#not my best web weave by any means but it made me feel better

[cquackity]

langston hughes / karese burrows / margarita karapanou / wendell berry / glennon doyle melton

[tusks-and-claws]

Miguel being depressed and picking up an anomaly who notices and is sweet and understanding with him.

Okay I'll write some feelings just this once because I like this. Reader is the anomaly in question. SFW angst/feelings under the cut

And it arrived in the unlikely form of a hulking figure in red and blue. He leaped through the darkness in near silence, binding you up with neon red webs as you struggled to break free. Was this Spider-Man? He didn't look like the Spidey from your dimension. And you, apparently, didn't look like any anomaly he'd ever seen. You looked so scared, so confused. Utterly helpless. When he finally realized that something was amiss, his mask retracted into his suit, revealing his face. It was angular and strong, but there was such weakness in his eyes. It struck you, and you stopped struggling.

-

You didn't know what an anomaly was until you became one, falling out of your dimension and into another. The experience was far more painful than you ever would have been able to predict. You looked out of place, you felt it, your body knew it. The longer you were there, the more it hurt. Until help arrived.

He approached you slowly, his hands up, showing you he didn't mean any harm. "I don't know what's going on," he said, his voice low and level. "But I do know that we need to get you out of here." Apologetically, he released you from his webbing and lifted you up into his capable arms. He carried you through a new portal that he created, bringing you to his headquarters.

There, he placed you in an orange containment device of some kind, and the light of it made you squint. "To keep you from glitching," he had said. "Wish I could give you a day pass, but I don't want to set a bad example. At the very least, I'm expediting the process to get you home. But there are some dangerous characters that need to be prioritized." You nodded. You understood as best you could. He asked you about yourself. And you both learned that there was a version of you from a different dimension that became some kind of villain. Your matching DNA confused whatever presence or influence transported you, and so there you had been, traveling through space and time without a single inkling as to why. A completely regular person in your own world, but a villain in another.

You were in a line, now, a line to eventually go home. The man who saved you seemed to feel terrible about you being there. It wasn't your fault that your interdimensional counterpart was evil. He brought you food and drink from the cafeteria. Empanadas, burgers, all sorts of things. One day, he sheepishly brought you a burger with a bun that looked like his mask. It made you laugh, and that seemed to soften him like nothing else had.

"What about you?" You eventually asked him from inside of your cage. He told you his name, Miguel, but not much else. "It's just that... you look so sad." You admitted.

"I know what it's like to feel so out of place."

"No," you said. "It's more than that." He picked his head up at that, suddenly on guard. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm sorry. You do so much good. Surely, it outweighs whatever is hanging over you."

"Nothing will ever outweigh it...." He finally said, his expression tortured. "I do all of this because I know what happens when someone doesn't do it. I've made that mistake, and I can never take it back."

You shared a moment of silence with him before saying, "I hope you can at least rest knowing that you saved me. You're my hero because of that. Your past and your mistakes don't matter to me. You'll always be the man that saved my life."

He actually smiled at that. It was small but genuine.

The day came when it was finally your turn to go home. He brought you another burger with his mask on it. A goodbye gift. The sentiment tasted better than the burger ever could. He watched from the platform below as the machine detected your DNA signature and started to weave an enclosure around you. When the portal opened, Miguel's face was the last thing you saw before finally going home.

[kmenkea]

Bloodlust - Part 7

Summary: While exploring a cave underneath the village, they come across a deadly fight and an interesting purple gem. Mean, careless comments are thrown around by Leeith, who will regret it after conversing with the vampire.

Word count: 4.2k

Read on Ao3

(I'm looking at this sketch after weeks and i want to make so many changes, but I'm not home with my graphic tablet >:( )

The morning after, it was the drow who awoke everyone and rounded them up in front of her. It was better to break the news now: control the narrative, rather than wait for people to ask questions and start forming little answers in their little heads about what might have happened. 

“It is with great displeasure that I must inform you that the wizard, Gale, left us during the night.” Her companions were puzzled, but she continued to speak before they could ask any question. “I’m not sure if he ever spoke to any of you about his condition. Much like our friend Karlach, Gale also had something in his chest. But, unlike you, his heart held something much more potent, that would have levelled an entire city and more if left unchecked. He informed me yesterday that absorbing the Weave from artefacts wasn’t calming down his hunger and was at a loss of what to do. Travelling with us could have put everyone’s life in danger, so he decided to go and take care of the matter. He entrusted us with the question of the tadpoles and will return to us once the Absolute has been dealt with. Questions?" She crossed her arms behind her back, appearing like a general in front of her soldiers. 

"What? I can't believe he just left, why didn't you stop him?" Wyll muscled his way to the front of the group. 

"Because unlike Karlach's, his condition is not controllable in the slightest. Should I have endangered everyone in this camp? The druids and tieflings of the grove? All of Baldur's Gate if he was to last that long before being consumed?" She stopped, looking down and taking with what seemed like deep remorseful breath. "Sometimes, doing what's best means sacrificing oneself. He chose well and I'm sure even alone he will be able to come up with a solution. He was, in his words, a prodigy and Mystra's favourite. He will survive this."

There were a few more questions about him after that, which the drow answered by claiming she was trying to just protect everyone, like a leader should do. She couldn't tell if someone had seen behind the virtuous mask she was wearing, but if they did, they didn't care about informing the others. 

The group of four, Karlach, Astarion Shadowheart and herself, left camp to explore more of the village, with the intention of moving towards the main goblin camp. The only thing left to check out was just the well. The cave they lowered themselves into was full of spider web and it smelled of the underdark. If it wasn't for the foreboding aura of the place, made worse by the tadpole conjuring images of future deaths, the drow would have probably felt at home. 

They arrived in an open room, with large chasms that plunged into almost darkness. There were webs connecting the columns that constituted the upper floor, while below they could see a few egg sacks and blue spiders, not native to the underdark, recognised the drow. What really scared the drow was the large spider matriarch walking over the webs. She also had a blue tint, but darker. First thing first, she had to get rid of the egg sacks, before the little ones could surround them. 

She looked at Astarion and motioned her hand towards the eggs hatching on one of the pillars, past a web bridge. There was a rock he could hide behind while smashing them, but he was going to be the closest to the mother, so he had to be careful. Next she sent Karlach, who had to climb some roots to reach the eggs on the floor below. There were other enemies there, so she had to be quick and careful. The drow, well, she was going to feel bad about smashing spiders that weren't even born yet and pray to her Quarvalsharess for forgiveness. Astarion destroyed the first few eggs and so did the barbarian, stomping on them. Leeith didn't spontaneously combust, so either Lolth wasn't watching, or she didn't care about these spiders. 

The vampire returned safely, cleaning webs from his daggers and ankles. 

“Yuck. Remind me, why do you worship these foul creatures again?” He shook his hand, trying to throw away a piece of sticky web. “I hope this is worth it.” 

“The ones in the underdark are all fuzzy and can give you big hugs. Want to try some time?” Said the drow, earning a face of pure disgust from Astarion. He couldn't respond, before they heard the tiefling scream.

“This shit teleported in front of me!” Followed by the sound of a steel hitting the ground and a fiery roar. The matriarch spider and two smaller ones ran towards Karlach, allerted by all the noise. Astarion was the first to sprint into action, hitting the matriarch with his crossbow. Even if the bolt was sticking out of her carapace, she didn't seem bothered. The vampire cursed and stepped back into the shadow, looking for a weak spot. 

The cleric stood up and rushed into action at the side of Karlach, shield up and ready to defend herself. Leeith didn't jump down to the tiefling, where all the beasts were, but remained at the edge of the pillar; spiders ran down her arm, growing on her palm to be pushed away in a forceful blast. The matriarch looked towards her: its figure vanished from that spot and reappeared a few metres away from the drow, launching an attack with her mandibles. From up close, the beast was more than enormous, casting its shadow over her. She gritted her teeth and stepped backwards as fast as she could, trying to get away from the onslaught; the terrain was so uneven, full of rocks and slippery sand, it was a miracle she didn’t fall over. In retaliation she pointed at the matriarch, who ignited and burnt thanks to her fire spell. The beast screamed in pain and the smaller spiders teleported to her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see another set of eggs breaking open. She was surrounded by them and wondered if it just wasn’t Lolth’s punishment. 

“Karlach, Shadowheart, group up!” She screamed. Another arrow hit the mother, as Astarion came out of the shadows from behind her.

Whilst Shadowheart ran to the vines and began climbing them back up, the barbarian leaped in the air, clearing the massive height with unnatural ease. Her sword was already up over her shoulder and she swung it down on one of the spiders, smashing it. She roared victorious, ready to face the matriarch. 

Now that they were all together, the drow was slightly less worried, but they were still more than outnumbered. They concentrated on the beast, who by far posed the greatest threat, but all of her children were wearing them down, nipping and biting to spill blood. Even Shadowheart couldn’t do much to help, since she had way too many spiders around her to be at people’s side and cure them properly. Astarion was trying to dart in and out of cover, but it was hard to remain unseen with all of these beasts. 

The matriarch too was looking worse for wear, especially after Karlach had chopped off one or two of its legs. Its attacks became more violent and less precise: Leeith didn’t know if spiders could experience fear, but that’s what seemed to be happening. It was Shadowheart who put the mother out of its misery, burning it from the inside with a bolt of radiant light. It was easy to take care of everything else, especially now that their hearts burst with confidence. 

The tiefling dropped face first on the ground, panting like she had run a marathon, huffing up small clouds of dust; she didn’t look that hurt, she was just being dramatic. They all took a few minutes to lick their wounds. The drow especially got some weird looks when she started to suck on her wounds on the arms and ankles, spitting bitter blood on the ground. 

“What?” She asked, her teeth painted in red and a raised eyebrow. 

“Darling… are you playing vampire now? You know I won’t turn you, right?” There was slight disgust in his voice. 

“Thanks to the Weaver for that.” She rolled her eyes at Astarion. “If anything even slightly insect shaped bites you in the underdark, the first thing you do is suck up your blood and spit it out, in case there’s venom.” 

“You could just have an antidote or use a spell. Besides, that's an old myth: you can't suck venom from a wound.” The cleric crossed her arms, already standing up and ready to go. 

“I still don’t want poison in my veins.” The drow put her boots back on, feeling embarrassed. 

“Aw, look Astarion, she’s trying to keep her blood clean for you.” Teased the cleric, earning a chuckle from the vampire. Leeith mumbled in undercommon, mimicking both of them, but kept her head low to hide her face. She knew she was right and besides, they were all surface dwellers, what could they know? 

Once she got up, still grumpy, they went to explore the lower floor of the cavern, finding mostly just skeletons picked clean of meat. The chasm below kept them on the edge, afraid of falling down, especially Karlach, who dared not look down and always walked with her back attached to solid rock. They found an old robe on one of the corpses and, a few steps away from it, a purple gem that glowed lightly. 

“Bet this could fetch some gold.” commented Leeith, showing it off to the group and promptly opening her back pack to stuff it in there, among the mess of scrolls, papers, potions and trinkets. And the Necromancy of Thay. The tome trembled when the gem hit it, reacting to it. 

“Is that the key?” Said Shadowheart, leaning to take a better look at whatever was happening. 

“I would assume. How did it end up here though?” The drow took out the book and gem: the two did seem to fit together. 

“Please, we’re already in the dark spider cave, don’t unlock the creepy book her-” Before the tiefling could finish, Leeith stuffed the mouth of the tome with the purple gem. Its eyes started glowing a bright purple and something called her in, a profane whisper that promised everlasting powers. Her thumb lingered on the edge of the lock, ready to push on it, but she hesitated: she scoured through her mind, trying to remember something, anything about the book. She tried to decipher what those dark voices were saying, anything that could cast away the doubts of these pages being cursed. Nothing came. She turned the book, avoiding its gaze in an effort to flee from that presence. 

