#rogers' funeral home

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Last Christmas | Bucky Barnes x Reader, previous Steve Rogers x Reader

After kissing Steve during Christmas 2022 the events of the second snap create distance. Feeling burnt and unloved you try to make things work, but it's too late. You gave him your heart, and he's given his away to another, leaving you in 2023 alone. But there's someone else who hasn't given up on you and, maybe, it's worth giving your heart away to someone special.

Warnings: Steve is the bad guy, anti-Steggy, heartbreak, angst, reader drinks her feelings a bit, fluff, kissing. Liberties have been taken with the order of versus, it's creative lisence, okay? F for fluffy. C for Christmas.

A/N: I listened to Last Christmas twice a day for the last 18 days and now here we are. I think I got the dates right, who knows. I was going to post this on Friday, or even next Monday nearer to Christmas but I got excited so...Bon appetit.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Last Christmas I gave you my heart,

But the very next day you gave it away.

This year, to save me from tears,

I'll give it to someone special.

Christmas 2022

Steve's lips met yours with the taste of mulled wine and expensive champagne. The neat lines of his suit jacket folded under your hands, tugging him closer.

Above you both a huge wreath of mistletoe lined the doorway, twinkling fairy lights falling artfully into the entrance and your smile was so wide you could barely contain it. Finally, finally you were together.

You'd told him how you felt, how you've loved him for years and you were so proud of him and then - he'd kissed you, and your heart soared.

"Steve," you breathed, a prayer, a promise, everything you'd asked for all for you. You had been so patient all year, so good and slow and quiet, and now you had everything you needed.

"I have to go, sweetheart, but I'll call you and we can go out properly. I promise."

He'd kissed you on the cheek one last time before disappearing into the night, leaving you alone under the mistletoe, full of promise.

Although the date never materialised you tried to be understanding. So much had happened, aliens and invasions. Five years prior it had felt like the world ending and now somehow here you were again, watching the man you loved on a battlefield, hundreds of miles away.

That had been a week ago. The footage still playing on every news outlet.

But he hadn't called.

He never called.

He never text or emailed or DM'd or IM'd or bothered at all. And now the kiss, everything it had meant to you, tasted sour.

You'd given him your entire heart and you thought when he kissed you back, that meant he was giving you his.

Tony Stark was dead.

Crowded room, friends with tired eyes.

Hiding from you and your soul of ice

My Gosh, I thought you were someone to rely on

Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on.

It had been kept out of the press for as long as possible.

But he was dead.

His funeral had been a private affair, not for the lowly likes of regular old Stark Towers staff and so you hadn't been invited. You had, in your love sick state, driven out to find Steve and try to offer him some comfort.

He'd text you to say he was struggling, and you'd been as supportive as you could be, texting him back in the middle of the night, answering when he called. You'd asked if he wanted you to come to the funeral, but you said no, you offered to be around, but he hadn't left more than a few sparse details leaving you hanging around the small town near Stark's home until you spotted the mourners.

But there was nothing to offer. You tried to kiss his cheek in greeting but he pulled away and shame washed over you.

The Falcon, Sam, and Steve's friend Bucky who you recognised from the news as well, had told you he'd been strange lately and not to worry when they found you hovering on the outskirts of the wake.

It was only when Sam went to speak to Pepper that Bucky spoke again.

Despite what the press said he looked friendly enough, as confused and lost as the rest. You knew he'd been blipped and that must have been bad enough without aliens, wars and deaths. But he still offered you a warm smile. It was the same smile you'd seen in the picture of him on Steve's desk, a portrait of him in his uniform. It was a little more worn now, a few more lines around his eyes, and his hair was long and unkempt, not like the neat coif in his photograph.

But you recognised him all the same.

"Walk with me around the lake a bit?" He suggested, offering his arm.

You refused, tracking yours eyes back to where Steve was staring out at the water where Pepper Potts and a little girl were sitting on a dock.

"I need to tell you something, it's going to sound crazy and you can't tell anyone. But you came all this way and -" Bucky stopped, looking at Sam, Pepper, the gathering of secret superheros.

"I think I can believe in crazy." You said, a lump already forming in your throat.

"He's going to leave."

"Steve?"

"He's going to go back."

"Back?"

"To Peggy."

Peggy. The ghost that haunted you, the woman you'd never be, could never be, never wanted to be. Everything was always - Peggy.

Peggy looked great in red. Peggy always wore lipstick. Peggy loved to dance.

You were never going to get your dance, it always belonged to her.

"I see." You ducked your head to hide your tears, spilling hot and fast down your face.

"I'm really sorry, I thought it'd be best -"

"No, no it is, thank you, I appreciate it."

You went to wipe your eye on your sleeve, but Bucky pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket and handed you one.

"Thanks," you managed a small, polite, smile and dried the tracks of mascara from your cheeks.

"Take my number, in case you need anything, I hate to think - well - I don't think it's right, if that means anything, I don't agree and he knows that."

Bucky handed you a slip of paper folded in half, peeking inside he'd obviously pre-written a small note to the same effect, signing in a wide messy scrawl. But the numbers printed below were neat.

"I've got a place in Brooklyn, Steve said you live on Staten Island? I'm staying near Fort Hamilton, so if you need anything. Just call. Or text. Or whatever it is people like to do now." He gave you a shy smile, pink dusting the tops of his cheeks and his ears.

"That's very generous. Thank you."

You tucked the paper into the inside pocket of your purse and looked at Steve one last time.

"I think I'm going to go. Thanks, Bucky, maybe see you around?"

