#it was so much fun to write but became SO LONG

[em1i2a3]

Signs

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You haven’t been able to sleep for the past four days, you’ve tried everything in the book, but tonight Bob has come to your room to offer you some help.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob is involved and there are mentions of his past (that aren’t really explored completely in the movie but hey…It’s just in case lol), Fluff-ish, Hurt/Comfort (Kinda), Mentions of Past Drug Use, Mentions of Readers Past Traumatic Experience, Established Friendship between Reader and Bob.

Author's Note: Hey y’all, I don’t know if I can somehow recover the darn request but this was a request from an Anon, if it was you thank you for the ask! This one was fun to write! Can’t wait to keep chipping away at the ask list! Hope y’all enjoy :)

Word Count: 7,338

You and the ceiling in your room had taken on a strange sort of companionship.

You’d memorized every crack in the plaster, every faint shadow that was casted by the bustling city outside your window, every blemish that faded across it–remnants of the last person who stayed in this exact room, someone who liked to put little glow in the dark stars on their ceiling.

For four nights you had found yourself in the same position. Sleepless, yet exhausted. Your body was begging for rest, but your mind just wouldn’t allow it.

You had tried everything under the sun to induce sleep.

You tried herbal tea–chamomile, lemon balm, even the “Sleepytime Knockout” blend that Yelena had smugly handed you like it was a modern day miracle, which you had proven it was not. You tried an array of different white noises–whirring fans, tv static, waves, but it only made you feel nauseous. You took warm baths, wore flannel pajamas, you even bought a weighted blanket–which now lays on the desk across from you because it felt like it was suffocating you. You even tried mint scented melatonin pillow spray, and that didn’t work–although it did leave your pillow smelling quite fresh.

Even with all those attempts at trying to resolve your insomnia, your thoughts just wouldn’t let you go. They clung to you like burrs in fabric–small, sharp, and impossible to shake off once they made themselves at home. They weren’t loud–not always. Sometimes they whispered, and other times they just echoed–half finished sentences, things you didn’t say when you should’ve, flashes from old missions that blurred at the edges like fog on glass, and regrets that you just couldn’t shake from your system.

You were tired in a way that felt cellular–tired of the stillness, of fighting your own brain, of crying every little thing you thought about in silence. Your chest felt tight and full. Like your body had been holding its breath for too long and didn’t remember how to let go.

The longer you stayed still under the thin white sheet you had pulled on top of you, the heavier your thoughts became. They didn’t scream, they just looped in this quiet, methodical way–cruel in how convincing they were. You thought about things that you had ruined by your own hands, people you had killed, innocent civilians that suffered the shrapnel of your actions. You were guilty of so much, and sometimes during these nights you felt like you had blood on your hands–real, warm, and sticky crimson blood that sunk under your nails and stained your skin.

It was a quiet kind of drowning, where you just allowed yourself to sink, thinking whatever was weighing you down would let you go so you could break the surface again, but it was never that easy.

You turned your head to the side, letting the cool cotton of your pillow brush against your cheek–damp from the heat trapped underneath the covering. You’d flipped it three times already tonight, hoping the fresh side might grant you sleep, but it never did.

Your fingers curled loosely around the sheet like they used to hold something, someone, once. Your knuckles ached, even though you had taken a break from training because you were too exhausted–Bucky had told you it was phantom pain, something he had experienced with his arm.

The air in your room felt used. Like it had been breathed in and out too many times, like it couldn’t carry comfort for anyone anymore. You wished, suddenly and without warning, for something as simple as a breeze to blow through your room, just something to reset the air. Something to prove there was still hope for sleep.

Instead, there was the occasional honk of a car too far away to care about, and sirens that distantly cried through the dark like tired wolves. It all passed you by. Out there, the world kept turning on its axis, but here–in your bedroom–everything was slow and suffocating, like you were drowning in molasses.

You closed your eyes tightly, and saw things you didn’t want to see.

The face of a boy whose name you never learned. The tremble in your own hands after pulling the trigger. A woman screaming. The echo of silence that followed. You brought your hands to your face, and pressed your palms over your eyes like maybe darkness could cancel out darkness, but it only made it worse. All it did was give the thoughts more room to expand.

You remember the moment you let someone die–not because you had no choice, but because you hesitated. You remember the blood that splattered on your face.

Even now–years later–on nights like this, those moments still felt fresh. You shook your head a little like it might scatter them, and curled in on yourself under the weight of it all, knees drawing up to your chest and arms tucked close like you could press yourself into sleep with the pressure alone.

Then, you heard a sound.

It was faint, almost imperceptible, but your brain was so trained to be on edge that you noticed those little noises. There was shuffling. The subtle creak of a floorboard. A soft rustle of fabric, then the nearly soundless click of a door opening from the room next door to yours. Bob’s.

You could feel your heart stutter at the noise when you realized he was awake too, but your ears tuned in more sharply now.

You could tell he was walking carefully–barefoot, you imagined, moving down the hallway like he was trying not to disturb anyone. His weight shifted gently, like he knew exactly where the creaky floorboards were, like he’d done this many times before. You slowly opened your eyes, staring up at the ceiling, heart pressing tightly in your chest, squeezing and contracting like it was struggling to regain its rhythm. You didn’t move, nor did you call out…Because what would you say? “I heard you. I’m glad you’re up too? I’m a mess and I wish you could fix it but I’d never let you try?”

No. Because you didn’t want to bother him.

Bob was kind. Gentle. The kind of man who offered you the last slice of pizza with a shrug like it didn’t matter to him, even though he was still hungry, the kind of person who always held the door just a second longer than necessary, the kind of person who would fight to give you the world even if it meant he needed to sacrifice something from himself to do so.

He was your friend, and you liked the friendship too much to chip at it with things he didn’t ask for. You kept the nightmares that plagued you to yourself. The sleepless night. The guilt. The ache.

You had to.

Because if Bob ever saw that part of you–the part still bloodstained and shaking–maybe he’d stop looking at you the way he did when it was just you and him. With eyes soft and full like you were something gentle and special to him, instead of something that was broken into millions of pieces.

So you stayed quiet, and let him drift down the hallway like a ghost. Maybe he was just getting water, maybe he had a nightmare, maybe he was sleepwalking and wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

And maybe…Maybe that was better.

Because some people in the compound had already caught on to your issues. Early on, after you joined the team. Yelena had raised an eyebrow the first time you turned up at breakfast with the bags under your eyes heavy enough to pack for a weekend trip. Walker had made a joke about you needing depuffing cream. Ava had noticed too, once–her voice casual but precise when she’d asked, “You sleep at all last night?”

You always gave the same answer. A shrug. A smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just a long dream.”

And somehow, they let it go.

But Bob–

Bob had never asked.

Not because he didn’t notice, you suspected. But because he respected your quiet. Because he waited for permission.

And that? That made it worse in the best way.

Because you could feel how much he wanted to ask. On the days he’d hand you your coffee and hover an extra beat too long. On the nights he’d walk you to your room after training and say, “Sleep well,” with a voice that felt more like a hope than a goodbye.

You kept listening to his movements though. There was a soft rummaging sound from the kitchen, the slow creak of a cabinet opening. The unmistakable clink of ceramic–just one, like he was pulling out a mug, not a glass. Then, quieter still, the dull metallic sound of a pot.

Your brows furrowed, glancing over at your clock to see that it was 3:21 AM.

You thought it was super late for him to be cooking something for himself, but then again he had mentioned in passing that after he received the Sentry serum it caused his metabolism to spike, and it made him feel like he was starving at odd times of the day–enough to put him on the brink of pain if he didn’t eat properly.

You heard a soft mutter, barely a whisper, but you couldn’t make it out–oftentimes you’d catch him talking to himself when he assumed he was alone, and this seemed like one of those times. Then came the hum of the fridge opening. The gentle click of a cap twisting loose. A drawer. A utensil. A quiet clink-clink of metal tapping ceramic.

He was definitely making something.

But you couldn’t piece together what it was, there were too many confusing sounds.

So you just sighed, and turned over slowly, the sheets rustling faintly beneath you as your gaze fell on the window.

The city beyond the glass was still awake, and buzzing with energy surprisingly. A few lights blinked in neighboring buildings. A plane cut silently through the sky in the distance, red lights flashing against the black. Clouds moved slow and soft, brushed in pale grey, like smeared charcoal across paper.

And behind them–stars. Only a few. Faint. Distant. Struggling against the glow of the skyline. But they were there. You stared at them for a long time. Let yourself trace imagined constellations. Let your breathing slow just enough to pretend your thoughts had too.Trying to give yourself the illusion of calm, even as the memory of his voice–not the words, just the sound of him–lingered in the hallway air like warmth that hadn’t faded yet.

Whatever Bob was doing in the kitchen was done now, at least that’s what you thought because the noise had halted. He was probably back in his room, probably eating at his desk, or curled up beneath his sheets, trying not to do what you were doing–thinking too hard, wanting too much, or hoping for something that would never be offered to you.

Minutes passed. You weren’t sure how many. Maybe five. Maybe twenty. It stretched and folded in on itself the way time always did when it was so early in the morning–when sleep was out of reach but everything else felt a little too close.

Then you heard it…Tap Tap.

Two knocks. Gentle. Hesitant. Like punctuation at the end of a sentence you didn’t know had been written for you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, and you turned over quickly, the sheet slipping off your shoulder, pooling around your hips as your eyes landed on the door.

There was a shadow there. Still and uncertain. You could see it through the sliver of light spilling beneath the frame–two bare feet planted quietly on the hardwood.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up and out of bed. The room was cool, and your skin prickled under the change in air. Your loose, worn Stark Industries t-shirt that hung off your shoulder, the hem brushing the tops of your thigh. A pair of navy flannel sleep shorts clung gently to your hips and your legs were bare all the way down to your toes, which curled instinctively against the cold of the floor as you moved toward the door.

You reached for the handle, hesitated–just for a breath–and then opened it.

And there he was.

Bob, standing in the soft halo of hallway light, looking every bit as fragile and gentle as the moment deserved. His hair was tousled–bed-tousled, like he had also been tossing and turning a dozen times tonight as well. Soft light brown waves of hair hung over his forehead, catching the light, almost like it was emoting a crown of sorts.

He wore a familiar dark red hoodie, the sleeves were shoved up around his elbows, and the cotton was warped at the seams from how often he picked and fidgeted in it. His plaid pajama pants were rumpled and hit just above his ankles.

And in his hands, cupped with a kind of gentleness you had seen countless times before, was a simple white ceramic mug.

Steam curled up from it in delicate swirls, spiralin in the stillness between you. The smell hit you softly–milk, warm and rich, and a sweet hint of honey. The scent wrapped around you, caressing your skin.

Bob’s eyes met yours, and you saw the surprise in his face at the fact you had even gotten up to open the door. His lips parted, like he was going to say something but his eyes kept going over you, distracting his brain from saying what he wanted to.

”Hey.” You whispered, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, before returning your gaze back to his, “You okay?” Bob flinched like your voice startled him. Like he’d been standing there for longer than he meant to, lost in thought, and not expecting you to say anything first.

He looked down at the mug in his hands, then returned his gaze to yours, his thumbs shifting nervously against the ceramic rim.

”Y-Yeah,” He said, his voice scratchy with sleep, and soft around the edges, “Yeah, I’m good…I just…I just heard you.” You didn’t say anything–just tilted your head slightly, brow furrowing. He cleared his throat, eyes flicking briefly toward the shared wall behind you.

”Through the wall I-I mean. Through the wall. I–I didn’t mean to. I just…You’ve been tossing a lot the last few nights, and I wasn’t sure if…You wanted me to do anything but tonight it just…” He looked down at the mug again, then shrugged a little, awkward and quiet, “I couldn’t lay in there anymore…Felt wrong.” Your heart thudded in your chest–not from panic, but from something warmer. Softer. Something dangerously close to comfort. Bob shifted again, like he thought maybe he should start walking away, like maybe he overstepped.

Bob swallowed thickly, like the nerves were caught somewhere behind his tongue, and with a small, careful motion, he held the mug out to you.

”It’s…It’s just warm milk with some honey…No-Nothing fancy or anything, just…Just something my mom used to m-make me when I was really small…” Bob rarely mentioned his mother, once in a blue moon he would say something in passing, and it was always about something she used to enjoy, but he never spoke about anything further than that. You never pushed, you knew the history, you knew his file like the back of your hand actually, so you understood what was off limits for conversation.

“She…Used to say that it worked b-better than anything else..I guess I was hoping maybe…Maybe it could help you too.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes had dropped to the mug in his hands still, or maybe to the floor–anywhere but your face, as he waited for you to take it, still rubbing anxiously at the rim like there was a stain you couldn’t see.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his as you gently took the mug. The ceramic was warm, and the steam curled softly under your chin. The scent wrapped around you like a memory you’d never had—soft, homey, achingly kind.

”Thank you,” You whispered, so quietly you weren’t even sure he heard it, but then he nodded. You glanced up at him again, “Do you want to come in?” Bob hesitated for half a second at your invitation, caught off guard by the offer.

”…Only if it’s okay with you…” He replied, and almost immediately you stepped to the side, motioning for him to come in. He stepped past the door frame and into your room, his bare feet making almost no sound against the hardwood floor.

Your room wasn’t messy exactly, but it had the unmistakable signs of someone who lived inside their own thoughts too much–stacks of books were on the nightstand, a half-folded hoodie draped over the office chair in the corner, a mug with a plant sprouting from it on the windowsill.

The shelf across from your bed was lined with board games–stacked neatly but densely, as if you collected them slowly over time, favorites worn down at the corners from use, or from age. There were also tiny figurines lined up beside them–small, whimsical things that looked hand painted. There were also a few vintage snow globes from places you’d never been but had always meant to visit. It was little pieces of nostalgia and comfort that made the space feel like yours.

