. 

"And did he?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

"Did he what?" Sam asks, a smile playing at his lips. 

"Sleep for an hour," you clarify, reaching for a brush to tame your hair. 

Sam and Sophia exchange a knowing look. "Let's just say Bucky confirmed he was out for at least ninety minutes, which might be a campaign record," Sophia says.

You nod, satisfied, and start to brush out your hair, assessing what needs to be done to make yourself presentable again. Surprisingly your blouse isn’t hopelessly wrinkled from being slept in, but your blazer hasn't fared well. Why didn’t you think to take that off before slipping onto the cot?

Probably because slipping one thing off might have been too tempting for both of you to slip off more clothing…

"Here, let me help," Sophia says, noticing your predicament. She rummages in one of the cupboards built into the wall of the bus, pushing aside emergency supplies and campaign materials. "Aha!" she exclaims, pulling out the travel steamer. 

"Always a lifesaver," you tell her, gratefully shrugging out of your blazer and handing it over.

As Sophia gets to work on your blazer, you quickly freshen up your makeup and fix your hair. There's a comfortable rhythm to it, a routine that's become familiar over these past months on the trail. The three of you move around the confined space with practiced ease, Sam stepping out to take a call while you and Sophia discuss the evening ahead.

You’re Future-First-Lady presentable in next to no time, and then you, Sophia, and Sam get off the boss and hop into a waiting SUV. 

Once you’re buckled in, Sam hands you a sandwich and a bag of chips. “Saved you something to eat. You slept through dinner."

Your stomach growls on cue, and you laugh. "I guess I did."

Sophia passes you a bottle of water and a bib as well. You don’t question it, learning early on you can only safely eat slowly or with a bib on the campaign trail, otherwise it’s almost guaranteed there will be some kind of spill. Better safe than sorry. 

You take a grateful bite of the sandwich, realizing just how hungry you are. The SUV glides through the darkened streets of Harrisburg, the city lights sliding across the windows as you make your way toward the venue for tonight's town hall. There are Secret Service SUVs escorting both in front and behind your vehicle. 

"How far is the venue?" you ask between bites. 

"About fifteen minutes," Sophia replies, her eyes fixed on her tablet as she scrolls through the latest updates. "Traffic's light." 

The driver has the radio on, and one of the familiar voices of NPR's news coverage fills the car: "—continuing coverage of the breaking news regarding the fabricated photographs of Steve Rogers' wife. CNN reported earlier today that former Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross has been implicated in creating and distributing AI-generated images purporting to show Mrs. Rogers at a Planned Parenthood facility for an abortion procedure. Ross evidently financed the operation and gave the photos to CSFAT, who then gave them to Fox News last week.”

You frown, and you know you’re not the only one, but no one seems inclined to change the station either, everyone too interested in hearing what they’ll say next. 

“In a speech he gave at a rally in Pittsburg earlier today, Steve Rogers called for Americans to seek out truth, committing to always deal in truth, even when truths are difficult to share. Meanwhile, this afternoon, the message coming out of the Democratic camp has been increasingly strident. At a press conference in Detroit, Senator Jason Monroe, the Democratic nominee, made his own statement.”

The audio cuts directly to a clip of Monroe. 

"This kind of technological deception represents a new low in American politics," Monroe declares. "I call on my Republican opponent to immediately and unequivocally denounce Thaddeus Ross and the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today. Their creation and distribution of AI-generated photographs is not merely dirty politics—it's an attack on our electoral process itself."

You grimace as the radio continues broadcasting Monroe's remarks, but continue to listen with Sophia, Sam, and your driver as you eat your sandwich.

You know Peterson can’t denounce CSFAT without hemoraging “family values” voters, even if they don’t lean as extreme as CSFAT does. 

"The American people deserve to know whether the Republican Party condones these tactics," Monroe continues, his voice sharp with practiced outrage. "And whether Governor Peterson was aware of or involved in this deception. Until we have clear answers, I believe this casts a shadow over the entire Republican campaign." 

You exchange glances with Sam and Sophia. Monroe is doing exactly what Jake and the rest of your campaign team had expected - trying to turn this revelation into a broader attack on Steve's running mate and the Republican Party as a whole.

"That's rich," Sam mutters, shaking his head. "Like Monroe's Super PACs haven't been running misleading ads for months." 

Monroe's voice continues from the radio. "I'm calling for a joint statement from all candidates condemning the use of deepfakes and AI manipulation in political campaigns. This isn't about politics anymore. It's about preserving the integrity of our democracy."

Sophia scoffs. “Of course, he wants to call for a joint statement. If he can organize it, it looks like a win for him.”

“Peterson won’t do it, he’ll say Monroe’s just trying to score points of his own for proposing and organizing the statement,” Sam says. 

“And all Steve has to do is say a joint statement isn’t needed when that’s what Americans should expect from any presidential candidate,” you add. 

“Exactly,” Sophia pumps her fist in the air. 

The NPR host returns: "We should note that there is currently no evidence suggesting Governor Peterson or the official Republican campaign had any knowledge of or involvement in the creation of these images. The Justice Department has opened an investigation, and Ross has not yet commented publicly on the allegations."

"Can we turn it off for now?” you ask the driver. 

“Absolutely, Mrs. Rogers,” he responds, switching the radio off. 

You turn to Sophia. “I know we’re concerned about the seven major swing states that can go red or blue a the tip of a hat, but with this fighting for the sake of capitalizing on a political fight, can we expand to states that were in that sixty-percent majority range?”

“Snag the people who might be ready to be independents but have kept with their party because there’s only been the two major parties for so long,” Sophia concurs. “I think Jake will still want to keep Steve in the seven swing as much as possible, but he’d see the wisdom in moving you into more of that next circle and be up for adjusting the schedule.”

Your heart aches for a moment. Early in the campaign, you and Steve frequently campaigned together and separately, but more and more since September, you’ve stuck together, and you’ve wanted to. When you were congenial members of a campaign team who happened to be married for the political positioning, it hadn’t mattered. 

But now the idea of campaigning separately from Steve, even for a few days, twists something in your chest. Your feelings for him have evolved with startling speed from reluctant respect to genuine affection to something much deeper—something you're still getting used to naming, even in your own mind.

"I think that's a great strategy," you say, pushing past the flutter of emotion. "Especially if we target suburban areas where voters might be feeling torn between party loyalty and policy preferences." 

Sam gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, focusing instead on finishing your sandwich as the lights of downtown Harrisburg grow brighter through the windows. The SUV slows as it approaches the historic Forum Auditorium, its classical columns illuminated against the night sky. 

"How many people tonight?" you ask. 

"About fifteen hundred," Sophia answers, checking her tablet. "Town hall format. Prescreened questions until the end, Charlie and Zoey Young are already there, and you and Zoey will join Steve and Charlie on stage with the candidates fielding the questions.” 

"Town halls are his strongest format," Sam adds with a smile. "People connect with him even more when he's answering their questions directly."

You nod, brushing crumbs from your lap and carefully removing the bib. There's something comforting about the routine of it all, the seamless transition from one event to the next, each with its own rhythm and demands. 

"And what's the mood?" you ask, knowing Sophia will have already checked in with the advance team. 

"Energized but not rowdy," she replies. "Local issues are dominating—healthcare access in rural areas, the opioid crisis, infrastructure. The Ross story is buzzing, but it's not overshadowing everything." 

"Good," you say with a nod. "That's what we want." 

The SUV pulls up to the rear entrance of the auditorium, where security personnel immediately surround the vehicle. The familiar choreography unfolds—doors opening, earpieces murmuring, a path clearing through the hustle and bustle.

The backstage area of the Forum buzzes with the controlled chaos that defines campaign events—staffers with headsets, local officials waiting for their moment, journalists hovering at the edges of secured areas. You spot Jake immediately, his tall figure bent over a tablet as he confers with Lisa and Elspeth.

And then you see Steve.

He's standing at the edge of the stage, peering out through the curtain at the gathering crowd, his back to you. 

Even from this distance, you can read the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself with that perfect posture that never quite relaxes. He's wearing the navy suit you picked out together a few weeks ago, the one that brings out the blue in his eyes.

Bucky stands beside him, saying something that makes Steve laugh—a genuine laugh that transforms his face, erasing the campaign weariness for just a moment. The sight makes your heart skip, and you find yourself smiling automatically. 

Steve turns, sensing your presence with that uncanny awareness he always seems to have. His eyes find yours across the busy backstage area, and his face softens, lighting up with a warmth that still catches you off guard sometimes. You make your way toward him swiftly, navigating through the crowd with practiced grace.

"You're here," he says when you reach him, his voice warm. 

"Exactly where I'm supposed to be," you reply, reaching up to straighten his already-perfect tie, just for the excuse to touch him.

Steve's hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that gentle way that has become so familiar. And even though you’ll have the rest of the evening together, you’re already missing him, certain that you’ll be getting off to separate cities tomorrow. 

Lurking in the darkest corners of your mind is an even bigger concern that you’ve been ignoring as much as you possibly can…

Steve has been gaining momentum - it’s been compounding since day one - but he’s still an independent presidential candidate in a system that’s been voting between two parties for over two hundred years. Everyone on your team, thousands of volunteers and supporters across the country, you’re all fighting tooth and nail and working towards victory. 

But what happens if the very realistic possibility is realized and he doesn’t win? 

next part: Boston & New York

I apologize for another long wait for this one. (haha, don't worry, I KNOW anyone who made it to here isn't going to hate me for the length!)

...and even though it was long, the only pieces I could have taken out were their married moments, and I just genuinely didn't want to, so I hoped all of you enjoyed getting to just spend some soft time with them. I could've cut down what we saw of Steve's speech, too, but I didn't want that, either. 🥹 I love potentially-President Steve. Therapeutic for me, and I love getting to let him show his leadership and desire to do good in a different way than his superhero work.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[whatswrongwithblue]

Artowrk by inuhalfdemon

Series Masterlist

Summary:

He took her face between his clawed hands and kissed her, hard and quick.

“So now that I have you back,” as he spoke, his voice crackled and lowered several octaves, and the room darkened as he allowed his power to slip out just enough to make reality around them go fuzzy. “I’m not letting you go.”

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

TW: canon typical violence, language, character behavior. recreational drug use. body image issues. references to self harm. OC has ptsd from sexual trauma and spousal abuse - not from Alastor! cannibalism. gun violence. slow burn. alastor is an ass and alastor is also soft. the smut will eventually include: p&v, fingering, oral - both receiving. biting, scratching, blood play. occasional shadow tentacle and sex toy usage. Anal play. Nun Alastor makes an appearance later on. Breeding kinks - both Alastor and OC deal with breeding cycles. Touch adverse Alastor. Ace-spectrum Alastor.

Also available on AO3 .

Chapter 1 - The Pilot: Alastor returns to Hell. Basically the events of the Pilot, but rewritten with Mina present.

Part 1

Chapter 2 - Reflections. The short story of Mina's life and death.

Chapter 3 - Overture. Events of Episode 1 as well as what happened during the Extermination the day before.

Part 2

Chapter 4 - Terminally Dispelled. Mina arrives in Hell.

Chapter 5 - Radio Killed the Video Star. Events of Episode 2. Alastor is a simping show-off but still not good at processing emotions.

Part 3

Chapter 6 - Little Sunshine. - Mina's POV from the end of last chapter.

Chapter 7 - Ashes in My Wake. - Alastor handle's being smitten really, really badly.

Chapter 8 - Scrambled Eggs. - Alastor finds out someone has hurt his wife.

Part 4

Chapter 9 - Wretched and Joyful. - "First time" smut

Chapter 10 - Masquerade. - Events of Episode 4. Angst ahead!

Chapter 11 - Stitches. - Angst & post-fight make-up smut

Part 5

Chapter 12 - Drunk on Life. - extra fluff & smut

Chapter 13 - Dad Beat Dad. - Events of Episode 5 w/ smut.

Part 6 - Alastor in rut smut but also lots of dark themes. Please mind the tags of these chapters.

Chapter 14 - Welcome to Heaven.

Chapter 15 - Tainted.

Chapter 16 - Possessed.

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun.

Chapter 18 - Welcome (Back) to Heaven.

Part 7

Chapter 19 - A Fate that Befell Him. - proposal & wedding day

Chapter 20 - The Silence in Between. - honeymoon smut

Chapter 21 - Hello Abaddon. - recruitment for the hotel battle

Chapter 22 - House on Fire - smut rather than dealing with feelings.

Everything below is finished, only unpublished because I need to proof read!

Part 8

Chapter 23 - Don't Take That Sinner From Me. - the day alastor left

Chapter 24 - Just Pretend. - have some more angst. as a treat.

Chapter 25 - A Place to Put Your Pain. - surprise! more smut

Chapter 26 - The Show Must Go On. - the battle

Bonus Chapters

Chapter 1 - The Library - bonus smut

Chapter 2 - Poppin' Molly - Alastor on drugs, enough said

Chapter 3 - There's Children Screaming in the Streets - my dear friend @safination wrote a Sinner's POV of Chapter 23 and it's amazing!