The looks on Shadowheart and Karlach were ones of worry. She expected the same when she glanced at the vampire, but he just seemed eager and waiting on something. She handed the tome to him without saying a word: he smiled and raised his eyebrows in approval, mixed with a tad of surprise. It was a calculated risk: if hidden powers truly resided within that book, then she could have used them through Astarion, granting his aid in battle; if only a curse was hiding beneath the pages, then it would have been easier to let him deal with it and, at worse, put him down. It wouldn’t be the first time she turned on a friend, she would be able to cope with losing another. 

“If you get cursed, don’t come crying to me.” Warned Leeith, before letting go. 

“Oh, of course, I’ll be extremely careful with the evil-looking, skin-bound book. Trust me.” He smirked arrogantly. She nodded in approval, dismissing his cockyness. “Shall we return to camp for today? My hair is full of cobwebs and I can't stand it a moment more here.” He didn't wait for an answer before walking past everyone, leading the way forward. 

The camp set up in the village was fairly unusual. No one had set up their tent, preferring to throw their bed rolls inside the less ruined houses. Most chose to be inside the old smith shop, a large well covered area, pretty cosy as long as one minded the large hole in the ground. Shadowheart and Leeith preferred instead to stay in the apothecary, to make use of the ingredients and alchemy sets. Astarion had claimed the bedroom in that same building for himself, content to lay on the giant mattress, even if most of the wall was gone. 

Before bed, they grouped up in front of the fireplace in the smith’s house, sharing a meal of fire roasted meat and red wine. The only one missing was Astarion, who had to go hunt now that the drow wasn't supplying her own blood. She kept glancing outside for signs of his return, but for the whole night, she didn't see anything. There was a slight worry, but he was capable enough to survive on his own. At least she hoped. City dwellers of high social status like the vampire weren't known for their survival skills.

They played a few games of cards, with Lae’zel losing her temper whenever she was confused by the rules, resorting to asking for a duel to set who was victorious. No one really took her on the offer and Wyll decided to stop playing, to guide the gith through the rules. Shadowheart, on the opposite end of the spectrum, kept teasing her about it, so much that the drow had to ask her to stop before the Githyanki would actually attack her. It was harder for Karlach to play, considering whenever she touched the cards, they would get gently singed by her hot fingertips. Scratch was comfortably sitting by Leeith’s side, occasionally placing his head on her lap to ask for pets. 

They retired to their bedrolls fairly late, the drow having to drag a drunk Shadowheart across the street to their refuge. She didn't bother with finding a nightgown and the cleric seemed pretty happy with sleeping in her camp clothes. 

It was still too early to trance for the drow and she wasn't tipsy enough to need to lay down. Everything in the night was quiet and dark, even the moon was covered by thick clouds. She could see yellow and gold shimmers, torchlight and fires from the goblin camp in the distance, but around her it was all a shade of grey and blue. She was resting her elbows on a guardrail, the stairs connecting with the old apothecary's bedroom. She kept hearing murmurs from somewhere behind her, but the doors at her back were swung open and the room was empty and cold. The wall was destroyed, so she could see behind the house, in a small square, and even there was nothing. The forest was near, so it could have been some weird animal or goblins who had strayed too far from the pack - hardly anything to be bothered about. The drow sighed and went to give a better look to the square, but still nothing. Except the murmur, which seemed closer, but coming from the roof. 

“Come on, Come on. What are you hiding?” It seemed to say, between gritted teeth. Was it a thief, maybe looking for easy prey in an abandoned village?

She looked above her, trying to find a way to get up on the roof. In a flash, she remembered the ladder on the wall by the guardrail. She ran there, trying to keep quiet, and began climbing. The ladder was pretty old and creaky, but still got her to the top.

“Can you summon the dead? Bring them back? Can you - Ugh, can you shut up and let me read?” The drow crouched down, recognising the voice of the vampire. What was he doing up here? She kept spying on him, getting closer: a faint purple light came from what he was holding. She recognised it as the necromancy tome they had found. He mumbled to himself, struggling to even turn the pages. His mind was so captured by the book, that he didn’t notice the drow standing right beside him. Did he come all the way up here not to be disturbed?

“No, I won’t kill them. Well, maybe Shadowheart… I can’t. I won’t. Now - stop! Let. Me. Go! Ah… Hello!” He snapped the book close and his face was dark again, illuminated only by the moon. He looked up to Leeith, slightly surprised. 

“Good Book?” She sat down, crossing her legs, a bit weary of whatever was happening. He took a moment to respond, weighing his words.

“A unique read, certainly. A tome of necromancy, guarded by spirits. I almost reached the end before they drove me out. And drove me all but mad.” He clicked his tongue and his voice pitched up in frustration. “Now everytime i open it, the voices surge back into my mind. I can’t reason with them; they exist to protect that book.” He sighed, looking defeated.

“Is there anything we can do? Maybe we’re missing some other piece?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to know what’s lurking in here. Someone went through a lot of trouble to protect this tome. It has to be more than a book of cantrips.” He lifted it up, staring at it, the purple haze reflecting off his hair and skin again. “Still, I doubt this will help us with our parasites. Maybe it’s better to put it away for now.” He placed it down, but he didn’t look fully convinced. It seemed more that he just wanted to hide it away from her. 

“What were you hoping to find in there?” She pressured him.

“It’s a book of necromancy, full of secrets about controlling the dead, returning the dead to life and who knows what else.” He sounded like he was explaining the obvious, but with a smile on his face. “Whatever’s in here, it might give me an edge over my old master Cazador. Or free me from him entirely. Although I can’t make any progress as long as those spirits remember their mission. It seems to be all they know. Still, if nothing else, maybe I can beat Cazador to death with it.” His eyes gleed at the thought. 

“Truly, you’ve discovered how to really use this heavy, heavy knowledge. Attach it to a stick for better reach.” She joked. “But next time don’t do it on a roof in the dead of night, I beg you: I was about to blast you thinking you were a thief.” She held his gaze: his expression was subtle, a little smirk, but his eyebrows were gritted, studying her more than anything. Was he annoyed about the blasting comment? She would have just tried to defend their belongings. It wasn’t her fault if he went around camp like a burglar.

“I’ll keep that in mind, my sweet. I know how much you enjoy talking about blasting people.” His expression returned pompous, masquerading whatever thoughts his mind gears were conjuring. It was fine, he was allowed his little secrets. Furthermore, she was too tired to have a squabble. Better to be friendly for now.

“And blasting them too. It’s so fun!” She smiled innocently, calm like the night. The air itself seemed to relax around them because of her influence. “I should teach you. Mh. Well I don’t know if you can learn how to do it without a pact with another being. And I don’t think I’m quite powerful enough to lend you my power.”

“Ugh, I’m trying to get rid of my master, not switch it for another. Delicious as you are, I don’t think that’s worth giving up what’s left of my soul.” The vampire pointed at his chest, still like water, no heart beating inside nor air flowing through his lungs. 

“My soul is already Lolth’s to take. When I bound myself to my mortal valsharess, I swore only unconditional loyalty and servitude.”

“Being a slave to a drow matriarch is only good in the confines of a bedchamber. Yet that’s hardly what I long for, darling.” The drow raised an eyebrow, suggestively, but decided that conversation path was to be saved for another night. 

“I’m not a slave. I could refuse to do her bidding, I would just lose my powers and never be able to return home again. To me, that's death. I would be cast away like a traitor-” She stopped herself from oversharing, letting out a heavy breath. “All that I mean is that not every pact needs a soul in exchange, silly. I would rather have your trust… and your fealty.”  She added the last part with absolute seriousness, furrowing her brow and hardening her face. He nodded and looked away, thinking.

“Trust and drow are more than an oxymoron. It’s only a matter of time before the matriarch turns on you or you on her, especially if your strength grows. I know who to bet on if that sort of battle might happen - and to be clear, not on you.” He stressed his last words by flicking his index left and right. 

“I would be offended, but you aren’t wrong on me losing. At least you can make a fortune on my skin.” She smirked and leaned just a bit closer to him, looking from under her brow. “Yet you are one to talk of loyalty, blood-sucker. You can’t tell me with a straight face that you aren’t just as prone to backstabbing and deceit as me: I recognise my people.” Her voice was lower, seductive, an intimate secret whispered in the dark, inviting the vampire to her world of shadows and blades hidden in velvet. 

“How could you think such a thing?” He hummed, chuckling. “You said you trusted me when I had your blood the first time; You trusted me yesterday in that pretty clearing. Have you suddenly changed your mind, Leeith? Did what we share not count for anything?” The drow looked for any hidden meaning in his words, but she only found a handsome pale face. 

“Oh, of course I trust you, Astarion. I wouldn’t be up here discussing loyalty otherwise. I trust everyone in fact. We’re social creatures: we wouldn’t be able to build cities and traverse mountains if we didn’t trust one another.” She stopped, distancing herself again. “I just believe one should always be vigilant and prepare for betrayal. If you’re scared of me just taking the necessary precautions, then, maybe… you do have something to hide?”

“Guilty as charged.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It might shock you, but I am a vampire, ha-ha.” Leeith gasped and covered her mouth. If he just wanted to play, fine, she was mostly sure she didn’t have anything to worry about around him.

“Oh dear, how could you hide such a thing from me?” She dried a fake tear. “You know I only sleep with werewolves.” 

“For some reason I’m not entirely surprised you would like to lay with half animals, darling.” He remarked with a foul grimace that looked a bit too genuine. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You know I’m joking, right?” She was puzzled and a bit offended that he could think such a thing of her.

“Oh? Oh dear, terribly sorry. I would reassure you I never doubted that, but it would be a lie, wouldn’t it?” Now, sarcasm was slipping through his lips like an everflowing wine goblet. The drow raised her head snobbishly and got up, dusting off her clothes.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now. Being called an animal fucker was a horrible way to end the day. ‘Night, Darthiir.” With a wave of her hand, she stepped away from the edge. Astarion said his goodbyes swiftly, with no intention of getting down from the roof, maybe in an effort to delve deeper in the hexed pages. Leeith stopped midway between him and her destination, turning around again.

“Give it some time before you try and read that book again: mental fatigue won’t help you fend off whatever those spirits are doing.” Her voice was made sweeter by a slight hint of worry for her friend.

“Yes, yes, I know. If I get cursed I’m on my own and you won’t help me.” He dismissed the drow with a wave of his hand. She stood there for a few moments more: she kind of regretted telling the elf not to cry to her if he got cursed. 

“Well, what I meant is that if you do get cursed, depending how strong it is, I won’t be able to really do much to help. But I can try and help you avoid getting cursed; I have studied magic unlike you, I might be able to give you some… reading tips, let’s say.” He got up as well, elegant like water. 

“A generous offer, darling, but not one I’ll make use of in a long while for now. You can rest easy. Shall we go? This roof is awfully unfit as a seating place.”

[anosrepasi]

10 and 20 for the writing ask!!

Hello dear one! Thank you for the ask :D 20. How would you describe your writing process? Honestly, the best way to describe my process is web-weaving. Writing comes easiest to me when I can pull in a bunch of unrelated topics or content and use those to help create the structure of the fic around the plot points I want to cover. I'm mostly like this because I am a very curious person by nature and down to learn about almost anything, and also this is how my brain functions. I learn by connecting unrelated topics and finding overlap or differences in the material. This also means that I get stuck on very silly little things in fics because I haven't fleshed them out. A lot of my video game writing suffers because my brain refuses to want to cover the main plot points that show up in a video game unless i can put a spin on them and expand on the situation. However, if I just need that scene for a transition or to establish a piece of information I literally cannot get it written. Knowing this about myself has made me better about it, or better with being okay leaving things out unless i have something to say about them.