You'd text Bucky once, drunk, and he replied asking if you needed help.

Once bitten and twice shy.

I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye.

In your pain you hadn't replied and had woken to a series of worried messages. You deleted the texts the next day and tried to forget about him.

Bucky text you too, to let you know he was going out of town but you could still reach him if you liked.

Then radio silence.

You saw him once, drinking beer with a beautiful woman in a sushi bar and for a moment you felt a flush of jealousy. But you kept walking so he didn't see you.

Life was hard enough without making it complicated and the last thing you needed was to get yourself hung up on another stupid 1940s, jumped up, selfish, super soldier asshole. You didn't know him, but he was Steve's best friend. How different could they be.

You left Stark Industries.

You deleted your contacts.

But you left the little note folded in your bedside draw and called yourself a fool every time you saw it, tucked between your passport and an old notebook.

Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me.

Tell me baby, do you recognise me?

Christmas 2023

Bucky didn't text again until the winter, snow attempting to fall but hitting salty air and heating grates. The sidewalk covered in slush.

Your phone buzzed, unnoticed, in your pocket until you made it home.

1:32pm - Hi, don't know if you'd be interested but Sam's holding a holiday party at his place in Louisiana. There'll be some old faces. You're welcome to come.

2:01pm - Sorry, it's Bucky Barnes. Don't know if you kept my number.

2:03pm - At Sam Wilson's house. The Falcon. You met at Stark's funeral?

4:48 - I'm getting a lift from Washington with this guy Torres. You can join us if you want.

4:49 - On us, of course. I heard you left Stark Tower

5:00 - I didn't mean to imply you didn't work

5:01 - I'm sorry, Sam says I'm really bad at this. Forget I bothered you. Merry Christmas

You spent a week dithering about a reply until one of your new colleagues at S.W.O.R.D told you you were being stupid.

Tickets to Louisiana weren't too expensice and you had Sam's address from some of Steve's old things anyway. Would it be crazy to just turn up?

Sam's house was lit up by strings of warm white lights. Out along the sea coast of Louisiana the air was crisp. The day had been fine enough but now the sun had set it was getting cold and goosebumps erupted along your arms.

Face on another with a fire in his heart.

A man under cover but you tore me apart.

Maybe you should have RSVP'd properly, but you hadn't really, truly, convinced yourself you were going to turn up. Your hotel in town was very comfortable and you could go back any time. If it was weird and no one recognised you it would be easy enough to -

"You made it!" Bucky called, spotting you across the garden, hiding by the Magnolia.

The whole garden has a magical wildness to it, the tent in the centre emanating light, music, the smell of food and the sound of happy laughter. It was a welcome change from the cold bite of winter back home.

"Hi, I wasn't sure if I was going to come -"

"I thought I'd come over in case you didn't recognise me -"

You spoke over each other, tripping on the words awkwardly, dancing around the half hug, half handshake you'd initiated.

He did look different, happier, honestly. His long hair was shorter again, though not as neat as in Steve's photograph. There was a softness to the way it curled behind his ears, slightly longer on top.

"I like your new haircut," you motioned upwards, almost spilling the contents of your bag with the too quick gesture.

Bucky ran his hand through it, the metal glinting in the light, and mussed it up further.

"Thanks, just, you know, finding myself again. How've you been, sorry I wasn't in touch more."

"Oh, you know, finding myself again." You didn't mean for it to sound so sad.

Bucky was serious for a moment, "he was being an asshole, trust me," then his face brightened and he gestured to the sound of glasses clinking, "can I get you a drink, let me introduce you to some people."

For the first time in a long time, you felt a real smile tugging at your lips and, when he offered you his arm, you took it.

Christmas 2024

Ooh, ooh, now I've found a real love,

You'll never fool me again.

When Bucky text, you answered.

When you got sad and drunk, he turned up.

You found yourself seeing him more and more.

He took you for sushi in the spring, ducking and hiding under the canopies of shops to avoid the rain bouncing back up off the tarmac.

In the summer you went to Coney Island where you refused to ride anything because it looked too scary and, instead, ate so much cotton candy you were almost sick on the bus ride home.

In the autumn you rode out on his bike to upstate New York to see the colours change on the trees. You ate pie in a diner by the side of the road and he made sure your helmet was fastened correctly. As you rode home, you imagined you could go back to his place instead of spending the rest of the evening alone.

Your heart had begun to race whenever you saw his name light up your phone. Your camera roll filling up with pictures of you together. And when he invited you out ice skating under the Brooklyn bridge, you said yes.

Christmas 2025

This year, to save me from tears,

I'll give it to someone special.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come with me." Bucky beamed up at you from the floor where he was tying the laces on your skates .

"I like spending time with you, Bucky." You said, quietly. "I'm a terrible skater though." You admitted, letting him pull you to your feet.

"Oh good, I was hoping you'd say that." He grinned, turning as he stepped onto the ice to face you, "you'll have to hold onto me."

You laughed, letting him tow you gently along, circling the ice. It was already dark, the lights circling the rink reflected in the ice and Bucky's eyes, sparkling with happiness. Your breath misted in front of you when you huffed in frustration at slipping, but Bucky only held you tighter.

He bumped into the end barrier, distracted by the way you looked when your head ducked to see your feet, murmuring his instructions to yourself on how to keep going.

You followed, crashing into him, hands pressed into his chest.

"Sorry," Bucky's cheeks were pink again, from the cold or your closeness you couldn't tell. But his hands came to rest on your hips, keeping you close despite the fact you felt like you were going to slip. For a moment all you could see were the lights and Bucky, he smelt sweet with a hint of whisky from the spiked hot chocolates you'd had before it was your turn on the ice, and you couldn't think of anything nicer.