[penkura]

last forever [10/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: I kind of hate how Zoro dresses in Dressrosa. He doesn't look right. Oh well. This isn't how I thought this chapter would go, but, I hope it works. I'm more excited for the last couple chapters! (don't worry, we are not glossing over Dressrosa in where you belong, it's way too important for that)

Taglist:

@misfits1a | @alucardsdaddyissues | @louweasleymalfoy | @fluffybunnyu

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7] ● [Ch. 8] ● [Ch. 9]

Trafalgar Law doesn’t get you and Zoro, he’s not sure he’s seen two crewmates as close as you two are without there being something romantic going on, whether hidden or not. While your crew was separated, you were lucky enough to miss being body swapped with another of your crewmates, choosing to stay with them and watch over the children they’d tried to rescue while Zoro went with Brook and Sanji (in Nami’s body at the time) to bring back the Samurai missing his torso. You’re sure you didn’t miss too much, and that Sanji or Zoro would fill you in later.

Once the alliance between your crew and the Heart Pirates is set in place, you start trying to speak to Law more, even with your personal issues, you’d like to make friends with him l though he seems like he doesn’t care for the most part. Sanji just tells you to ignore it and not take it personally if Law doesn’t really talk to you, he doesn’t appear to be the talkative type to him. You still try once all of you, including Kin’emon and Momonosuke, are back on Sunny, Law beginning to open up a little bit and talk to you, which makes you smile.

He still notices how you’ll hang onto or around Zoro more than anyone, how he doesn’t push you off, he almost looks like he leans into you, especially when you start to say something to him. You are very odd, both of you. If there’s anything going on, nobody shows that they know anything, so Law leaves it alone. It’s not his problem anyway.

When you hear that this alliance is going to lead you towards Wano, Law thinks he’s the only one who notices the slight flinch that comes from you, giving you a side eye that you try to ignore. You’ve had no problem being around Kin’emon and Momonosuke, but hearing Wano be mentioned is enough to make you act differently, just slightly. Zoro noticed this too, giving you a confused look while you just smile at him, you don’t want to explain anything yet. Not right now anyway, another time.

It's not like you’re going to run into your fiancé or anything.

“So, have you been to Dressrosa?”

Law shakes his head at you, you’d walked over and again struck up a conversation with him, leaning against the railing. Everyone else is doing their own thing, whatever Sanji is making for dinner is making you hungry while you wait.

“Have you? Seems like you know about Wano.”

You flinch a tiny bit again, but shake your head in return.

“No, never been to the New World until now. My parents have been out to Wano before…”

“They never brought you?”

“I…never wanted to go…”

Before Law can try and get more information out of you, information you may not be comfortable sharing, Zoro calls for you to follow him to crow’s nest, and you quickly tell Law you’ll talk to him later as you run off. He still can’t tell what it is with you and Zoro, but there’s something he’s missing, he's sure of it.

Well, whatever it is, if it doesn’t mess up the plan, it’s not Law’s problem right now. There’s more pressing matters to worry about, not your weird relationship with Zoro.

+!+

You end up on the Caesar drop off team once you all arrive in Dressrosa, being with Robin, Usopp, and Law. Zoro at first doesn’t like the idea, he feels like you’re getting too close to Law, even after you constantly telling your husband that you love him. He partly wonders if his only stating that his stating that he knows and thanking you is making you drift away, but even if it is, he can’t force you to stay with him, despite your relationship. It’s still new no matter how long you’ve technically been married, Zoro doesn’t want to hinder you from going where you want, you’d had enough of that living with your parents.

You deserve to do whatever you want, he’s not going to stop you from going with Law, especially since Robin and Usopp will be with you.

Zoro does surprise you before letting you go back to everyone by kissing your forehead and telling you to be safe. It’s still weird to you sometimes how soft he acts, but you don’t hate it at all. It’s a stark difference from how you two started off, how he acted after your impromptu marriage, and a very welcome change.

What’s not so welcome is all that happens while you’re in Dressrosa. The initial plan to drop off Caesar was going well, even with your encounters with giant sea beasts that threatened your safety crossing the bridge, up until you, Usopp, and Robin are basically kidnapped by the Tontatta people, who come to view Usopp like a savior despite your side-eye towards him that he fights to ignore.

When you eventually make it back into Dressrosa everything moves so fast, you aren’t sure what’s happening half the time. You knew where most of your crew still in Dressrosa were, you knew the Sunny had taken off towards Zou with the rest of them, and knew Luffy and Law were in the middle of fighting Doflamingo, while the birdcage the Warlord had set up was beginning to close in on the country, moving buildings and causing the citizens to run for their lives.

You do your best to help direct them, alongside the Marines that were around, not one of them bothering to try and take you in due to the situation. There’s so much going on and so many people screaming in fear that you don’t even stop moving towards the center yourself while you call for people to follow you. You aren’t even sure how it happens but a boy and his little sister end up attached to you, the girl having you carry her since she’d twisted her ankle as her brother holds onto your hand while you keep moving, telling him to keep running too.

You don’t stop until you see the strings are fading away, giving you the relief you need to finally breathe, the kids both gripping onto you like you’re their only hope for safety (not even a Marine could get them to let go of you).

The two are still holding onto you when Zoro finds you a bit later, he’s trying not to make the worry he felt for you the whole time visible. Of course he was focused wholly on his own battle against Pica then attempting to stop the birdcage, but every second he didn’t see you had him concerned underneath it all.

“Hey! There you are!”

You barely have a moment to realize it’s even him before Zoro has you pulled to him in a hug, nearly squishing the little girl you’re still holding, though she doesn’t seem to complain. Her brother is the one to say something, making you pull yourself away from Zoro, who looks confused as to why you’re carrying this toddler with her brother gripping your shirt still.

“I was helping them run from the birdcage, the girl twisted her ankle. I…should go help them find their parents, huh?”

While you laugh at the situation, Zoro doesn’t say anything else, instead just nodding while you crouch down to eye level with the boy, giving him a smile and asking him to help you find their parents. Zoro does go with you, not wanting you out of his sight again to ensure you get back to the rest of the group safely, keeping one of his hands on your back to make sure he doesn’t lose you, moving to your shoulders after you finally find the parents of the kids and hand them off, not without copious amounts of thank you’s from them, especially their mother.

“You almost seem disappointed.”

Looking up at Zoro, you raise an eyebrow as he continues to lead you back to Luffy and everyone else.

“Handing them back to their parents. Almost like you wish they were yours.”

“Oh,” Shaking your head, you smile a bit, “No, I’m glad they’re back with them…I’d like to have one or two someday, but not now, you know? We’ve got bigger things to do.”

Zoro nods and agrees with you, but he doesn’t tell you his own thoughts about that at the moment. Another time perhaps, he’ll let you know that he wants the same thing later on, once everything has been settled with your respective goals.

He’ll become the world’s greatest swordsman and you’ll become a world renowned swordswoman, one day.

Then after that, you can revisit that idea of having kids together.

If you stay together, that is.

+!+

Leaving Dressrosa, finally, you’re excited to get back to the rest of your crew and the Sunny, and, you suppose, head for Wano next. The thought still makes you feel nervous, but what are the chances you run into your parents chosen suitor for you while you’re there?

Very slim, this is the time of year he takes off to one of his current wives’ hometowns, likely showing off his wealth or their newest child, whatever the case you’re glad for Zoro rescuing you from such a life.

Still, it’s the only hang-up with the alliance and your coming arrival there, making you more nervous the closer you get. Robin knows your reason why, you’d told her and Nami recently about the situation, and both promised to keep the man away from you should they see him, or, well, hear of him, since they don’t know what he looks like. Law notices you acting strange, different from how he’s come to perceive you, though he doesn’t say anything, it’s not his place to do so, he thinks. Usopp, Franky, and even Luffy seem none the wiser, not noticing any changes from you.

Zoro however does, and keeps you close to him where he can just in case you need him. A few times while on Bartolomeo’s ship, you leave his side to talk to Robin or Law, maybe Luffy if he’s nearby, but Zoro keeps an eye on you, he can tell something is up but he isn’t sure what.

That doesn’t change when you all arrive and make it to the top of Zou, as you work your way through the remnants of what looked to be a city and then the forest, before you’re finally guided to the rest of your crew by the Minks. The absence of Sanji is obvious and when you hear the explanation as to why he isn’t there, you feel your heart drop at the words ‘arranged marriage’ from Brook. So you two had the same problem, parents trying to decide what’s best for you and how you should live your life, forcing you into loveless marriages. Somehow it makes more sense as to why you and Sanji are so drawn to each other, why your friendship is so strong. He’s gone through his own struggles too.

Your swordsman’s watchful eye stays on you after that, even as a party is thrown that evening to celebrate the Minks safety, Raizou reuniting with Kin’emon and Kanjuro, and possibly your arrival. Zoro doesn’t let you out of his sight, even while you’re across the way with Nami, Robin, and Ikkaku from the Heart Pirates. He watches you quietly talk with them, laughing every now and then as you down drink after drink and he’s wondering what’s gotten into you. You don’t normally drink or eat this much, but it’s almost like something has triggered you to do so.

He knows you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning and you might get sick from everything you’ve eaten, making Zoro sigh when he does get up from his own spot, leaving his drink there, to cut you off.

There’s got to be something you aren’t telling him.

~~

“How much did you drink?”

Your slurred speech and incessant giggles make Zoro roll his eye while he takes you to a room the Minks set aside for you to stay in. You're over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, which you'd normally complain about, but the amount of alcohol in your system is keeping coherent sentences from leaving your mouth.

“Dumbass, you know you can't handle your liquor.”

“Hehehe, sorry…” you giggle again and try to lift your head, but it makes everything spin so you just let yourself hang while Zoro takes you to your room. “Drinks good.”

“I know.”

“Food good.”

“I know that too.”

“Nausea not good…”

“You throw up on me and I'm dropping your ass on the ground.”

Your giggles and hiccups make Zoro smile slightly. You were more than likely coping with Sanji not being there with everyone, seeing as how he'd become your closest friend and confidant, but that didn't mean you needed to try and match Zoro, of all people, in how much you could drink. Hell, you even tried to match Luffy with the amount of food you ate, it was no wonder you felt nauseous, though, Zoro does realize that the way he's carrying you isn't helping. So once he reaches the set of treehouses you'd been granted by the Minks to stay in, he adjusts you to where you've got your arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist to keep you from falling, telling you to hold on or you'd fall to your death which made you laugh and tighten your hold on him.

“You'd never let me fall…remember?”

He does, he remembers telling you that after you landed on Skypiea, when you were nervous about joining them on the cloud sea. How drunk you could bring that up, and sound so sentimental about it at the same time, he doesn't understand.

Once Zoro gets you to your room, he drops you on your bed and moves to leave, before you grab hold of him and almost start begging him not to go. It's several minutes of you telling him to stay, and Zoro denying, before he notices your demeanor, how you're about to cry.

He'd forgotten how emotional of a drunk you could be.

“Hey, what's wrong with you?”

“I…I just…I missed you.”

Your statement confuses Zoro immensely. You two had stayed in Dressrosa together, you'd been on Bartolomeo's ship on the way to Zou, how could you have possibly missed him?

Granted, yes, he understands you two had been separated for a good portion of your time in Dressrosa, and then again on your trip to Zou as you were helping Robin and Law with various things while Zoro was minding Luffy mostly, but you two still had time to talk and spend time with each other. Even a few nights sharing a bed because you couldn't stand to be away from him, despite your still not being sure where you two stand as friends or a couple or what you are.

“What do you mean you missed me?”

“I…I don't…” You sniffle a bit before covering your face with your hands, biting your lip and trying not to cry more. Zoro thinks you're so wasted you don't even know what you're saying, but he still tries to get an answer out of you.

“Hey, come on, talk to me. I know you're drunk but I wanna know what you mean.”

“I just…I missed you…while we were all apart. Did I…I ever tell you?”

You hadn't, not until now. Everything had moved so fast after you all came back together in Sabaody, that you'd not really gotten to talk to each other about your two years apart. Zoro figured you missed him, especially with how you attached yourself to him lately, but didn't think it was that bad. Something had seemed slightly off at times, but he never knew what it was.

“I had…nightmares about you…”

His brows furrow and Zoro finally relents to you, letting you pull him into your bed and hug him close, like you thought he was going to disappear. Zoro returns your hold and keeps you close as possible, before he quietly responds to you.

“What happened in the nightmares?”

Surely it couldn't be that bad, it wasn't something that made you afraid of him that was for certain. Even sober, you'd never be so close to him if you were afraid of him.

“You…Thriller Bark and Sabaody…I…I thought you were gonna die…”

Finally, Zoro has an answer as to why, after everything that happened at Thriller Bark, you were in his bed in tears nearly every night before your crew was separated. Why you had attached yourself to him even more than usual. It wasn't nightmares about your parents, about the man they wanted you to marry, no. It was nightmares about him not making it through those events that took place.

He wants to tell you that those are stupid nightmares and that he wasn't dying anytime soon, he wanted to tell you that.