Other than that, I don't have much of a process beyond almost always having background music for my writing sessions curated to the fandom/fic/characters/pairing depending on what exactly i need to write.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) First of all, I adore this question and want everyone to know they can ask me this whenever they want and I will write them a novel about whatever fic strikes their fancy. I have. I have so much "directors commentary" on all my fics.

First up is something from Kint because you're partial to Kint and I want to make sure you get a behind the scene that you enjoy. So in Chapter 2 where I introduced Shep, I have a section talking about "if someone ventured into the vault at this exact moment" and then use that section to set the scene for describing the setting of the vault and what Shep has woken up to instead of keeping it in her perspective for the entire chapter. I originally was inspired by a writing breakdown from a scene in one of Terry Prachett's books to describe a big traumatic event that way and Kint was my exercise in applying that writing method. The funny thing about that is I have never actually ready any of Terry Pratchett's books but everything i every read about them makes me feel like I'd learn a lot from his writing. However. I haven't actually gotten around to doing that.

Second is a director cut moment from Chapter 2 of Prima Lingua, which I realize I haven't shared except in a comment recently. So the formatting of that chapter is incredibly deliberate down to the page breaks from when Nicolo is shoved overboard down to the depth marker of (1090 ft). Every single line in that section correspond to one ft of depth in 20"ft"/page break increments so that the reader is experiencing depth along side Nicolo as they read. The depth of 1090ft comes from the most recent world record for deepest dive conducted by a human with only scuba equipment, which belongs to Amed Gabr who reached that depth (1090ft and 4.5 inches) in 2014. Thank you so much for the ask!

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[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon���?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[ohheyitsokay]

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

-

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

-

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

-

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

-

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[fireinmoonshot]

SPIDER | BUCKY BARNES x READER | PART FIVE

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR Summary: Bucky doesn’t know what to make of you when he meets you. You’re friends with Sharon, and you seem pretty easy to read on the surface. But the more time he spends with you, the more he seems to uncover, and the more he becomes tangled in the web you unwittingly weave. Pairing: female!Reader x Bucky Barnes Fandom: Marvel / The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Word Count: 2,501 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER. A/N: I had honestly intended to squeeze the rest of Episode 4 into this part but this one particular scene ended up being longer than I’d expected it to be, so I decided to put it all into one part and I’ll just do the rest in another part. Especially because this particular scene is quite important to the relationship between Bucky and reader. Thank you once again for reading and do let me know your thoughts!

The plan had been simple. The four of you were going to head to Donya’s funeral and try and talk to Karli. Sam had spoken to Sharon – you’d been a little annoyed that you hadn’t been able to talk to her, though you’d pushed that to the side for now – and settled on a plan.

Not too long after your conversation with Bucky, you’d left Zemo’s apartment to head to the location of the funeral. And then you’d turned a corner and spotted the unmistakable suit of blue and red. The wannabe Captain America had found you.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!” Walker calls, heading down a flight of stairs at speed towards you. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen the man in person and honestly, you’re not phased by him. Even when you’d seen Steve Rogers on TV, it was obvious how different he was, how special. To you, John Walker seems like nothing more than someone trying to be something that they aren’t. It irritates you to see him in the suit.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Ah! How’d you find us now?”

Despite the fact that there were several people on the street, attention hadn’t been on you before. Now that Captain America was here, and yelling at that, every single set of eyes was on you. You shrink a little at the attention, shoving your hands deep into the pockets of your coat and shuffling a little closer to Bucky and Sam.

Bucky notices and moves closer to you unintentionally.

Lemar chuckles. “Come on. You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?”

“We were certainly doing fine before now,” you mutter.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker continues. “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison. And who the hell this new chick is and why she’s with you. Last I checked, she’s not an Avenger.”

Bucky stands a little taller. “He did that himself, technically. And she’s a friend, not a chick. That’s all you need to know about her.”

“Oh, this better be an unbelievable explanation!”

Sam steps up and holds a hand up to stop Walker as the two groups finally come together. “Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.”

Walker  looks pissed off. Honestly, you feel the same way.

“I know where Karli is,” Zemo steps up. He says the words, figures that they’re all he needs to get by and starts to go around Walker, intending to lead the way. Instead, Walker stops him.

“Well, where?”

“All we know is, it’s a memorial. So we’re gonna intercept her there.”

You look past Zemo and spot one of the children he’d been speaking to earlier watching you all anxiously. The sight of her makes you want to throw a punch Zemo’s way, and you hate that he made this innocent child trust him so easily. Bucky can sense the change in you. He nudges your shoulder with his and you snap to look at him. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand what he means.

“That means civilians. High risk of casualties,” Lemar adds.

“All right, good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.”

You roll your eyes. “Good? How is that good?”

Bucky snorts.

Sam ignores both of you. “No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again,” Walker shakes his head.

“Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable. If there’s any time to reason with her, it’s now,” Sam argues.

The words strike a chord with Walker. He hurries ahead in front of all of you, forcing you to stop. “What? No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay? I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.”

Lemar agrees. “Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you.”

“And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die.”

You step forward. “Then I’ll go in. Karli doesn’t know who the hell I am, and maybe it’d help – woman to woman, you know? And hey, if something goes wrong and I die, at least it’s not an Avenger dying at her hands. It’s just me.”

Bucky’s head snaps up at your words. Fear strangely spikes in his veins that you’d even suggest that and he shakes his head instantly. “No. No way are we sending you in there alone.”

“I mean, it’s not a bad idea,” Walker admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “Look at the alternative. You letting your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone. Would you really let him do that?”

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.” He says straight-faced. “And she is not going in there either. It’s a damn bad idea and we all know it is.” He turns to you. “You included.”

Sam sighs and walks past the both of you so he’s face to face with Walker. “I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.”

“Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea. That’s why it’s a better idea to send the girl in there – like she said, it’s better her dying than an Avenger, right?”

You see Bucky take a step forward out of the corner of your eye and twist to stand in front of him before he can get to Walker, a hand going out in front of you and resting on his chest. You push him gently. “Don’t, Bucky.”

“You’re not going in there.”

He feels protective. He doesn’t know why, but Sam has an idea. He watches the two of you, sees something pass between you, and furrows his eyebrows. He hadn’t seen it coming, that’s for sure. Hadn’t seen you to be the one to bring out the ever protective side of Bucky Barnes that Sam really hasn’t seen in a long time. He hadn’t seen Bucky acting this way over anyone. And yet here you were, days after meeting him, making Bucky fear for your life on your behalf. Sam doesn’t know what to think.

Bucky lets out a long, shaky breath and then finally looks at you and meets your eyes, tearing his glare away from Walker. “You’re not going.”

“Okay, fine,” you relent, voice soft. “I won’t go in there.”

He steps back and nods, trying to calm himself down, and you step away from him, not wanting to crowd him too much after your apparently bad idea. You hadn’t expected him to react so much. In fact, you’d expected Sam to be all for the idea, and for Bucky to go along with it. Even if he was starting to trust you, his reaction to your suggestion had been entirely surprising. You stare down at the cobblestoned street beneath your feet and frown. What was he thinking? And why had he reacted that way?

“John,” Lemar starts, once he senses the tension has gone down a little. “If Sam can talk her down, it might be worth a try. And since we’ve just established that she’s not going in there…”

Walker and Sam share a look before Walker finally gives up. He looks over at Zemo. “We’ll deal with you later.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.” Zemo points to the child and begins the walk towards her again.

You, unwillingly, follow him. Bucky makes sure he stays close to your side, as if he’s afraid that you’re going to run off and do something reckless. You doubt he’d let you get the chance.

A few minutes into the walk, he finally talks to you. But his voice is quiet. You’re walking at the back of the group and he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “Why would you even suggest going in there to talk to Karli?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You frown. “It seemed like the best idea.”

He shakes his head. “You dying is not a good idea.”

“What does it matter, anyway? I said it. I’m not an Avenger. It was a good idea. And I think it could have worked if you’d let me. No one would miss me.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I find that hard to believe.”

“No, it’s true!”

“What about Sharon, huh? She’d miss you.”

You kick at a loose stone on the road. “She hasn’t even spoken to me since I left.”

“What about me, then?”

His question takes you by surprise. “You?”

He nods. “Yeah, what about me?”

“You would miss me?” You could laugh. “Sure. You barely know me.”

Bucky feels weirdly irritated by your words. He knows you, he thinks. He knows that he likes you. That you understand him better than any stranger he’s met recently. He knows that you scare him a little bit. That your way of thinking, of reacting, of simply being sets him on edge and makes him feel right at home all at the same time. He clears his throat, tries to come up with an answer that isn’t conspicuous and settles on: “I think I know enough about you to know that I’d notice when you’re not here.”

“That’s not the same thing as missing, Bucky.”

He opens his mouth to reply just as Zemo announces that you’ve arrived and the two of you are forced to pause your conversation. The child leads you into the back entrance of an old building and then disappears. No one questions the location.

As soon as you’re inside, your conversation with Bucky is long forgotten and the mission takes first place. Sam goes off on his own, heading further in while Walker handcuffs Zemo and claims that Sam has ten minutes before you do this his way.

You sidle up to Bucky. “Can I punch him now, or do you want the honour?” You mutter, only loud enough for him to hear. He smirks at your words, though you can see he’s still obviously on edge by the whole situation.

And not just by the situation. Because of you, too. Though you don’t need to know that, Bucky thinks. That, he can just keep to himself.

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky heads towards the stairs that Sam had gone up and leans on the railing, as if guarding the entrance. You suppose he probably is, not wanting Walker to get past him, and decide to settle down on the steps themselves, adding another barrier between Walker, Sam and Karli despite the fact that you’re honestly probably not much of a barrier  compared to Bucky.

It doesn’t take long for Walker to get on your nerves. He’s clearly anxious about Sam wanting to simply reason with Karli instead of kill her on sight. He’s staring at the shield – the very shield that Bucky wants to steal – and you briefly wonder how he’s going to do it. Simply by the way Walker is holding it, you know he’s not going to give it up easily. He holds it tight, like it’s the most important thing in the world to him, and you feel like it probably is.

He starts pacing less than ten minutes after Sam leaves.

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea,” he mumbles as he walks.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight,” Bucky offers.

Walker speaks with venom in his voice. “Don’t do that. Don’t patronise me.”

“He knows what he’s doing.” Bucky is unaffected.

Tension rises in the air between all of you once again, as it always seems to do when Walker is around. It’s been a constant state of tension ever since he joined you.

He walks towards the end of the room, pauses for a moment, and then you can see the way his face changes. He hoists the shield higher, and then walks at speed towards you and Bucky. “I’m going in.”

Bucky stands up and stops him with a hand to his chest.

Walker, surprisingly, backs up. You think he’s going to listen to Bucky for just a moment before he looks up, staring at Bucky with a look you’ve only ever seen in a few people before, and never good people at that. You sit up straighter.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it?” He starts. “All that serum running through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You can’t see the look on Bucky’s face, but you have a feeling you know how he’s looking at Walker. Slowly, you rise to your feet, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Back up, John,” you warn. “If Sam needed our help, we’d know.”

His eyes flicker to you. “Who do you think you are? I don’t even know you. What makes you think I’d listen to you?” He scoffs. “I’m John Walker. Captain America. You’re not an Avenger. You’re no one special, so I think you should be backing up.”

Bucky’s glare hardens. He narrows his eyes and takes a step towards Walker.

“Watch your mouth, John.”

Walker stares between the two of you for a few moments, and then before you know it, he slams the shield into your stomach, knocking you off to the side, and disappears up the stairs and into the building after Sam. You gasp for breath, the wind having been knocked right out of you.

“Asshole,” Bucky hisses, stepping towards you just as Lemar brushes past you.

You shake your head. “I’m fine, go after them.”

He looks worried. You’ve never seen him look at you this way before.

“Bucky, I’m fine. Go.”

He gives you a nod, promises to come back and then hurries out of the room after Walker and Lemar. He’s needed more there, anyway, and you both know it.