Without another thought you lifted your chin and kissed him, slowly at first, but then he tightened his grip and pulled you closer, taking your weight so you didn't fall.

I'll give it to someone special

[officialundertakersmoocher]

Hi, I was so excited when I saw there is still someone writing for Kuroshitsuji and, more specifically, for Undertaker (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ since your fixed post said you're accepting requests, I hope you don't mind if I send one. @yaboisbullshit wrote something that won't leave my mind (I hope they don't mind that I have tagged them, I'm new on Tumblr and don't know the proper etiquette ╥⁠﹏⁠╥). Anyway they wrote about a scene in "Who framed Roger Rabbit" in which we have, basically, Jessica Rabbit simping over Roger Rabbit and I would love to see Undertaker, Sebastian and Ciel's reaction to some girl who is basically a Mary Sue (beautiful, smart, maybe a noble) who's Undertaker's partner and a total simp (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) like, he's just eating his biscuits and she's giving him heart eyes lol. Anyway, sorry for the long ask and thanks a lot for your writing, whether you do my request or not (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

and i would love to write it!

Undertaker's Not so Secret Admirer

Synopsis: The Undertaker's shop is filled with odd visits, but he never expected one such as this.

It started as a normal day in the Undertakers shop, slow as usual for the small funeral parlor.

A certain earl makes his way down the streets of the late 18th-century England, a black clad butler by his side and a mission underway. The earl strides himself with purposeful intent and a will that cannot be stopped by many, but as Ciel entered the familiar establishment that day-he stops in his tracks at the sight that he catches before his eyes.

A young woman with a bright aura sits by herself at the center of the parlor on a plush couch in the center of the parlor, giving a giddy wave to the Phantomhive boy.

Not only had Ciel never seen anyone besides his own company adorning the parlor, he also had never seen the parlor fit for human company in such a way.

Ciel gives his butler companion a puzzled look, though receiving nothing but silence from the female counterpart.

The two boys stand in the doorway in stunned silence before the younger boy decides to take charge, yelling into the darkness, "Undertaker...!"

The man in question bursts through the side door, holding a platter of tea and cookies which was obviously prepared in advance.

"Phantomhive, perfect timin', make 'rself at home." He states with a mischievous grin glittering his lips.

The earl seats himself with his butler near and watching. Ciel notices that on the opposite side of the couch, the woman has now adorned a doding expression at the sight of the funeral parlors owner.

She sits with her legs crossed and her palms holding her chin, heart eyes practically bearing through her head. Meanwhile, The Undertaker giggles as he seats himself opposite to them. The young earl starts to feel as if he is witnessing a game that he was not invited to play.

The Undertaker, on the other hand, seems to be more than entertained by these ongoing events.

"I apologize for interrupting you while you have guests, however, I have some business to di-" Ciel starts, however he is quickly interrupted by the sounds of the seemingly love-struck young woman sitting across from him.

Practically squealing in her seat from excitement, the young woman seems to be giddy to speak to The Undertaker and at the notice of his silence, the mystery woman jumps up from her seat and slams her hands on the table.

"Oh gosh, i'm sorry! I've just been so excited to meet you...!" She is now leaning over the coffee table, practically soaking in the rest of personally space that Undertaker has to spare.

The Undertaker bursts into laughter at the sentiment.

"Oh god, I've just heard so much about you. They said you were good looking, but I could've never imagined how right they were," she continues, voice growing more and more smitten as she trails off.

The Undertaker cannot seem to stop his fit of laughter now.

"Actually, young master, I believe we shall leave The Undertaker to this company. It would simply be improper to do otherwise..." the butler spoke, silently guiding his master up from his seat. The earl mutters some very confused phrases on his way up out the door.

The Undertaker tilts his hat towards the earl on his way out and he watched as the young woman seats herself once again. She tries to hide her flushed expression, sipping from her tea cup once again.

The Undertaker clicks his tongue several times as he raises from his seat and heads towards the door which had been left agape. "Ahaha.. Oh dear," He says, wiping a stray tear from his eye from giggling too much.

The Undertaker leans his back against the door, closing the remaining gap between you and the outside world.

"Now, if you planned on coming here to present such a hilarious show such as that one in hopes that I would tell you about myself.. you could have just asked." His voice lowers more and more as he goes on and begins to slowly creep towards where you stay seated.

The sudden realization that all of his attention was now placed on you had you blushing profusely. You attempted to cover your face with your gloved hands, however your sense told you that he already knew how flustered you were.

You let out a nervous giggle as The Undertaker approaches you, placing one hand behind you on the back of the couch and the other on the arm of it- you were essentially trapped.

"So, my dear, what is it that you wanted to know...?"

[fordtato]

Help me pay to travel home for my uncle's memorial service.

I know I said I wouldn't be online for a while, but I am posting this for help.

My Uncle Roger recently passed away, very unexpectedly. He was one of the most important people in my life, and probably one of the only members of my family who didn't completely disown me when I came out, left home, and moved out of state, and realized I was trans.

Despite me having a difficult relationship with my family, Roger and I stayed in touch over the years. Practically everyone in my family didn't attend my wedding or graduation - Roger did. He was there.

I was not able to go to the funeral/burial - much of my family said me being there would be painful for them and that my presence would cause turmoil at an already difficult time. It pains me a lot that even though Roger was there for me, I was not able to be there for him.