But for some reason, he doesn't. He's not even sure why, the words just won't come out. He knows it would soothe you to hear him say that, even if for that night, but if more nightmares come?

He's not sure simple reassurance is enough.

“Do you…still have those nightmares?”

You shake your head, snuggling yourself closer to Zoro, hoping he'll stay with you.

“No…I'm okay now. Cause I know you'll come back to me.”

Zoro still doesn't say anything, just watching you finally fall asleep. He's not even sure if he believes you, but the fact that you hadn't gone to his bed in tears every night since you all reunited, he views as a good thing, you probably are telling the truth. It is annoying, that he feels responsible for your distress when he didn't really do anything to cause it. The life you live is a dangerous one, you know that and Zoro knows that, better than anyone most likely.

So, that's why, while he quietly, gently kisses your forehead, Zoro brings you closer to him and makes a promise you don't hear and even if you did, you wouldn't remember in the morning.

“I promise, as long as I'm married to you, I'm not gonna die. You're my wife…and I'm gonna keep you safe too.”

+!+

With everyone getting ready to leave the next morning, Nami stops just long enough to give you a raised eyebrow when she comes to get you. You’ve got a blanket around your shoulders and the grumpiest look she’s ever seen from you, but that’s not what has her attention.

It's the fact that Zoro is still in your room, mainly the fact he’s in your bed, and she starts to get ideas that make her give you a sly look. You’re about to slam the door in her face when she throws an arm around your shoulders and brings you close to whisper.

“Give me all the details and I won’t charge you to keep this a secret~”

“Nothing happened, Nami. I was drunk and fell asleep, now please, get me some medicine and water, my head is killing me.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami doesn’t fully believe you, but she shrugs it off.

“Whatever. So,” pulling you closer, your navigator gets even quieter, just in case Zoro or someone else is listening, “Are you going to be okay…? Going to Wano, I mean…”

“Nami—”

“I don’t think Luffy will care if you come with us to get Sanji back, but Zoro might.”

You sigh and nod, your head still aching but you glance over your shoulder to Zoro still asleep in your bed, thinking. She’s right in that Luffy would likely let you go to retrieve Sanji, but Zoro may fight against that if you did so. Not because he thinks you’re weak or anything, but because it’s for Sanji, you and Nami know very well how those men are with each other.

After another moment or two, you finally nod again.

“I’m going to go to Wano. Zoro will be there…I’ll be okay, Nami.”

She’s not sure she believes you, but Nami gives you a hug anyway, that you return without saying anything else.

“I’ll get Chopper to bring you some medicine. See if you can wake your boyfriend or husband, whatever you guys are calling each other. Breakfast is about ready.”

“Sounds good, thanks for everything.”

You wave each other before you’re caught off guard by Zoro wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Feel okay, wife? Not gonna get sick on Traffy’s ship when we leave, right?”

Giggling a little, you shake your head.

“No, I’ll be fine, Zoro, thanks.”

Nodding, Zoro hugs you a little tighter, making you look up at him.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you smile a bit, which causes Zoro to do the same in return, “I know.”

Everything will be okay, nothing bad is going to happen, not with Zoro around.

[aphpuffinchild]

since it's out i can finally post my piece for @hws-anthology as well as the timelapse for it. as is arguably all my hetalia work, it's a love letter to my friend @pyrrhocorax 's fic Sendlingur og Sandlóa - i'll ramble a bit about how much it means to me, as well as the symbolism i wormed into this piece below the read more :)

i originally had two pages planned for this piece, potentially more - the fic is a good 74k words long and certainly not light on scenes i could and wanted to pull from, but various things led into other various things and one page was all i could manage, so i tried to cram in what i could, so here's that (in a rough, somewhat arbitrary order of focal points)

the opening chapter! the car is a framing device for the piece as much as it is for the journey the characters will take following that first chapter, so i wanted to use the car window/shapes as a literal framing device in my drawing

joi, shaky at best in his sense of self, sees no reflection in the window, instead there's a silhouetted raven to signify the search he must go on to find it

while not perfectly transcribed by virtue of wonky (plus an extra) line(s), the notes coming from joi's headphones are the opening to the song sendlingur og sandlóa, the fic's namesake, which a loved one kindly transposed by ear for me for the purpose of this piece

in a similar vein, the stickers on joi's suitcase are of a purple sandpiper and a ringed plover, the birds after which the song is named - here they are as transparents and in their original colours

i wanted to create a sliiight impression that joi is the one knocking over the chessboard, representing his repeated rejections of it (both physically, and the things it represents)

the chess pieces were also chosen specifically! originally i was going to use a black rook and a white pawn to match chapter 41, but for the sake of having alternating colours and the rest of my metaphors working (iirc) i swapped those colours around. that, and i wanted to match chapter 13's white king and black pawn - the black pawn stuck, the white king was colour swapped for colour cohesion reasons like the other's. (visual contrast was important to me, but the white queen blending slightly into the sky was okay for symbolism reasons) (there was also black king, white rook from chapter 3, so it all worked out anyway - there's a lot of chess in this story and i only had space for so many pieces and colours, basically)

speaking of which, the black pawn is for joi (chapter 13), the white queen is for halle (someone who, from joi's perspective, can go anywhere, vs joi's pawn, someone to be used -> see chapter 35 and perspective).

the king piece is falling (but hasn't quite fallen) between halle and henrik (chapter 3, 7, 13, though i most clearly thought of 19)

the person in the top right corner is eduard! i desperately wanted to include him because i think he's deserved it, and i considered a lot of ways of working him in, but i think an ambiguous silhouette that isn't Quite part of the main picture works better narratively

note also that he's separated from the other's through a red curtain, to represent the iron curtain (naturally) i wanted it to match ber + tino's part in some way, to sorta emphasise their similar foundations despite being split apart across places

the flowers at eduard's window are placed and chosen purposefully as well! orange/red zinnia's outside (for familial ties, steadfastness, friendship and remembrance) for what eduard puts out in to the world, then lily-of-the-valley for tino and cornflower for him inside to show what he wants to hold close :)

halle and joi are the only characters with their eyes open - halle looks towards the viewer/author/reader/joi, while joi looks away all together. if you've read the fic (which i assume you have because i can't imagine this is interested to read otherwise) you probably don't need me to explain why that reflects their roles in the story

similarly, every character apart from the brothers is turned towards another in some way (eduard does not count when his flowers do, and his role in the story is based around that disconnect partially anyway) tino towards ber and eduard (and hana, i guess), ber towards tino, henrik to halle, halle to henrik (though he looks away - his values are elsewhere even when they are together). joi, at best, looks at his own reflection in the window

the colour scheme, while arbitrarily picked from gradient maps based on what i felt "fit" has been approved by the author as being very "SoS core"

finally, the poem on the note, chapter 46

all that being said, i can and will now talk about my personal relationship with SoS, so unless that interests you i imagine the post is done now! thank you for reading :)

the first comment i posted on SoS is dated 2nd November 2016 - logging into my old account i can see i bookmarked it on the 31st August that same year, so i can safely assume i first read or at least found it then. a month after my first comment, i posted another on a different account, pouring a few bits of my heart out and the author responded! we went back and forth a bit and eventually talked (i think) via tumblr for a little, but the majority of our conversations were via skype for whatever reason (we didn't call, just texted). it was a lot of me looking for writing advice, insight to their work/process/skill, talking about The Brothers and talking about psychology/the brain on a general and personal level. i think if i read our conversations back now i'd cringe, given that i was an awkward, fumbling 16 year old, but i dont think anything else wouldve been fitting given the subject matter. eventually our conversations fizzled out and we stopped talking for years, but i'd go back to SoS routinely and cry.

in may of 2021, i posted another comment during what in hindsight was definitely another relatively minor mental health episode - i think it was half trying to emphasise how important the work was to me on the off chance pyrr saw it, and half a bid for connection since i had no idea if they even remembered us talking. i assumed nothing would come of it, and for about a year that was true - until pyrr responded after all in february of 2022 - i'm happy to say we've been talking consistently on discord since then. i feel a little weird speaking too intimately about our friendship as it is now since it's not just my story to tell (though pyrr, if you're reading this) (i'm sure you are at some point) (you're welcome to talk about it however, i just didn't want to without consulting you) but i can say with some certainty that it's at least a little bit my fault that we have a sequel now - cementing my place as official number #1 fan and validating the me from almost 8 years ago in a way i don't think either of us processes well.

it's here that i feel the need to talk about my other dear friend, @hws-lceland , who i'm grateful to have met through the zine's discord server. i'm sure they're reading this too, and a lot of what our relationship means to me is stuff that's probably a bit too vulnerable for either of us to speak publicly, but i *can* say that i love them very much, and i'm really grateful to have someone else to understand, and that he read SoS for me. i thought he needed it, and i hope i was right

sendlingur is...endlessly important to me. i'm aiming to not write an essay here (a goal i think i've already sorta shot in the foot) but i think it's important for me to talk about some of this a little loudly, all the same. my writing has changed because of the series - remeeting with pyrr and showing them some of my more recent work was interesting since it was apparent even to them the influences i'd taken (to be fair, in one section i explicitly asked and did borrow a format of theirs, but this goes beyond that). when i was 16 i asked my mum to read the fic in a desperate bid to be understood. i've cried reading the fic many, many times. i've signed off letters and poems with my switched around version of i'm sorry / thank you / i love you (i swap the first two around) many, many, many times, including in a close friend's wedding gift. SoS has very sincerely changed my definition of love. the name halle is a part of my abstract mindscape. id already considered changing my name to johannes anyway and this fic certainly didnt help. i've gained a friendship of 7 and a half years through it. i've gained another newer one now, too. i am not well. i wasn't well then, reading it, and it hasn't fixed me (i am worse, now, arguably), but it healed something, or at least made me feel understood. i could go on, and maybe sometime i will (there were so many things i wanted to include in my piece and pay homage to!), but for now i will thank anyone who took the time to read all this (again), and say that i look forward to experiencing the sequel

as always, i'm sorry, thank you, i love you

[bettystonewell]

PART 1: THE MARK OF CAIN

Main Masterlist || On AO3 || On Wattpad

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Aussie!Reader

Summary: You knew you were screwed. Everything had been off since the moment you’d woken up in that hospital after your night out. But it wasn’t until you were accused of international fraud and taken to the local police station that it became clear, you were well and truly fucked. At least Agent Smith seemed to believe you and had an inkling as to what the wounds were on your body. You had been given fresh hope and the end was in sight. Or was it?

Word Count: 283k words

Tags: strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual SMUT, ret-gone, mystery, language, Aussie slang and references (to the point it’s crack sometimes), Dean bears the Mark of Cain

A/N: As requested, welcome to the world of Glowworm. This was my very first fic. She’s a little rough around the edges, and to quote Dean in 11x04 - “Mistakes were made, mm-hmm,” but that just makes her even more Hard-Yakka.

The story follows a timeline made by hells_half_acre on Livejournal, and starts off mid Season nine, weaving in and out of canon. It is currently on hiatus, but with 60 chapters spread over two parts to catch up on, who knows, maybe it will be completed by the time we get there.

I’m tossing up whether to post this weekly or twice a week because I’m also still uploading To You I Belong. Let me know what you’d prefer. Enjoy! - Beth ❤️

*I've paused uploading the story for now, but you can find it in full on AO3 and Wattpad using the links above, including the second part

1. You Don't Exist

2. The Fugitive and Her Keeper

3. It's All in the Details

4. What's the Time Mr Wolf

5. The Bunker

6. Home Alone (with Kevin Tran)

7. Get Inked

8. Always Feels Like Tuesday

9. Little Koala

10. Location, Location, Location

11. We're Both Fine

12. Room 7B

13. The Demon and the Glowworm

14. Why My Foot?

15. The Wizard and Her Wand

16. Ask Jeeves

17. It Was Dean Winchester, at the Impala, with the Handcuffs

18. Hex Bags and Girly Girls Don't Mix

19. Ageless

20. Teenagers Aren't Monsters

21. The Blood on His Hands

22. Tell Me Your Story

23. One Whole Year

24. A Slice of Apple Pie

25. Was it Bach, or Simpson?

26. Two Redheads Aren't Better Than One

27. Honey and Babe

28. Tonight I'm Getting Over You

29. The Deal

30. My Door is Always Open

31. Waiting With the Enemy

32. When Later Becomes Now

33. A Few Days of Snow

34. How to Play Nice and Influence Hunters

35. Cruel Jokes

36. Sheriffs and Angels

37. Keeping It Happy

38. What's Your Number Winchester?

39. There has to be Another Way

40. The Truth Hurts (but so can Withholding It)

41. Whoever Said Romance is Dead, was Wrong

42. Honey and Babe 2.0

43. Doors That Open and Close

44. The Not So Calm Before the Storm

45. It Started and Ended with Charlie

46. Removing the Mark

47. The Exact Time and Place

48. Part Two Teaser

RELATED

Blowtorches, Boots & Bugspray (timestamp)

What Happened Last Night? (this two parter was inspired by a scene that happens in chapter 40)

If you’d like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, you can let me know in a comment/ask, or you can add yourself HERE. If you’re in my Dean TAGLIST and don’t want to be tagged in this one, please also let me know. This is super niche and I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with two series going at once.