You rub a hand over your stomach as you try to breathe again properly.

“You okay?” Zemo calls over to you.

“Yeah, a shield to the stomach is nothing,” you roll your eyes.

It doesn’t take you too much longer to catch your breath, so when you do, you figure Zemo isn’t going anywhere and head out after Bucky, Walker and Lemar, even though you won’t be much – or any – help to them at all, but you can’t stay in that room with Zemo any longer, and truthfully, you’re worried.

Worried about Bucky, even worried about Sam. You don’t have any reason to be worried about them, and you know that, but you are. Bucky especially – he’s confusing you more than anyone has ever confused you in your entire life. You don’t know what to make of him, why he acts the way that he does around you. But whatever the reason is, you want to find out.

***

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[bitch-butter]

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

[spneveryseason]

My Stuff Part 1

Fics

Short Fics

That’s All Free Will, Baby: 15x06 Coda

To Bow and Sue For Grace (poem)

On The Road Again: the first step onto the road of duty is a difficult one. But they have no choice but to go down it.

Earth: coming back to earth in two different ways

Demonic: the moment in which a demon is born

Branded: handprints and skin

Daydream: when daydreams aren’t daydreams

Mask: this is why Sam hates Halloween

Domestic: a day in the life

Heartless: somewhere far along this road he lost his soul

Electric: Dean develops a new fear

Sweet Rides: Cas tries his best

Rock & Roll: Dean’s music is important to him. It hasn’t always been.

Rewind: the past, from different perspectives

Ladies: Mary’s not doing this anymore

Fun & Games: ways to pass the time

Third Eye: Sam never asked for any of this

Switch it Up!: Dean doesn’t like being on this side of it

Autumn Invading (poem)

Dark & Stormy Night: the stories that remain

Pour One Out: the first drink

Fear: here’s how they deal

Medium Fics

iPod: The reminders are everywhere, but this one just never disappears. Post 5.22 "Swan Song", exploration on how Dean copes after the events of S5.

Hemoglobin: Five times Sam hated his blood, and one time he didn’t

Thirty Seven: Sam turns thirty seven. Everyone's excited about it but him.

The Men in the Chevy Impala: "Dean,“ Sam grins, almost manic. "We’re Poirot! Hercule Poirot!" "Excuse me, what?" Or: the boys encounter a mystery that feels very…Agatha Christie. It’s all fun, until it isn’t. Set Season 2, Case fic.

The Special Children: After Dean reveals his Dad’s last words, he asks Sam to lay low for a while. This time, Sam says no. This time, Sam goes all in in his search for the other kids like him. S2 AU

The Specialer Children: Sam finds himself in a strange place, but the people are all familiar this time. Will that be enough to change the outcome?

Out: A god-possessed witch reveals a secret that Sam’s been keeping for a long time. The brothers handle it like mature, well-adjusted adults, for once. Bi!Sam story for pride month, set s15.

Meta

Speculation

On Cas and His Failing Powers

On Supernatural and Storytelling

Dean in 15x04

A Memorable Ending

Chuck’s Mistake

Sam, Dean, and Lilith

Ending Predictions

Chuck’s AUs

The Nature of the Bullet Wound Plot

The Need For an In Universe Change

Billie the Villain?

Bullet Wound Coming Back? (It didn’t)

Sam’s Happy Ending

Trailer Breakdown 1

Trailer Breakdown 2

Trailer Breakdown 3

Trailer Breakdown 4

Deals and Cosmic Consequences: What’s Coming for Cas

The Final Scene: How The End May Be Coming

Amara’s Role

Character Analysis

Cas and Sam’s Dynamic

15x11 and “Normal”

Preseries Sam

John Winchester

A Note on Season 3 Sam

Sam + Cross Imagery

Sam and Mary: Religious Imagery

Because It’s Cas

S4 Sam is S2 Dean

Sam’s Character Flaws

Sam & Kaia

Sam, Dean, and running away

Sam and Mary

Dean, Sam, and John

Sam and Bobby

Dean’s Character Flaws

Cas and Jack’s Character Flaws

Sam, Dean, and Narrative Focus

Worldbuilding Analysis

Ranked List of Season Finales

8x21: The Great Escapist vs 15x04: Atomic Monsters

Favorite Episodes

Supernatural and Free Will: Season 1

Supernatural and Free Will: Season 2

Supernatural and Free Will: Season 3

Fan’s Favorite Episodes

My Season 9 Rant

Inequitable Narrative Balance

Did Chuck Come Out of Left Field?

Is Soulless Sam the Same as Regular Sam?

What Does it Mean to be God in Supernatural?

The Redemption Arc Cycle

The sacrifice speech

What if the trials made you god?

That s10 Finale

Why Are Sam and Dean Never Caught?

What if Mary Had been the Only Survivor

Edits

Images

The Trials of God

Places the Winchesters Called Home

Sam + Conflict in Literature

Favorite Moment in “Baby”

Side Characters Who Deserved Better

Best Outfits

Gifs

Dean & Sam vs Cas & Sam

Web Weaving

Gethsemane (Jesus Christ Superstar) + Sam Winchester

Sam + the Jedi Code

Sam + the Sith Code

Sam + Grip by Bastille

Sam and Anger

Sam + “Sunny”

Sam & Dean + “Vienna”

Quizzes

What spn season are you quiz

[semi-mortal-crayons]

“Twin kestrels who’s hearts beat as one,”

The Young Wolf and her living sister, Jade.

Bonus: a writing piece I made about them

The Sister Kestrels

Uldren always had the best stories, Jade thought.

She watched as the younger Awoken children crowded around him, howling for more of his tales. She sat further to the back. She’d done this a thousand times before, mesmerized by the show.

Uldren moved like an actor, flowing through the air in exaggerated poses with the grace of the kestrels he spoke of. His every move bewitched the watchers, tethering them with his words. He weaved and spun his web, evoking every right emotion in the crowd. They gasped, cried, or cheered at every tug of the strings he pulled. Her prince was a deity, she smiled.

She was so enraptured that she did not notice the light pulls of a young girl on her tunic.

“Miss Jade, you should tell a story too.” She tilted her head at her. Jade did her best to avoid showing her surprise to the child.

“Me?” She pointed to herself.

The girl nodded. “You are always with Prince Uldren! You must have good stories too.”

Jade gulped. The other children had turned to her as well, little lamps of eyes shining their spotlight on her. To her dismay, Uldren had paused as well, turning to look at her.

“Well, I only think it’s right if I let you give it a go.” He held his hand out in beckoning, an infuriatingly charming smile on his face.

Jade slowly walked to the center, sending Uldren a sharp look when none of the children were looking. He only smiled.

Every eye was on her as she stood in the center, the anticipation brewing in the crowd.

“Um..” she took a deep breath. “I-I know all of you know the tale of Rega and Ager.”

The children stared at her, frustratingly silent.

“But, I have a tale about a different pair of kestrels. Born in the same oak as Rega and Ager, a pair of sister eggs were bonded together. Their names were Jain and Myna. When the first sister Jain emerged, she found that her twin was far weaker than herself.” Jade took another breath, the audience fading away. “So she helped Myna from her shell. Myna’s heart was a faint whisper that Jain could barely feel. Jain took it upon herself to stay close, so that Myna’s heartbeat was not lost in her own.”

She was only distantly aware of the far-more interested audience she had in front of her, lost in her tale.

“Together, they flew from the Hollow with Rega and Ager, becoming loyal attendants. Myna never left Jain’s side, and Jain protected her sister.”

She took a breath, the children leaning forward in anticipation.

“But one day, Jain was struck with a vision of a great light, a lantern in the sky. After speaking with Rega and Ager, she was beckoned by Ager to go with him into the sky to help him. Selfishly, she accepted, leaving Myna behind.”

Her audience erupted into a tizzy of whispers and gasps.

“Myna, distraught over her sister’s abandoning, decided to take things into her own hands to help. She went into the depths of a dark cave, in search of the great light Jain foresaw in the vision. But in the cave, rabid wolves roamed the floor. Myna… with her heart so weak, could not flap her wings strong enough to escape.”

Some of the children cried. Uldren kneeled to them, soothing their fears.

“Jain was suddenly struck with silence. Even though her sister’s heart was faint and almost unnoticeable, the dull pain it left was unmistakable. Jain was overcome with grief, as she believed it was her fault.”

Jade looked around at her crowd, noticing their enraptured gazes for the first time.

“Many years passed. The silence that hung in Jain’s breast never faded, until one fateful day.”

She paused, ramping up the tension.

“A stunning light like a lantern erupted from the cave! Myna’s heart beat again, but stronger than any kestrel that came before. Her spirit ascended as the great light from Jain’s vision, and the two sisters were reunited once more. From then on, Jain knew she would not have to be by her sister’s side… as Myna was stronger than she could have ever hoped she would be.”

Jade ended, bowing slightly. She, however, was shaking furiously. The children cheered for her. She hoped they didn’t notice her shivers.

Uldren, smile still on face, nudged her shoulder.

“Well, it could be better… but all stories pale to my own. Not bad for your first story, Jade.”

Jade looked down, face turning purple. “My p-prince, please not now.”

“I mean it. Good job.” He stepped back, giving her some space. Turning back to the children, he launched into another tale of great proportions. Jade’s story was just another distant memory to the children, as the master at work was back.

Jade still stood in the middle, forgotten. She looked up towards the Reef’s skyline, roof-tops dotting her vision. Two blue pinpricks looked back at her, a resonant heartbeat sounding between them.

“Hoped you liked the story, sister.” The words escaped her mouth quietly.

[authenticcadence18]

Butterfly pt. 1

Here’s the pre-Battle For Mewni canon-divergent Starco fic I wrote in 2017!!!

Have a note from my younger self to give context to the story:

“I'm not quite sure what events lead up to this or what happens afterward...this story is just a piece of what I imagine could happen during Toffee's eventual attack on Mewni. This scene takes place on Mewni, and Marco obviously used his dimensional scissors to get there.....duh 😜.”

(Also I wrote this four years ago, when my writing style wasn’t nearly as developed/polished as it is now. I could spend hours editing it, but I‘d feel kinda bad doing that to my younger self😂.)

...

AO3

...

"STAR!!!!!!!!!"

Marco struggled relentlessly against the green chains of energy that prohibited him from moving, but there was nothing he could do but watch, horrified, as Toffee drained the life out of his best friend

"STOP!!!! YOU'RE HURTING HER!!!!!"

Piercing green magic gushed from the severed crystal imbedded in the villain's hand and swirled furiously around Star, whose electric blue eyes were growing dimmer by the second. The princess lunged at Toffee, wand-in-hand, in one final attempt to subdue him, but his magical assault had weakened her body beyond repair. With a shrill moan, Star collapsed to the ground and lay motionless, the light in her pupils now almost completely extinguished.

A sob tore through Marco's throat as he struggled against the magical shackles binding him for the umpteenth time, only to discover that he was now able to move freely. He scrambled to his best friend's side and frantically began checking for a pulse, for breath, for anything that indicated she was alright. All the while, he continued to assure her, "It's okay, Star, you're fine, it's going to be fine, please be fine, you'll be just fine, Star, PLEASE be fine!!!!"

But he felt nothing.

Star Butterfly—crown princess, heir to the throne of Mewni, and Marco's best friend—was no more.

"......you killed her......" Marco uttered blankly, staring into the sunken black eyes of the girl who'd radically changed his life in such a short amount of time. Trembling, partially from despair and partially from fury, he inclined his head to meet Toffee's watchful gaze and repeated, "....you KILLED her...!!"

Toffee chuckled, the chilling timbre of his voice not quite clicking with the spindly bird form he still had possession of. "Well, not technically," the former Ludo corrected Marco smoothly, hovering above him with a smile that could have been perceived as understanding, had he not already revealed his hand. "I've merely drained her magical life force. It would be possible to restore it and revive her if you had any healers around, but..."