Bob didn’t say anything right away, but you noticed the way he gravitated toward the shelf, his eyes scanning the games in the darkness with an unmistakable curiosity. He crouched a little, careful not to touch anything, just reading the spines.

”You’ve got Clue…” He murmured, almost to himself, “T-The good version…With the m-miniature weapons…” You smiled softly at that and returned to your bed, setting the mug down gently on the nightstand before slipping beneath your sheet again. It barely warmed you, but it was just to cover yourself up a bit. With Bob being there the air already started to feel different–less used, less still. Like you could breathe just a little bit easier, even though your chest still felt tight.

“We can play something if you’d like…” You said gently, watching the way his fingers hovered near a box labeled Codenames before pulling back. You reached over and picked the mug back up from the nightstand, cupping it in both hands as the warmth seeped into your skin, bringing it up to your lips before taking a small sip–just enough to taste the gentle swirl of honey at the back of your tongue. It was soothing. Sweet. A kind of simple comfort that felt foreign to you.

”You sure you’re up for it?” He asked quietly, still looking at the shelves.

”Positive, besides…It’ll probably take a bit for this to work.” You said, motioning to the mug even though he wasn’t looking over at you. Bob’s fingers hover over a couple of boxes–Ticket to Ride, Bananagrams, even a battered-looking deck of Uno–but eventually settled on Scrabble. His hand lingered on the side of the box, thumb brushing over the worn cardboard like he was trying to gauge how many games had been played on it before.

”Scrabble okay?” He asked, moving to the side slightly so you could see the box, as a small smile tugged at your lips.

”Sure.” Bob slipped the box out of the pile and stepped toward your bed, careful not to knock into anything in the low light, and then out of nowhere you pointed toward your desk.

”Just turn on the salt lamp, it’ll be easier on the eyes than the overhead light, and we won’t go blind trying to read the little tiles while we play.” Bob gave a small nod and padded softly over to your desk, careful not to disturb the stacks of paper and stray pens scattered across the surface. He bent slightly, fingers brushing the dial of the salt lamp, and with a gentle click, it bloomed to life.

A soft amber glow filled the room-like the last light of day spilling across hardwood and skin. It curled into the corners, brushing gold over his cheekbones and catching faintly in the strands of his hair. The shadows no longer felt sharp, just softened edges fading into the warm orange hush.

As Bob straightened, his eyes flicked–almost unintentionally–over the contents of your desk. Notebooks flipped open to half-finished thoughts. Old mission reports, some with ink smudged across the corners where you’d rested your palm. Paperwork from the Thunderbolts med team. A few loose pages caught his eye–your handwriting sharp and slanted, trailing off into sentences he couldn’t quite make out. But the word “decompensating” was there. He didn’t linger though. He looked away just as quickly, like he hadn’t seen it at all.

He made his way back toward your bed and set the Scrabble box gently down between the both of you, careful not to make too much noise. He lowered himself carefully onto the edge of your bed, tucking his long legs beneath him and sitting criss-crossed on the sheets like a tall child. The salt lamp’s glow warmed the fabric of his hoodie, casting a faint orange hue along the planes of his face and deepening the shadows beneath his lashes. His posture was relaxed, but the tension in his hands betrayed the way he was holding himself still–like he wasn’t quite sure how close he was allowed to be.

You started setting up the board in front of you, drawing the tile racks from the box and arranging the letter pouch off to the side. You felt his eyes on you–not in a way that made you nervous, but in a way that made you feel seen. Quietly observed. Almost studied, like he didn’t want to miss a moment.

“How’s the drink?” He asked softly, voice still rough, like he hadn’t fully settled into being awake.

You glanced over at him and gave a faint smile. “It’s really good,” You said truthfully. “A little sweet, but…It definitely soothes. Or at least it feels like it’s trying to.”

Bob’s lips curved into something warm, the kind of smile you only get from someone who made something just for you and got it right.

“I haven’t made it in a while,” He murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your hands wrapped around the mug. “Didn’t know if it’d still be…I don’t know... W-Worth making.”

“It was,” You said, and then, after a pause, you leaned forward slightly, holding the mug out toward him. “Want a sip?”

His eyes lifted in surprise. For a second, he didn’t answer–just blinked at the offer like you’d handed him something much more important than a half-finished drink. But then he nodded, once, gently, and reached for it.

His fingers brushed yours as he took the mug, and you didn’t let go immediately. Neither did he.

The weight of the silence stretched between you, not heavy, but delicate. Something balanced. Breakable.

Then Bob looked down, brought the mug to his lips, and took a small sip–barely anything, like he was trying not to take too much. When he handed it back to you, his thumb lingered on the handle just a beat longer than it needed to.

“It’s…Yeah,” He said, voice low. “S-Still good.”

You didn’t reply, just gave him a quiet smile as you settled back, placing the mug carefully on your nightstand again. He straightened a little as you began to draw your tiles.

A few moments passed like that–quiet rustling of letter tiles, soft exhales, the hum of the city outside whispering beneath it all. Bob watched you with a quiet intensity–eyes soft, but wholly focused, like the flickering glow of the salt lamp had burned everything else out of view except for you.

You laid down your first word slowly, pressing each wooden tile into place with a soft click that seemed to echo louder than it should in the hush of the room.

“Still.”

He tilted his head slightly as he read it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he thought the word was fitting in more ways than one.

You didn’t say anything. Just watched as his gaze dropped to his own rack of letters, brows drawing together slightly in concentration. His shoulders were curved inward, posture just shy of guarded, and his fingers fiddled with a tile between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly over and over in his palm like he wasn’t quite ready to play his move.

You could’ve looked away.

But you didn’t.

There was something about watching Bob think–watching the way he wrestled with something so small and inconsequential with the same care he gave to life-and-death situations–that made you feel like maybe nothing was inconsequential to him. Maybe that was part of what made him so easy to be near. He never treated anything like it was small, especially not you.

”…Why were you awake?” You asked, voice soft but clear, threading gently into the space between you like a breath that didn’t want to startle him. He didn’t look up immediately, but his thumb paused on the tile he was holding, and you saw his jaw tighten–just slightly, like he was sifting through what he wanted to say. Eventually, he set the tile down without adding it to the board, glancing up at you for a moment before looking down at his hands.

”S-Sometimes I get these…Muscle spasms,” He said, clasping his hands together slowly, “Uh…It started when I g-got clean. Back then…I chalked it up to j-just withdrawal symptoms or whatever…” He offered a small shrug, but it looked more like he was trying to take the weight of the memory off his shoulders, “But t-they never really went away…Even after the whole…Sentry serum thing.” You felt something inside you still at that–your breath, your hands, the thoughts that had been crawling under your skin just moments before. Bob had never talked about this, yes he had mentioned it in passing but he never went into details. Not with you, not with anyone in the compound as far as you knew. And he didn’t speak of it now with bitterness or shame–just quiet, exhausted honesty.

His fingers tapped lightly against his knee now, the motion faint but rhythmic. He wasn’t looking at you. Not fully. Just past you, like it might be easier to keep talking if your gaze wasn’t anchored to his.

“It’s not like–a c-constant thing,” He murmured. “Not always. But some nights…” His voice faltered for a breath, then gathered itself again, “Some nights it feels like my skin doesn’t fit right. L-Like something’s twisting underneath. And if I stay still too long, it gets worse. Hurts.” You stayed still, letting his words settle in the room like dust in a shaft of light. Not brushing them away. Not rushing to respond. You just…Let him be heard.

“And what about tonight?” You asked gently. Bob’s shoulders rose slightly at your question, like a breath caught halfway up his chest and couldn’t decide whether it wanted to stay there or fall. He didn’t answer right away, but you didn’t rush him. You just…Watched.

There was a fragility in the way he was sitting now–his tall body folded inward, arms loosely draped across his lap like he was trying not to take up more space than he deserved. The plaid of his pajama pants creased softly at his knees, and the hem of his hoodie had ridden up slightly where it bunched at his hips, exposing the edge of a thin white undershirt. He was swaying–just barely. That kind of instinctive motion people did when they were trying to self-soothe without realizing it.

And his hands–those quiet, trembling hands–were doing that thing again. Fingers laced loosely, thumbs rubbing in absent loops over each other like they were chasing comfort around and around.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Careful.

“It started in my thighs first,” He murmured, eyes fixed on the little wooden tiles in front of him like they might spell out a safer version of the truth. “Like this…C-Crawling pressure...”

You stayed quiet. Just listened.

“Then my back,” He added. “It always finds my back eventually. S-Sometimes it feels like–like something’s winding itself around my spine and pulling tight, and if I don’t move or stretch or…J-Just do something, it’s like I’m gonna shatter from the inside out.”

His voice broke a little on the last word, not from emotion but from the wear of speaking it aloud. He cleared his throat gently.

“I-I tried laying on the floor for a bit,” He continued, almost like he was narrating it to himself now. “It’s supposed to help sometimes. G-Grounding or whatever. I-I even tried counting backwards from a h-hundred, but I kept getting stuck on the same numbers…And I kept hearing…Hearing you t-tossing and turning.” Bob’s voice trailed off, and he looked up at you. His eyes were glassy in the amber light, not from tears, but from the kind of fatigue that went deeper than rest could fix. There was something raw in them–open and flickering with the effort of holding himself together. He gave a small, almost helpless shrug, like he didn’t know what else to do with the weight of what he’d said. Like the words had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

Then he glanced down at the board again, blinking like he was trying to reset his brain.

Silence stretched between you–but not the painful kind. It was the kind that wrapped itself around vulnerability like a blanket, the kind that said you’re allowed to feel this without needing to explain it.

You watched him as he shook himself a little–shoulders rolling back, breath catching in his throat like he was trying to brush something invisible off his skin. Then, without a word, he reached forward and laid his tiles on the board.

He pressed them down with gentle fingers, slow and deliberate, connecting to your word.

“Laying.”

Bob’s fingers withdrew slowly from the tiles, then settled in his lap again. You could still see the pink crescents of tension pressed into the skin where his nails had worried the edge of his thumb.

He glanced at you.

His eyes were steady now, but there was nothing sharp in them–just soft weariness. Mutual understanding. He looked like someone who had finally let a little of the weight slip from his shoulders, only to realize there was more to carry still.

“Can I–I ask you something?” He said, voice quiet but sure, like he didn’t want to startle the air between you.

You nodded, wordlessly.

“Why’ve you been…H-Having trouble sleeping?”

He didn’t ask it like a challenge. There was no tilt to his tone, no pressure to answer. Just a quiet offering of space. A question given without a demand. Like the mug he had handed you. Like the warmth in it.

You could’ve deflected. You could’ve lied–said it was the city noise or the caffeine or bad luck or anything else.

But Bob was looking at you like he’d listen to every word. Like none of it would make him turn away.

So, after a moment, you folded your hands in your lap, fingers tracing over one another like you were stitching the truth together slowly, gently.

“I’ve done…Pretty reprehensible things Bob…” His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened.

You looked down at your hands in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a rhythm that didn’t calm you but at least kept you from unraveling.

“There are nights I can’t close my eyes without seeing it all. Not like a nightmare–those would be easier. You wake up from nightmares. These are… Flashes. Full-color, real-time, high-definition plays of everything I shouldn’t have let happen.” You laughed, just barely–a breath, really. Bitter at the edges. “Sometimes I think my memory’s too good. Like it’s punishing me for surviving when others didn’t.”

Bob didn’t speak. His silence wasn’t a void–it was presence. It was him listening the way only he could. The way that told you this space was yours to fill.

You pressed your palms together, trying to hold in the shake that had started at your fingertips.

“There’s this one kid,” You said, and your voice faltered for just a second, “–I didn’t even get his name. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. He looked at me like I was going to save him. And I didn’t. I froze.” Your throat tightened. “I froze, and he died. I still see his face. Every time. Like he’s just waiting for me to try again and do it right this time.”

The silence between you grew deeper–but not colder.

“I know people say we all make mistakes, that we’ve all got blood on our hands in this job, but…” You swallowed hard, “But some mistakes don’t wash off,” You whispered. Then came a sigh–slow, worn-out, the kind that scraped the bottom of your lungs and left you a little emptier than before.

“Guess I just have to live with it,” You said softly, eyes fixed on the board between you. Your thumb dragged slowly over the edge of your tile rack, a motion that felt mechanical, just something for your hands to do so they didn’t shake. “You know? Make peace with the fact that some of the blood doesn’t come out, no matter how hard you scrub.” Bob was quiet for a long time. Not the kind of silence that asked you to fill it–just the kind that held things. The kind that made space for the ache in someone else’s chest.

His eyes stayed on the Scrabble board, but you could see his jaw shift, his breath catch on the edge of something he didn’t know how to say. And then he sighed–soft, almost soundless, but full of weight. Full of want. Of helplessness.

“…I–I don’t know how to fix that,” He said finally, and the words were almost apologetic. His voice was low and rough, like it scraped against his ribs on the way out. “I wish I could. I wish I had…I don’t know. A better thing to say. Or some way to–” His fingers twisted together tightly in his lap. “To take it away from you...” You looked up at him then, only to see he already had his eyes on you. His brows were pulled together. His lips parted. And his eyes–God, his eyes–were so heartbreakingly kind, even with all the pain swimming in them.

“But I–I don’t think you’re awful,” Bob said quietly. “I never have.”

Your lungs stuttered on the inhale. Like his words had knocked something loose inside your chest, and now everything you’d been bottling up wanted to come spilling out all at once.

You looked at him, really looked–at the way his lashes caught the salt lamp’s glow, at the way his mouth was pressed in a soft, worried line, like even kindness exhausted him when he meant it too much. And you wanted to say thank you, or that means more than you know, or please don’t stop looking at me like I’m worth saving–but what came out was smaller than that.

“Why?” Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke. He looked like he hadn’t expected you to ask for proof. He shook his head a little, as if you’d just missed the point completely.

“B–Because I see you.” He said quietly, and simply. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t—not when your throat felt like it was wrapped in wire, not when every muscle in your body was too tired to hold up all that guilt and all that tenderness at the same time.