[yaut-jaknowit]

The Fight Of A Lifetime

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5509

Summary: The week is up. In one last try, you throw yourself at her feet and pleads her to not do this. As much as you don't want to watch, you can't not be there. If she were to die, Dwainet will kill you, might as well make it swift. So you go. We'ar-ow looks magnific in her armor and adorned in weapons. The two arrive in grand style. You're decked out, head to toe in everything We'ar-ow has given you. The battle commences.

Author Note: It has finally arrived! This is the second to the last chapter planned for this series. The climax of it all. I hoped the fighting scenes are alright. I hate writing fighting scenes. They need to be quick, fast and I like to describe everything. So, it's the opposite to what I do.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 17 | Part 18

Everyday since the challenge had been issued, We’ar-ow acted indifferent. Not a thing changed. She would take you to her throne room where she dealt with the dealings as the Monarch of her clan.

Well, besides the fact you admitted your love to the alien. Outside the safety of her quarters, We’ar-ow was the same Monarch everyone knew her as. Yet, inside those walls, specially when the night cycle fell upon the two of you, she would cuddle with you. Her eight foot and so frame was easily able to dwarf you. She’d scoop you to her torso and curl around you like some sort of brick wall. Imposing and immoveable.

It was impossible to nudge her even slightly to the side to get up when nature called. The lumbering giant female hugged you like a koala. There was little chance to escape unless you’ve threaten to piss in the bed or getting a UTI because you’re holding it for so long.

Besides the cuddling, that’s the only thing you’ve noticed. And that made you begin to think. The way she barely has changed her personality at first had you worried that she didn’t return your feelings. Then, you got to thinking.

If nothing had changed… maybe she has loved you from the beginning.

Then, to find you there, all those months ago, on the verge of crying couldn’t been fate. You don’t believe she had anything to do with Dwainet breaking up with you. It was the opportunity falling into her lap. We’ar-ow, the predator she is, took the chance to snatch you up before some other Yautja could. A lone pet without its master was a call for trouble.

Now, look where you are now. From the depths of food chain where Dwainet survived in as a newly blooded to the mate of the monarch. A clear glow up for yourself.

Including now; decked out in a finest of material Raunch designed for the day. You looked nothing less than a deity while standing in front of the mirror. The thin, see-through material flowing from around your neck and down your back was flowy. It attached at two points to your wrists. The brown easily complimenting the pink that made up the rest of your outfit Raunch threw you in.

His life must have been on the line when he created this because of how fabulous and stunning you looked in it. We’ar-ow wanted you nothing short of the deity she saw you as. You glanced at said Yautja through the mirror while she armored her up.

One creature soft, pliant, silky. The other rough, jig jagged, coarse. Two pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly against the other. Both complimenting each other.

You couldn’t help the gentle smile to upturn your lips at the thought before it dropped. The realization of what was about to occur hitting you straight in the gut. This could be the last time you saw each other alive. Despite her plentiful reassurances that the day would go as planned, you are only human. And humans fretted, a lot. Any little thing could go wrong. And boom, she’s dead.

The blood in your veins ran cold. Death wasn’t new to you. Not when you’re surrounded by a species that hunted and prided themselves over the bodies they brought home. Or when they duke it out over a challenge thrown down. But to lose We’ar-ow. You couldn’t fathom the heartbreak it would bring upon you.

Goosebumps clouded your skin. The soft flesh of your bottom lip worried on by dull teeth. We’ar-ow’s strong gaze flickered over at you. Instantly, you straightened and found anywhere else to look at. Then, you attempted to relax and act natural in the face of your mate. Said Yautja began to stalk towards you before halting just shy of your back.

Her form towered even more with the added armor decorating her. She downright looked like a beast ready for the hunt. Your breath got caught in your throat when your eyes raked up her body in the mirror. She was stunning and terrifying all in the same boat.

The heat of her body blanketed you in comfort and helped ease the tension holding your shoulders. We’ar-ow reached around you to cup your throat and tilted your head back. “I have told you, there is nothing to fret about. I will be victorious. Not for me but for you, little one,” she growled and tugged you flush against the muscles that lined her thick thighs.

As much as you wanted to believe a hundred percent, there was that constant nagging inside of your mind. The part that will always make you human. The part that whispered from the depths that she will fail, she will fall, she will die. Then, you will have no choice but to be handed over to Dwainet. Once more in the hands of a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

A part that We’ar-ow can never quell.

“I am only human,” you muttered, eyes drifting down to look at the two of you in the mirror. Her claws lightly bit into the soft flesh of the back of your neck. But, We’ar-ow is careful, mindful of your more fragile form in her presences.

A grumble sounded from the back of her throat. “And I am the monarch of this clan. I have never lost a challenge. I will not lose this one. Not when I have something to lose, someone important,” her voice softened towards the end. Then, the pink Yautja bent at the waist to nuzzle her mandibles into your hair carefully with the decorations adorning your head. In her eyes, you rivaled Paya with your deity status.

Your orbs snapped up to the pink Yautja at your back, expression softening. “We’ar-ow,” you whispered her name then heavily sighed, eyes closing. This is a weight you never expected to bare. Not a weight that was meant for a Yautja more than you yourself.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” she mumbled into your hair then peered over to look you deeply into your eyes. “What will be the tip in the scales?” If you didn’t know any better, you could say she was begging for you to believe in her.

And that hurt you. Guilt burned a hole in your stomach. It was your own demons causing this issue to worsen with each denial that passed your lips and reflected in your eyes.

“Win the fight,” is all you can do to answer her. That will be what will make you believe her. When she brings you the head of the fallen Yautjas who will bring upon a fight that will challenge We’ar-ow in every sense of the word.

Her gaze hardened, mandibles pulled tight towards her mouth. Then, the Yautja leaned down and pressed them against your forehead in a mock kiss. “That I will, little ooman. That I will. All in the name of you. That scum will fall at my feet from my hands. Then, you won’t have to worry no longer.”

That eased the majority of the tension coiling in your muscles. But not all of it. You could still feel its burn in the back of your throat like acid. A feeling that would never go away. Not until the problem had been dealt with at the source. You prayed to their god, Paya, for this day to go the way you wanted. To see We’ar-ow’s beautiful face at the end of the day.

In tandem, side by side, you left the safety of her quarters for the hallways of her ship. Whatever shield that place put over you washed away the moment you stepped into the hallway. Less doors to protect you from the hazards of being on a Yautja mothership. You walked with your shoulders squared and back. A stance of pride that was felt in each step you took.

The doors of the elevator opened to reveal a face you were relieved to see. Xilomere. Him and his goofy, alien smile was a sight for sore eyes. You almost ran up to him to give him a hug. Today is a day you needed all the support possible. Anything to get you through the events planned.

Next to him was someone you’ve only seen once before. One of We’ar-ow’s sister’s who is on her council team. You politely dipped your head at her with a closed lip smile. The last thing you wanted to do was piss off her. We’ar-ow had enough to deal with today. She doesn’t need to put herself into a problem you created. Well, another problem you created.

“Xilomere, I’m so glad to see you,” you spoke, your face spilt with a closed smile. Your eyes shined with your feelings.

The green male set his palm on your shoulder and gave a welcoming shake. “I wouldn’t miss today even if I was legless. Plus, someone needs to keep an eye out just encase Dwainet is gonna play games. Who knows if he’ll break some more rules today.” The helped more to ease your racing heart. He was going to protect you while We’ar-ow fought. Like he said, who knows if Dwainet may send one of his goons after you while We’ar-ow is distracted.

Her sister, a beautiful shade of tans, beiges, and browns, huffed at Xilo. “So will I,” she rumbled and looked down at you. “I will protect you from any harm. I promise both you and my sister this.” Your heart soften even more from her words. The two of them, barely knowing, are willing to put their lives on the line in case of an attack for you. It was probably mainly for We’ar-ow but still.

You dipped your head deeply. “Thank you. I can’t say enough how much I appreciate that. Truly, thank you.” They returned to motion themselves.

We’ar-ow stepped up behind you and held both of your shoulders. “It is time we go. Dunkot is escorting the prisoners as we speak,” the pink Yautja wormed her way into the conversation. Not that you minded. You tilted your head back, throat completely exposed, to look up at her. The monarch of this ship was willing to put her neck out for you. To keep you protected. Not even Dwainet had done that.

Clearly, you’ve found the one.

As if the four of you were marching like soldiers, you stepped in time with one another. We’ar-ow kept the pace slow enough for you to easily keep up. You march side by side with her. Xilomere and her sister watched your backs the entire time.

Instead of the normal pathing to the throne room you were used to, We’ar-ow led the four of you down a different set of hallways and elevators. Down to the kehrites. A section of the ship you barely have been down to. Not unless you were begging for trouble that is.

All four of your entered the kehrites. Your jaw dropped though. These weren’t the mediocre sized classroom kehrites. No, they had knocked down all of the walls somehow and put in a few risers.

Every available space was consumed by the hundreds of bodies squished into the open area. There was even young children and unbloodeds who were stationed at the front for the best possible view.

A section in the middle of everyone was open and set up with a stage. We’ar-ow wanted everyone to see her beat Dwainet into the ground like the way he deserves. The way needs to be put down like the asshole he is. He doesn’t deserve to breath the same air as you. You couldn’t wait for the end but at the same time, you didn’t even want the battle to start. Not with We’ar-ow’s life on the line.

Your head held up high, you followed We’ar-ow over to a designated section carved out for you and your bodyguards. A seat that resembled a throne had been set up. The perfect size for you. It wasn’t fancy like We’ar-ow’s in the throne room but it was more than enough to state your status. She motioned you to climb the three stairs and sit upon it.

The plush seat met your butt allowed you comfort. It gave you an additional height against the larger aliens that filled this room. You didn’t feel small. We’ar-ow looked at you. You looked at her.

Everything else didn’t matter. You reached out despite your brain screaming at you that it was a bad idea. We’ar-ow leaned in and allowed for your hand to cup her cheek. Her warmth raced up your fingertips to settle in your heart. You had found a way to love again and that too was threatened all over again. It burned you had no way to help or fix this problem you created. You could only trust We’ar-ow to overcome the challenge that stood in her way to having you strictly to herself.

Xilomere and We’ar-ow’s sister stood directly on either side of you. His usually goofy expression was replaced by a hardened look that would take years to perfect. A warrior born and raised for the fight. The sister had one as well. Both were armed to the teeth with weapons. Unlike you who was adorn with soft, plush cloth for a gentle figure, they were prepared to take down an army if it came down to that.

The softer texture of We’ar-ow’s face rubbed against your palm. You tugged her closer to you and pushed your forehead against hers. Screw whatever anyone might think about this. You didn’t care. Not when everything was on the line. Your livelihood, your love, the one person you’ve found comfort in.

“Win this. My heart is yours,” you stated firmly, nails biting into the skin behind her jaw before letting go and leaning back into the throne.

We’ar-ow returned to her full height. “Mine has been yours since the beginning.”

Shock filled your system. You opened your mouth to respond but the sound of marching feet interrupted you. We’ar-ow turned her back on you to face the oncoming fleet.

Your thoughts whirled around inside your head, knocking into each and causing chaos in the making. There was no time to reel them in either. The best you could do in the moment was to shove them into a box and close the lid. Because, the moment a familiar form stepped around the corner, you pulled on your stoic façade and stared the beast. The monster who caused all of this. All of this for his moment in the spotlight.

Duknot practically dragged the dishonorable male into the room. He wouldn’t allow for him to attempt to walk and forced him to stumble and flail. Humiliation. Two other males were secured in chains behind Dwainet. Their guards weren’t as demanding.

From their faces and low amount of scars, neither were high ranking. Three low ranks against a monarch. You were feeling a little better at the realization. Her chances of winning had increased.

All three of them were shoved onto the stage. Their chains didn’t allow for them to catch themselves. You bite at the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing outright when they fell on their faces. Dunkot’s expression cracked with a hint of smirk. Then, he hopped onto the stage with two other guards.

Dwainet was hauled up by Duknot’s strength alone and placed back onto his feet. A hardy glare was sent to the guard but it was simply brushed off. In unison, the chains crashed to the ground. The sound echoing throughout the room after everyone had gone quiet. You felt your heart stuttered at the fact the traitor had been freed.

At your sides stood your guards. At your front stood the first and last person who would fight until her dying breath for you. You were safe.

Now, on the platform, Dwainet stood tall and scanned the crowd before his sharp eyes landed on you. Yet, you acted no different. A neutral expression is all he was faced with. He could see you from over We’ar-ow’s shoulders. She corrected this by sidestepping and blocking his vision. All the attention on her now.

His companions climbed to their feet as well and rubbed at their sore risks. From the space, you couldn’t hear what their chittered to one another. The translator unable to pick up from that far.

This was it.

On We’ar-ow’s side, she unclipped her combi-stick and opened it up. With a mighty slam, a loud clang gathered everyone’s attention to her now.