He smirked.

"I believe the Chancellor is still...out of commission."

Marco's eyes narrowed. "Alright, fine! You've got Star! What about me? Are you going to suck the life out of me too before I karate-chop you into the next multiverse???"

Toffee tisked, an almost fatherly expression appearing on his face. "Oh Marco," he crooned gently, as if gently chiding a disobedient child. "There's no point in that. Without her?" He gestured to Star's broken form. "You're nothing."

With this, the villain cackled menacingly and snatched up Star's wand before zooming out of the cave and slamming a rock in front of the entrance with a wave of his hand, leaving Marco alone with the shell of the coolest girl he'd ever known.

With Toffee gone, the reality of the situation slowly began to sink in....

Star was gone.

And it was his fault.

"....STAR!!!!" Marco wailed, tears blurring his vision. "THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!!! I—it's all my fault..... If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had any reason to cleave your wand in the first place!! You...you'd be alive..."

He took one of Star’s cold hands in his, despair weighing him down so heavily that he doubted he'd ever be able to stand again.

"You trusted me with your friendship, and I hurt you. You trusted me with your life, and I let you die....

"...you trusted me with your heart...." he managed to choke, the final lyrics of Ruberiot's song reverberating within his skull, "...and all I did was push it aside......"

He knelt near Star in silence for a few minutes, grasping desperately for answers within his head. How could this have happened? How could he have let this happen??

"You know," Marco murmured weakly, "Jackie and I decided to stop dating pretty soon after you left Earth. I knew finding my best friend and being there to support her was more important than focusing on a girlfriend, and Jackie agreed....but I also think she was convinced that I'd fallen for you..."

He winced.

“...but I guess none of that really matters now, huh?"

Marco gazed down at the princess's fallen form, wishing beyond belief that he'd done things differently in Star's time on Earth, wishing he knew what he could have done to prevent her from ending up like this, wishing he'd been able to see the truth before it had been too late to act upon it.

"I'll finish what you started, Star," he vowed, determination seeping into his voice. "I promise, I'll do everything I can to protect the citizens of Mewni and defeat Toffee. And I promise that I'll never stop looking for a way to bring you back and that you'll always be the best, most amazing friend I could've ever hoped to have, and that..."

His voice cracked.

"...and that I'll always love you."

Gently, Marco brushed a rebellious strand of blonde hair off of Star's forehead and planted a soft kiss on her brow.

"Goodbye, Star."

With this, Marco's resolve shattered, and he broke down in gut-wrenching sobs, shoulders quaking and chest burning.

So it made sense that he didn't notice when the two hearts stamped on Star's cheeks began glowing faintly.

Slowly, translucent webs of purple began weaving themselves around the princess's form, lifting her up bit by bit as they did so. Star herself did not stir, but something within her most certainly was stirring.

When Marco felt Star's fingers shift away from his, his eyes shot wide open. Out of instinct, he jerked back upon observing her continue to rise off of the ground, still unconscious. As the webs grew thicker and thicker, encasing the princess's entire body, the rosy glow emanating from them only grew as well. Marco watched in awe as the chrysalis began to vibrate when it rose to around five feet off of the ground. Faster and stronger it writhed, until at last, with a searing flash of light so bright and pink that Marco lost his vision for a couple of seconds, the figure within burst free.

"......am I dead? ..... Marco, is that you?? Are we both dead???"

Marco, unfortunately, was currently incapable of offering any sort of response. He simply stood, gaping, with his eyes set upon the girl hovering a few yards away from him.

Star waved her hands in Marco's direction, only to recoil when she found more than eight fingers—and purple ones, no less!—at her disposal. "Yikes!!" she shrieked, recoiling.

Her eyes narrowed as she examined her two newly-formed sets of limbs. "....wait a minute."

Tentatively, she craned her head back--and gasped with joy at what she discovered.

"MY MEWBERTY WINGS!!!!!!!" Star giggled gleefully, twirling circles in the air on a pair of intricately-patterned lavender wings. "THEY'RE ALL GROWN UP!!!!!!"

And indeed they were. Star Butterfly had at last unlocked the full heritage of the Butterfly dynasty coded deep within her DNA. Unfolding from her back were two massive butterfly wings adorned with shimmering hearts. Six arms extended from her torso now, and a pair of dainty antennae bobbled above her head. Her hair, now also a shade of dark violet, had shortened significantly as well, so as not to get caught in her wings.

"This is so cool...!" Star breathed. "Marco, what do you think??"

The sound of Star repeating his name finally snapped Marco out of his stupor.

"....STAR!!!!!!" he proclaimed elatedly, hastily rushing over to her with a luminescent grin on his face. "You're okay!!!!! Well—more than okay, actually!"

Beaming, Star scooped Marco up in a six-armed hug and spun him around in the air a few times, the two of them laughing and celebrating as if the events of the past month or so had never occurred.

But just as quickly as Star's mood spiraled upward, reality set back in as she began recalling where she was. Quickly, the princess set Marco down before planting her own feet on the floor.

"Wait a minute..." she voiced with uncertainty, cocking her head at her best friend. "Didn't Toffee, like, drain my powers and more or less leave me for dead? That's the last thing I remember..."

Marco nodded with a little shiver. “…yup.”

"So...how am I prancing about on newly-grown mewberty wings now?"

Marco shrugged. He had to keep blinking to assure himself that Star’s transformation wasn’t just a cruel trick of his heartache-addled mind.

Star stared at him for a moment, perplexed. Then, without quite knowing why she was led to do so, she tentatively raised a hand to her forehead and touched it—in the very spot where Marco had kissed her only minutes before.

Instantly, a wave of understanding pummeled Star, and she staggered back.

"...it was you!" she gasped.

But before she had the chance to elaborate on this, the stone guarding the entrance to the cave groaned and started shifting to the side.

“You know something, Marco?” Toffee called out as he pushed the stone away. “I’ve been thinking...maybe you have some potential after all! You see, I’ve been meaning to find a new—erm, shall we say, host? And what better person to destroy Mewni as than the former princess’s best fri—“

Toffee took pride in having mastered a distinctly precise ability to mask his emotions. It was one of the qualities that kept him on his toes after centuries of plotting against the Butterfly family. But even he, the immortal monster of legends and tapestries, could not contain his bewilderment at the sight awaiting him.

Star Butterfly was fine. More than fine, actually. She had never appeared more powerful. And Marco Diaz, the seemingly-useless karate boy, was standing right beside her.

Heroes and villain stared wide-eyed at each other, each wondering how to gain the upper hand. After matter of seconds that consisted of Toffee darting his gaze between the princess and her prince, understanding suddenly dawned upon him. He chuckled, quickly regaining his composure.

“Well well…” the monster crooned with a smirk, directing his gaze towards Marco. “Looks like you aren’t as much of a disappointment as I thought.

“And Star! Why, you look just like your mom did the last time we fought. It's a shame to think of her discovering that her dear little princess finally earned her wings but tragically had the life re-drained out of her before she really got to use them…I’ll be sure to dispose of her before she has to find out." With these words, Toffee fired a blast of green magic at the currently-wandless Star, smiling wickedly.

Star, however, wasn't going to give herself up so easily this time. Eyes and hearts igniting, she thrust her hands forward as searing pink magic gushed out of them like a waterfall and formed a bubble around her. Toffee's blast fizzled and sputtered away as soon as it touched the force-field.

Toffee's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in disdain. He fired another shot at Star, and then another, and then another, but the warrior princess deflected every blast as effortlessly as if she'd been doing it for her whole life. When Toffee realized that he'd lost his chance to defeat her, he made a last-ditch attempt to gain the upper hand by manifesting a giant, luminescent green limb and snatching Marco—who'd been soaking up every second of the battle from the sidelines, awestruck—with it....not realizing his action would have the opposite effect of what he intended.

"NO."

The next thing Toffee knew, he was lying flat on his back with the wind knocked out of his host's puny lungs. He could vaguely make out the hazy form of Star Butterfly hovering over him with a venomous glint in her eyes.

"You can try and kill me all you want, but touch Marco....and I'll destroy you," she declared in a razor-sharp whisper.

For the first time since he'd lost his finger to Moon, all those years ago, Toffee's stomach--though, technically it was still Ludo's stomach--lurched as an unpleasant chill seized his body.

He was afraid.

With the last of his energy, the villain rose from the ground and frantically fled the cave, leaving Star's wand behind in his haste.

Star remained hovering in the air, glaring after him with the same stone-hard expression on her face.

".....Star?"

Tentatively, Marco approached the princess and grabbed the hand that was nearest to him.

"You can calm down now. He's gone."

Star's shoulders relaxed, and she gently sank to the ground, her wings and extra arms folding up and disappearing as she did so. Marco immediately knelt beside his best friend and helped her to stand, supporting her weight while she re-adjusted to her normal form.

Star winced, holding one of two hands to her now-pale forehead

"Ugh....Mom didn't tell me how draining it is to earn your wings...." she grumbled.

Marco, on the other hand, had never felt more alive. "Star, that was amazing!!!!" he exclaimed. "You just took down Toffee, the same guy who managed to defeat the entire magic high commission and drain their powers in less than two minutes!!! And after he'd drained your power, too!!!!! You still managed to beat him!!!!!!"

Star stared at the ground for a bit, the gears in her head whirring. Finally, she raised her gaze to Marco, hand still poised at the top of her head.

"But I couldn't have done it if it weren't for you.”

"....what do you mean?" Marco asked—though deep down he suspected he understood what Star was getting at.

"I--I'm not sure..." Star replied sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders with a meager chuckle. "It's just...it's like....you replenished my power source. I can feel it was you. But I can't figure out how!!"

Marco bit his lip, uncertain as to how he could be more anxious in this moment than he'd been when Toffee was about to possess him.

Then, he spotted the royal wand, which was still strewn on the floor. Swiftly, he scooped up the heirloom and held it out to Star, who seemed to snap back into focus upon seeing it.

"You're right, Marco," the princess decreed, reclaiming her wand from her best friend. "We'll talk through this later."

Grinning mischievously, Star sprang into the air and raised her arms, and suddenly she was a butterfly again!

"Right now, we have a kingdom to save!"

...

Thanks for reading!! I actually wrote part of a continuation to this back in the day but I never quite finished it...soooo I’m going to try to finish it and then post the conclusion sometime!

(And AGAIN there’s a lot of canon-divergent stuff in this fic, I know Star isn’t ACTUALLY biologically a Butterfly😅. But I didn’t know that four years ago, lol!)

[honesthammie]

4th prompt part 2

The silence was appreciated as your mind wrapped up today's event. You had met your soulmate in a goddess of a woman. Everything you had discovered so far was perfect. You watched as she pulled a metal disk and metal stick from her pockets. The metal stick made a strange buzzing sound and glowed a faint orange at the tip as she hovered over the disk.

"What are you doing?" You asked after watching her in curiosity for a few moments. You would've let her continue as her face was quite the sight. Her eyes were sparkling with intent and her nose had the most adorable scrunch.

She stopped for a moment as you spoke as if thinking on what to say before continuing. "I'm scanning for any spider eggs in the building so we can take them with the other spiders to a planet of their own. A planet without civilisation but full to the brim with creatures they can eat. I think, the fam got them all. No, fam still doesn't seem right. The team does sound better!"

"A planet? What, are you some kind of alien?"

"Yes. Would that be a problem?" She asked. From the way her eyes sparkled, I believed her. Great, no wonder why she seemed so ethereal! So when I say, she's out of this world, it'd be a fact and not a flirtatious comment! For fuck sake, that's one of my best lines as well! Maybe I could use it when the time is right?