But I still would like to travel to see my grandmother, and a few other relatives, for a separate memorial. Travel costs will go toward a last-second holiday flight, a rental car, and (possibly) a hotel room. Any additional money will go towards my grandmother, who lost her son during an already difficult time for my Palestinian family.

أحبك خالو رجا.

Anything helps. And if you can't donate, please reblog if you are able.

[quill-of-thoth]

The Saga of Great Uncle Asshole And The Priest From Hell

It's thanksgiving (in the US) so have a family gathering disaster that is old enough to be funny. Almost a decade ago, after a life of stirring up drama everywhere she went, my grandmother died. She was an unhappy woman who tried to be better to her grandkids than she was to her kids, and didn't always succeed, and she's the reason that when I smell cinnamon tic tacs they're accompanied by the reek of an illusory cigarette. This is not a sad post. This is a post about the fact that her funeral was a fucking disaster and it was ultimately about 50% her fault. See, my whole family was at one point or another catholic. Grandma really enjoyed going to church in her last years because it got her out of the nursing home, and priests have to listen when you tell them about the husband you divorced and the children who think they know better than you. Grandma did not consider the fact that the local priest she'd latched onto like a talkative moray eel in a cloud of nicotine smoke was an unmitigated bigot. She left instructions that she wanted her funeral to be at that specific catholic church and for that priest to do the sermon. It didn't occur to her that the person who would be organizing her funeral would be her gay daughter and her daughter's wife.

Shit started getting real about when the doors opened to recieve mourners. Over the course of ten minutes, my aunt summoned:

her elder sister, a paralegal

my father, who has never seen a conflict he would not cheerfully walk away from

Their younger brother, in order to swear at the priest

My mother, who hadn't had a good opportunity to fight a priest since we left our own church and was game to do it again.

This left me, the eldest grandchild, in charge of the receiving line, despite the fact that I knew approximately no one there. My brother and cousins were woodenly shaking hands and then whispering "who's that?" "I don't know." My aunt's husband was escorting the elderly and infirm up the stairs one at a time. My uncle's wife was also around but she knew even fewer people and was mostly listening at the door of the ongoing argument.

So when my brother and Boy cousin went to see if we could pry someone who knew who was related to us out of the argument and I was busy trying to convince an octegenarian that she did NOT need to figure out which of her cousins had married one of grandma's siblings before sitting down, Girl Cousin was alone at the door.

Great Uncle Asshole arrived in a storm of curses and a faux-coonskin cap. He blew past Girl Cousin, thumped his cane up the steps, and seized my hand. It was like shaking hands with an extremely strong mummy. "You look just like your mother! It's the hair, what a bird's nest. Where's your daddy? And the rest of Helen's brood."

I muttered something about them finalizing details with the priest.

"Well, they'll come see me soon enough. Bet you don't know who I am!" I didn't know who anyone was. Everyone older than me was having a verbal cage match with a member of the clergy or escorting some other old fogey to their seats, everyone younger than me had even fewer clues, and my only hope was to wrap this conversation as fast as possible. "Nope!" I said, "I haven't seen most of the people here in years." If I had ever seen them in the first place. He was going to be mad, but I figured if I had to be the bouncer I could probably take an eighty-something year old guy who breathed like the surgeon general's personal warning to smokers. I could at least shut the door on him.

"Of course you wouldn't! Your gran wouldn't have told you. I'm your great uncle Roger, and I'm here to bury the hatchet, by which I mean your grandma! She and I swore over our father's casket we'd never be under the same roof again while we both lived, and by god I kept my oath!" People were starting to stare, and it was at this moment that a thirty-something man in a suit sprinted up the stairs, and my uncle's wife, with a look of dawning horror, called her husband. "Roger's here." The middle aged folks descended immediately. Here is a snapshot of the ensuing conversation: "Roger, why don't we find you a seat?" - my mother in her best teacher voice "Glad to see you're doing well enough to make it" - My father, in his best 'good god I want to be anywhere else' voice. "Take me to the coffin! I want to see her with my own two eyes!" - Great Uncle Asshole, "And hang up my **** hat! Killed it myself!" "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he could walk that fast" - strange suit man "If you are QUITE finished, I am starting the ceremony in ten minutes" - the priest

As my father and his brother towed a grinning and cursing old man to the furthest reaches of the family section, my mother and my oldest aunt caught all the cousins up on the argument with the priest. My youngest aunt was still crying while her wife stared fixedly at the stained glass panes and periodically handed over tissues. The upshot of it all was that my aunt and her wife would be allowed to attend the funeral (on pain of the whole family literally walking out on the priest) but would not be allowed to take communion, because the priest didn't believe in their marriage. My aunt's wife had neglected to point out that, being Jewish, she wasn't going to take communion anyway. "That's fucked" said boy cousin, and the four of us immediately resolved in whispers to refuse communion as well. The priest opened his sermon with pointed remarks about the older generation's devotion and respect for the church. He continued on through psalms and all that until he got to the blessing of the eucharist and asked the family up to receive communion. My father, who hadn't taken communion since I could remember, stayed seated. My mother stayed seated. My aunts and uncles stayed seated. The cousins stayed seated. About a third of the church didn't move. "Well father, I'll have mine! These young folks think hey have all the time in the world to get right with the lord, but you and I know better!" The priest, who had been visibly hoping god would smite us, turned a wincing glare on my great uncle and the series of distant relatives and nursing home neighbors who were now shuffling up. The service dragged on. We were lined up to say goodbye to everyone, while the suit man (who would turn out to be my second cousin) bodily hauled great uncle asshole and his coonskin cap down the stairs. "I should have known my sister wouldn't manage to raise any good Catholics! Horrible woman." he said loudly as he was stuffed into a car driven by suit man's apparent twin. The priest approached as we were finally ready to leave, to ask why we were so stubborn that we deprived ourselves of communion. After all, unlike my youngest aunt, we weren't obvious sinners! "Oh, I'm Lutheran" - My eldest aunt. "I'm an atheist" - My uncle "I don't think you're qualified to bless anything." - My mother, who learned her religion primarily from a horde of socialist-leaning nuns.