But you held his gaze, and in the stillness that followed, something unspoken passed between you. Something that didn’t need to be named.

Bob shifted slightly, like your silence was something he was afraid to misread. “I didn’t mean that in some dramatic way,” He added quickly, his voice softer now. “I just… I h-have watched you hold everything in. I’ve watched you show up when it’s hard. W-When it hurts. And you don’t complain, you just carry it.” He blinked slowly, then smiled–just a little. “And I think… I think maybe someone should carry some of it with you, even if it’s just for a night.”

Your chest ached. You wanted to cry. But no tears came–just that deep, hollow breath that tried to make room for the feeling swelling inside you. You didn’t speak. Not at first. Because there was something so impossibly gentle in the way he said it–that he’d watched you carry it, that he wanted to carry it too–that you felt your heart stammer under the weight of being seen like that.

Not as a soldier. Not as an asset. Not even as a teammate.

But as you.

The person who lay awake four nights in a row memorizing the ceiling. The one who couldn’t scrub their hands clean. The one who still heard screams in silence.

And he still wanted to stay.

You looked down at the Scrabble board between you, and your hand hovered over your tiles for a second…Then dropped.

”I don’t think I can play anymore,” You whispered. Bob stilled completely.

You weren’t looking at him when you said it–your gaze fixed somewhere in the space between the board and your knees, your voice small and raw. You could feel his eyes on you, though, full of concern he hadn’t figured out how to put into words yet.

When you didn’t say anything else, Bob shifted slightly beside you. You caught the movement from the corner of your eye–the way his posture went from soft to stiff, the way he folded a little tighter into himself, his fingers fidgeting again like they were trying to untangle guilt from nothing.

“I–I’m sorry,” He said quickly, almost in a breath. “I shouldn’t have–I didn’t mean to push anything on you. If I made you uncomfortable, I can go. I didn’t mean to…”

You looked over at him then. His face was turned slightly down, his shoulders drawn up like he was expecting you to flinch away. The game between you had been gently nudged aside, but the distance left in its wake felt like something colder. Something afraid. Like Bob was already slipping back into himself, already preparing to apologize for wanting to be close to you at all.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself.

“Bob,” Your hand found his–warm and rough and trembling faintly beneath your touch–and you could hear his breath catch at the contact. “I don’t want you to leave,” You said softly. His eyes lifted slowly, hesitant and searching, as if he was still trying to make sure he’d heard you right–like maybe his mind had tricked him into hope again. But you didn’t look away. Your fingers were still wrapped around his, steady even if the rest of you wasn’t.

“I just…” You swallowed, the words pressing at the back of your throat like they’d been waiting for too long. “I just want you to lay down with me now, I think. And just hold me.”

You didn’t mean for your voice to come out so small, but there was no disguising the softness in it. The ache. The quiet want. You weren’t asking for much–just closeness. Just something real to rest your head against when the ceiling stopped being enough. And you watched it land in Bob’s eyes like it was something special.

“O-Okay…If that’s what you want…” He said gently, afraid the moment might shatter if he spoke too loud. He glanced down at the Scrabble board still sitting between you on the bed. Carefully, with hands that still trembled slightly, Bob reached for the box and began to collect the scattered wooden tiles, his fingers moving slow and deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He handled each piece like it deserved care. You watched the way he placed them back into their pouch, then tucked it inside the box, closed the lid with a quiet thud, and stood.

Your gaze followed him as he padded back across the room toward your desk. He placed the box down in the empty space beside your half-folded hoodie, and then paused for just a second–like he was giving you one last moment to change your mind.

You didn’t.

Instead, you peeled back the thin white sheet over your body, slow and quiet, lifting the edge and waiting. The salt lamp made the folds of it glow softly, casting warm gold against your bare thighs, your Stark shirt, the rise and fall of your breath.

Bob turned. His eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, you saw everything in them–his fear of doing too much, of being too much, and right beneath that, his need to be near you. The need to be wanted back.

He crossed the space in three long steps, slow and hesitant. His hand brushed the side of the bed, fingers curling lightly against the mattress before he eased himself down beside you.

He lay on his side, knees bent, close but not yet touching you. You felt the warmth of him, the faint scent of that old hoodie he always wore–faded detergent, sleep, and something that could only be described as Bob.

You turned onto your side too, slowly, until your back was to him. The sheet shifted with you, and for a second, neither of you spoke. There was just breath. The hum of the city. And the whisper of cotton against skin.

Then you felt it.

His hand.

Tentative at first–hovering like he wasn’t sure he had permission even now. But then it landed gently across your waist, his arm curling around you, pulling you just the smallest bit closer until your spine met the warmth of his chest.

You felt him exhale shakily behind you, and the sensation of it–his breath brushing the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling in time with yours–settled something deep inside you.

“Is this…Okay?” He whispered, voice so close to your ear now that it sent a shiver down your skin.

You didn’t speak right away.

Instead, you reached for his hand where it rested against your stomach. You found his fingers–calloused, long, warm–and laced yours through them slowly. Anchoring. Reassuring.

“Yeah,” You whispered back, your voice steadier than you expected it to be. “It’s better than okay.”

Bob let out a breath then–relieved, maybe, or maybe something more. You felt his grip tighten just slightly, like he was afraid you might slip away. But you didn’t.

Neither of you moved for a while.

Your fingers stayed woven with his, your back pressed to his chest, and you felt the weight of the night begin to shift. The quiet wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full. Full of warmth, presence, and safety.

He brushed the tip of his nose against the crown of your head–barely a touch, barely a breath. But it was there. A silent thank you. A soft kind of ache. A promise.

You let your eyes fall shut.

And for the first time in days, sleep didn’t feel like a distant thought.

[yoiisa]

HIHI SOFIEE!! I wanted to make a request for Sakura Haruka X fem!reader (or gn!reader if you prefer) from Wind breaker.

So we all know Sakura is INCREDIBLY shy at anything slightly romantic and it goes without saying then when he enters a romantic relationship he'd be SO damn nervous and it'd take like a long ass time for him to initiate anything 💔 His s/o would probably be taking most of the first steps in their relationship.

So how about a reader who likes to tease Sakura and is pretty confident when initiating stuff but on the rare few times Sakura's the one initiating anything, they get SOO flustered its exactly like Sakura😋 And although they LOVE when Sakura's taking the lead they're too shy to say anything. The first time Sakura kisses them before they do, they almost faint from too much blood rushing to their head 💔

I will follow u home and order food for u if u write this 🙏🙏 Thank you for reading 😝

mwahaha i love writing chaotic reader fics more than anything, it's so much fun when they have actual personalities ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

➜ the idea that sakura haruka had a crush on you was first brought up to you by suo, who lives for the drama ➜ as a result of this newfound information, you take notice of sakura's behavior around you more frequently and see that suo was in fact telling the truth ➜ sakura blushes more easily around you, he always tries to keep distance between you two but still sends glances your way constantly, and his soft smiles are mostly reserved primarily for you ➜ sakura does have a crush on you ➜ what transpires is the romantic cat and mouse game of the century. after all, you also live for the drama ➜ due to his romantic sensor, sakura realizes that you know his feelings very quickly, since you start flirting with him a lot ➜ you play with his hair, you stare intently into his eyes whenever he talks to you, you purposefully brush your fingers against his whenever you get a chance to ➜ he can't stand. although he knows in the back of his mind that you're not the kinda person to do this, he can't help but feel like all your flirtations are just a way to mess with him, and you're not being serious. trauma! am i right? ➜ so to get even, he starts trying to be more bold around you ➜ he brings you small presents- trinkets he thinks you might like- and he stops trying to distant himself from you all the time. he speaks more freely to you, and brings you food a lot more now ➜ when you start acting like him, his fears of you being disingenuous are quelled, and he realizes that you do like him a lot actually ➜ it still takes some work on both of your parts to get together, but by the time it happens, suo's thirst for drama is quelled ➜ and sakura couldn't be happier to have you on his arm, even if he's a blushing mess through a lot of it

The last time you spoke to Sakura was a few days ago. He did something that spooked you so bad that you were constantly on edge. You couldn't fathom even leaving your bedroom, you were so embarrassed, but your mom still forced you out of the house every day for school. What was it that Sakura did? Tried to hold your hand. (Oh the horror!) His hand was so gentle and warm! Your felt the tiny calluses against your skin, and his fingers squeezed your skin as he closed his fingers around your hand. "W-w-what are you doing?!" you asked, your voice high pitched and squeaky. "What was that?!" Sakura blinked at you, his face going pale as you ripped your hand out of his. Suddenly, it became bright red and he shouts, "Well I . . . I- I don't know! You've been brushing your hand against mine all the time and playing with my fingers! I thought . . . I figured I'd just hold it! It's obvious you wanted me to!" You're affronted. "No I did not!" "Did too!" "Did not!" "Go away Sakura!" and you ran all the way back home. Now, you were running your hand through your hair as you walked to school, mulling over how to face Sakura after that fiasco. Should you apologize? He was right after all, you were always playing with his hands, and his hair and- You get snapped out of your thoughts as someone gets shoved in front of you. You stare down at the boy, before he straightens up and your brain shortcircuits. Sakura. "Hurry up and talk to her, we have work to do." You peer around the corner and see Kaji standing there, his hands in his pockets and his headphones around his neck, watching the two of you with an intense annoyance. Behind the white haired boy is Nirei with an exhasperated smile on his face and his hands up, and Suo with a shit eating smirk. That pirate bastard, he started all of this in the first pla- "Look," Sakura starts. You divert your attention back to him, and your heart speeds as you see how cute he looks. His cheeks are pink and his pupils dilated. In his amber eye, the glow is particularly noticeable and your heart squeezes inside your chest. He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. "You and I like each other. And don't even try to deny it because Suo already told me everything!" That fucking- You gasp softly as Sakura takes you hand in his. Warm, soft . . . He stares deep into your eyes and says deeply, "So . . . can we just cute the bullshit," his voice becomes deeper and quieter, so you have to lean in to hear him, "and date?" He's so boyish right now, the charm sending your brain reeling and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. After a few moments of silence, you manage, "Y-yeah. Let's just date." When he meets your eyes, you smile and say quietly, "Sorry for teasing you so much." He sighs and shakes his head, "It's fine . . . don't worry about-" "Alright enough. Let's go," Kaji says, grabbing Sakura by the back of his collar and dragging him away with the rest of the furin boys. You can hear Sakura yowling like a cat at how Kaji ruined the moment, and it's so adorable you can't help but giggle. That's your man now, after all.

A/N: Sakura definitely gets the worst cuteness aggression in the world. My pretty little baby!

[lisholoz]

i feel like i owe it to you to admit that you really did singlehandedly make me attracted to that old man. Like imma b real, i am a Jason fan/annoyance but now im also legit reading and collecting Deathstroke comics and everything. and i cant stop

Hell yeah! I started out as a Red Hood fan then just slowly morphed into a Deathstroke fan .

I think there being waaaaaay more good media with Slade in it genuinely helped. So much of Red Hoods writing is infuriatingly inconsistent or runs that are interesting are very short! Whereas Deathstroke has so much cool stuff from the 90s and the 2010s

Arkham Origins really solidified it for me tho I was a casual Deathstroke enjoyer until I played that game and started drawing that armour specifically it's just so fucking cool.

Like unironically the first time I played Arkham Knight in 2019 I finished up the quest line and all the militia missions were run by Deathstroke instead of Arkham knight and I was like

"who is this clown?! Get him outta here! 🤬"

And stopped playing the game cuz I missed all the fun Arkham Knight comm chatter 😂

Then when I came back to the game a few years later I specifically didn't tackle a single militia mission while Arkham Knight was in charge just so I could hear the long ass Deathstroke Navy Seal copypastas in the end game 😂

Maybe it reflected in my art the bigger of a Slade fan I became the better I drew him 😂 Cuz Jason definitely used to be the focal point of all my art but he's definitely not in the past year or so .

[skymantle]

The Mayor Knight Theory

I'm not used to writing long-form posts but I've spent years talking to my friends about this theory that only 2 or 3 other people seem to share so I'm putting it out here, too!

My theory is that the Knight is C. Holiday, the mayor of Hometown and Noelle and Dess' mother.

The Importance of the Holidays

Aside from the joke of Loox' name, the Dreemurrs and Holidays are the only characters so far to have canonical last names. This might not mean much on its own, but Noelle has clearly been set up to be an important character in Deltarune.

Her sister is missing. Her father is sick. She's childhood friends with Kris and has a crush on Susie, and studied the occult with Catti. She's in concept art of the Fun Gang, and along with Susie and Kris, is the only other name that earns the response "YOU ARE ABOUT TO MEET SOMEONE VERY, VERY WONDERFUL" by the opening narrator (metatextually implied to be Gaster himself) if you name yourself after them.

Her mother is mayor, and is planning the upcoming festival. We know next to nothing about her, except that she's cold, strict, and possibly planning to evict Asgore if the note in his room is anything to go by.

You have one month. - C

It's clear that Noelle and her family are important characters. But how is her arc going to continue?

Cyber World

Queen seems to represent Noelle's mother, with the climax of the chapter being Noelle finally standing up to her after being ignored the whole time.

Queen's goal is for Noelle to create another dark fountain within the dark world itself: something she refers to in her fight:

Focusing Into Her Blade, She Will Create A Neo Dark Fountain

During the Spamton Sweepstakes, on the page /chair/, it depicts the chair in town hall with the tab text

But what if it could... ...get darker than dark?

Parallels of Noelle and Chara

Noelle has heavy angel symbolism, from her dress, to the doll she and Dess made for church. She wears a ring of thorns in the Weird Route, and Spamton repeatedly refers to her as [ANGEL].

The two angels of the original Delta Rune legend in Undertale are implied to be the Dreemurr siblings, with Asriel breaking the barrier and Chara (entirely with the assistance from the player) killing a good portion of the underground.