"Nope. After the discoveries of my life recently, that's actually the most believable thing. Please don't ask yet. However, those spider babies trust me. You aren't going to get them to listen without me. I spent at least a full 5 hours with them, they trust me more than you. Come on little Miss Sunshine, hop to it, the spiders won't wait forever." I spoke with confidence. I knew she knew, she needed me. That's why she followed me. "I'm (y/n) by the way"

"Great name! Love that name, was always one of my favourites. I've always fancied myself as a (y/n) but the faces never seem to fit it. I'm normally a John but I can't be now I'm a woman. Why don't you give me an alias for when I'm undercover?"

"Hmmm. I quite liked the name Alice and you certainly suit that name. Is there a name people call you when you aren't undercover. What do family call you?"

"Alice. I love that! I'm keeping Smith. Alice Smith. Perfect! Knew you'd be the one to help me. People tend to call me the Doctor. So do I for some reason. Wish I knew why."

This cute blonde alien was more mysterious the more we talked. She told me of how her ship goes in time as well as in space. She told me of the time of when she met Robin Hood with an older face and a companion named Clara. All this talk and I wasn't bothered once by it. I could listen and watch her all day as she talks about adventures she's been on. She puts all the theatrics on and waves her arms about with so much passion and her eyes show her emotions so clearly. But I also saw age. If she's older than she looks, just how old is she? Not that it bothers me, it's just, if she's like hundreds of years old, she's probably had other lovers and I don't know if plain old me can compete with that.

Sooner than we realised, we came towards a blue Police box. She clicked her fingers and waltzed right in. This must be her TARDIS. I walked inside with awe. The ship was beautiful inside. Like a gem hidden as an ore. The golden and blue lights perfectly reflected her personality.

"It's fucking massive Sunshine! Ya didn't warn me about walking into a football field! No wonder why thousands of spiders seemed no problem! Fucking hell!" I stated as my eyes scanned the room in front of me. Then I felt a little tug on my right trouser leg. I looked down and saw a little spider wanting my attention. I bent down and picked him up. He seemed happy to be held like that so I kept him in that position as I wondered towards the Doctor.

I had so many questions I wanted to know and I'm sure she has too. But now was not the time for that. We needed to get these spiders to their new home. I continued to watch the Doctor as she danced around something she called a console. She was pressing buttons and pulling levers and many more things until the ship made a strange wheezing noise and I was thrown off my feet. Thankfully I was caught by someone. I looked up and saw an oldish man.

"Hello Love! I can tell this your first time here. We all fell down when she first did that with us. You learn to find something to grab onto. I'm Graham by the way." Graham spoke gently but loudly over the noise of the ship. I couldn't help but giggle, my grandad used to call me Love too.

Then as quick as the ship started, it came to a gentle stop. I looked around and notice the same 2 people from earlier. The girl was smiling and laughing to something the boy mentioned. They must be old friends. I then noticed the Doctor walk towards the doors and open them just enough for her to check outside.

"Right (n/n). I'm calling you that as we are friends now. Go on, it's your first new planet and you care about these spiders more than we do so I think it's best if you check everything it perfect for them!" The Doctor spoke with excitement. She even clapped her hands for a moment, obviously not being able to control the surge of energy running through her.

I held the spider in my arms and the doors opened in front of me. I closed my eyes for a moment as the light blinded me temporarily. I could feel the warmth of a sun and the cool breeze the gently whipped past your face giving you the perfect cooling needed. The planet smelled sweet yet sour like Toxic waste sweets. I could hear many creatures making strange noises, some were doing a high pitched growl and some others were doing deep scream. Then there were nicer sounds like birds tweeting but in a lower key and something sounded like a piano, specifically an old ragtime piano.

I slowly opened my eyes and noticed the silver sky and its 4 suns in each direction. I noticed that the high pitched growl was from a small flying frog like creature and the deep scream was from a big rabbit- horse like creature that was just chewing the purple leaves off the metal looking trees. The bird like sound belonged to a small Robin like creature, but instead of a red chest it was a beautiful blue hue and it had silver eyes that sparkled just right. The Ragtime piano sound belonged to a dog-raccoon like creature that scampered away with its mouth full of the fallen berries that the rabbit-horse dropped from the leaves. The grass beneath was as black as ink and the pond to the right of me was a strange red colour.

"Well what do ya think? I personally think it's perfect but you seem to know these arachnids better than me so, I could be wrong, although, I'm not often" The Doctor spoke with eagerness. I noticed her looking at me as I took in the world around me. Why does this feel all too familiar to me? Why do I like the escapism of Earth? Why is this so, freeing?

I took a deep breath in. "Its perfect Doc. The spiders will love it here! They'll adapt pretty quickly I believe. The creatures are big enough to satisfy them. Although the sounds are a little off putting." I put the spider in my arms in the oddly cotton soft grass and watched as the thousands of others followed in its footsteps. Some carried the baby spiders and others carried the eggs. They had already found a cave to lay the eggs and started weaving some webs within 10 minutes.

Once I was happy with everything, I said my goodbyes and entered the strange ship once more. I could feel fresh tears sting my eyes like tiny hot needles. I get so attached so quickly and I noticed the string warm up and I checked on my soulmate, she was looking at me with an all too familiar look, the look of complete adoration. So the string tells me when her love for me evolves until we kiss? I mean, that's when it disappears for everyone else.

"This was great Sunshine! I had a ride of a lifetime, I really did. So I guess, you can drop me off home, I'm probably not wanted and I don't wanna ruin your team dynamic here."

"Why on Earth would you think that? I was actually wondering if you'd like to join us. Those spiders trusted you and having someone like you would really make the adventures more thrilling. Besides, I really like you and there's something special about you and I can't place my finger on it. I don't like not knowing things. If I drop these off home for a bit, would you mind if I ran some tests on you?"

"Really? Sure. I don't mind. I actually wanna know aswell. You see, I know what's special but I don't want to tell you in front of the others, its a bit embarrassing." I asked whilst blushing. She nodded her head and set the TARDIS coordinates to Sheffield. The Doctor promised she'd be back in a week and set the TARDIS to float in our solar system whilst she got to work on me.

We walked into what I can assume is some sort of med Bay. The walk had conversations about the last planet and how we thought the spiders would adjust. Eventually she sat me down on a white bed.

"So, you said you knew why you were special. I don't like cliffhangers so I'll give you a custard cream if you tell me." She said as she got a paper document and waited for me to speak.

"I don't know how or why but have you ever heard of the red string of fate story?" I asked, wondering how to word this without sounding weird. She nodded her head in understanding. "Well, when I turned 16, I could see everyone's red strings. The world was covered in red. I was confused at first until I read that story."

"Hmm. That is interesting because all stories have some truth to them. Some are exaggerated and some are exactly as said. Well that story is a good example of that. Thousands of years ago, there were 2 species of human, homo sapiens and homo spectrians. Spectrians were low on numbers in population as they'd spend almost all their life playing match maker. You'd know Spectrians as Cupids. However when battles and wars happened, Cupids were out of a job as everyone had to focus on the country and not themselves. This is where arranged marriages started happening and Cupids were becoming depressed. Eventually the Cupids decided to blend in with the humans and became virtually extinct. You might be the only Cupid left in the universe, other than Valentine himself." She explained it so well.

"Can Cupids see their own string?" I asked. She paused for a moment. Her eyes flickered between heartbroken and hopeful. I felt the string flicker between cold and toasty warm just like her eyes.

"No. Cupids weren't supposed to have soulmates. But I guess you are technically half human so maybe that makes sense. Do you know who your soulmate is?"

"She's amazing. She's like a Goddess. When I first saw her I immediately thought, She's too fucking perfect for someone like me. She incredibly smart too but, can be oblivious. I mean, I only met her a few hours ago and I'm fucking smitten with her. She reminds me of sunshines and rainbows. I'm just waiting for her to make a move." I told her. She looked at me for a moment, processing this new information. She smirked for a moment once she figured it out.

"Well my soulmate had me wrapped around her finger the second she jumped in front of a spider to save her life. A bold move like that normally makes me mad but, she did it so well. I haven't known her long but I can see me being by her side forever, travelling the stars. She reminds me of those stars actually. The way she sparkles in the light. I love you (y/n) with both of my hearts." She spoke softly as we slowly leaned in. When she finished, she planted her soft lips on mine and the red string was gone. Not that I noticed until an hour later when we picked the team up and held hands to announce our relationship.

Maybe dating a sunshine is exactly who I needed.

[cali-holland]

Golden Bullets, Ch 4: Moonlight Trail

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 2700

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist   Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: discussion of violence/drugs, swearing

Featured Song: All Time High by Rita Coolidge from Octopussy (1983)

 ~ “We´re an all time high, we´ll change all that´s gone before, doing so much more than falling in love.”

+ “Where are you? Why do you hide? Where is that moonlight trail that leads to your side?” from Moonraker by Shirley Bassey from Moonraker (1979)