With that, we left the wreck of my grandmother's funeral behind. "Helen," said my mother, very deliberately, when we were safely in the car, "would have HATED that." My dad started laughing. "Are you kidding? She would have loved that! It would have been all she complained about for years!"

[twopoppies]

Hey Gina,

Liam's funeral date has finally been set and it seems like Roger is being barred. At least he can finally be at rest. ❤️🕊

https://www.themirror.com/entertainment/breaking-liam-paynes-funeral-date-812491

That’s definitely some good news. I hope this funeral brings his family and loved ones some peace.

[…] The One Direction star will be laid to rest this week in his hometown of Wolverhampton, but final funeral preparations come with one last major decision. As the pop star's high-status forces the event to be private and limited to those in his personal life, Liam's family was tasked with putting together a guest list for mourners

Liam’s manager, Roger, is expected to be barred from attendance as an investigation about his potential alleged involvement in the singer's death continues. The Argentinian music mogul was with Liam just ahead of his death at Casa Sur hotel in Buenos Aires.

Liam and Roger's relationship, both business and friends, was strained and difficult as they once had a falling out. However, the pair seemingly reconnected before Liam's Latin America trip as the star and his girlfriend, Kate Cassidy, stayed at Roger's home briefly. According to the insider, those close to Liam weren't even aware that he reconnected with Roger.

Full article here

[havendance]

Velveteen vs The Masterpost

When I was in high school, I stumbled across Seanan McGuire’s series of “Velveteen vs.” stories, staring Velma “Velveteen” Martinez, a former child superhero with the power to animate toys, who stumbles from one misadventure to the next. Taking place in a world where superheroics is run almost entirely by a single corporation and child heroes are put through some of the worst abuses of child stars, the series features fun characters, worldbuilding, and relationships, and of course, cool fight scenes. In true comics fashion, it ends on a rather open-ended note and, as far as I can tell, she hasn’t written any stories since 2017, but most of the main arcs are tied up and I definitely recommend you check them out!

(I became obsessed with these stories after finding them. An example of me getting into comics before I actually got into comics.)

(Thank you to https://broken-engines.blogspot.com/ for compiling directory of story links I could borrow for this post.)

Velveteen vs. The Isley Crayfish Festival

Velveteen vs. The Coffee Freaks

Velveteen vs. The Flashback Sequence

Velveteen vs. The Old Flame

Velveteen vs. The Junior Super Patriots, West Coast Division

Velveteen vs. The Eternal Halloween

Velveteen vs. The Ordinary Day

Velveteen vs. Patrol

Velveteen vs. The Blind Date

Velveteen vs. Blacklight vs. Sin-Dee, Part I

Velveteen vs. Blacklight vs. Sin-Dee, Part II

Velveteen vs. The Holiday Special

Velveteen vs. The Secret Identity

Martinez and Martinez v. Velveteen

Velveteen vs. The Alternate Timeline, Part I

Velveteen vs. The Alternate Timeline, Part II

Velveteen vs. The Retroactive Continuity

Velveteen Presents Victory Anna vs. All These Stupid Parallel Worlds

Velveteen vs. The Uncomfortable Conversation

Velveteen vs. Bacon

Velveteen vs. The Robot Armies of Dr. Walter Creelman, DDS

Velveteen vs. The Fright Night Sorority House Massacre Sleepover Camp

Velveteen vs. Vegas

Velveteen Presents Victory Anna vs. The Difficulties With Pan-Dimensional Courtship

Velveteen vs. Legal

Velveteen Presents Jackie Frost vs. Four Conversations and a Funeral

Velveteen vs. Jolly Roger

Velveteen vs. Everyone, Part I

Velveteen vs. Everyone, Part II

Sponsorship: Velveteen vs. The Epilogue

Velveteen vs. The Aftermath

Velveteen vs. Hypothermia

Velveteen vs. Santa Claus

Velveteen vs. Global Warming

Velveteen Presents The Princess vs. Public Relations

Velveteen vs. The Thaw

Velveteen vs. Balance

Velveteen vs. Spring Cleaning

Velveteen Presents Polychrome vs. The Court of Public Opinion and Not Punching Anyone

Velveteen vs. The Melancholy of Autumn

Velveteen vs. A Disturbing Number of Crows

Velveteen vs. Trick or Treat

Velveteen Presents Action Dude vs. Doing the Right Thing

Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

Velveteen vs. Going Home Again

Velveteen vs. Everything You Ever Wanted

Velveteen vs. The Retroactive Continuity (2)

Velveteen Presents Jacqueline Claus vs. The Lost and the Found

Velveteen vs. Recovery

Velveteen vs. Temptation

[aurumacadicus]

Sigh. You can find more of this under 'mr stark's murder mysteries' because obviously I have no self control.

--

"Janet Van Dyne should have been hired by the CIA," Steve said, feeling wrung out, like an empty orange rind.

Peggy slanted him an unimpressed frown. "The CIA can't afford her."