Chara thanks the player, saying,

Together, we eradicated the enemy and became strong.

Throughout the Weird Route, emphasis is placed on Noelle becoming stronger, text affirming "Noelle became stronger." with every fight.

Asgore was brought into a vengeful depression with the death of his children, seeking to both take revenge on humanity and save monsterkind at the same time.

If the Knight's goal is to bring the Roaring, something the Prophecy seems to call the Angel's Heaven, who's to say the Knight isn't also acting out of grief? A world that could protect her remaining daughter?

The Significance of Very, Very

This one is admittedly a bit of a stretch, but it's still interesting (ha) to me.

The exact phrasing of "very" twice calls Gaster to mind, with entry number seventeen/room_gaster saying "VERY, VERY INTERESTING", the mysterious messages on Twitter with a similar speech pattern saying the same thing, and the opening narrator with typer ID* 667 (room_gaster uses 666) calling Kris, Noelle, and Susie "VERY, VERY WONDERFUL"

Otherwise, the exact using of "very, very" is used sparingly in Deltarune, the only examples being Spamton telling Kris how to use the Loaded Disc,

THEN. KRIS. AFTER. THIS IS VERY, VERY IMPORTANT.

Throwing away the Ball of Junk in the light world, which represents Kris' dark world inventory,

You have a very, very bad feeling about throwing it away.

And the mayor's secretary, when asked about her.

She's very, very busy preparing for the festival.

Maybe it ultimately doesn't mean much, but with the importance of the other two examples, I think it's worth considering.

The Future

Chapter 4 is all but confirmed to take place in the Church. Service is the day after Chapter 2, according to Rudy.

Might even be able to go to church tomorrow.

If this is the case, it's likely the story around Dess will be expanded, and with that, the rest of Noelle's family.

Conclusion

At this point in the game, at least to me, this option seems to make the most narrative sense. I know we're only a small bit into the story right now, and the Knight's identity is anyone's guess, but I thought I'd share a candidate that a lot of people seem to be skipping! ^_^

*typer id in undertale + deltarune is a number attached to a collection of soundbytes. if the soundbytes a_1 to a_6 attached to typer id 3, a character speaking dialogue with the typer id 3 would use those soundbytes

[shegatsby]

Silent Obsession

Summary; After he became a civilian Bucky's mind, body and soul was trying to adapt to his new life. He swore to himself that he was going to live the rest of his life alone, until he saw her. His distroted mind and broken soul ached to be with her, to be around her all the time. Could he manage it or ruin it for both of them?

A/N: Hey! I hope you like the series so far. I'm having fun writing it. Make sure to check out the Spotify playlist. xxx

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Words: 2.017K

Warnings: Stalking!

Chapter Four

James Buchanan Barnes had been staring at his laptop’s screen for God knew how long. Sam made him buy a laptop and he wasn’t using it much since he had a phone, his phone was old but he didn’t care. It worked and that was the most important thing. He was on his couch, laptop on the coffee table, Alpine napping next to him and he was just staring at the screen. He found Y/N’s Instagram account. She didn’t have many pictures but the ones she had were very beautiful. Her smile was contagious and she looked so care free, it made Bucky wonder what happened to that girl? He knew that girl was still in there but he assumed life took a turn and one thing led to another. He wished he didn’t follow her to her apartment because that action gave him the information of her ‘’boyfriend’’ and he had to draw a line here. She belonged to someone else… the thought made his blood boil. What kind of a man would let his woman hustle?! He scoffed in disgust. ‘’I wasn’t planning on dating anyways.’’ He said to Alpine which made the cat purr, Alpine was a very talkative cat, she would respond to his words all the time. His phone rang and he picked it up, it was Sam, telling him that the government needed them on a small mission, it would be nice to kick some people’s asses and let his anger out so he said yes.

‘’I cannot believe the Rose Guy didn’t show up.’’ Melanie whined as they were closing, sweeping the floors and tidying the place up. ‘’Maybe his girlfriend dumped him.’’ She added which made Y/N chuckle, she didn’t tell Melanie that she had a second job and she saw him. For some reason she wanted to keep that information to herself. It had been a week since she saw him anyways. Y/N found herself disappointed when he didn’t come, she waited and had hope till the closing hour but he was a no show and she didn’t know why she was upset. She shrugged her shoulders and continued sweeping, cleaning and organizing kept her mind at peace and it was her escape. Ever since Leo moved in with her she was a cleaning maniac, the skin of her hands got dry and cracked due to the chemicals and they bled sometimes but seeing the clean sinks, surfaces made her feel like she accomplished something.

After they finished their job they said goodbye and parted ways, Y/N really liked Melanie but every time Melanie asked her to hang out outside she had to decline, eating out or even going out for simple coffee was something she didn’t have the luxury of. She kept coming up with lies,

 ‘’I promised Leo.’’

‘’Leo is taking me out tonight.’’

‘’We’re going on a weekend getaway.’’

The truth was that sometimes Leo didn’t even come home for a day or two and she never asked anything. She couldn’t handle the truth and she actively choose to stay in the dark side, mind her own business. With these thoughts she walked to the store she worked at, after learning that she had a second job and it was night shift at a market Leo didn’t say anything, he brushed it off to be exact. It made her angry, she was the one paying the rent and the bills and helping him with his gambling debt. She sighed as she wore her uniform, which was a blue shirt that had her name, she sat on the uncomfortable chair behind the cash register and opened her book. She never allowed herself any luxuries except books and usually got books from the library and she was a regular there but sometimes she wanted to own the book she was reading, a piece of literature in her home so if she liked a book very much she would buy it and add it to her collection at home. It was all she could do and afford, reading. Sometimes cleaning didn’t help with her non-stopping brain. She had few people come in, buying some products and leaving, it was a calm night and she was liking the calm. She would rather stay here than going back home. And she heard the door being opened, her head casually looked up to see the customer and it was him.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his face being bruised, dark circles under his crystal blue eyes, a swollen lip and a cut on his eyebrow, dark purple bruises here and there. Y/N found herself bolting to her feet, walking towards him with fear in her eyes, ‘’What happened to you?!’’

Bucky had just arrived from the mission, it had been a week, at first it was an easy mission but then it got complicated and he had few bruises, nothing he didn’t experience before and he realized he didn’t have any first aid kit in his bathroom so he got on his bike, he rode to her second job, just to see her after a week but if he had known that she would be this worried he wouldn’t have walked inside at all. When he walked inside her pretty eyes found Bucky and in those eyes he saw the primal fear, fear for someone she didn’t even know, an undeserving person…  He was a super solider which was something she didn’t know and his wounds healed more quicker than a normal human being but it wasn’t instant so he needed medicine etc. Bucky froze when she stood up and rush to him, being this close, there was a significant height difference so she had to look up at him, he found it adorable and liked it very much. ‘’Uh..’’ he felt his mouth open but couldn’t speak, he closed his mouth and it hurt a bit due to the bruise, ‘’Just.. got into a fight.’’ It wasn’t a lie, he was beating the shit out of bad men and they jumped on him. Ever since Wakanda he never killed an enemy, his move was to get their weapons and neutralized them. He wasn’t a killing machine anymore and he wanted to show that. ‘’Come.’’ She said and Bucky followed her immediately, like a trained dog. Y/N took him to the back, there was a storage place, ‘’Sit.’’ She said with authority that it made Bucky sit in a second. He was a solider after all and he was prone to follow rules. Y/N brought a small first aid kit, pulled a chair to sit in front of him, she placed the kit on her lap. Y/N was used to cleaning up bruises so her hands worked like magic, the only sound was the freezer working, the white florescent lights made the storage place look like an interrogation room but Bucky felt somewhat normal. He usually let no one touch him and this girl was patching him up. She cleaned the small cuts and open slits with antiseptic and then rubbed some ointment, she was surprised to see him sit like a statue, unmoving. Lastly she placed a band aid on the cut on his cheek, it was deeper than the other cuts. ‘’Change the band aid every day.’’ She said and stood up, ‘’You need first aid kit at home so I’ll give you one,’’ she closed the kit and handed it to him, ‘’just this once. Don’t get into trouble again.’’ This was the first time she was talking to him as a normal person than their usual customer and employee dynamic. He also got up, ‘’Thank you.’’ He managed to say, he wasn’t use to people just helping him or being nice for the sake of kindness and humanity other than Mr. Nakajima and Mrs. Rodriguez and the pain in Bucky’s butt Sam Wilson.  Bucky was used to being treated like an object to serve the needs of bad people. He just stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the kit, he was dressed in black, black pants and boots, black hoodie, leather gloves. She was also standing there, her pretty eyes looking around than him, ‘’I..’’ she began, ‘’I should get back to work.’’ She said and head to the door, Bucky followed in silence. He could feel the pull between them, wherever she went he would follow and he liked it, as he walked behind her in the store he knew that he wasn’t going to stop. He was going to see her, follow her, be her shadow and he was fine with it. A protective shadow who would o anything and everything for her.

She walked behind the cash register, ‘’I want to pay for the kit.’’ Bucky said, he didn’t want to put her in any bad situation, ‘’No, It’s on me.’’ She said calmly, she felt safe and could be more rational now that there was a space between them, his outfit, the way he held himself and his bruises made him look so virile that she had forgotten a man could look and have that energy. He sighed, ‘’Alright.’’ And then there was a pause between them, ‘’I should go.’’ Bucky announced, he raised the hand he was holding the kit, ‘’Thanks again.’’ His ocean eyes couldn’t stop staring, ‘’Next time you’re buying it so don’t fight.’’ She found herself being bold, deep down Y/N didn’t want him to fight and get hurt, he had a pretty face and she wanted it to stay like that. ‘’Yes ma’am!’’ Bucky said respectfully, if it meant that getting into trouble and getting few bruises would make her open up to him then he was planning to hire some men to beat him so that he could come back to her with an excuse. Y/N chuckled at his response, ‘’Good night.’’ She said as he was walking out, ‘’Night.’’ He replied and left the store.

Bucky walked to the empty alley he parked his bike and leaned on it, after their small interaction he wasn’t going to go home, home could wait. He was going to wait like he did last time, make sure she got home safe and then he was going to get back to Alpine and rest. He observed the small kit, she just touched that and now he was holding it, in his large hands, he could feel his cold heart beat faster, this was the first object that Y/N had touched and he got to keep it to himself. His distorted and dark mind wanted more but he calmed himself, they had plenty of time for that.

When her shift ended Bucky had been waiting in the dark alley for hours but his body didn’t feel any exhaustion, not when it come to her anyways. He got onto his bike and kept a safe distance, he made sure to wear his helmet, he didn’t want her to see him and be scared of him. She looked so fragile, helpless, and vulnerable and so.. so perfect.

Once she reached her building Bucky exhaled deeply, she was at home, he could go back to his.

Y/N opened the door slowly, it was locked which meant she didn’t have to be silent, on edge.. he wasn’t at home. She walked inside, closed the door behind her and leaned on it, exhaled deeply. She didn’t know when Leo would come back and honestly she didn’t care much. Her weary mind was reliving what happened on her late night shift, after not seeing the Rose Guy for a week he showed all bruised, from the beginning he looked like he had a dangerous life but she never thought she would see him like this. He was a scary man but the way he obeyed her tonight surprised her, she said follow he followed, she said sit and he sat… Y/N was so tired that she slowly sat on the floor, she couldn’t stop thinking of him, how he was calm, how his blue eyes looked at her.

Tag List: @pao-prazz @ruexj283 @lacey-mercylercy @idontcareforausernamesblog

Thank you for reading. :)

[truestfeeiing]

Chapter 4: said in prayer

scream chapter 4 of ikiryo is out!! it's the most exciting chapter by far, with many influences drawn from le compte de monte cristo.

furthermore, please note that the content rating has been updated to Mature (M).

we venture deeper into the belly of the most convoluted ghost fic ever written..........

[shady-tavern]

Deals and Revelry

Warnings ahead of both attempted and implied murder, along with one, early-on instance of non-consensual drug use. Please take care of yourselves.

***

In a city as big as this it was easy to get lost, easy to slip between the cracks. Easy to go unnoticed even if one walked like a severely drunk sailor fresh back on the shore.

You stumbled against the alley wall, woozy and half numb and your vision was just the faintest bit off, the world around you roiling as though the ground itself had become the sea, rising and falling in slow, cresting waves. 

Your breath was fogging in front of your face and you knew it was too cold to be out and about without a cloak, but you hadn't really gotten to grab one. Or shoes. You couldn't really feel your feet anymore.

But you were getting close. Already you could see the lights and colorful banners and decorations on the other side of the alley. You could hear it too, the sound of the Revelry, the biggest entertainment street of this city. A cesspool of backroom deals and unfettered delight.

Music and laughter mixed with the breathy moans of a couple that stumbled into the alley, the women pushing each other against the brick wall, one hoisting the other into her arms. You saw the glint of metal on one of them, the armor of the city guard and the cloak that fell down to her knees, cloth a dark forest green.

Neither paid you any mind when you shuffled down the alley, using the wall as your anchor. At this point it was the only thing properly keeping you up and walking in a straight line. You must look drunk, even if you were anything but.

You barely felt the cold with the numbness and as you stumbled out of the alley, it felt like you were hit by a wall of light and sound and movement. Lanterns were strung all across the street, reaching from house to house and the glass painted or stained, casting a multitude of colors across everything. 

People danced in big groups or on tables, more getting pulled into alleys by one or more people, big grins on their faces. Dancers and musicians performed on the stage by the crossroads that led to the Revelry, while other stages were dotted down the street, showing off other performers. 

Sword jugglers, puppeteers, actors and jesters all put on the show of the night, accompanied by music. Fortune tellers weaved through the crowd, peddlers with carts stood on corners and servers with strong arms brought round after round of drinks and food from taverns. Others lured the drunk or amorously interested towards many of the inns, slipping clever hands into unguarded coat pockets.