A/N: not much action in this chapter, but i’m saving that for chapter five and i’m very very excited about that chapter haha

~~~

You let out a groggy groan, your eyes fluttering open, just to be met with a dull pain in your head from the drugs last night, making you close your eyes again immediately. You tried clearing your mind, focusing on the sound of the DB10’s tires moving with the road, but the sound of Harrison’s music was too distracting. Somehow the normally soothing voice of Sam Smith just made your headache worse- and that’s when it hit you.

“You listen to Sam Smith?” You questioned quietly, opening your eyes just enough to peak over at your partner. The car’s interior lights as well as the streetlights outside were the only things illuminating Harrison’s face.

“I’m surprised you know an artist from this decade.” He chuckled lightly, his thumbs drumming against the steering wheel as he continued his drive down the nearly empty highway.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked as you shifted in your seat, stretching to get more comfortable.

“All you seemed to listen to going to Monaco was Nancy Sinatra.” Harrison stated and you felt a twinge of embarrassment strike you, you’d never have someone so blatantly call out your music taste, but yet again you didn’t exactly spend quality time with many perceptive agents.

“Well, I don’t only listen to Nancy Sinatra. I listen to other artists,” You trailed off, trying to come up with names, “I listen to Carly Simon.”

“As in “You’re So Vain” from the ‘70’s?” He laughed and you let out a groan.

“Alicia Keys.”

“Hardly counts.”

“She still counts.” You insisted, “You were listening to Duran Duran earlier. That’s not from this decade.”

“But I still,” He paused to let out a large yawn, “I still listen to more modern music. Sam Smith is very modern.”

“Where are we?” You asked, wanting to just drop the subject.

“We’ve got about half an hour until we get to Venice.” Harrison replied, glancing over at the clock. You took a moment to study him as he kept his eyes on the road. His hair was the most disheveled you’d ever seen it, and you’d dare to say he had bags under his eyes.

“Let me drive for a while.” You offered, and he glanced over at you like you were crazy. You could tell he was holding back from scoffing in response.

“A few hours ago, you were spilling your darkest secrets to me and then spilling your guts in the toilet. I’m not letting you drive.”

“Then pull over so we can get a hotel. You need to sleep.” You stated. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, you added, “As assistant director of MI6 and the lead on this case, I’m telling you to get a hotel.”

Harrison let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head at you, “I was just going to say, I’ll stop when we get to Venice. No need to pull the assistant director card.”

“I might as well pull it while I can.” You said, and he raised his eyebrows at you, making you elaborate, “M doesn’t want us to kill Le Chiffre, but if I see him, I will. I doubt I’ll keep my position if that happens.”

The rest of the ride into Venice was silent between the two of you. You didn’t particularly want to talk about last night’s revelations or the upcoming task of having to not kill Le Chiffre; meanwhile, Harrison had his own inner turmoil between trying to empathize with you, allowing you to take out the private banker, or following M’s directions of simply tracking him. By the time the two of you arrived in Venice and got a hotel, it was nearly 3 AM, and, with a six hour car ride behind you and an eleven hour car ride ahead of you, you two were beyond exhausted.

“This bed better be softer than the last one.” Harrison mumbled as the two of you stepped into the elevator. With one hand on your suitcase, you leaned against the elevator wall as he stood in the center, holding onto his own luggage.

“Surprisingly, Monaco had the worst hotel bed I’ve ever slept on.” You stated. The elevator came to a stop on your floor for the next few hours. The doors opened, and the two of you stepped off it.

“Really? I think the worst hotel bed I’ve ever had was actually in New York.” He replied, inserting the key card into the door. He pushed it open, holding it for you to go inside first. You paused once you’d stepped into the room.

“Scratch that. This might be the worst.” You said, eyeing the single king size bed in the room. Harrison blinked, stepping in the room behind you.

“Am I so sleep deprived that I’m only seeing one bed or is there actually only one bed?” He asked.

“There’s only one bed.” You sighed, setting your suitcase down near the dresser and opening it. You started to gather your clothes for the night. “But you’re still sleep deprived, and I’m too tired to even attempt to get a room change, so this’ll have to do.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take the floor, but, for now, while you get ready,” He trailed off, flopping down on the bed with a small sigh of his own. “God damn, this is comfortable.”

With your pajamas in hand, you turned back to face the bed. Seeing your partner so exhausted and sprung out on the large bed, you felt your heart twist a little. “Sleep on the bed, then.”

“What?” Harrison mumbled, sitting up to look at you. “No, you take the bed. I’m a man of chivalry, I can’t let you sleep on the floor.”

“A man of chivalry. Is that what you call yourself when you sleep with all those women?” You questioned, sarcasm dripping in your tone. For a split second, he pouted, before it grew into a smirk.

“If gets the women into the bed, then yes.” He replied, cockily. You turned, making your way to the bathroom as you shook your head at his words. He hopped off the bed to follow after you, “Look, it’s big enough for both of us. Besides, I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you.” 

“How lovely.” You rolled your eyes, and he shook his head.

“That’s,” He sighed as you shut the bathroom door, locking it to ensure privacy away from him. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. We can share the bed and sleep next to each other, nothing sexual about it.”

“Agent 007 not wanting to sexualize sharing a bed with a woman? That’s a surprise.” You scoffed through the door, beginning to change in the privacy of the spare room.

“You’re one to talk.” Harrison bit back, “You know we’re really not that different. We both sleep with the enemy.”

“Except you sleep with women for sport and you’re called a womanizer, whereas I sleep with men for strictly professional purposes and get called a whore.” Now changed into your comfortable clothes, you threw open the door, jaw clenched angrily at the double-standard that cursed your ‘profession’. Pushing past Harrison, you sarcastically remarked, “Sexism- isn’t it wonderful?”

“You’re not a whore.” He said, quietly, a new softness in his tone, making you look at him curiously. You could see the genuineness in his blue eyes, “You’re intimidating and, quite honestly, scare the shit out of me sometimes, but you’re not a whore. Anyone who calls you that obviously doesn’t realize they should be less concerned with how you handle your body and more concerned with how well you handle a gun. You use your assets like I do, like any spy would.” He paused, “You don’t like to be known as the maneater, but I don’t like to be known as a womanizer. For us being MI6’s top agents, neither of us are winning in the reputation department.”

You swallowed an uncertain lump in your throat, not sure how to respond to his unusual yet kind words. Turning away from him to put away your clothes, you replied, “Let’s just get some sleep.” 

Harrison wordlessly entered the bathroom to get ready to sleep himself, and you quietly climbed into the bed. You laid on your side, facing away from the bathroom and the other side of the bed, keeping to one edge of the mattress. A few moments later, he emerged from the bathroom, turning off the bedroom light as he did so.

“Do you- do you mind if I sleep without a shirt?” He asked.

“I don’t care.” You answered quietly, despite the odd feeling in your gut at his question. Momentarily, you thought it could be leftover from last night, but as you heard him discard his shirt and climb into his side of the bed, you knew it was something much worse- butterflies.

You lay on your side of the bed, waiting for sleep to overcome you, but it seemed to be taking its dear time. Meanwhile, it only took a matter of moments for Harrison to fall asleep. Your poor partner passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and you were left to listen to his soft snoring, little noises that you hadn’t noticed while sharing a room with him in the past. Yet again, the past few nights, you two were plenty far from each other and tonight, well, there wasn’t much space, especially when you heard and felt him shift closer to you in his sleep. You just about put Harrison in a choke hold, feeling his arm sling around your waist, but as you flipped over to look at him, your fight reflexes dropped. He was still asleep and, god, he was a cuddler. You considered shoving him away or even just getting up and sleeping on the ground, but then he let out a soft murmur of incoherent words, light puffs escaping his lips. Finally feeling a sense of peace overcome you, you let yourself lean into his embrace.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the laptop ringing with an incoming call from M, or at least you recognized the ringtone as that; your arms were currently trapped under the tight cuddles of Harrison, who was still peacefully asleep. With how heavy of a sleeper he was, you were surprised no one had murdered him in his sleep yet, considering how annoyingly loud the laptop was.

“Wake up, Osterfield.” You grumbled, kicking your legs harshly against his. He mumbled something, tightening his grip around your arms and torso, pressing you further into his bare chest, before his eyes fluttered open. His arms dropped from around you immediately as he processed his position, cheeks flaring red a little in embarrassment of his cuddly nature. You shot up from the bed, grabbing the laptop from the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. You open it, answering the call without a second thought. The screen flashed to M in her office, and you bit back a groan at how obvious it was that you just rolled out of bed- it didn’t help that Harrison was in the background, getting out of the bed and tugging on a shirt. Talk about the professionalism between the two of you for not only stopping Venice for some sleep, but also sharing a damn bed.

“Sorry, was I interrupting your beauty sleep?” She questioned with no actual apology laced in her words as Harrison sat beside you on the couch.

“Good morning, M.” You greeted, professionally.

“I must say I was surprised to hear from Moneypenny about Monaco last night. How did Britain’s finest agents get drugged so easily?” While her question was directed at both of you, you couldn’t help, but feel like she meant it more towards you than your partner. You were meant to be the one calling the shots for this mission and you were the one that drank the suspicious champagne.

“It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.” Harrison replied definitively. Sensing how you tensed beside him at M’s words, he placed a reassuring hand on your knee, hidden from the laptop’s view; he felt almost protective of you for your actions last night, and, having been so vulnerable yourself, you were hesitant to lean into the security.

“It damn well shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” She let out a small sigh, “I know your next target was intended to be Le Chiffre in Montenegro, but there has been a slight change of plans.”

“Are we no longer going to Montenegro?” You asked, trying your best to not sound hopeful about never going back there.

“You’ll still be going there, 006. Le Chiffre has decided to host a charity gala tonight; and, seeing as it’s currently 11 in the morning in Venice,” She spat out the city’s name in distaste as if to question why you two had stopped there for so unintentionally long, “You’ll be taking a private jet to Montenegro straight out of Venice’s airport. Leave the DB10 behind, Agent 003 will be there shortly to retrieve it.”

“How is this different than our prior mission of interrogating Le Chiffe?” Harrison voiced.

“I believe you’re familiar with this woman.” M stated, and a photograph of Pussy Galore appeared on the screen. Harrison dropped his hand from your knee as he recognized the blonde, “Pussy Galore has been identified as Goldfinger’s personal pilot, and she has been spotted in every location the sniper has struck in.”

“She’s the sniper?” You questioned. You already thought the woman was a joke just because of her name, but now, she was the bitch that shot you, and you weren’t about to let that go.

“We believe so. Q traced her to Montenegro this morning. Your new mission is to keep an eye on Le Chiffre and try to keep him alive- he could prove useful as an asset to take down Goldfinger or he could be the perfect bait to get the bullion smuggler.” She sent you a pointed look, catching how you clenched your jaw as a picture of the private banker flashed onto the screen, “As for Pussy Galore, bring her in alive. If she’s Goldfinger’s personal pilot and favorite sniper, she’s valuable to him.”

“Is that all?” You asked, and she shook her head.

“I need to speak with 007 alone.” She said, making you and Harrison look at each other in confusion. You nodded before getting up and leaving for the bathroom, deciding to get ready while they had their private discussion.

“M, the champagne wasn’t Y/N’s fault-” Harrison started, immediately believing that M’s private conversation was about your mistake from last night- that or she was going to strongly suggest Harrison take a leave of absence again.

“Last night happened, and I am not going to fret it any longer. I’m far more concerned with Montenegro.” She spoke, and Harrison’s face fell, giving it away to her that he knew already, “Agent 006 is my best agent, but by now, I assume you can tell she lets her emotions get to her. Four years ago, once she was healed, she went rogue for a few weeks. My only way of finding her and bringing her back to MI6 was a trail of dead bodies- all of which were connected to Le Chiffre.” Harrison gulped at the new information, his eyes flicking nervously to the bathroom door. Le Chiffre really did a number on you and you had the physical scar to prove it. “She will kill him at the first opportunity. You accused me of hiring her as your nanny for this mission, but now I need you to take care of her. Don’t let her kill Le Chiffre; he needs to be alive. Don’t let her kill Galore either. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” He nodded with a heavy head.

“And, for the love of God, no more champagne between the two of you.”

“Got it.” He nodded again, “When will Q be in Montenegro?”

“He had to finish a new prototype for 005, but he will be there tonight.” She explained. “Now, you two get to Venice airport as soon as possible; you have a gala to attend.”

Before Harrison could reply, M ended the call. Shutting off the laptop, he stood from the couch, already feeling anxious about tonight. The only reason he had a partner for this entire mission was his own mistake, and M didn’t trust him, but, now, it seemed like the tables had turned- M didn’t trust you in Montenegro. With each new piece of information, this was transforming into so much more than it was just days ago in London, and, without Q to crack the flash drive, all Harrison could do was keep you from killing the two people that could lead back to Goldfinger.

~~~

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[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hazy Horizons (Part Three)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: Reader is conflicted in this part and comes to some realizations about her situation. There is smut in this part. She’s trying so hard not to completely cave in to the will of the Barbers, but that’s proving harder than she thought.

This part features a lot of domesticity too. 

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 3071

Laurie could barely contain her excitement. You were trying to contain the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. She was already talking about how the pair of you should tell Andy about the pregnancy. You were a permanent fixture in their bed since that night. After that first night, you had sworn you wouldn’t let them win. 

You’d tried to book an appointment for a Depo shot. But word got back to Andy and Laurie, the woman who booked the appointment confused because she’d heard you were going to be their surrogate. After that, you were no longer allowed to be unsupervised. In Laurie’s words, you weren’t to be trusted. Not right now. Not until you accepted your new norm. 

You knew they monitored your phone. There was no way around it that you could figure out. The same was true about your laptop. You’d learned that the hard way after Googling natural ways to prevent pregnancy. Most of it was bullshit anyway, but Andy and Laurie hadn’t taken kindly to it in the slightest. That indiscretion left you tied to the bed for the weekend, only allowed up to stretch every few hours and use the restroom. 

You’d had your debit and credit cards revoked after that stunt too. You may have had your numbers memorized, but they monitored your statements like hawks. Laurie kept your cards. She paid your bills for you. They had slowly whittled away at your freedoms until you felt more like a puppet on a string, an illusion of freedom given by your work and the trips to the store with Laurie or the weekend trips with the two of them. 

“I was thinking we could get a Patriots jersey, they sell cute ones at that boutique in Bangor,” Laurie said. You were still sat in shock, even though the pregnancy shouldn’t have surprised you that much. They had done their damndest to make sure you would get knocked up. 

“Sweetie? Are you okay? This is exciting! Our little family is growing!” Laurie said, sitting down beside you. You weighed your options. Lashing out, while it would feel good, could end with you in hot water. You didn’t want to think of what the consequences could be. But you weren’t excited. In another life, under different circumstances, maybe you would be. If they had asked you to surrogate like normal people. 