Steve wondered if all socialites were equal parts baffling and infuriating. Ms. Van Dyne had been an extra shade of terrifying, though, so he didn't really want to ask more questions. "She was so thorough, Bucky had to rescue me before I finally admitted I was Steve Rogers and not Roger Stevens."

"Good, because I know she's reporting everything back to Tony," Peggy replied, turning back to her computer. "He's used to being the smartest person in the room, and I think it chaps his ass that he can't find out anything about you beyond your bogus file."

Steve sighed, tipping his head back to try and ease the tension in his neck. "I don't understand why we don't tell him."

Peggy frowned at him again. "If word about you gets back to Howard, it will blow our cover at the gala. Once this gala is over and we've hopefully detained the Hydra moles, then we can tell him you're here and alive."

Steve rubbed a hand over his face. "I just feel like you're setting me up to be stabbed."

"You'll heal," Peggy deadpanned, and Steve let out a reluctant bark of laughter.

--

"He's single," Jan said, sweeping into the Stark library.

"That's not what I wanted you to find out," Tony sighed, looking up from the seating arrangements he'd spread out on the table.

"Well it's what I wanted to find out," she retorted, plopping elegantly down on the couch beside him. "Especially if he's going to be your date."

It was unfair that she could be so elegant while doing anything like 'plopping,' but Tony didn't say so. "If you don't start talking, I'm going to sit you next to Justin Hammer."

Jan turned to give him a shark-smile, lips spread wide and eyes devoid of emotion. "It will be your funeral."

He glanced back at her, allowing a scoff to really nail home he wasn't afraid of her. "I'm busy, so if you're not going to talk, leave."

"God, you really are no fun when you're planning galas," Jan huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the cushions. She watched him discard a set of seating arrangements to look over another, then rolled her eyes and sat up again. "He's definitely hiding something, but I can't quite put my finger on what," she finally said, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully. "It didn't feel malicious though, so."

"Well, he's a spy," Tony answered with a shrug. "So as long as it doesn't feel malicious--actually." He lifted his head, squinting across the room thoughtfully. "I can't say I wouldn't be into that."

"I know," Jan huffed, and he ducked his head apologetically, because the last alpha he'd let 'be mean' to him, she'd had to chase him off with a fireplace poker. "But he mostly just seems like an awkward golden retriever? I don't know. I'm doing some subtle digging."

Tony blinked and turned to face her. "Uh? SHIELD probably already knows."

"They fear me too much to call me on it, so I'm being nice and asking around places that won't ruffle their feathers," Jan explained.

"Oh," Tony said with an understanding nod.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "As far as personality, he was willing to listen to his posse's opinions but they definitely deferred to him as the leader. They must be friends outside of work, too, because I almost got Roger to crack and his hipster friend swept in to rescue him like he'd done it before. I'm thinking, divide and conquer."

"I'm going to be too busy to press Roger at the gala," Tony sighed.

"Don't worry. I'll think of something," Jan assured him, reaching out to pat his hand. "I managed to get a third suit done so they could bring anther agent. I think you should seat him next to Justin Hammer. I overheard him talking to the hipster about how he'd gotten frustrated setting up his DVD player and cut all the wires because they got tangled up."

"What's his name?" Tony answered immediately, and gleefully scribbled 'Clint Barton' next to Hammer's.

[mangyraccooon]

Some more thoughts I have on Dragon and Tsuru’s relationship

If your new just know it’s my headcanon that Tsuru is the mother of Monkey D Dragon

Anyways, Tsuru was young when she had Dragon. So was Garp, the baby wasn’t planned obviously. Simply the result of a night with too many drinks and waking up next to your friend.

There were two factors that contributed to what happened next.

1. She knew marrying Garp would be a colossal mistake, both of them would end up miserable (I also have the theory she was a closeted lesbian but that’s for another time)

2. She was already engaged. (To a well educated merchant who dealt with the marines)

After his birth, Dragon was promptly handed to his father. His mother was not to be in the picture whatsoever.

Dragon himself figured it out when he was around 10-12. His eyes were not Garps, too angular and his face was too sharp, high cheekbones.

He confronted her when he was 13

“You’re my mother aren’t you?”

“No, a mother is someone who wipes your face, bandages your cuts, holds you after you wake from a nightmare. I am many things Dragon, but I can never be your mother.”

Their relationship never really got better or worse from there, they played weekly chess or shogi. Tsuru gave orders, Dragon carried out orders.

She kept her word, she never was his mother, not once.

She watched him grow and leap and fly and crash and be labeled the most wanted.

“Poor Garp,” the dumber cadets would whisper “for his son to turn out like that.”

Her name was never mentioned.

Before Tsuru turned 50 her husband passed. Her children (the legitimate ones) cried at the funeral.

Garp took her out for a drink.

“Do you ever think what it be like, if things were different?” He asks pouring a generous amount of gin into her glass.

She looks at his face, just starting to show the cracks of time. And she thinks, she thinks of Sengoku and the box of ashes he keeps in his desk and the dutiful little wife who smiles and never questions him coming home all hours of the night. She thinks of Garp, of the trail of broken hearts he’s left. Born too wild to love anyone, at least not in entirety.

She thinks of Roger.

She thinks of her husband, the cup of tea he would make her every morning.

“Sentimentality isn’t something I linger on.” She answers already draining the cup.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 24

Alt 6: Gravestone

Pairing/characters: Steve Rogers/ Captain America x gn!reader, Bucky is mentioned :)

Tags/warnings: Fluff, Angst, talk of death, grieving, a very morbid-ish meet cute (again with the meetcutes I know. IM SORRY), it's set in a grave yard so graves/funerals/and loss of loved ones is spoken about (albeit briefly)

Not Beta'd

Summary: You volunteer at your local graveyard to clean headstones. One day you meet someone you never thought you'd bump into, noting the beginning of a very wholesome relationship.