You had to take a moment to get used to everything and orientate yourself, to look beyond the street wide revelry towards the main house. Bigger than all the others, a four story building, freshly painted pale green walls surrounded by black wood. 

Through the lit windows you saw more partying, more dancing and someone swinging through the air gracefully.

That was your destination.

You pushed off of the corner you had stumbled against and walked onward, forcing one unsteady step in front of the other. People barely noticed when you staggered past them, some even clapping you on the back and pointing towards inns before they continued on their way.

You passed tables laden with food and drink, tables where people played games, cards and dice and something that needed a knife and quick reflexes. The air smelled heavily of ale and perfume and sweat. 

Coats and skirts billowed, hands clapping and boots meeting cobblestone like muted drums when you passed by a group of dancers.

It felt like it took forever to make your way to the main house, the Revelry that this street, this gathering was named after. A big sign was mounted over the large entrance door, made of dark green wood and gold letters that looked freshly polished, shining in the light.

You shouldered inside, heat and smells greeting you, followed by loud cheers. So loud and from so many throats they seemed to make the air itself rumble.

Past the shifting bodies you got glimpses of a stage that went up to the second floor, of people swinging through the air, colorful figures catching others. 

The crowd cheered loudly once again, tankards getting raised or slammed onto tables in time with the jig the musicians played. Coin clattered and servers maneuvered past patrons like they were made of water, never slowing down, perfect smiles pasted on their faces.

It took you a long minute to spot him, the owner of this place, the founder of the Revelry, Quin. There were many whispers about this man who owned the night and even had the city guard unable to stop his dealings.

Face painted white with black tracks down his cheeks like tears, his lips were stained a bloody red and his grin was just a little too sharp. His canines just a tad too long. For all that he leaned back in his seat, languid and relaxed, he gave off an air of effortless power and dangerous grace.

He was dressed in expensive finery, diamond studded jewelry and silken, embroidered clothes that only the highest ranking noble houses would have been able to afford. Everything was modeled to resemble a court jester, a clear and unashamed mockery of those in power.

There were rumors about him, things you had heard here and there, whispers shared by friends and overheard from chatting guards who wishing to unsettle the new recruit. People said he had stopped being a mortal man before ever coming to this city, that he commanded the shadows and drank blood like wine. 

That he had made a pact with something that should have been left damn well alone. Something older and more dangerous than anything else.

As you tried to make your way towards him, stumbling into strangers who shoved you onward with either laughs or glares, you saw that he was speaking with a nervous looking man.

The man was tall and broad, shoulders tense and posture wary as he gripped his tankard, speaking to Quin about something. You couldn't hear what was being said, but Quin threw his head back and laughed and the burly man visibly grit his teeth, leaning back slightly as though worried.

Quin grinned at him, sharp teeth and dangerous eyes and waved a hand in a lazy gesture. A whip-thin woman melted out of the shadows, dressed in all black and with a blank, white mask covering her face. 

She came to stand at Quin's side and offered him a rolled up piece of parchment. Quin took it and held it out towards the burly man, still grinning.

The man took it after a long second of hesitation and the woman held out a quill next. There was no ink, but the man seemed to be able to sign anyway and you got a glimpse of bloody ink flowing from the dry quill. 

His face was grim when he handed the scroll back and the woman stepped forward when Quin accepted it, waiting and arms loose at her sides. 

The man got up and she followed him and they disappeared into the crowd. When Quin got to his feet, you made yourself move faster. He couldn't slip away. Not when you were so damn close.

You tripped over someone's foot, the person giving you an annoyed shove, but it propelled you forward the last bit. Undignified, yes, but Quin caught you before you could fall to your face.

"Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this," he said with a mocking undertone, pulling you upright with seemingly no effort at all. Before he could let go, you gripped his arms, making him raise his brows.

"Here for a deal," you managed to slur out and for just a moment it looked like he was going to send you away anyway, before he paused and leaned in.

"You are not drunk," he said, a warm finger curling under your chin to tip it up, making your gaze meet his dark eyes. "Tell me, did you intend to ingest a drug?"

Your grip on his arms tightened and a smile curled across his face that managed to be far more dangerous than the one the burly man had gotten. The sort of smile that made it easy to imagine blood being spilled and a last breath being exhaled.

"Now, I don't like that in my establishment at all," he downright purred, moving in a step, head bending down towards you a bit. He was propping you up with his body more than anything else with how close he was and you were glad he hadn't shaken you off. "Why don't you point me to the one who did that, sweetheart?"

You shook your head. It was getting harder to think and you could feel his warmth through the numbness that gripped your limbs. You had no idea how much longer you could fight this off, especially now that you had finally found him and you didn't have to force yourself to keep moving.

You were just so relieved you thoughtlessly leaned into his hold. The only reason you caught the brief flash of surprise in his eyes was because you were so close to him.

"I need a deal," you managed to say, unable to raise your voice much, but with him right there, breath lightly brushing your nose and cheek, he heard you well enough. "Please."

"Why don't you tell me what happened first, hm?" he asked, curled finger still under your chin. His brows furrowed slightly. "You are quite cold, were you outside until recently?" His dangerous grin returned. "I can find out who did this, even if it was down the street, don't you worry."

"My fiancé," you said and the smile fell away as his brows rose. "His mother is going to kill my parents and then me. They will do it after the wedding tomorrow. Please."

"Hm." He seemed curious at least. "Why not go to the city guard? I know I'm never the first resort, only the desperate and degenerate come here." He leaned a little closer still, your noses almost touching, revealing a hint of his sharp teeth as he smiled. "You do know what kind of deals I offer, don't you, sweetheart?"

"They're too rich," you made yourself say. Your tongue felt heavier than before and it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. "They have deals with the captain of the guard."

Quin suddenly sounded delighted. "Is that so? How delightful, I knew Albert was going to slip up one day. Thank you for that one, darling. But why not grab your parents and go away instead of coming here?"

"They arranged the wedding." And you hadn't even minded at first. The wealthy merchant's son had been pleasant enough after all, polite and maybe a bit reserved but not unfriendly.

Neither of you would have married for love, but during the conversations you had shared with the young, admittedly pretty man, it had become clear the two of you could have come to a good agreement. 

Not all marriages were unions of hearts after all and there were plenty of ways to make it work. Plenty of ways to treat this like any old business agreement that both sides could benefit from. You had even thought the two of you could become good friends in given time.

Until you had overheard his mother's plans by accident tonight and had gotten discovered when you had tried to sneak away from her study. Your fiancé had done nothing when your future mother in law had gotten her personal guard to grab you before you could flee. 

Your future mother in law had put some clear liquid into a cup of water while the guard had wrestled you towards her, muttering that you had to keep quiet until the wedding. That your parents wouldn't care about the state you were in so long as you signed the wedding contract. 

She wasn't even wrong. Your parents would never again get the sort of deal the merchant had made with them. Your parents' business would join together with hers and it would make everyone all the richer. But if everyone died after the wedding, then your future mother in law would get to own your family business through her son.

Your parents wanted wealth too much themselves and unless you had managed to prove that your fiancé mistreated you, which he never did, they wouldn't stop the wedding for anything. Neither would they believe you if you showed up with wild sounding accusations such as planned murder out of nowhere.

Your future mother in law had proceeded to shove the concoction down your throat once she had it in the cup – or part of it at least.

It had been nothing but pure luck that you had managed to take hold of the guard's dagger at their hip and draw it. It had been a mad scramble where you had lashed out in a blind panic, the guard falling back with a howl and hands pressed over their bleeding face.

You had stabbed your future mother in law right in the thigh and had run, managing to toss a vase at your fiancé's head. Then you had kept running straight here. The only place you could think of to get help. The only place you trusted would help you, even if you'd have to give up something in the process. 

You just wanted to live.

"I see." Quin tipped your chin up again, your head having slumped down a bit. You met his gaze and there was a red, fiery glow lurking in his dark eyes as though embers had come to life. "Want to me to get rid of your parents too?"

"No." They hadn't been...great, recently, but you wanted to deal with them yourself. "I don't want to die."

"I suppose you wouldn't," Quin murmured, almost too quietly for you to hear him. "Alright then, let's get you situated."

He moved his arm to hold you around the shoulders and bending down to pick you up under your knees. His words registered and you sagged with relief at once, pressing your head against his shoulder.

You felt him pause for just a moment and you felt the shift of muscle along his neck as he looked down at you.

"Aren't you a strange one," you heard him murmur. He was quiet for a second, then chuckled, low and dark. "Just alone to spite you I will do exactly that."

It didn't sound like he was speaking to you and he turned around, walking away from the press of bodies. Even half passed out you noticed it when the air shifted and five people stepped straight out of the shadows. 

They were all masked, blank or painted, their clothes either black or colorful. You moved your head enough to peer past Quin's shoulder and you saw the glint on metal on them, blades and daggers, armor hidden under cloaks and silk shawls. 

They looked nothing like the guards or mercenaries, but each and every one of them felt threatening enough that you half expected to cut yourself on their presences alone.

But most dangerous of them all was Quin. He felt like walking death as he held you, something so dangerous it would have stolen your breath away under any other circumstance. Instead, it made you relax further, one hand rising to lightly grip his sinfully soft silk doublet.

Quin hummed softly and this time, the words were directed at you as he said, "You are very strange indeed."

"Boss?" you heard one of the masked ones ask and when Quinn made a low noise, they stepped past to open a door at the back of the large tavern room. "What's your order?"

"I think we're going to have fun tonight," Quin said, voice light, but if words were capable of dripping blood, his would have, staining his tongue and sliding down his chin, thick and copper-sweet.

Quin carried you down a hallway and another door was opened within a few moments. The sound of the revelry was muffled and almost far away now as he stepped into a room and a couple of steps later you were gently set down on a couch that was softer than your own bed.

"You're not even wearing shoes," Quin mused and paused when you found yourself holding onto his sleeve when he stepped back. "Easy now, sweetheart, we'll take care of that little mess, won't we?"

"Thank you," you managed to slur out and he hummed again, waiting with unexpected patience for you to let go. When you did, he spread something warm and heavy over you. A blanket. "Sleep now. Believe it or not, but you will be safe here."

"I know." And you did believe him. Somehow, despite everything you had been taught and all the rumors you had heard, Quin felt safe. Safe enough that the fear that had driven you to his Revelry finally released it's bruising grip on you altogether.

Warm knuckles brushed your cheek. "You actually do believe it," Quin murmured. "That's a first, I have to admit."

"Deal?" you made yourself ask, because everyone knew that Quin always made deals. He never did anything for free. 

Quin was silent for a long moment. Long enough that you thought he wouldn't answer, until he said, "You already gave me something no one else has. Not in a very long time at least. Let that be my payment. Rest, sweetheart. Your worries will be dead when you wake."

You heard rustling as he shifted and turned around to walk away. 

"My friends," Quin said, voice strong and confident and there was a deep rumble to his words, something just a little too unnatural. No human throat should be able to make that sound.

The last words you heard before you faded into unconsciousness were said with a grin that dripped with malevolent violent, "Tonight we hunt."

*.*.*

You woke up with your head pounding and your mouth tasting the way old, wet socks smelled. Your body ached all over and when you tried to shift, you ended up groaning and burrowing more into the pillow. A pillow that smelled nothing like yours.

"Good morning," an amused voice said and you blearily forced your eyes open and looked up.

There he was, Quin, the founder of the Revelry. Your memories of last were a little foggy, but mostly you recalled his warmth and how safe you had felt. You still felt safe and warm now, bundled beneath a thick, soft blanket.

"Still not afraid, I see," he mused and leaned back a bit. He wore different clothes to last night, something a bit more muted, but the face paint was still there. "I have to thank you, we had quite a bit of fun tracing back your steps and getting to hunt." 

His head tipped and his smile widened into that dangerous grin, showing his teeth. His lips were painted a blood red so vivid you wouldn't have been surprised if he had used actual, fresh blood. "Want a trophy?"

"No, thank you." You winced at how croaky your voice sounded and you forced yourself to sit up, limbs aching. You blinked when an elegant hand offered you a cup of water.

You took it and for just a split second you remembered the way your future mother in law had forced spiked water down your throat, then you shook off the memory. Quin of all people had no need to drug your drink, especially when he had had you drugged and at his mercy just hours prior.

"What do I owe you?" you asked after emptying the cup.

Quin raised a brow and sat down on the other end of the couch, thigh nearly brushing your toes. He leaned back, throwing one arm over the backrest of the couch as he regarded you with dark, curious eyes. "You're not going to ask if we took care of the problem?"

"You always do," you answered. "At least, that's what I heard."

"A business man such as myself takes great pride in a good reputation," Quin mused. "You are correct, they are very much dead. I would not recommend visiting that house anytime soon if it can be avoided."

"Thank you." The relief was still as potent as last night, thought not quite as soul-deep, for the fear wasn't there anymore. "What do I owe you?"

Quin waved you off with a dismissive flap of his hand. "You already paid, don't you worry your pretty little head." Before you could do so much as open your mouth to protest, he got to his feet again. "And now I will be dreadfully rude by tossing you out on your ear. I need my office back, sweetheart."

Blinking, you realized that you were, indeed, in an office. Lavishly decorated, with a rug as black as coal and, very, very faintly visible stains along the hardwood that you were willing to identify as dried blood.

"Of course, I'm sorry for being a bother," you said hurriedly, freeing your legs from the blanket, but the moment you tried to get up, your feet bumped into shoes. Looking down in surprise, you saw simple shoes in your size, a little scuffed but otherwise well maintained.

"I'll pay you for these," you offered and Quin rolled his eyes as you put them on.

"Just bring them back later. Now, please go." He ushered you up and pushed you out the door with a polite smile, gesturing down the hallway to the door that led into the tavern.

Instead of closing the door, however, he leaned against the doorframe and a bare moment later the door to the tavern swung open and the captain of the guard marched inside.

Before you knew it, you had shied back to Quin's side, as Albert glowered at you so viciously it wouldn't have surprised you if his glare had seared your skin like acid.