“Thank you all for coming to this special occasion. A lot has occurred over these last few weeks. A lot of information circulating between everyone. I’ve come to quell this unrest once and for all. Dwainet will succumb to the crimes he’s completed,” We’ar-ow started off when she rallied the entire clan’s attention to her.

Her voice echoed throughout the expanded room. “From this moment on, he has been deemed as a bad blood. He’s attacked a defenseless, weaponless creature. My pet under my protection had been injured by him. A crime such like that has brought upon his fate as a bad blood.” You couldn’t help up internally flinching at the reminder. It still felt fresh after all this time. To have someone you once loved so much attempt to murder you.

Horrible laughter rung out from the platform. “Oh, monarch. You can’t even protect the worthless pet in your protection.” Dwainet scanned the surrounding area. “You are weak. You are fragile. I can’t wait to beat you into the bloody pulp since day one. The title as monarch will be mine and you will be dead,” Dwainet boomed and kept his gaze moving.

You could tell he was trying to rile the clan up. In the presence of their monarch, no one even said a sound. The tension and fear palpable in the air.

With her back to you, you could feel the smirk etching its way onto her face. She expanded her arms out at her sides. “No one agrees with you, Dwainet. They see the truth. I true with a mighty fist but I know how much strength to use. I know the limitations. I know what this clan needs.” You hoped that the truth. We’ar-ow was a once in a lifetime leader. One that is needed in every clan across the board. Dwainet, he was the opposite of what We’ar-ow stood for.

A snarl ripped through Dwainet throat, his claws flexing at his side. You smirked and sat up straighter in your throne. You were heavily proud of We’ar-ow.

“Now, are you going to keep bickering or are you going to face your fate? I’ve got plans after this,” We’ar-ow drawled and crossed her arms.

Dwainet glanced behind him where his helpers stood. One was clearly nervous at the upcoming battle. The other was attempting to hold it in. These were just newly bloods like Dwainet himself. They weren’t as skilled as We’ar-ow. What was Dwainet thinking?

His gaze returned to her. “You shouldn’t have. There is nothing for you after this except for meeting Cetanu,” he growled and stomped down a foot on the platform. You could feel the eyeroll coming from We’ar-ow without her even looking at you. One that Dwainet whole heartily deserved.

We’ar-ow glanced over her shoulder one last time before marching straight into battle. The muscles that lined her back rippled with each step. Where her heart resides was protected by her metal armor covered by a pelt she earned herself. Both on her chest and back.

You couldn’t help but peek at the two body guards standing at your sides. Xilomere held onto his Combistick, his gaze directly in front of him and scanned the area thoroughly. We’ar-ow’s sister brandished two dual swords while preforming the same action. Both were on high alert. You were grateful for them and their willingness to do this.

The comfort of We’ar-ow’s presences left you. It was your turn to hold down the fort and wait for her return. You gripped the arms of the throne, white knuckling it before glancing at the sister again.

A thought nagged at the back of your mind. You nervously flickered your gaze around before leaning towards her. “I’ve realized I never caught your name,” you whispered in the quiet space, mindful of how loud your voice could grow.

“T'ah'keiad,” she calmly states yet never looks down at you. That would compromise her job as a body guard. Your eyes widened at the interesting name, lips pressed together. “For your ooman mind to understand, you can call me Kei.” You were thankful she understood her name may be difficult at first to speak. Your head dipped in thanks.

Then, you returned to scene unfolding before your very eyes.

We’ar-ow simply stepped onto the platform and towered over the males that opposed her. “Duknot, relieve their weapons to them,” she rumbled but kept a keen eye on Dwainet. He was the only one she truly had to worry about. She knew his tactics and how sneak he really could be. The others, she may not know how they fight but they couldn’t be worse than Dwainet. He was a disdain on her clanship.

The skin of your bottom lip was worried away by dull teeth. You couldn’t help it. Not with her standing directly in front of Dwainet and allowing for them to have their weapons. They were already adorn in meek armor. Armor that is what many new bloods only have. They don’t have enough ‘street cred’ to get anything better from any of the merchants.

Not once did We’ar-ow turn her back to Dwainet or his two helpers. Instead, she backed up to the edge of the platform and waited.

Dunkot stood in the middle like a referee. Two of the guards produced said weapons and handed them over. They returned to the flat ground and stood off to the side. Dunkot stayed in the center.

“As requested by our Monarch We’ar-ow, this challenge will be a battle to the death. Whoever is last to stand will be proclaimed at the new monarch per our rules. May your hands be true!” His voice boomed out over the area. Roars echoed from the crowd afterwards, deafening. You clapped your hands over your ears to protect them from terrible sound. It barely saved your ear drums from exploding.

Then, he left the platform. A strange shimmer rolled down from the ceiling and surrounded the platform. It was a shield to protect the crowd. Smart.

Before you had a chance to contemplate all of this, a loud bell sounded. Instantly, you knew what that meant.

In your throne, you had a front row seat to watch the fight unfold your very worried eyes. Despite your brain desperately wanting for you turn away and cower like the prey everyone thought you as, you held unsteadily strong. You watched with baited breath when We’ar-ow lifted up a crossbow and shot off a bolt directly at Dwainet.

The young male is able to narrowly dodge the flying bolt by rolling to the side. But, his partners in crime aren’t as lucky. It strikes one directly in the shoulder and pushes him back against the invisible shield. He chokes on a grunt and grabs at the bolt. The wood was snapped off to leave just the head inside but the damage had been dealt.

Dwainet goes for offense. He’s swift to get into We’ar-ow’s personal space. Flurries of kicks and punches were all deflected in matter of seconds. His hits hard, mean, likely to leave a bruise later on.

One of the other Yautjas tries to attack from the back. We’ar-ow ducks a hit from Dwainet and sticks out a leg to trip the darker red Yautja behind her. They fumble then fall back.

Finally, the last Yautja, a lighter red comes in by launching himself into the air. He believed We’ar-ow was distracted. She grasped Dwainet’s throat then aimed her crossbow once more at the already injured male. A bolt flies. It strikes him square in the chest. He fumbles and smashes in the space in front of We’ar-ow. The pink Yautja slams Dwainet down and picks up a foot.

The light Yautja’s head is crushed below her heel like the insect he was. Green blood stains the ground and coats the shield. You gasped and overed your mouth.

A throwing knife sticks out of We’ar-ow’s side. She acts no different. Her hand squeezing the life out of Dwainet. More pierce her hide to the point she picked up Dwainet again and threw him into the red Yautja.

They collided harshly with each other before slamming into the shield and flopping to the ground a pile. We’ar-ow moves with purpose over to the two scrambling forms. The crossbow back on her hip. She swipes Dwainet off of the ground again by his throat and holds him up. Her foot presses into the vulnerable area of the downed Yautja. The rings protecting his skin barely able to hold against her weight.

Her only foot on the ground is swiped from underneath her. Dwainet is allowed to be let loose. She is able to roll onto her stomach as claws swiped for her torso. Your eyes widened at the sight of her blood staining the floor this time. You sat more forward in your chair and played with your hands.

Red gets on top of her and grabs harshly at her neatly braided tresses. He pulls. We’ar-ow yanks her head forward. You gasped. Loose dreads hang in his hands, bleeding at the roots. You knew that had to hurt a lot.

We’ar-ow rams her elbow into Red’s side and knocks the wind out of him. A foot flies towards her face. She narrowly dodges a bad blow and latches her fangs into flesh. Dwainet roars and yanks his ankle from her mouth. Blood dripping down from the new wound.

Rage is a wildfire in his eyes. You had to stop yourself from curling into yourself at the sight. He snatches an axe from his belt and swung high above his head. No! You covered your mouth with both of your hands, unable to do anything to stop it.

In a terrifying slowness, it came down. Here you were, stuck in your chair, with a shield blocking you from the love of your life. You were forced to watch as Dwainet brought down the axe.

Her name left you lips in a cry.

The sickening sound of the axe sinking in will forever haunt your mind. You flinched away from the sight and covered your ears, unable to watch the final blow.

Dwainet roars. Pained. Confusion flooded your system. You picked up your head and looked back at the platform. Red was off of her back. Both of the male had been lifted up by their necks, forced to claw at her hands. The axe was imbedded into the metal floor besides were We’ar-ow’s head once was.

The pink female shoved both of the males against the shield directly in front of you. Her eyes pinned to your shaking form. You uncurled from your cowering position and looked up at her through blurry eyes. The sight of her alive form had your body sagging. She was okay. She was alive.

We’ar-ow dropped red then swiftly kicked one of his knees. A sickening crack echoing over the roars and cheers of the riled up clan. He dropped down where she knocked him down onto his back. In a similar fashion, she stomped down on his head, caving in his face. He too was dead.

You didn’t even flinch this time. Your eyes watched every move.

In her hand, Dwainet struggled and wriggled like a worm. His claws dug into her arms, anything to grant him release. He couldn’t get out of Dwainet fatal hold.

His feet dangled above the platform. We’ar-ow was able to hold him up without the aid of both arms or the shield. She snatched both of his wrists though and leaned forward. Your head tilted, brows furrowing on why she was making herself vulnerable for attack. Her mandibles twitched with words that your translator couldn’t pick up. You couldn’t only imagine what she was promising.

Then, he went soaring through the air and smashed into the ground and rolled before coming to a stop. He groaned while on his back. We’ar-ow unsheathed a machete from her waist band and brandished. The sharpened edge glinted from the overhead lights.

At her approach, Dwainet scrambled to his feet a moment to late. We’ar-ow swung and struck his forearm, just below his elbow. The blade sliced clean through muscle and bone alike. The injured Yautja choked on a cry and stumbled back and clutched at his profusely bleeding arm. You jerked your head back, eyes expanded at the terrifying sight before you.

His amputated arm flopped to the floor in a bloody, neon green heap. This when it finally hit you that this is where Dwainet was going to die. This was truly happening. Dwainet was about to be murdered right in front of you by your… mate. You just stayed sat and watched everything.

A snarl ripped from Dwainet’s throat. He glared daggers at We’ar-ow with a passion of hatred. With his only hand reminding, he brandished at  knife and raised it above his head. The blade came down. We’ar-ow meets the offending hand with her own weapon. The cut was clean through his wrist as well. Another cry croaked from his hoarse throat. He collapsed to his knees as blood spurted from his amputated hands.

He didn’t raise his head to look death in the eye. We’ar-ow used the tip of her machete to tip his head up. Something primal and deep rumbled from her chest. Dwainet’s entire body froze as if he saw Cetanu himself. She stepped behind his deer in headlights position and faced you.

Despite the distance, you met her gaze. The machete was clipped to her belt again. We’ar-ow grasped his tresses with one hand. The male grunts and folds his mandibles in tightly to his face. His expression neutral. He knew what was to come.

We’ar-ow’s muscles flexed. A sharp crack pierced through the air. Life still shone in Dwainet’s grey eyes. Then, a roar sounded from your mate. Flesh and muscles alike ripped in a grotesque sound. You had to stop yourself from throwing up your lunch, but neither could you look away.

Green, neon blood dripped down to pool on the platform. Cheers of triumph echoed throughout the modified stadium. You could feel the ground rumbling underneath you, but all was quiet. The dead eyes of your ex-mate staring directly into your soul. The finale had come to a close. We’ar-ow stands as the winner once and for all.

Sound floods back into your ears, deafening to the point they rung. The shimmer of the shield faded away and allowed We’ar-ow freedom. The pink Yautja was the only one to move. Her thick legs dropped down from the platform and marched straight towards you. As much as you wanted to leap out of your chair and ensnared her in a hug, the blood of her enemies painting her skin reframed you.

Her yellow eyes met yours for an infinity. One of her knees dropped to the floor causing a silence to steal the noise of everyone. All was quiet. You gasped, instantly knowing a monarch kneeling was trouble.

In her bloodied hands, she presented you the head of Dwainet. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Your name was boomed across the room. “Do you accept this trophy as a gift of courtship?” We’ar-ow asked and watched every little sign from your expressions. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. Gasps from the crowd could be heard. Chitters and clicks as the translator only focused on the Yautja in front of you.

She was asking for you to be her mate… in front of the clan. She was laying claim over you more than the mark etched into your skin.

A few seconds ticked by. You nodded rapidly and rushed forwards. The head was dodged. Your arms wrapped tightly around We’ar-ow’s neck in hold she wouldn’t dare try to get you off. The blood of four was rubbed into your skin, including the life essence dripping from her missing tresses. We’ar-ow was swift to return the gesture, understanding this meant ‘yes’ in human.

Bellows escaped from the crowd but it was a sound you could care less about. Today was the day that marked the new chapter in your life. A newfound freedom from the chains Dwainet had weighed down on you. You had power not even the highest Yautja aboard this ship besides the monarch has. From the bottom of the barrel to sitting on a throne, you’ve grown.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 17 | Part 18

[nanabansama]

Tsukasa Is Tsukasa

Recently I discovered a poll asking if people thought the Supernatural Tsukasa and the Red House Tsukasa were different, and the results surprised me! A majority of voters thought they were not the same. Not only that, but I've seen many people in the fandom start believing they are separate people, if they hadn't already believed it before.