Word count: 1.7k Note: This is set after the battle of New York and before the events of TWS :)

A/N: since I accidentally missed the Heirloom prompt (whoopsie) here's an extra little challenge I gave myself. I recommend this video which helps explain the moss/algae (and is just an interesting watch!)- Love, Grem x Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Prev | Next | Masterlist

It was Saturday morning and unlike most people in New York, you were up bright and early with your trusty caddy, cleaning supplies and lunch in hand, heading to your local cemetery.

The sun was barely awake when you arrived, as you had so hoped, parking your car and walking through the wrought iron gates with hues of orange, pink and purple following you. You had set yourself the challenge of cleaning at least 30 headstones today and you were determined to succeed.

Rolling on your rubber cleaning gloves, you set to work; spraying the headstones down with your cleaning cocktail to kill the mould and algae that had attached itself to the marble before scrubbing it clean. You repeated the action along the row of headstones, some needing a better scrub than others, listening to some music and softly singing to yourself. You were about to take a five minute break when you noticed a particularly dirty headstone two graves from where you had just finished.

"Well, three more won't kill me," You shrug to yourself. "Then I'll take lunch."

The grave was worse than you had initially thought. What was once white marble was now covered in dark green algae, the writing beneath barely visible. Someone had been in the last week though, because wilted daisies had been left on the ground underneath it. You carefully pried the daises away, trying not to destroy the flowers. You'd replace them after the cleaning had been completed but you didn't want to damage them any more than necessary; that was just disrespectful.

You begin your mini-ritual again; first round of spray, scrub, second round of spray, scrub. It takes a third spray for the words to become clearer and by the fourth, as you clean the etchings with a toothbrush, are finally legible.

You pause for a moment, tilting your head as you squint at the writing, gently mouthing out as you read;

SGT. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

Beloved Son and Brother

1917 - 1944

"Bucky, huh?" You smile down at the head stone and give it a pat, making a horrid wet slapping noise as your gloved hand smacks the suds. "Hope you're doing okay pal, wherever you are. And sorry for standing on your head."

With a short, sheepish smile you continue to scrub at the etchings. After thirty minutes of cleaning, the headstone is practically glistening white, shining brightly in the afternoon sun. All that was left to do was cut the grass down over the edges and give it one last spritz with the pressure hose - so you may as well enjoy your lunch while the weather was so nice.

You sit down on the grass opposite the grave and open your lunch bag. You'd thrown together a quick sandwich last night before bed; it wasn't much but it would tide you over until you got home. You toast your sandwich to the grave before you with a small nod.

"Thank you for your service, sergeant." You say quietly before taking a big bite.

You scan the cemetery as you chew. There were only a handful of people in today, as usual but your area was quiet. You took the moment to bask in the sun's rays as you ate, wondering if there was anyone left to visit some of the graves you'd cleaned today. Some had plenty of flowers - some none at all. It always gave you a little bit of imposter syndrome; who were they? What were they like?

You're too lost in thought to hear the footsteps of someone approaching.

"Did you do this?"

You look up from your sandwich, startled. A tall man in jeans and a t-shirt that was a little too tight stands before you, with a blue veteran's cap on his head that hid his face in shadows. He was holding a small bouquet of fresh daisies in his hand and you realise he's not looking at you, but at the headstone.

"Um, yes?" You hurriedly get to your feet, brushing crumbs from your clothes. "I volunteer here. I clean the headstones."

He nods, and clears his throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. You should go back to your lunch."

"No, no," You wave a hand. "I was just about finished anyway. I need to finish up before I head home."

"It looks..." He trails. "It looks good. Thank you."

"Oh um, was he your relative?" You ask awkwardly. Although, you're unsure how he would know someone from the forties. The stranger smiles wryly, still not looking at you.

"Something like that."

"Ah, well, I'm sorry for your loss." You don't know what else to say and you try not to pull a face as you nod but you're a little bewildered by the statement he made. How can a guy who looks no more than thirty, know a soldier that died in World War 2?

When he takes his cap off and ruffles his hand in his hair - it all makes sense.

It's Captain America.

You bewildered gaze grows into a wide-eyed, starstruck expression for a millisecond before realising whose grave you've just cleaned. It wasn't just any soldier's grave that Steve Rogers happened to know, oh no, it was his best friend's.

You shift awkwardly on your feet. You don't want to intrude on the moment he's having and you feel a little dumb for not connecting the dots sooner.

You're about to leave and collect your things when Cap speaks again.

"He shouldn't have died that day."

You blink, caught between picking your kit up and replying. You've bumped into grieving family and friends before, and had your fair share of awkward and sad conversations but with America's golden boy... that was a whole new ball park.

You think back to history classes and documentaries, trying to remember facts of Bucky's death and come up with something instead of standing by silently.

"I'm sorry," you say again. "From what I've read and seen he... seemed like a great guy."

Captain America gives you a wry smile. "The greatest... I should've held on."

"You tried." You say gently, giving him a sympathetic look when his teary blue eyes meet yours. "It's not your fault. It wasn't your fault."

He sniffs, clears his throat, and wipes at his eyes. "Thanks."

There's a few beats of silence before he speaks again. "Sorry. I suppose it's not every day Captain America cries in front of someone."

"Don't apologise. And you're not Captain America today," You point at his clothes with a sweet smile. "You're just a random person whose grieving a loved one."