"No need to be impolite, Captain," Quin said with a smile sharp enough to peel away layers of skin. Albert flinched, just a little and the way he averted his gaze to his feet was all the more noticeable for it. "We're just going to have a friendly chat."

Quin pressed one warm palm against the small of your back. "Go on," he murmured, leaning closer to you, his warm breath brushing the shell of your ear. "He won't do anything." He raised his voice without moving back, gaze pinning Albert in place the way a scientist would pin down a helpless butterfly. "Won't he?"

Albert said nothing, but he stopped walking and moved over to the side, freeing up as much of the hallway as he could. Quin gave you a small push and you walked on, shuffling past the captain of the guard, feeling like a scurrying mouse.

You glanced back just once when you reached the door. Quin regarded Albert with feigned, gentle politeness as he walked past him into his office, the door closing behind the two of them.

Barely anyone was in the tavern at this hour when you stepped into the large room. Some hungover people sat at the bar, stirring oatmeal or nibbling on dry bread, looking either a bit green or half asleep. 

The place was cleaner than it would have been elsewhere after a night of wild partying. No smashed glass was anywhere, not even spilled, sticky residue from drinks. Everything from the bartop to the tables and the floor looked freshly wiped down.

The air was still cool, but not as cold as last night when you left the tavern, the sky overcast. 

The street outside the Revelry looked cleaned up as well, tables moved to the side, chairs stacked on top, to make for easy passing. A carriage rattled through and you heard someone puke in an alley as you passed by with quick steps.

It felt almost unreal as you made your way home. Your childhood home, not the big townhouse you had stayed in in preparation for your wedding. Your parents were at the kitchen table, greeting you with smiles when you entered.

"Looking forward to your big day?" your father asked as he buttered his breadroll. "Your dress is waiting upstairs for you."

They didn't know yet. You took a deep breath and it filled your lungs in a way it hadn't for weeks. You felt free, you realized. Free of your fiancé and a future you hadn't wanted, even if you would have accepted it with dignity and plans to make things work to the best of your abilities. 

You took another deep breath, marveling at how much lighter you felt. "There won't be a wedding," you said and the words almost made you smile. When your parents looked up, surprised and worried, you added, "They got killed last night."

It was as though your parents saw you properly for the first time. Your nightclothes which were inappropriate to leave the house in, the shoes they had never seen you wear before and your somewhat bedraggled and worn appearance.

"What happened?" your father asked at the same time as your mother said, "What did you do?"

And now you did smile, just a little. It wasn't a happy expression and you probably looked more like you were baring your teeth. "I made sure I lived."

*.*.*

The Revelry was filled with overlapping conversations and the occasional laugh as the afternoon crowd ate their lunch, spread out around the tables. 

Already preparations for tonight's party were in full swing, decorations being pinned in place and some performers were warming up, others checking the trapeze and ribbons to ensure nothing could go wrong.

Quin was at the bar, speaking with the barkeep who listened with an attentive frown. She gave an understanding nod and Quin tapped the bar with his palm, smiling in languid satisfaction.

He then noticed your approach, smiling easily at you as he turned to face you, leaning back against the bar, elbows braced on the bartop. He looked just as confident and in control as a king might on his throne.

"Sweetheart, what brings me the pleasure of your presence?" he asked as you approached. Today his outfit was as blood red as his lips, accented with black and his jewelry glinted gold, the rubies looking like drops of blood that hung from his ears and decorated his neck and hands.

"I'm going to return your shoes," you said and he waved you off when you presented them.

"I don't remember where I got them," he said with a shrug. "Leave them by the door if you like. Someone will pick them up at some point."

"Oh." You were about to step away again, Quin's attention already moving on, the conversation over in his mind, when you paused. You knew he said you had paid already, even if you had no idea how or when or with what, but it didn't feel like enough. "Let me take you out to dinner."

His dark gaze snapped back to you and from the corner of your eye you noticed the barkeeper openly gawk at you.

"Are you asking me out?" he sounded bemused and the faintest bit baffled. Realizing how your offer had sounded, you floundered for a moment, then shrugged awkwardly, waving around the shoes as you gestured.

"Just...I want to say thank you properly." When he was about to speak, you quickly added, "I know, you said I paid already, but I still want to do this. You did more than you had to that night."

The barkeep downright stared at you now, looking gobsmacked that you had interrupted her boss, her gaze bouncing between you two. Quin tipped his head, earrings glinting in the light that fell through the window. Then he smiled and shrugged.

"Alright, why not." He pushed off the bar, gesturing for you to go ahead. "Besides, what fool turns down a free meal? Lead the way, my dear."

You left the shoes beside the entrance beneath the coat rack, like he had suggested. A carriage was waiting outside, the one you had taken to this place and the driver was visibly uncomfortable when Quin smiled at him as he helped you inside with a slightly exaggerated bow.

"Fancy," Quin said with a toothy grin as he sat down across from you and you knocked against the roof, the carriage lurching into motion. "I can't say I've been asked out like this before."

"You did mention having trouble to make people fall for you," you found yourself saying and he blinked, then threw his head back as he laughed.

"Oh, I think I like you," he said, eyes looking even darker than before, his smile sharper. "This might be a fun outing after all. Say, where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," you answered and he leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees as though the carriage wasn't jostling the two of you around slightly.

"Can I guess?" he asked and at your shrug, he began to list places, starting with some waterholes you had heard the worst kind of stories about and ending with places so fancy and expensive only nobility would have been able to afford them.

You had to laugh at his latest suggestion and the carriage slowed to a stop a moment later. "Alright, we're here."

You got out first and offered your hand with the same exaggerated bow as he had and he grinned down, accepting it with over-the-top aplomb. Then he looked up, face brightening. "Oh my, you have chosen unexpectedly well."

You smiled and led the way inside. It wasn't easy to get a table in this place on short notice, but you had been lucky. A patron had cancelled their reservation just moments before you had shown up.

The server showed you to a table that had a good view of the stage and while he was polite, you noticed that he seemed unable to meet Quin's eyes. 

All the patrons around you seemed uncomfortable, turning tense and quiet as the two of you sat down. You noticed some whispering and two people subtly getting up and hurrying away. If Quin noticed as well, he made no mention of it.

Just after ordering food and drink, the first musician showed up and the strangers around you stopped mattering. There was no need to pay attention to anything else when people sang and played their instruments so wonderfully. Quin seemed more than happy to watch the performances as well.

"I think I have to see if I can poach some of them," he mused quietly during an interlude. He was half done with his meal and you were certain it should have grown cold by now, but it was still steaming slightly.

He turned back to you, looking thoughtful. "Are you trying to butter me up for something? Are you in need of a deal now that your future prospect has been...scattered." He said the last word with the sort of smile that felt like it should drip blood down his chin.

"No." You knew just how damn lucky you were that he hadn't demanded a proper deal from you. That whatever you had given him that night, it somehow had been payment enough. You would not tangle with that again if you could help it. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Hm." He watched you a moment longer, then cut into his steak again. "I believe you."

The performances resumed shortly after and it was quite a pleasant meal. When at last it was over and Quin and you got up, the other patrons hung back, giving the two of you quite a berth. 

Quin was in high spirits, talking easily about what he had liked and enjoyed, gesturing and there was a small spring in his step.

"I have to say, that has been the best meal I had in quite a while," he said, offering his arm as you approached the stairs. You took it readily and he was still as warm as you remembered.

"I'm glad," you said. "I quite enjoyed myself as well." It had been unexpectedly easy to spend time with Quin. He clearly didn't care about impressing others or bothered to worry about what anyone thought of him and it was rather refreshing.

"Well, if you find yourself in need for a dinner companion again, you know where to find me," he said as he stopped in front of the carriage that had returned in time to pick you up. He helped you inside but didn't follow when you waited for him. "There are some artists I have to speak with. See you around, love."

He stepped back and you knocked on the carriage roof without looking away from him. You found your gaze lingering on him until the carriage rounded the corner. He had stayed where he was as he watched you leave, people still giving him plenty of space, their gazes averted.

*.*.*

Somehow, as the days and weeks passed, you found yourself returning to the Revelry again and again. You didn't always see Quin and sometimes he was too busy to do more than greet you, but that was alright. 

His staff had grown unexpectedly fond of you, greeting you with smiles and offering free drinks on the house. Aside from the artists, you got to know Quin's hunters, as most people called them, rather well. 

The hunters were the ones that wore masks and never showed their faces. The ones that everyone seemed uncomfortable around, though they seemed to find them slightly less unsettling than Quin.

Quin, whenever he had time for you, was excellent company. He made you feel warm and welcome and it was so easy to relax and be yourself in his presence. He made you laugh and let you lean against him, made your dreary days brighter and was well read and well educated.

You had both found yourself debating philosophical questions for hours with him and you had danced in the warm rain as summer began, laughing as he hopped through puddles with you, his make-up never once running.

He had made it far, far too easy to fall in love with him. 

With his sharp blood-smiles and his dark eyes and delighted grins at all the joys the world had to offer. With his danger and confident grace and the good treatment of his employees. With the way he leaned in, breath warm against the shell of your ear, as he pointed things out to you or shared secrets.

"How come the boss doesn't bother you?" the barkeeper asked you one afternoon as you waited for Quin to finish a deal and join you for another outing. "It even took me a while to be comfortable around him and he's been nothing but friendly to me from the start."

You knew what she meant, you had observed the effect Quin had on people for some time now. Quin was dangerous and you weren't fool or delusional enough to not know that. To not know that you could easily have that danger turned on you should you threaten him and his.

But it was hard to forget the way he had caught you instead of letting you fall, that he had immediately offered to take care of a perceived offense that few others would have even bothered to acknowledge. That he had covered you with a blanket and gotten you shoes and hadn't asked you to sign any of the scrolls he handed to virtually everyone else that approached him for deals.

So you just shrugged and the barkeep left it at that.

"Love, how good to see you, thank you for waiting," Quin's voice drew your attention and he approached you, easily throwing an arm over your shoulders and tucking you against his side. "Where to today? The usual place?"

You had visited the academy inn you had taken him to a couple of times since, but you shook your head. "I found a new place. Come on or we'll be late."

"Oh, we can't have that, can we?" he sounded delighted, steering you towards the door and lifting his free hand in a lazy goodbye wave to his employees. "Until later, you scoundrels, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called out, getting laughter and some hoots in return.

Hanging out with Quin had, faster than you had expected, turned into one of your favorite things. He had an ease about him that was part of anything he did and his presence had the added benefit that no one ever bothered you if you went out with him.

It was easy to tell Quin everything and he was a great confidante. Never once had he shared your secrets with anyone else and he never judged you for anything either. He spoke less about himself, but every little thing he revealed you found yourself hoarding like a jealous dragon who managed to scrape together a few coins.

Today, to your surprise, he ended up sharing more than before. Maybe it was the play you had brought him to, one that turned him quieter and more thoughtful than anything else before.

"I know you know I'm not human, not anymore," he said quietly as he watched the lead act fall to his knees in front of a demon, hands raised in supplication. "But you never ask about it."

"In all honesty, I don't care about what you are," you answered just as quietly. "I like you the way you are."

For the first time since you got to know him, he seemed to have no idea what to say. He reached out, offering his hand and you took it readily enough. To your delighted surprise, he laced your fingers together. 

Then he brought your hand up to his lips and you found yourself unable to look away from him. From his dark eyes that began to glow ever so faintly like embers.

He brushed his lips over your knuckles. "I sold my soul to something far older than this world," he murmured, as though pressing his confession into your skin. "I never regretted it, I lead a life I very, very much enjoy after all." 

He pressed a kiss against your knuckles, lips leaving behind red smears like blood, his gaze heavy. "But ever since I got to know you, I find myself glad for my younger self's foolish recklessness. I don't think I could have ever met you otherwise."

"We would have met," you found yourself answering, quiet but sure, certain in a way you felt in the marrow of your bones. "I would have found you."

You would have crossed paths with this man and you would have seen in him what you saw now. Someone who had shaken off the shackles of society, someone who was close to you in spirit. Someone who understood you in a way so few did. Someone who had grown so very, very dear to you.

"And I would have killed for you," Quin said, brushing one more confession against your knuckles before he let your combined hands sink down to the arm of his chair. "I hope you know that I would promise you what I promised this ancient thing years ago if I could."

You hadn't dared to hope, not when you had worried, just a little, that Quin didn't quite feel for you what you felt for him. But now your heart leaped high and soared and a happy grin appeared on your face. "I know now."

He smiled back at you and while you knew his smiles would never be soft and adoring the way you had seen other men smile at their lovers, you didn't want them to be. You liked his danger and his sharp teeth and the way he at times seemed two steps away from going unhinged.

Quin said nothing else for the rest of the performance, but neither did either of you let go of the other's hand. He held it all the way to the carriage, where he offered another of his playfully exaggerated bows while he held open the door.

You set a foot inside, only to lean over and brush a kiss against his cheek. "I had fun tonight."

"I think that's my line," he teased, looking up at you for once. "I'll take you out next time, how does that sound?"

"I look forward to it," you said and he let go of your hand, silver earrings reflecting the light as they swung softly when he closed the door.

He once again waited on the sidewalk as the carriage carried you away and you waved at him, watching him laugh and sketch another bow. The moment he was out of view, his words seeped back into your mind.

You mulled them over for days and slowly, bit by bit, you managed to tease more information out of Quin when you saw him. He never told you what sort of deal he made or with what being, but that was alright. You had access to a library after all and there was an old occultist that frequently visited the Revelry.

It was easy enough to intercept him one night and pull him aside while Quin was busy making deals. You got the man drunk enough to loosen his tongue and since he knew you and Quin were close, he seemed to have come to the assumption that you knew more than most.

You didn't, Quin had kept you firmly away from the sort of things he dealt with, but that assumption worked well in your favor.

Quin and you went on more outings together and despite his usual unafraid and near greedy claiming of the things he wanted, he hadn't done much more than share chaste kisses with you.