I think this stance can very easily be explained by the scene in Chapter 111 where Amane comes to the conclusion that the Tsukasa who went missing isn't the same as the one who came back:

While people might be divided on the details, the conclusion is basically the same: whatever that is inside of him, it's not Amane's brother.

And I can see why they think this! In fact, it used to be a popular theory back during the release of chapters 78-82 when we didn't know the specifics of what happened. Heck, we still don't know many of the specifics...and many people continued believing the Tsukasas were different anyway!

There's decent evidence to support this, too. When Tsukasa returned, he had sharp teeth and supernatural powers. He knew that Kunishige's wish was that the head priest would die. He's demonstrably different from the innocent little Tsukasa that sacrificed his life for Amane.

If that wasn't enough, even his own mom came to the conclusion that Tsukasa wasn't her son! This is basically the same conclusion Amane comes to in Chapter 111. That's 2/3 of Tsukasa's family members thinking some evil entity is larping around in his skin--not a good look!

In any case, while I could try and convince you guys there are two Tsukasas and the Tsukasas are different, that's not what I'm here to do. If you read my blog you already know I'm 100% on the side that Tsukasa is Tsukasa and always has been, and nothing AidaIro has shown me so far has been convincing enough to change my mind. In this post, I am here to argue that the Red House Tsukasa is the same as the Supernatural Tsukasa and that he merely works in tandem with the ancient god living inside him.

1. Chapter 82

This is the chapter when a lot of people dropped the theory that there are two Tsukasas, including me. (Yes, I used to believe there were two Tsukasas--people change!)

Kou and Nene had determined that the Red House Tsukasa was the real Tsukasa and that the one Amane killed was a fake. They come to this conclusion because this Tsukasa was trapped in the Red House for 50 years and acts a lot nicer and sweeter than the one we know.

The issue is, Kou tells this Tsukasa that Amane is going to kill Tsukasa and die at the age of 13...and unbeknownst to Kou, the seemingly innocent little Red House Tsukasa is EXCITED at the idea! Tsukasa, thankful to Kou and Nene, helps them escape the house but stays behind. This scene is when a lot of cool stuff happens.

First, we learn that Tsukasa wasn't actually trapped in the Red House and he always knew how to get back home, but that he never left because he was worried about what would happen to Amane. However, once Kou told him that Amane wasn't happy after Tsukasa left and that Amane kills not just Tsukasa but also himself, Tsukasa realizes he doesn't know that much about Amane and wants to learn more. The most shocking part of this scene to me was that Tsukasa's excitement at dying was very similar to the lighthearted way the Supernatural Tsukasa brings up his death with Amane.

Second, we see Tsukasa not only has the entity he sacrificed himself to to save Amane stored in his chest, but that he holds a conversation with it.

The entity being shown in his chest is actually a popular argument for the "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" theory, but I feel this scene proves otherwise. Tsukasa is not the unwilling host of this entity, as one might expect, but instead almost treats it as a friend. They have a sort of symbiotic relationship going on, and Tsukasa makes the decision to go back wholly of his own, despite them both knowing how to get back the entire time. He even says "let's go back TOGETHER," which supports the idea that they work together and that it isn't simply piloting a Tsukasa meat puppet.

We can argue Tsukasa is the victim to the entity's machinations, that the entity needed Tsukasa to do it willingly or that the entity took full control of Tsukasa after he succumbed to the flames or what not and tricked him, but so far AidaIro has only shown cooperation between these two characters. It's not unreasonable to suggest that Tsukasa gaining supernatural powers after he comes back isn't a sign that he's a different being entirely but that he's just working with one.

2. Mother Doesn't Always Know Best

This one will be a quick section, but considering Mother Yugi is basically the origin of "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" I wanted to cover why I think she's wrong.

In Chapter 79 Kunishige recounts how Mother Yugi took Tsukasa to their shrine because she thought her son was possessed by a demon after being spirited away. Kunishige thinks she's crazy at first, and so do the priests, who find nothing wrong with Tsukasa. Put a pin in that btw.

However, Kunishige later learns she was onto something because Tsukasa is not only an incredibly unsettling child but he correctly predicts the death of the head priest of the shrine and tells Kunishige his wish, for the head priest to disappear, would be granted tomorrow. This proves Tsukasa has otherworldly power, since he knows Kunishige's wish without Kunishige telling him, and also might have the ability to grant wishes, something the entity in his chest is shown to be capable of.

Now, I personally think the fact that the priests found nothing wrong with Tsukasa is HUGELY in favor of my theory. I understand how you can argue that the entity somehow avoided detection because it's powerful, or because there was nothing left of the original Tsukasa or something, but I still think the fact the priests detected nothing wrong is extremely weird. What if that's because Tsukasa is still in control?

I think the fact Mother Yugi was convinced Tsukasa isn't her son and wasn't persuaded otherwise is important, too. In fact, I think it might directly correlate with the conclusion Amane makes in Chapter 111. I think Amane is more or less coming to the same conclusion his mother made, something he hadn't wanted to believe at first but eventually, finally, succumbed to. I have to imagine his mother's insistence that Tsukasa wasn't Tsukasa left a big impression on Amane, and it's something that's bothered him for years.

I can't exactly blame them both, either. By the time Tsukasa came back, he'd lost a lot of his innocence. Keep in mind that they think Tsukasa was gone for six months. Any normal 4-year-old kid might have been traumatized by leaving his family for six months, but Tsukasa just acts creepy and possessed. And despite him meeting Nene and Kou 50 years in the future, it's possible it really was only six months for Tsukasa! Time worked differently there. Still, it's not hard to see how the extreme circumstances he was in might have changed him. Not only was he stuck in a haunted death house, he later learns the wish he granted for Amane wasn't Amane's true wish and that Amane kills Tsukasa. This is all pretty life-changing information, and when you tack on the fact that he's buddy-buddy with an ancient man-eating god, it's really not that surprising Tsukasa has changed so dramatically, especially when he's still at the tender age of 4.

3. Behavior

For something that's supposedly replaced Tsukasa entirely, it certainly gets very personal with Amane, doesn't it?

I said before that Red House Tsukasa in Chapter 82 acts similar to Supernatural Tsukasa. How they find delight in death. But I don't think this is the only point of similarity between them, either. In Chapter 81, Red House Tsukasa is under the impression that Amane hates him.

In Chapter 111, after Amane tells Tsukasa he hates him, Tsukasa tells him he already knew that.

Mind you, this line comes seconds before Amane comes to the conclusion that Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa.

Think about it. Tsukasa tells Amane that he knows Amane hates him, echoing a sentiment that the Red House Tsukasa shares. And Amane, after hearing this, comes to the conclusion that this Tsukasa is an impostor.

Isn't that... really sad?! I mean, I'm not going to say that Amane's whole reasoning for Tsukasa being a fake is that he thinks Amane hates him, but...before this scene, Amane was saying he couldn't destroy his yorishiro because he cared about Tsukasa too much. And for Tsukasa to say something he's thought ever since Amane pushed him as a little kid, and for THAT to make Amane say he thinks Tsukasa is fake... it really shows they've never understood each other at all.

Tsukasa's never been shown to get extremely upset about being hated by Amane, either, so you can't say Amane is right just because Tsukasa is laughing in Chapter 111. Tsukasa initially seems shocked when he was pushed, and overall seems a little sad about it in Chapter 81, but he still remarks that Amane hates him with a smile. He's selfless about it. And later, when he learns Amane kills him, this feeling gets more complex. Despite Kou's attempts to convince him otherwise, I think Kou's reveal only made Tsukasa more convinced that Amane hates him, and this is shown in Chapter 111 when he laughs about it. It's just a funny joke to him at this point.

I...genuinely cannot reconcile this behavior with Tsukasa being a fake. I just can't! Why would the entity be this personal with Amane? Why would it share opinions that the supposedly "real" Tsukasa had? If AidaIro really is trying to write a story about a little boy being replaced by a supernatural entity, then they could at least do a better job of making them act different. TBHK makes it clear that supernaturals can experience human emotions just as strongly as actual humans, so it wouldn't surprise me if the god has its own personality and feelings, but for them to just...be the exact same as the human it replaced? I'm not buying it.

There is no difference between the Red House Tsukasa and the Supernatural Tsukasa that can't be explained away by the fact that people change as they grow older. Everything about Tsukasa's character arc as I've presented it is completely logical.

Conclusion

With so little info on the ancient man-eating god, it's kind of impossible to reach a proper conclusion at this point. All we really know about its personality is that it hungers for flesh and will grant any wish in exchange for it. With this in mind, it's incredibly easy to see why people think the god and Supernatural Tsukasa are one and the same, especially when the cast tends to treat them as such. I could just as easily write a post in favor of them being different as I could of them being the same.

And I think this is what AidaIro ultimately wants! I think AidaIro wants us to second guess ourselves. If I know anything about Aidairo, it's that they like to keep up on our toes and shock us with surprising twists. Who really knows what they have hiding up their sleeves?

Still, I feel the theory that the god replaced Tsukasa raises more questions than answers, and I hope I managed to explain my side of things.

[morgana-larkin]

Alright so I guess I'm missing mama mel as I already wrote the next chapter of Mine. So as I wrote the realisation that the twins were turning 2, I realised that I barely include them in the chapters so in this one I included them in the entire thing and Nico has multiple things to say. And yes I do have a plan with Caterina, don't worry. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Summary: You all go on a family trip to the store to get things for the twins rooms.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

Mine - Part 15

Warnings: Reference to smut, swearing, one insult about age gap relationships

Words: 4.6K

“I can’t believe you.” You tell Melissa as you’re pacing back and forth in the bedroom with one of her shirts on.

“I already said I’m sorry.” Melissa says as she’s sitting on the bed. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” You ask her and she shakes her head. 

“Just forgot to pull out.”

“You finished inside of me, I could get pregnant again.” You say and Melissa gets up, comes over to you and wraps her arms around your waist.

“You know I would never do that purposely, I love you too much for that. I would never do anything that you don’t want me to do, especially something that concerns your body.” Melissa tells you and you look at her. 

“I know, I’m sorry I got mad at you.” You say and wrap your arms around her.

“It’s alright. Although would 4 kids be so bad?” She asks and you look at her and raise your eyebrows. 

The two of you had a stressful week at work so since it was friday night Melissa wanted to fuck you with the strap with the promise to pull out. You agreed straight away but Melissa got too into it and forgot to pull out in time.

The next day Melissa is leaning against the doorframe looking at the twin’s shared bedroom that will be changed today. You two both agreed that since the twins are getting their toddler beds then it’s time they got their own room. After all, you both moved into a 5 bedroom house so all your kids can have their own room. Melissa goes downstairs to see you writing things down on a paper at the dinner table and you have your phone out.

“What are you doing? She asks and looks to see all the kids playing in the living room.

“Writing down everything that we need to decorate both of the twin’s bedrooms.” You say and she goes to sit beside you.

“What’s on it so far?” She asks and you finish writing before you put your pen down.

“2 toddler beds, 2 nightstands, 2 lamps, 1 nightlight, 2 carpets, 2 sets of sheets, 2 pillows and 2 toy chests.” You tell her.

“Why do they need carpets? They’re toddles.”

“Caty likes carpets, haven’t you noticed she doesn’t play on the floor?” You tell her.

“I have. How come you didn’t put down a bookshelf?” 

“They already have a bookshelf.”

“There’s only one.”

“I’m sure they can share, plus they can’t read yet.”

“They will have their own bookshelf as they’ll love reading.” Melissa tells you sternly and you raise your eyebrows.

“They’ll have their own bookshelf when they learn to read.” You say and turn back to the list.

“Fine. So what colours are we getting?” 

“I was thinking of getting purple for Caty and-”

“Purple? Why not pink?” Melissa says, interrupting you but you ignore her.

“-and red or blue for Nico.” You continue and Melissa doesn’t look impressed. “Pink is already for Amelia and she likes it. And as much as I love pink, maybe our daughters should have a different colour palette in their room.” You say and she sighs. “And their wardrobe as well.” You add after a couple seconds and she looks at you with wide eyes and gasps.

“Different colour clothes as well? Now you’re just talking crazy.” Melissa says and crosses her arms.

“Caty will keep getting Amelia’s old clothes but we could get her things in different colours. Like purple or blue or green or even black. You know, go through the rainbow a bit.” You tell her calmly.

“I think between us we already represent the rainbow enough.” She tells you and you shake your head and roll your eyes. “Besides, pink goes well with ginger hair.”

“It does, but I’ve seen you in different colours and you look good in all colours but red and green also look really good on you.”

“Medium blue for Caty.” Melissa suddenly says and you look at her. “It calms the mind and she likes blue toys.” She explains and you smile before writing it down. “Red for Nico.” She says after and you nod.

“So your cousins are picking up the cribs tomorrow?” You ask her and she nods. 

“Yep, he knows a couple who’s having twins in two months.” She tells you and you nod. 