But this was more than that. They wanted more than that. Whispered words of being a family. It was another thing you couldn’t help but think about. That if they had gone about things differently, you would’ve been amenable. They were both attractive. You couldn’t deny that. But the fact was, they hadn’t. They had done everything against your will. 

“Yeah...yeah. I’m...it’s a lot to take in,” you said. She cupped your cheek in one of her hands when she moved to stand in front of you.

“I know it can be scary, but this is a beautiful thing. You’re going to be an incredible mommy. We’ll take care of you. I can’t wait to see the changes it’ll bring out in you,” she said before pulling you into a gentle kiss. 

It was moments like this that muddled your brain. It was wrong, so wrong. You were here against your will. Pregnant against your will. But they were never outright cruel to you, even when punishing you. And even that brought pleasure to a degree most times. You knew the longer this went on, the more warped your perception would become, especially when they weren’t cruel. If they hit you, verbally abused you, did anything that was outright mean and cruel, you thought you’d be able to compartmentalize better, remember that they weren’t good, they were keeping you against your will, forcing you into something you didn’t want.

But that was the thing. They treated you like a queen. You had stopped fighting them in bed. You knew it was inescapable at this point. Laurie would give you a massage at the end of a long day of work. Andy would fix your favorite dinner on bad days. They would both pick up little things for you when out and about. A book you’d mentioned. A snack you couldn’t find when shopping with Laurie for the week. It made it easy to forget the situation, if only for a moment. They were slowly whittling away at you, at your resolve to get out of the situation you found yourself in. 

You couldn’t help but to relax into her embrace, scolding yourself for doing so. When she pulled away, she smiled at you. Remember who she is. Remember what she’s done. Remember who she is. Remember what she’s done. You repeated the words in your head as she pulled you by the hand down the stairs and to her car. It was a Saturday morning. Andy had gone into the office to work on a case that had been keeping his office busy, leaving you and Laurie alone for most of the day. 

“I’ll call Dr. Schroder on Monday to make an appointment. Andy will want to be there too,” Laurie said. You nodded. What else could you do?

“What are you going to tell her?” you asked. There would be questions, surely. If you were their surrogate, you would’ve gone to Schroder’s office. Laurie looked at you for a moment before letting out a sigh as she pulled out of the drive. Snow covered the road still, never fully gone from the ground before the next snowfall. 

“Everyone knows that we have...a relationship. They talk. They may not understand it, but they know. Dr. Schroder won’t have any questions and if she does, it’s not like we have anything to hide. We love you,” Laurie said. You felt sick, and it wasn’t from the pregnancy. 

“I thought you told people I was your surrogate,” you said, panic rising. You saw the smile on her face.

“We did, at first. But there’s not hiding how we look at you, how you look at us,” she said. Your breath caught. How you looked at them? You refused to believe you ever looked at them with anything other than contempt, than anger, hatred. They had taken your life and turned it upside down. 

“What happens after?” you asked.

“After what?” she questioned.

“I have the baby. What happens after? Do I get to go back to my side of the house? Have my life back?” you asked, on the verge of tears. 

“Sweetheart, I know your hormones are all over the place right now. Andy and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be a family. Our children are going to be so loved. You’ll see. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said in an attempt to soothe you. It did anything but. You felt a spike of panic. Your breathing was getting shallow. Laurie noticed and pulled off to the side of the road, putting the car in park before rushing to your side of the car. Children. As in more than one. You realized in that moment, you were well and truly fucked. 

“Breathe with me honey, in, hold, out, hold, good girl,” Laurie said as she held your hands. It took ten minutes for you to calm down. You were tired, too tired to argue, to question what she had said earlier. 

Once at the boutique, it didn’t take long to find the baby sports jerseys. You couldn’t help but melt a bit at the clothes in the store. You always had a weakness when it came to seeing baby clothes. And you knew Laurie was going to capitalize on it. 

“That’s adorable. We should get it, it’s never too early,” she said. You nodded weakly. 

The two of you arrived home before Andy. Laurie placed the test in the gift bag with the jersey, just under it. It was one of those moments you’d always imagined having one day, under vastly different circumstances. One where you weren’t forced. Where you had a choice. Where you were with someone you loved. But that wasn’t your reality.

Running wasn’t an option when they had the control. When your money was monitored. When you were only alone at work with people who bought into the image the Barbers sold. You had too. Until they snared you in the web they had carefully weaved around you. 

“I’m thinking Mario’s for dinner, what do you think?” Laurie asked. You looked up at her and nodded. Mario’s was one of your favorite local places, the best Italian place you’d found in the area. 

“Sure,” you replied, as you heard Andy pull in the drive. Laurie greeted him at the door with a kiss. You could hear her ask him the same question. Andy entered the room and found you, leaning down to pull you into a kiss. It was oddly domestic.

“I talked to Isaac today. He said it should be no problem combining the deeds into one and getting the permits to alter the house,” Andy said, looking between you and Laurie.

“Combine the deeds?” you asked. Andy nodded.

“Of course. No need for us to be paying bills on two homes. We bought ours outright. We can bring the utilities under one name, all the maintenance too,” Andy explained. It made sense, if the whole situation was normal. But, you reminded yourself, it wasn’t normal. He already had the papers. You hesitated to sign them, but the look on his face had you reaching for the pen. 

“Good girl,” he murmured as he watched you sign away part of your life. You had a sinking feeling that if plural marriage was legal, there would’ve been a marriage license among those papers. 

“Food should be here in thirty. I ordered extra garlic knots,” Laurie said, looking at you. Your shoulders sagged. You had no energy to fight. Not tonight. 

“Did you sleep in today?” Andy asked, taking in your appearance.

“Yes,” you grumbled. It had become one of the rules put in place for you. Sleeping in on the weekends. Neither Barber liked how much you exerted yourself. Be it grading, lesson planning, or merely doing things for colleagues. 

“She didn’t get out of bed until ten. On the dot. No laptop or phone,” Laurie said. No laptop or phone because she made sure to take them when she woke up on weekends. You were given your phone back at breakfast, but your laptop, you wouldn’t see until after dinner on Sunday. 

Under normal circumstances, you’d consider both Barbers to be dominant, with a clear hierarchy. Under normal circumstances, you could imagine them negotiating with you, properly, about limits, about everything. But this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. And it was slowly wearing away at you, as they molded you into a perfect partner...though you used the term partner loosely. Partner implied equality and there was no equality in this mockery of a relationship. 

Andy went to set the table while you and Laurie sat in the living room. There was an odd sort of comfort in the routine. You knew what you could expect. Andy would set the table, regardless of if you or Laurie or the both of you had cooked. If Andy was cooking, you or Laurie would set the table. After dinner, cleaning the table was all three of you, washing the dishes with music in the background. You hated how comfortable you felt in those moments.

“Dinner’s here,” Andy said, bringing the bags to the dining table. You hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring, lost in your thoughts. 

“Smells good,” Laurie said as you sat down. Andy pulled out the various boxes and looked confused when he saw the dessert box.

“Are we celebrating something? Did I forget your birthday?” Andy asked looking toward you. You shook your head.

“Someone was craving something sweet today,” Laurie said offhanded. If Andy suspected anything, he didn’t let on.

Dinner was quiet. Andy talked about the latest news he could on his case. You tried to remember the situation you were in. Getting too comfortable would be your downfall. 

It was after dinner that the three of you settled in the living room. Laurie set about setting the couch up for movie night, turning it into what amounted to a bed. You had loved that couch, once upon a time, before this side of the Barbers emerged. Before turning on a movie, Laurie turned toward Andy. 

“We got you something today,” she said, handing you the bag to hand to Andy. He raised a brow. 

“Is that so?” he asked. You saw the shaking in your hands as you handed him the bag. He took out the jersey first, a small Patriots jersey. There was a knowing look on his face before he pulled out the test.

“You’re pregnant? For real? This isn’t a joke?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

“It’s not a joke,” you said quietly. You weren’t expecting the kiss, or to be pulled onto his lap before he deepened it, one of his hands snaking under your shirt while the other held you steady. His thumb rubbed circles on your belly, though you were still too early in the pregnancy to be showing. Laurie moved behind you, gently pulling your shirt up and over your head. Andy pulled away from you for just a moment. 

Your bra disappeared next, and Andy’s hand travelled upward to your breasts. They had been sore the past few days and you tried to protest.

“This will feel good, baby. Promise,” Andy said, as he gently cupped one. One of the many things you had learned in the past month was the Barbers were both undoubtedly boob people. Both of them loved to play with your breasts. Andy never squandered an opportunity to touch yours or Laurie’s. 

“I can’t wait until these fill with milk. You know, when I was pregnant, Andy couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” Laurie said from where she knelt behind you, while groping your other breast. You tried to hold back a moan. You always did. But you always gave in when it came down to it. They had learned your body in the course of a month. 

“Maybe we should see if yours will too,” Andy suggested as he broke away from you, looking at his wife. You’d heard of that before. A woman who wasn’t pregnant inducing lactation. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about that. Laurie crawled toward him as he captured her lips with his. You weren’t sure when she had stripped down. 

“Sweetheart why don’t you help Laurie finish undressing while I go grab some things,” Andy said. You hesitated as he stood, but Laurie took your hands in hers, guiding you to the waistband of her panties, the other clothing she still wore. 

“That’s it, good girl,” Laurie said as you dragged the panties down her legs. Those words. You couldn’t help the feeling their praise sent through you, no matter what your thoughts on your predicament were. 

She laid you back as she undid your jeans and pulled them off with your panties in one swoop, before pulling you into a deep kiss. She moved to your lap and ground down on your thigh. You could feel her wetness beginning to coat it as she slipped her tongue into your mouth. You heard Andy’s footsteps on the hardwood, but paid him no mind. 

“Scoot, on the towel,” Andy said. You were losing yourself in the haze of lust. Giving in was so much easier these days. 

You complied with his command, and Laurie took her spot back before Andy had her pull back. Laurie gently pulled at your leg, silently ordering you to open your legs. 

“Look at that, you’re soaked. Bet you don’t even need preparation to take him, hmm?” Laurie asked as she pressed a finger into your soaking pussy. You moved to meet her movements. She slipped as second and third in easily before pulling them out and holding them to your mouth. You hesitated, until she pressed more firmly. The taste of yourself  on her fingers was a familiar one. 

“I want you on your knees,” Andy said to you. Laurie dragged you into Andy’s desired position when you made no move to do so. It was the small moments of defiance that you held on to. You knew it. They knew it. You tried not to make a sound as Andy pressed into you from behind. 

“Fuck, still as good as the first time,” Andy gritted out as he bottomed out. Laurie laid in front of you. You knew what she wanted. But you were refusing.

“Be a good girl,” Andy said, pulling at your hair. You looked back toward him with a glare.

“Fuck...off,” you said, though it came out half as a moan. You hated the smirk on his face. 

“It’s almost like you want a punishment. This is a celebration, honey. Now, do as you’re told,” Andy said. He shoved you down and forward. 

You were slow with your movements as Andy’s pace increased. You pressed a finger into Laurie’s wet cunt, before adding another. You licked a strip from her hole to her clit as she arched into your touch. It wasn’t long before she was coming undone. As she came down from her climax, Andy pulled out, changing positions so you were facing him as you rode him. At first he was guiding your hips as you refused to. But you lost yourself in the feeling as he pulled you into a kiss, tasting Laurie on your lips. Laurie knelt behind you, a hand moving to your clit. It was just enough to drag you over the edge, dragging Andy with you.

He laid you down as he pulled out, taking a moment to catch his breath. You knew in that moment. You were well and truly screwed. The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how impossible getting out would be, especially with a child. Tears stung at your eyes as Andy moved to help you sit up and guide you to the bathroom, where Laurie had a bath running. A tub big enough for all three of you. And you, clinging to the hope that there was some way out.