He was very content to take things at your pace and you found that incredibly charming, but you were ready to go further. So the next time you visited him, you leaned in and kissed him, deepening the kiss as he leaned against the bar, patrons and employees alike hooting and hollering as he returned the kiss eagerly.

"I think it's time we take this a little further," you whispered against his lips, knowing yours were stained blood red right now.

He was grinning, eyes glowing faintly when you separated. "Oh, love," he murmured in that low voice that seemed to rumble in the air itself. "You can have me as much as you like."

He kissed you breathless and took you dancing until you felt like your heart had soaked up enough joy and love to grow wings and take flight, the two of you never separating for long. 

The next night you kissed him deeply once more and he led you through a night of delight, leaving you gasping and breathless and grinning as wildly as he did.

"Why didn't you ask for a normal deal when you met me?" you asked him that night when you were half asleep in bed with him, his hand tracing shapes across your back. "What was it that I gave you?"

He was quiet for long enough that you were almost fully asleep when he answered, quiet like it was an important secret, "You gave me trust in a way no one had in far, far too long."

You fell asleep with a smile while he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You loved him more than ever and when your parents brought up the topic of marriage again a couple of days later, you firmly told them you had chosen your own partner this time. You were done with catering to their desires and wishes. Never again would you let them control your future like they once had.

Especially when, instead, you could spend it with Quin and the Revelry.

It took you another couple of weeks, summer fading to cold autumn, until you at last had everything ready.

A day later, on his birthday, you tumbled Quin into bed while laughter drifted up from the tavern a floor below. Laughter was caught between your lips as you kissed and he made you sing in the best of ways, curling around you afterwards, sated and delighted.

You were reasonably certain that Quin needed next to no sleep, considering that a hunter had once mentioned that he only went to his rooms to read or when you were with him. He did sleep around you, or at least something like it. He always was a little too still when he did it, his breathing just a bit too deep to be normal, his heartbeat that unsettling extra second too slow.

You waited until he grew still and deep and slow and then you snuck out of bed, slow and careful. He didn't wake, not when you pulled pouches from your pockets. Not when you drew in chalk on his floor, not when you set up candles and lit them and not when you approached him with the dagger, metal etched with symbols that made no sense to you, but you knew were correct.

He didn't even wake when you carefully pricked the tip of one finger, letting a single drip of blood fall onto the blade. That one drop swiftly filled all the carved in grooves and lines and now came the thing that had taken the longest to obtain.

It had taken you days to find people even willing to hear you out, never mind go on the sort of dangerous trip you needed to send them on. 

But a group of slightly wild-eyed, hungry adventurers had taken you upon the offer and they had, after weeks, delivered. Bruised, blooded and broken but victorious, grins wilder than ever and their hunger sated. For now.

The heart looked unexpectedly small, barely bigger than half your palm, but it beat still and it was as black as tar. The last tether the ancient horror had to this world.

You placed it in the middle of the circle, Quin still deeply asleep on the bed. His mind was most likely at another place, maybe he was even with this ancient thing, listening to its demands for souls and years and emotions and whatever else he fed it. It was powerful, no doubt, but you also knew Quin was the only reason it got to eat at all.

He was the only one who had a contract with it, the first and only one in centuries who had stumbled across a half sunken tomb and had figured out enough of the symbols to cobble together a ritual. Even his hunters were only an extension of his deal with the old horror he had found.

He hadn't quite understood what he had done, what he had summoned and bound himself to, but he had whole-heartedly accepted it all the same. Unafraid as he was in everything.

There was no undoing what had been done to him, the occultist had been firm about that when you had asked. Quin had given up his humanity and reversing that would be his end. His soul and body and mind had changed too much already. Furthermore, he liked himself like this. 

He didn't want to change, even if he wished he could be free of the contract.

His body bowed like a man possessed when you pierced the heart and a noiseless shriek echoed through the room. It wasn't sound but instead pressure, making the very air itself vibrate, floorboards groaned and walls cracked, windows rattled and shattered and for a second you thought you yourself would break too.

Your bones seemed to try to shrink smaller, your mind feeling like it got squeezed from all sides as fury slammed into you, your ears popping painfully. Fury and fear.

It was that last emotion, that gave you the strength to grip the dagger with both hands and twist it, rending the small, black heart in two.

It was like an outward explosion, as though something as big as a continent exhaled it's least breath forcefully, desperate as it lost its grip on life. The walls and floor cracked to the point where you half expected them to cave and crumble and all at once the candles were extinguished.

In the light from the full moon outside you watched the black heart turn to dust and then it got blown away by a faint breeze until nothing was left.

"What?" Quin's gasping inhale drew your attention and you realized you were shaking and sweating and feeling unnaturally cold.

He sat up in bed, eyes glowing like an entire fireplace full of embers. "Love," he said and his voice rumbled through the air, heavy with new power. "What did you do?"

"Happy birthday," you answered, slightly breathless. "Do you like my present?"

He scrambled out of bed, suddenly frantic and graceless in a way he never, ever was. His knees hit the ground and his hands cupped your face, glowing eyes roving over your face like he had never seen it before. Had never seen you like this before.

"You killed an old god for me," he whispered, his voice on the verge something reverent and awed as he gave off an air of power so much deeper and larger that his previous presence would have looked pitiful in comparison.

"You wanted to be free, right?" you asked quietly and when you smiled at him, you knew you still had his blood-red lipstick on your lips from kissing him previously. You knew it was dark enough with only moonlight in the room that it must've looked like real blood.

He laughed and it was half relief and half astonishment and then he was kissing you, fiercer and deeper than ever before. It felt like he was trying to pour the power you had gifted him into you, filling your veins the way you had filled his.

"I devote myself to you," he said breathlessly between kisses, each one as fierce and consuming and gifting as the last. "My soul, in light and darkness, shall be yours until my dying day."

You could only kiss back just as fiercely, gripping his hips and pulling him closer as he climbed into your lap, leaning over you and kissing you and kissing you until you felt drunk on it and his power.

"Move in with me," he whispered against your lips. "You're already a part of this place. The Revelry loves you. I love you."

"Let's adopt a cat," you whispered back and he laughed, sounding half delirious and delighted enough that it wouldn't have surprised you to hear him shout from the rooftops in a moment.

"A beautiful idea," he said, eyes glowing and blood-red grin just as dangerous as ever, his teeth looking even sharper than before. "I love you."

You couldn't help but grin back. "Neat."

He laughed, wild and free, wrapping his arms tightly around you and swaying back and forth a bit, his weight heavy and grounding and warm in your lap until the last of the unnatural chill was chased from your bones. 

Then he held and kissed you until he got his newly gained power under control and someone knocked on the door.

It were his hunters and for the first time they had taken off their masks, glowing eyes staring at the two of you with barely contained hope and wonder.

"We're free," Quin said, still in your lap and his grin was delightfully wild and on the edge of unhinged. "You are free to stay or go and never again will you be trapped in a contract."

It didn't surprise you when they stayed, fists pressed over hearts and fealty offered but not demanded. Given, not owned. 

"Marevlous," Quin said when they left again, pressing kisses against your face, leaving smears of blood red behind. "Precious, crafty, devious, mine."

You gripped his hips. "And you're mine."

"Until the end of time," he promised, hands still cradling your face and he pressed your foreheads together. His voice grew quieter, intense, a promise he would have never given that old god, no matter its demands, "For this life and all that follow, until this world crumbles to dust and all the stars have died."

A promise better than any wedding vow you could have asked for. "In each one I will find you," you answered his promise, feeling him press even closer, heat and weight and danger and power. "My soul will always recognize yours."

"Thank you," he whispered, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Thank you, for this gift and for trusting me when you met me. For never shying from me when others didn't even dare to look me in the eye. For giving me everything I ever wanted. For loving me."

You smiled and hugged him back tightly. He already knew that he had given you everything you could have asked for the night he killed for you. All without asking for anything. Without ever taking anything from you.

He had set you free from more than a lethal marriage contract. And now that he had shucked his shackles to an old god, now that he was free and still very much not human, you felt like everything was complete.

You couldn't wait to get that cat and to wake up to love and blood-red smiles for the rest of your life.

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

some notes on how i write the purple guys dlc communicating <3

Psychic-

speaks tersely and seriously, but with a calm self-assurance

intelligent and articulate, speech comes out readily and confidently

his voice is quiet but clear, impossible to shut out. (because of telepathy, it has a kinda echoey effect to it that most people gotta adjust to)

chooses his words deliberately; reserved and will leave unspoken things he deems unnecessary

very straightforward, not very chatty to begin with and doesn't see the point of sugarcoating and small talk

assertive and stubborn, not afraid of confrontation and will flatly respond to it

not charismatic. appeals to people's heads instead of their hearts because he's a psychomancer, a logic-oriented one, and that's kinda his thing

very deadpan and sarcastic, especially with Void

tends to make little witticisms under his breath and subtle references to historical and literary Moments™

drops a lot of iconic one-liners (that he totally wasn't rehearsing in the mirror /s /lh)

more informal and casual when he's alone with his master. but when the rest of the family show up he tends to withdraw and act more formal and professional. typically more emotive around them than others

curses sparingly, avoids doing so during work, might relax when he’s just with his master, probably curses more alone and/or around Void

cold towards people named boyfriend and warm towards people named girlfriend

reserved body language (except with telekinesis lmao), he moves his hands around a little bit but that's about it

confident gait, will walk around the Dearests’ mansion like he owns the place, but can also move silently and scare people <3

when he's really angry (rare) his voice goes extremely quiet, calm, and freezing cold. the very air feels staticky, like it's about to combust

Void-

Confidence Swag 101

speaks in a sort of drawl, a little bit lazy, a little bit flirty

other times he tends to talk fast and sharply, but eloquently; gets impatient if asked to repeat himself

lots of tsk-ing and other dramatic noises ✨

not him using gen z slang lowkey (not to the point where it’s obvious though lmao)

very expressive. his voice flows naturally from being soft to Very Loud as he talks, it (among other things) comes from him playing a character 24/7

ultra rizzler. horrible at expressing genuine feelings and concern towards anyone not named Jet though

opposite to Psychic in that he appeals to people's hearts instead of their heads; aims for people's emotional attachment to him rather than their intelligence

matches the snark level of whoever he's talking to, e.g. he and Psychic are always bouncing light insults back and forth but he's not that sardonic with Space Gang

subconsciously manipulative. it's hard not to be with the sheer power and influence he has, but it's usually unintentional.

very exaggerated body language, loves doing flourishes and dreamy winks lmao. mostly trained himself into it to help catch people's attention.

very practiced, even, and loud gait. carries himself in a way that draws attention, even when he's not immediately recognized.

never swears in his songs or when he's live, not around fellow stars, and probably not directly at the Accretions. might curse when alone. doesn't curse around most friends/acquaintances (i.e. Space Gang, Hood) but does a lot more around Psychic.

when frustrated he drops the theatrics and his voice rises (more fiery than Psychic's, ironically)

when he's angry there's also a vitriol and weight to his tone, and the air grows cold and heavy

Hood-

speaks warmly and with a cheerful lilt, no underlying sharpness or edge

words come out in a steady flow, not a lot of filler words or stuttering

expresses his thoughts honestly and succinctly, leaves a lot unsaid; he's guarded but many people don't realize it

very mild-tempered, the most easygoing of the three. not as intense as Void, not as aloof as Psychic.

matter-of-fact in tone, can get snarky or teasing but always comes back to sincerity

careful and reassuring if he notices someone is upset, tries to give encouragement and compassion

can be awkward or uncertain, but everything he says comes from the heart <3

tone becomes tense and stilted and talks faster when people named epsilon/his fans come up in conversation :(

will surprise Psychic and Void by cursing if he’s annoyed or frustrated. it is a thing he’s capable of, they just baby him too much to recognize it /lh /hj

makes lighthearted jokes to distract attention from himself; a little nervous with all eyes on him

usually the first one who tries to de-escalate tensions and play mediator, but it visibly stresses him out

quick to forgive. also quick to apologize and/or express sorrow, for trauma reasons /hj

energetic, emotive body language. lots of finger tapping, nervous fidgeting, mirroring others

walks with a real spring in his step <3 quick and light on his feet, he barely makes a sound

when he’s angry his voice rises in both pitch and volume and he balls up his fists. it’s surprisingly just as scary as with Void and Psychic because Hood is so difficult to anger.

[sunfloweraro]

I am asking about your book!

I love your fic writing, so I’m very excited about the prospect of a book!

What’s the plot? Who are the main characters? Any fun lore details you’re bursting to share?

(Also November in Australia is evil, I’m dying, how are you holding up?)

YES okay so:

The plot:

Edwin, heir to the throne and very-soon-to-be king, is sent on a quest by his father to prove himself a worthy future king: he must journey far to the west of the kingdom and defeat a terrible evil threatening the kingdom. With the help of Meghan, a royal knight in training, Atla, a physician, and Soarn, an archer, he sets out on this quest, but the longer they travel together, the harder it becomes to keep secrets hidden. And when they finally reach the end of their journey, they discover this great evil isn’t all that it seems—and neither is the king.

The characters (AKA more detail of the above):

Edwin:

- my prince character! He’s 19, almost 20

- Speaks relatively ‘proper’ initially, until the others infect him with their speech patterns

- autistic

- Disabled, but no one except his immediate family know of it. There was an accident when he was 7 which wound up with his leg being crushed by a statue, and even though he’s healed now, it’s permanently weakened and causes him pain, either from flare ups or when he uses it too much (or both!) He blames himself for the accident.

- Best (and only) friend is Meghan. They’ve known each other since they were 4-5 and are extremely close. No romance between them, although Edwin had a little crush on her when they were very, very young, before he found out she doesn’t like men. They laugh about it now.

- Related to the above note: he also gets very jealous when Meghan is with her other friends. His father never allowed him to make other friends—Meghan pushed her way into his life anyway.