“How are you feeling about the whole ‘our twins are becoming toddlers’?” You ask her and she sighs.

“I’m liking it and not liking it.” She says softly and you go over and sit on her lap and she wraps her arms around your waist. “I like that they’re growing up and we’ll be able to do more with them together but they’re not our little babies anymore.” She tells you and you wrap an arm around her neck and turn your body sideways and she lays her head on your chest. 

“I know Mel. But you’re right about the fact that we’ll be able to do more with them.” You say and she hums. “We gave Amelia her first swimming lesson when she was 2 and we can do it with the twins. We can go on picnics when it’s nice out or even the beach together. We can go to different restaurants as a family and you’ll be able to teach all 3 of them how to cook.” You tell her and she lifts her head off of you and smiles. Just then Melissa feels something hit her leg and she looks down to see Sweet Cheeks running around the house. 

“Sweet Cheeks! But how…?” She says and looks at the Cheeks family cage to see Amelia there looking guilty. “Amelia, did you let him out?” She asks. 

“I wanted to pet him.” Amelia tells her and you get off of Melissa, careful to not step on Sweet Cheeks. Melissa runs after Sweet Cheeks and catches him after a few attempts. 

“Amelia, if you want to pet him then you know you have to ask me or mommy.” Melissa tells her daughter. Amelia goes over to Melissa and Melissa crouches down so Amelia can pet him. 

“Guinea pig!” You all hear and look to see Nico walking towards Melissa and Amelia.

“That’s right. Sweet Cheeks is a Guinea pig.” Melissa tells him softly. “Do you want to pet him?” Melissa asks and he nods. “Remember to pet him gently.” Melissa reminds him. You watch Nico and Amelia pet Sweet Cheeks and then you see Caty playing by herself. 

“Caty, do you want to pet him?” You ask her and she looks up at you before going back to doing her puzzle.

“Soft.” Nico says and Melissa smiles.

“He’s very soft.” Melissa tells him. “Alright I’m going to put him back in the cage with his family.” Melissa says after a minute. 

“Alright, let’s go pick out some new pjs for Amelia and then go get some new furniture for the twins.” You say and everyone looks at you.

“So you can try this on and this one, as well as this one.” Melissa says as she keeps taking pjs off the rack and putting them in the cart for Amelia to try on.

“Melissa don’t you think that 20 pairs of pjs is enough for her to try on?” You ask her as you see Amelia sitting on the end of the cart, looking at all the outfits nervously. 

“Fine. Amelia, are there ones that you want to try on?” Melissa asks her and Amelia nods. 

Amelia goes through the pjs outfits and picks 5 that she wants to try. Melissa puts the other ones back and then you all go to the change rooms. Caty starts crying while Melissa is helping Amelia put the outfits on so you take her out of the stroller and sit her on your lap. Caty rests her head on your chest and starts calming down just before Amelia comes out in the first pj outfit. 

“What do you think of this one, mommy?” Amelia asks you and you can tell she really likes it. 

“I like it, do you like it sweetheart?” You ask her and she nods with a smile. 

Around noon, Amelia and Melissa are looking at all the toddler beds with Nico in Melissa’s arms and you’re pushing the cart with Caty in it. 

“That one mamma.” Nico says and points at a red race car bed. 

“You like that one?” Melissa asks him and he nods. She puts Nico down and he runs over to it and sits down on it. Melissa and Amelia walk over to it and you push the cart closer as the first bed may have just been found. “Alright if you like it then we’ll get it for you.” Melissa tells him and she finds the box for it and puts it in the cart. She looks back at the bed and sees Nico is still in it and she goes over to him with a smile. “Come on, hon.” She tells him and he shakes his head with a smile. “No? Alright you little trouble maker.” She says and starts tickling him and he starts giggling.

“Mamma!” He says through giggles and then Melissa picks him up and brings him over to where you all are with the cart.

“Alright, Caty’s turn to pick.” Melissa says and you take Caty out of the seat of the cart and Melissa puts Nico there in her place. 

“Go pick a bed, sweetie.” You tell Caty when she doesn’t move. She then stays where she is and hugs your leg and doesn’t let go. Melissa then goes into her purse and pulls out Teddy. 

“Here’s Teddy, hon.” Melissa says and Caty lets go of your leg and takes Teddy and holds the Teddy bear tightly. Teddy was once Amelia’s bear but Amelia gave him to her sister after it became Caty’s favourite. 

Caty looks around at all the beds and she doesn’t move. You then pick her up and she looks at one and doesn’t look away from it. You follow her line of sight and you see she’s looking at a blue one with rainbows and clouds and a unicorn on the headboard. You bring her over there and she reaches out her free hand to it and you put her down. She goes over to the bed and gets on it. She then touches the unicorn painting and then looks at you with a smile.

“I think she likes unicorns.” Melissa says and you nod.

“I think so too.” You tell her and then Melissa puts the box in the cart. 

“Alright let’s go find some nightstands and some lamps.” Melissa says and you nod before you pick up Caty and look at some nightstands. 

“Oh, this is nice. It’s white so it can go with the blue palette or anything else that we want.” You say and Melissa looks at it. “What do you think Caty?” You ask her and put her down near the nightstand. She then runs over to a purple nightstand and touches it. Melissa leans against the cart and puts her head in her hands.

“Oh my god, my kids have no sense of style.” She says and you laugh. Nico reaches out to her and touches her head and Melissa looks at him. 

“Mamma ok?” He asks and Melissa smiles at him and grabs his hand. 

“I am, my sweet boy.” She tells him. 

“Mamma, mommy, what about this one for Cat?” You hear Amelia say and she’s looking at a white one with 2 little unicorns on the front of the drawers. 

“Oh, well that would match.” You say as you pick Caty up and bring her over to where Amelia is. You put Caty down and she goes over and touches one of the little unicorns. 

“I think we have a winner.” Melissa says and puts the box in the cart. 

“Vroom vroom!” Nico says and points to a race car nightstand.

“Since when was he into cars?” You ask and Melissa shrugs.

“I mean we did put the cars movie on a few days ago, maybe that’s when.” She says and you hum. “And lightning McQueen is red.” She adds and you smile. 

“Well this is perfect, our kids are picking out what they want pretty quickly.” You say and Melissa goes to get the nightstand. 

Half an hour later Melissa is putting the bed sheets for Caty in the cart and then you both go to the nightlights.

“Mamma, mommy, look at the princess one.” Amelia exclaims happily and shows Melissa.

“You already have a nightlight Tesoro. We’re here to get one more for the twins.” Melissa tells her and Amelia pouts. “Christmas is in 6 weeks, maybe Santa will bring you one.” She adds and then looks at you with a knowing smile. 

“But I already sent my Christmas list to Santa, how will he know I also want a Princess night light?” Amelia asks.

“He knows everything, now come on.” Melissa tells her. After choosing a night light for Nico, as the current one the twins have is going to Caty, you move on to carpets. “This is a nice blue one.” Melissa says and you look at it. Caty reaches out, touches it and retracts her hand immediately.

“I guess that’s a no.” You say and Melissa hums before you both look at others. You end up putting Caty down and get her to touch all the carpets to pick out which one she likes. After a few minutes, she touches a blue one and touches it with her face after a couple seconds.

“I think we have a winner.” Melissa says and you look at the number on the carpet and grab one from the shelf. “Alright Nico, you’re turn to pick one.” Melissa tells him as she takes him out of the cart and puts him down. It doesn’t take him long to pick out a red and black one and you put it in the cart. 

“Alright we’ll have to get the lamps and toy chests next weekend.” You say and she nods. “Let’s go get these things and put them together at home.” 

You put all the kids in the car when Melissa manages to put everything in the trunk. When you get home, you set all the kids up with toys before you help Melissa bring everything into the house. Melissa quickly makes a quick and easy snack for everyone and you get everyone to eat while Melissa gets the cribs out of the room, in a few pieces. Melissa brings down all the pieces of the second crib and she lets out a breath. You see she put her hair in a ponytail, took off her leather jacket and just has a tank top on. 

“Alright, the cribs are out of the room, so we can put the beds together.” Melissa tells you and you nod.

“Amelia, do you mind watching your siblings?” You ask her and she nods.

“I will, mommy.” She says and you give her a kiss on the cheek before going upstairs with Melissa.

An hour later Melissa tightens the last screw of the bed as you hold it in place and then you let go and you both look at the bed. 

“It looks just like the one at the store, so I think it’s good.” You say as you go sit on the bed and smile. 

“Think Caty will like it? She seems super picky about some things.” Melissa asks and you get up.

“Hopefully, or else we’ll be sleeping with a toddler again.” You tell her and then you both go to Nico’s room.

Another hour later you come back upstairs and see Melissa is just finishing up the bed.

“Is everything alright with them?” She asks and you nod.

“They were just getting bored so I set them up with the little mermaid.” You tell her and she nods.

“Well the beds are finished. I think I should start dinner before we get started on the nightstands.” She tells you.

“We could order dinner. I mean we’re doing a lot of work this afternoon and evening.” You say and she wraps her arms around you. 

“You’re thoughtful but I’m good. Cooking helps get my mind off of things and it’s relaxing.” She says before she gives you a kiss and then goes downstairs. 

“Mamma, can I help make dinner?” You hear Amelia ask her as you pick up the boxes and wrapping from the bed packaging.

“Of course, Tesoro. Come on.” Melissa tells her and then they both go into the kitchen as you come downstairs to watch the twins.

Half an hour later Nico goes into the kitchen and hugs Melissa’s leg.

“Nico?” Amelia asks and Melissa looks at him.

“What are you doing in here, hon. Aren’t you watching a movie with mommy?” She asks him and he shakes his head.

“Mommy is not.” He says and Melissa furrows her eyebrows in confusion. 

“Amore?” Melissa asks and she doesn’t get a response. She turns off the stove, gets Amelia off the counter, picks Nick up and walks out of the kitchen. She gets into the living room and finds you asleep on the couch with Caty sleeping on your chest. “You’re right hon, mommy is asleep.” She tells Nico softly. She then puts Nico down and walks over and gently takes Caty off of you. 

“Should we wake mommy up?” Amelia asks and Melissa shakes her head.

“No, it was a stressful week for her. Let’s give mommy some quiet time.” Melissa says and then she brings Caty upstairs to her bed and turns on the baby monitor. “Alright, you two, let’s go into the kitchen.” She tells Amelia and Nico who follow her into the kitchen. She places both of them on the counter and then she turns the stove back on. 

“Mamma, hungwy.” Nico says and Melissa looks at him with a smile. 

“I know my ometto.” Melissa tells him and Amelia looks at her confused.

“What did you call him?” Amelia asks curiously.

“Ometto. It’s Italian for little man.” Melissa explains. “Dinner is almost ready.” She then adds as she stirs the sauce. She then takes the spoon out and carefully brings it over to Nico. “Here, open your mouth caro mio.” She says and he opens his mouth. She then gets him to taste the sauce. “Is it good?” She asks him and he nods with a smile. 

“Good, mamma.” He tells her and she smiles at him. 

“Here, Amelia, you can taste it too.” She says and Amelia tastes it.

“I love it, mamma.” She tells her. “What is it?”

“Bucatini all’amatriciana.” Melissa says. “Your mommy loves it and I haven’t made it in a little bit.” 

“Are you trying to apologise to mommy for something?” Amelia asks and Melissa looks at her in confusion.

“Why would you ask that?”

“There’s been a few times where I heard you both yelling and then you make something that she loves and you two love each other again.” Amelia says. 

“You’re very perceptive for a 3 year old.” She says and Amelia looks confused.

“What does perceptive mean?”

“It means smart and observant.” She explains. “But me and mommy never stop loving each other. We just have disagreements sometimes which is normal and healthy in relationships. And I’m not trying to apologise for anything, we just did a lot today and this week and it’ll make her happy to eat something that she loves.” Melissa explains to Amelia and then turns off the stove. “How about you two go wake mommy up.” She says and then she gets them off the counter and they both run out of the kitchen.

Melissa gets 2 plates out, 1 plastic plate for Amelia and 2 bowls for the twins. She then goes to fill all of them with food and you then come into the kitchen as Amelia and Nico dragged you in there. 

“I got a double wake up call.” You say and she smiles.

“I sent them to wake you up.” Melissa tells you and you hum. “By the way, Caty is asleep upstairs in her room, she fell asleep on you.” Melissa adds.

“Alright, I’ll go wake her up.” You say and she nods.

All 5 of you eat the meal together and you and Melissa watch as all your kids get sauce all over their faces and bibs.

“Well I guess that means they like it.” Melissa says and you chuckle. 

“I guess so.” 

“I don’t think the twins ever had it so I’m glad there’s something else I know that we all like.” Melissa tells you and you nod.

After dinner, you clear the table as Melissa is cleaning everyone’s face, and ignoring the complaints. 

“Mamma!” Amelia complains.

“No!” Nico says and Caty makes a noise of complaint. 

You then put on Cinderella as you and Melissa go back upstairs and put the nightstands together. An hour later you’re finished putting the second one together and then you move them beside the beds. Next Melissa puts the carpets in the middle of the bedrooms while you get the sheets out of the dryer as you washed them earlier. You make Caty’s bed while Melissa makes Nico’s. You then put Caty’s night light inside the drawer of her nightstand and Melissa does the same with Nico’s. 

“What do you think?” You ask as you’re both standing in Nico’s room.

“They better fucking like it.” Melissa says and then you both go downstairs as Cinderella was ending.

“Alright, Nico and Caty, we want to show you your rooms.” You say and all your kids look at you. You pick up Caty while Melissa picks up Nico and Melissa grabs Amelia’s hand.

You all go upstairs and show Nico his room first. You all walk in and Nico runs around and then jumps in his bed with a smile on his face.

“You like it my Ometta?” Melissa asks him and he nods. 

“Love it!” He exclaims and lays down in his bed, on top of the sheets. 

“Alright, next is Caty’s room.”  You say and then you all go to hers. You put Caty down and she looks around the room curiously and looks at you. “It’s your new room.” You say as you crouch down to her level. “What do you think?” You ask her and she walks around. She feels the blanket on her bed and looks at the nightstand and then the carpet on the ground. She sits down on the carpet and feels it before she lays down on it. 

“Well at least we know she likes the carpet.” Melissa says and you smile. 

Amelia then goes over to Caty and gets her to stand up. Amelia then brings her over to the bed and instructs her to sit on the bed. You both watch the interaction curiously and see that Amelia is becoming a great big sister. 

An hour later Melissa watches as Amelia puts on one of her new pj outfits. She finishes and she looks at her wrists and ankles and sees the pjs cover them again. Melissa finishes folding the pjs that are too small on Amelia now and puts them in a pile on the floor. 

“Mamma?” Amelia then says and sits down beside Melissa.

“Ya, Tesoro?” 

“One of the kids at daycare said that it was wrong that you and mommy have a big age difference. Is that true?” Amelia asks and Melissa furrows her eyebrows.

“It’s not wrong, it’s just different. And I think the kid is just repeating what their parents said.” Melissa says. “Do you think it’s wrong?” Melissa asks her and Amelia thinks about it. 

“No, but everyone else’s parents don’t have a big age difference.” Amelia says and Melissa picks her up and puts her on her lap. 

“An age difference in relationships isn’t very common but it’s also not unheard of. It’s still different and I’m not surprised that there’s still people who think it’s wrong. When I was your mommy’s age and even before then, a big age difference was frowned upon. But the most important thing to remember is that your mommy and I love each other very much and we love you and your siblings, and the age difference shouldn’t matter as long as there’s love.” Melissa explains to her. “Do you understand?” She adds.

“I think so. What should I do if I get told that again?” Amelia asks.

“Just tell one of the adults that takes care of you or you can just ignore the child.” Melissa tells her and Amelia nods. 

“Ok, mamma.” Amelia says and Melissa places a kiss on top of her head. “I love you, mamma.” Amelia says and Melissa wraps her arms around her.

“I love you too, Tesoro, very much.” Melissa says and then she tucks Amelia in her bed. Melissa closes the door and walks down the hall and sees Nico asleep in his bed and sees you tucking Caty in her bed. 

“Goodnight sweetheart.” You tell Caty and then place a kiss on her cheek and stand up. You see Melissa at the door frame and walk over and gently close the door. You look at Melissa before she grabs your hand and brings you to the bedroom and she closes the door. “What’s going on?” You ask.

“I need you to stop me from plotting against some parents.” She says and you tilt your head.

“Ok, I’m gonna need some context.” You say as you bring her to the edge of the bed and you both sit down.

“Amelia just told me that a kid at daycare told her that the age gap between us is wrong. And I highly doubt that the kid came up with that themselves so it’s obviously the parents that said that and they’re just repeating it.” Melissa explains and you wrap an arm around her but she gets up and paces. “I don’t want people saying crap like that to my daughter.” She adds.

“What did you tell Amelia?” You ask her.

“I told her that the age difference doesn’t matter because we love each other and all of our kids.” Melissa says.

“That’s a good answer.” You say and she huffs.

“I know it is but again, I don’t want people saying stuff like that to my daughter.” Melissa repeats and you get up and grab her arms and she lets out a breath.

“I know but you can’t stop it, and I can’t stop it either. The only thing we can do is explain to our kids what our point of view is to whatever they ask.” You tell her and she puts her head in her hands. “You can’t be surprised that some parents might think that as you thought that at first. Or do you not remember me calming you down about 2 months after we started dating about this?” You ask her and she moves her hands away and looks at you.

“I actually forgot about that.” She says and you wrap your arms around her. 

“Well what you told Amelia is the best that we can do about the situation and we shouldn’t go plotting against the parents or threaten them.” You tell her and she sighs.

“Even though some crap was said to my daughter and it was about our relationship?” She asks.

“Even then.” You tell her and she kisses you. 

“Alright.” She says and you kiss her again before you pull away and go to the bathroom. “Hey! Get back here, I was done kissing you.” She says and follows after you and you giggle.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms 

@idonothingalldays-blog 

@sexysapphicshopowner 

@dvrkhcld 

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie 

@unicorniusfallapatorius

@a-queen-and-her-throne

@sleep-deprived-athlete

@og-kxsh-420

@sasheemo

@midnight-lestrange

@thnxdg

@morgananyx

@cblanchetts

@that-october-night

@schemmentigfs

@italianaidiota

@olderwomenenthusiast

@ackleybloodybridge

@creaturesaphique

@cupldscntrl

@calliopetworld

@alwaysgoodnight

@yoyo-w

@fragile-angell

@upsidedowndanvers

@lissyganda

@sapphictacobomb

@dopenightmaretyphoon

@lisaannwalterlover

@rep-aj-lover

@m6niacs

@agathas-doll

@eliscannotdance

Let me know if you want to be added!

[mrs-chonk]

A waste of blood - Paucity

Part 1 master list here (The story is heavily inspired by this art made by @miracleboylene) tags : sevikaxreader, AU of arcane, set in a fantasy/maleficent-inspired world, reader isn't explicitly mentioned or present in this chapter, brief swearing involved, 1000+ words, third person, can't really think of anything else note : this series will be a bit longer! please don't complain about how many parts this will take, I have to include world-building and add a whole new character. Anyways, enjoy! summary : Sevika is called to the castle. But for what task?

"We're friends, aren't we?" they ask quietly. 

She looked at them, a small pause strung in between them, like the highest cord of a lyre. "Of course." 

They scoot closer to the second, taking her hand. My golden girl, They think. The girl with the obsidian hair littering the view of her dusty eyes. Eyes so knowing, knowing of things that should've been kept behind closed doors and garden hedges. The girl with the big voice and shifty eyes. The eyes that have seen so many things that should've been left behind fresh linen sheets and starry skies. The girl with the passionate bearings about small things like rocks, sunrises, and the smell of dandelions in her neighbour's garden. Her small chubby hands, which were calloused from squeezing a wheelbarrow too tight. Her chipped tooth from when she'd fallen off her horse when they were 11. The scar on her left cheek that she'd refused to talk about, and the other thought it was because she wanted to keep something close to her chest. Something that the other didn't know. The girl with her early mornings and secret smiles. The girl with her worries. 

The girl with a father who slowly smothered her, his binding words and silent resentment. 

The girl with her gentle nature and loyal heart, too precious to be exposed to the world. Yet she was not exposed, but instead thrown, dragged, kicked, and beaten into it. Shamefully.

“And we’re always going to be friends?” They ask, fragile, as if a single breath could undo the 13 years of life they had already lived so boisterously. 

The girl looked seemingly undisturbed by this question, a skill she had learned so well from her father. Though internally she wonders what follows this conversation, what tragedy the other could have foreseen to tear them apart so suddenly. ”Yes. Always.” She says, with hesitancy you could only see if you paid close enough attention, gently rubbing her round fingers against the calluses at the edge of her palm.

The other smiles and closes their eyes beneath the twilight, and allow the moonlight to swallow them. Emulating a sharp glistening spark along their contrastingly melanated skin. “That's good enough for me, Golden Girl.” 

“Fuck.”

Her fingers fumble the sling for what feels like the millionth time. The bend of her chest leaves little room for anything else, forcing the sling of her prosthetic to crawl its way provokingly between the divot of her mounds. A string of shushed audible fucks leaves her deep brown lips, as she finally reaches for her merlot cape. Quickly tossing it over her shoulder. The metal creaking, a once sturdy design betrays her with its age, rust now lining its entrances and crevices against her shoulder. The floorboards were now littered with sun rays that had broken through her window. She makes a few lazy, but large strides to her varnished entrance door stepping on them, and closing the door with conviction behind her.

“In a hurry Sev?” She turns to see a tall, wide man holding a dull machete and a bucket with questionably cut slabs of assorted vegetables inside. And a lucrative addition of dirt smeared across his upper lip and hairline. A small girl behind him begins to make “snowballs” out of the soppy mud below her. Lightly giggling to herself and her silver hair clips reflecting the sunlight above. Sevika fiddles with the lock on her door, knowing that the frame of it is so torn that the door could easily be kicked down regardless. ”Still rushin’ around? Ya know, I’d say that ‘Vanessa’ up there works you too much these days.” he says with a hand on his hip, twirling the machete loosely in small circles. 

“Busy, Vander. Unlike some people, I don't have time for mud pies.” She says unamused and in a slightly bitchy tone as she finishes up with the lock, abandoning it and leaving it open. Her weak brown soles slap the stone path as she rushes uphill. Making way for the tall ivory towers of the kingdom ahead. Vander flicks the machete’s handle against his side, the dull thud matching his quiet sigh. “Alright then.” Vander mumbles, to himself almost. With a huff, he turns around to give the small blue-haired girl a frown, followed by a stern index finger nodding in her direction. She drops the congealed ball of mud and wipes her generously soiled hands on her pant leg. 

Sevika ponders the inquiries of the queen, the reason she's walking this absurd distance in the first place. She was accustomed to the queen's requests for intel, small things regarding the people of Sevika’s side of the kingdom. A side the queen herself would rather distance herself from. 

The queen knows they're not all animals unlike the rest of the council is convinced. She sees them as important; she knows they serve a greater purpose than even they know. But it is about keeping them in line. The lesser must be cultivated to believe in little, dream small, and keep working —all with no hope of achieving above their means. To keep them tamed you must beat them, kill them, and hurt them. That is a queen's duty. But Sevika’s duty lies in a more urgent nature. 

“You're late.” The woman's octave reached lower than Sevika was expecting. Spindling her position, Ambessa faces Sevika. Her expression was rather blank, yet obtrusively disturbed. Sevika didn't reply with words, but instead with a bothered expression that rang “Get to the point.” without verbalizing it. Ambessa saw it and promptly ignored it, moving to more pressing matters than the ugly meaning behind Sevika's contorted face. 

A gruff expression of hesitancy clouds her face, her dark brows nuzzle their way into the center of her face and her lips tighten their seal; as if careful not to spill unwanted secrets. “You’ve heard of the market spikes I would imagine? Ref among them.” She slowly began her small circle around Sevika, her heavy feet gently meeting the tile floor. Leaving small unseen traces of dirt and bacteria. The small flickering candles down the hall left glints of orange sprinkled in her luxurious coiled hair, the strands of silver emulating a bright white rather than any specific colour. “It's funny how a dried-up flower can cause so much disturbance when left unattended.” Sevika releases a pent-up sigh from her lightly scared mouth. “And you think I know who's eating poppy seeds?” she asks in an almost rhetorical tone. Ambessa, yet again, doesn't give her sass any attention, looking at her when she speaks but not changing her face to accommodate her words. Turning her head to look at a painting on the wall instead, one depicting her young daughter, who could be no more than a couple of years old by now, maybe 8 or 9. Sevika had seen her daughter a few times, peeking around the corner at her and Ambessa’s conversations or sitting with poise and strictness in portraits along the main hall of the castle, which was always dimly lit, heavily guarded, and the location of these curious conversations. Ambessa allowed a small indent of worry to crumple her brows.

“No. I want order. Ref is a distraction, but distractions are costly.” Her face ever so slightly changed to one of frustration and reminiscence. “Someone a little too close to home has let their greediness get the best of them. Someone’s been careless. Their indulgence compromises more than their purse. It compromises us all.” Sevika's interest peaked, the concept of a part of the court succumbing to what must be public humiliation among the council, the thought amused her. “This weed must be nipped before it grows outside of my jurisdiction. I need someone with a precise hand and… good sheers.” she says, questioning her analogy a bit before she continues speaking. Sevika slowly understanding the picture being painted before her. “Find the hidden game, the treasures buried beneath the decay. Bring them to me, before the wolves smell weakness in our borders. I trust you know how to get your hands dirty, coming from a long line of prestigious hunters.” Her smile doesn't reach her ears, and she lets out a low hum when Sevika relaxes her face out of annoyance, and into curiosity as she begins to speak. “What am I looking for?” Sevika doesn't want to feed the rich by any means, but she of all people knows best what happens when the rich go unfed.