- Terrible at taking care of himself. Forgets to eat/sleep a lot

- Does not have a good relationship with either of his parents, but he is desperate to make his father proud, hence why he so readily accepted this quest.

- Used to have an older brother. When a prince from a neighbouring kingdom visited, he and Edwin hit it off quickly. Edwin snuck him into his rooms to keep playing, and when he fell asleep, the other prince stole his master keys, snuck into his brother’s room, and smothered him with a pillow. No one ever believed Edwin when he tried to share the truth. He very much blames himself for his brother’s death.

- Cannot fight for the life of him. Uses a dagger for self-preservation, but again, not good at wielding it

Meghan:

- My royal-knight-in-training character! 19 years old.

- Best friends with both Edwin and Atla

- Comes from a family of scholars. Her parents have aided the king many times and her mother is one of his trusted advisors. She was expected to follow in her parents footsteps, but she prefers to protect from the front lines, and pushed to get into knight training. Her parents do not approve of this

- A handful of months before the book starts, she ran away from home due to her parents attempting to tear her away from her training. They had a fight, and she never went home. She lives on the streets and can’t bring herself to tell Edwin when he’s already got so much on his plate

- Silly, smart and strong, she’s determined to enter into the royal guard and keep Edwin safe when he ascends. She worries about him a lot. She’s also very soft!

- Butch lesbian

- Determined to protect others to the point of self-sacrifice, and is not kind to herself when she fails (which comes from her parents never accepting this choice of hers)

- She tends to have trouble listening to others—once she sets her mind on something, that’s how they’re doing it. This causes issues between herself and Edwin later on, as well as with Atla.

- Miiiight get a teeny crush on Soarn, until she realises the other girl is aroace. (Edwin has the same issue, and they both laugh about it together)

- Fights with a sword primarily, but can use anything as a weapon in a pinch

Atla:

- My physician character! Their age is… ahem. Technically 18, but their body has been in the world for over 300 years. I will elaborate below.

- They’ve been training under the head physician since they were 13, and excelled to the point where they are now one of her assistants. Very useful on this quest.

- Nonbinary!

- They have godly heritage on their mother’s side, giving them golden eyes, hair, and two golden wings upon their back at birth. They were a cherished secret in their village, bringing good luck and always eager to help their community. They took to healing quickly, using magic granted to them from their godly wings to mend broken bones and nasty gashes. However, a terrible man found out about them and moved to the village, befriending them swiftly. They played together in the forest often, until one day, the man led them into the forest and tore their wings from their back. He then buried them alive to get rid of the evidence and used the magic from the wings to trick the kingdom into accepting him as their leader. He also uses the feathers from the wings to stay alive for far longer than any human should

- 300 years later, the gods bring Atla back to life, feeling their unfortunate ending was unjust, and Atla is deadset on revenge, but they have no way to get close to the man who killed them… until this quest is shared with them, five years after they were brought back to life

- Their wings were not brought back with them, and they now have chronic back pain where their wings used to be

- They were taken in by two loving mothers into a massive family, and they love their mamas, but… they miss their first family, and their village. But that’s all long gone now

- Best friends with Meghan, and would kill for her if need be (“I’m a healer, but—“)

- Can speak to animals. No one else knows this yet

- The cook of the group! They cook a lot of old family recipes to help themself feel close to the family they will never see again

- Fights with a hammer! A lot of rage piled up within them from their unjust death and then consequential revival.

- Has… ulterior motives for being on this quest.

Soarn:

- My archer character! She’s 17, almost 18

- Transfem! and aroace!

- She is a Desikah (a race of magical folks in my book who look similar to humans for the most part, but also… a little off. They each drift toward a certain type of magic at birth (fire, water, earth, shadow or light) and very few may wield two kinds of magic. Soarn herself is an earth- and light-type Desikah. The Desikah are very much hated due to a terrible reputation built up by the king (and maintained using magic) and hunted if they are ever caught. But they’re actually a very peaceful group, who care deeply for the world around them and everyone and everything in it.)

- No one but her father (human) knows she is a Desikah (from her mother’s side) and she will not tell anyone for fear of being slaughtered

- Has an animal friend! Her name is Maipa, and she is a Felivus (think, a cat with the back legs and wings of a raven), a magical race of creatures known for their healing abilities and intelligence. (She and Atla talk a lot). Soarn saved Maipa when she was just a kit, mending her broken wing, and Maipa imprinted on her and will stay with her through thick and thin, until death

- Her mother passed away when she was young, and her father is very cold towards her. He taught her how to hunt, however, and she wields her bow expertly, her connection to the earth aiding her in shooting true and striking her prey every time.

- She joins the quest later on, saving Edwin from a blow from a bandit that would have ended his life. She and Edwin do not hit it off well initially (entirely on Edwin’s part) but they both have terrible fathers, and they bond over that.

- She does not have a lot of self-worth initially, due to her father and the terrible community she grew up in. (the others will bash self-worth into her eventually).

Fun lore details:

OKAY SO. The king is clearly a terrible man, but it’s much worse than you think. Hundreds of different races of magical creatures used to roam the land, until the king used the magic in the feathers of Atla’s wings to cast a massive spell upon all humans in his land—one that imbued a deep hatred and distrust in any magic. The creatures were hunted nearly to extinction and banished from the lands. Why did the king do this? He felt magic of any kind was a threat to him and his rule, and he is very much a power-hungry, evil man.

Some magical creatures still live in the kingdom, one most humans don’t know of at all (Atla knew of Felivi as they were around when they were first alive). But most have been forced to other kingdoms, or into hiding���there is an underground community of thousands, hidden away beneath the desert, that the king has no idea of. And they would all love to get revenge on the man who forced them out of their homes :)

(And thank you for asking! November has been MISERABLE. We’ve been hopping between wet and freezing, and then scorching hot and humid T.T I, naturally, have come down with a cold because of the jump in temps. Hoping you’re handling it better!)

[flowerforaheart]

:)

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

tag vent time

[creatediana]

"Just One of Those Things" - lyrics to a jazz standard by American songwriter Cole Porter (1891–1964), famously performed by artists such as Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Blossom Dearie, et cetera.

[timidblues]

⭐️ for mutual bingo!

mutual bingo!

[cynicalmusings]

concert pianist!xiao is currently on the brain…

[daxite]

“ugh people are only hating on homestuck now because they’re embarrased they were a homestuck teen, the comic rules actually 🤓”

no people are hating on homestuck because it’s shit

[eldritchamy]

INTERNAL DOCUMENT - FOR REVIEW PURPOSES ONLY

Proposed Anomaly Classification for Recovered Object #01039-A, pending approval

SCP-[PENDING] - "Inside Out Hurricane"

Containment Class: Euclid Keter Disruption Class: VLAM EHKI Risk Class: Danger

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-[PENDING] is contained almost entirely within the boundaries of SCP-[PENDING]-A. [PENDING]-A should be kept closed and locked at all times unless otherwise directed by Research Supervisor [Unassigned]. A perimeter is to be maintained around the lot where [PENDING]-A sits at all times by Foundation staff posing as private security. A gated fence no less than 25ft in height should be placed around all entrances to SCP-[PENDING]-A to obstruct view from publicly accessible areas near the site. Description: SCP-[PENDING]-A is a large industrial facility with hangar-style doors at either end as well as 5 smaller staff entrances. The building is approximately 150' by 490' by 35' in volume. Brand markings on the hangar are heavily degraded, but the logo appears to have superficially resembled an unusual crown-like shape composed of four sets of horns, below which is the text "Ekur Industries, est. [indecipherable]" The exterior of the building is otherwise unremarkable. SCP-[PENDING] is an intense storm contained entirely within the interior dimensions of [PENDING]-A. The storm features extraordinary wind speeds and heavy rain that fully obscures vision beyond 2.1 meters, though lightning flashes are occasionally visible through the storm. No recording equipment has been recovered after entering the storm barrier. A specially constructed anemometer anchored from outside the building measured a sustained wind speed of at least 287.4 mph (462.5 km/h, 421.5 ft/s, 128.5 m/s), exceeding the highest reliably recorded non-tornado wind speed on Earth. Gust speeds were recorded up to 422 mph before the device suffered a catastrophic failure, prior to the completion of a 5-minute mean speed test. The maximum structural integrity of the device was designed to withstand wind speeds up to 465 mph. Water samples collected after expulsion from the storm barrier are consistent with that of non-anomalous Earth seawater. A best-fit analysis suggests the water originated somewhere in the north Arabian Sea or the Persian Gulf. The internal dimensions of the storm are unknown but believed to exceed the external dimensions of the building by a considerable margin. A successful method of measuring the scale of the storm has yet to be devised.

Addendum 01039-A.02: An exploratory mission was conducted at Entrance B, one of the staff entrances to SCP-[PENDING]-A located on the southwest exterior wall. Entrance B leads to a raised section of the facility interior presumably used by a site administrator. Much of the accessible area is unremarkable, containing various maintenance equipment and standard water and electrical infrastructure. A door of unusual construction sits at the highest accessible point within Area B. The door is a seamless, dusty tan stone that leaves no gaps around the edges, has no visible handle or opening mechanism, and is featureless apart from an adjacent sign that reads, "IT IS FORBIDDEN." Addendum 01039-A.03: EXPLORATORY LOG FOR AREA B, ██/██/20██ The first sign of something unusual was Research Advisor 2381. As soon as he saw the warning sign outside the stone door, he stopped dead and pointed at it. What follows is an audio transcript for the exploratory mission, consisting of Research Team 2381 (Dr. █████ ████████), 2607 (████ ███████), Research Lead 1670 (Dr. "█████ ███" ████████), and Mission Supervisor 0983 (Dr. ██████ █████), as well as several D-Class security personnel. 2381: "No one said that sign was in Spanish." 2607: "It's not." 2381: "Exactly." 2607: "Come again?" 2381: "I'm seeing it in Spanish." 1670: "Cognitohazard?" 0983: "Not necessarily." 1670: "[2381], what was your first language?" 2381: "Spanish." 0983: "Psychic. Everyone here have anti-memetic training?" [various noises of assent} 0983: "Good. What we're dealing with just got more interesting. If there's anything conscious behind that door, it could be anything from a low level psychic to a reality bender. Keep that Kant counter on. [2607], if you hear so much as a BLIP on that thing you call it out IMMEDIATELY."

Approximately 1 hour 16 minutes later, the team successfully opened the door and proceeded inside.

2607: "Clear so far." 2381: "Let's hope it stays that way." 0983: "Well, well. What have we here?" 1670: "Mission control be advised the room looks like an office, but everything in it is...out of place. It looks more like a museum than anything. Various maps and texts pinned to the walls. Some old artifacts. Very old statuettes and things. Normal looking desk with a lot of papers on it. There's a large viewing window overlooking the storm. Can't see a fucking thing through it, of course. Can't hear it either, though, so the glass is VERY solid. Soundproofed somehow." 2381: "Map on the wall shows ... Middle East, but it's not modern. It LOOKS like it was taken from a satellite, but there's ... it's like civilization hasn't happened yet. There's almost no cities on here at all, and I don't recognize any of the names. Might need to bring in [REDACTED] from Site-██, she has a background in Assyriology." 1670: "What is that thing MADE of? Looks like leather." 2381: "Very old leather. Sheep skin, maybe? God I hope it's sheep." 1670: "Desk is covered in old writing. Paper is all falling apart old. There's a tablet, too." 0983: "Is it on?" 1670: "Uh, not that kind of tablet, sir. Some kind of clay or stone. There's writing on it, but ... it's weird." 2607: "CLICK." 0983: "What was that?" 1670: "It's ... I can read it." 2607: "Clicks, sir. Something on the Kant counter." 1670: "I don't even know what LANGUAGE this is." 2381: "I'd guess Sumerian, based on this map. If not older." 0983: "What are you reading, [2607]? 1670: "'You who would come so far, for what do you come?'" 2607: "It's coming from the statue, I think." [several audible pops from the Kant counter] 2301: "Statue ... plaque under it says ... 'The Founder, N. Lil'?" 1670: "'For what do you invoke my name? This place is not your place, our purpose is not your purpose...'" 0983: "[1670], stop reading that right now!" [popping sounds increase in frequency and volume] 1670: "'Petulant children of Amar-Utuk, things of clay and breath, by what right do you seek the unseekable, upon whose honor do you hope to know the unknowable?'" 2607: "Sir... this thing is reading something big." 0983: "I am ORDERING you to stop. Everyone out of the room, NOW. If he keeps reading it, shoot him. He's lost." 2301: "N. Lil. Where have I heard that before?" 1670: "'As I separated the sky and the firmament-'" [multiple gunshots] 1670: "-as I separated the earth from the waters, so shall my winds separate the waters from clay. This domain is not your domain, for all domains by rights are mine alone to rule. You have come too far, and you shall trespass no further." [Kant counter emits a near constant pitch until the sound of glass shattering can be heard, and the storm overtakes the room instantly. The remainder of the audio recording is 10.3 seconds of wind, rain, and thunder before the transmission abruptly ends.]

Addendum 01039-A.04: All members of Exploratory Mission 01039-B are presumed deceased. The exterior of SCP-[PENDING]-A seems to have contained the storm and prevented further breach. Entrance B has been welded shut and all pending exploratory missions are terminated until further notice. Precisely 24 hours after the mission was terminated, a Kant counter was found outside the welded door to Area B. After drying and data recovery, it is believed to be the Kant counter used by EM 01039-B. The final recording logged by the counter showed Akiva radiation and Hume distortion consistent with an Apex tier pluripotent entity. The mechanism by which the entity is contained by [PENDING]-A is unknown. Additional research funding has been requested.

Addendum 01039-A.05: Attn. Research Team 10139-A.05, Your request is denied. We were given a clear warning. Maintain perimeter and take no further actions without authorization. MTF Eta-77 and MTF Psi-7 have been notified of your status and will be in touch. Regards, O5-11

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