"I'm just Steve today." His lips twitch upwards and then he extends his hand to you. "Nice to meet you."

You take his hand giving it a firm shake. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Steve."

You both bite back chuckles at your awkwardness, your hands dropping to your sides as you look at the sparkling headstone in front of you.

"How did you manage to get it so clean?" Steve asks curiously.

"Elbow grease and a lot of patience," You smile at him. "Some chemicals help too."

Steve nods and gestures to his flowers. "Are they safe to put down?"

"I was going to tidy up the border but, sure. Go ahead."

"Can I help?"

With the way Steve his looking at you, you can hardly say no. You reach into your caddy and pull out two pairs of scissors, handing one of them to Steve. Kneeling next to each other, you show Steve how you trim and collect the grass and weeds around the headstones on your weekly visits before replacing any flowers that have been left.

The whole moment takes less than five minutes with an extra pair of hands, and when you both sit onto your haunches to admire your handiwork, Bucky's headstone looks far neater now that the grass had bee trimmed. Steve places the fresh daisies in front of the marble and smiles appreciatively at the sight.

"That looks so much better," He murmurs. "And you do this every week?"

"Only three weeks of the month." You correct, placing your scissors back into your caddy. "Not all of the gravestones need cleaning, and there are other volunteers that sometimes pitch in. We each take a section to clean each week and mark off the gravestones we've cleaned so we know which will need to be revisited in a few months' time."

Steve nods along "Do you... need any more volunteers?"

"We're always looking for new volunteers." You beam at him.

Every Saturday after that, apart from when he wasn't busy being a hero, Steve Rogers became a regular volunteer on your shifts. You showed him how to properly clean gravestones and how to remove different stains, mould and algae. It didn't take long for him to learn everything so most of your mornings were cut short, eventually allowing you to get a few extra hours of sleep each week.

You'd have thought that the serum would have made Steve get the cleaning done faster; but he seemed to hang back, focusing on cleaning and chattering away with you - as Steve, not as Cap - catching up on everything that had happened in the week.

You'd exchange stories freely; at first a lot of his containing Bucky and him growing up together in Brooklyn before slowly delving into his time with the Avengers. You were happy to listen, and to tease where appropriate, and share your own experiences growing up in the 21st century - which baffled Steve to no end.

One Saturday, a month after you'd met, you'd forgotten to pack your lunch. You'd realised on the drive over and complained to Steve no end when you met up with him in your usual spot at Bucky's headstone. Steve had chuckled as you ranted, the new bouquet of daisies adding a proud pop of colour against the white marble.

There was only a small patch of algae beginning to form against it but Steve was already kneeling and scrubbing at it.

"Why don't we grab something after we're done?" He said nonchalantly continuing to scrub. You look over to him in disbelief.

"Is Captain America asking me out on a date?" You tease gently, expecting him to roll his eyes as he usually did at your teasing. This time he doesn't though; his face flushes and he gives you a gentle smile in return.

"No, but Steve Rogers is. If you're willing to go, that is."

[themidnightcrimson]

ghostface ࿏ wm

summary: in which wanda has been missing for months, and the last place you expected to find her was behind a ghost mask with a knife in her hand.

words: 7.7K

warnings: ghostface!wanda, top!wanda, fem!reader, blood kink, knifeplay, dubcon/noncon, cumstrap (r receiving), horror and fear, lots of blood, some more blood too, also there is blood

this post is a dark!fic and is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

Steve passed behind the couch and handed a bottle of beer over your head. “Thanks, Rogers,” you said as you took the chilled bottle, handing it to Natasha who sat beside you on the couch for her to open it for you.

You watched as Nat reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and took out her switchblade, flicking the lever so that the dainty but incredibly sharp knife popped up in front of her face. The light from the movie playing on the television in the dark room reflected off the spotless blade. She smirked a little, always proud to show off her knife skills, as she took your beer bottle and used the knife to pop the cap, cold smoke hissing from the bottle’s rim. She handed it back to you and tossed the cap onto the pile of beer caps sitting on the coffee table in front of you. The three of you had really blown through several cold ones that night.

You, Steve, and Natasha had recently started having weekly Friday movie nights. Each Friday, you got together in Natasha’s homely little apartment and ate pizza and drank beer while watching a scary movie of your choice. Naturally, Natasha chose the Texas Chainsaw Massacre the first night, and the next week, Steve chose the original black and white Frankenstein movie which he said was scary enough for him. This week it was your turn to choose, and you had chosen The Conjuring.

Steve winced from behind his beer bottle as the movie played. He looked funny, a large muscular man, cuddling up on the old blue recliner and struggling to hold his stomach down as the movie played. Natasha watched it with wide eyes that didn’t blink and an amused smirk on her lips. You were somewhere in the middle, not as easily bothered as Steve but not coldhearted sociopath like Nat. Still, when something did get to you, you always grabbed Nat’s arm and hid your face in her hair.

Things had been different the last few months. Before, there would be two more people in your party—Wanda and Vision. They were soulmates in the form of best friends, although everyone knew Vision had a crush on Wanda. Although she found him annoying, he was a doting friend whom she cared a lot about—you all cared a lot about.

Two months ago, Vision was driving when his car was struck by a large truck losing control. He died twice—once on the road, his bloodied bodied having flung through the windshield and onto the concrete where his head cracked. The paramedics were able to revive his pulse and take him to the hospital. In the middle of an emergency surgery that was supposed to save his life, his pulse stopped and did not come back.

The worst part was that Wanda was there the whole time—in the car with him before the wreck, crouched over his body as the paramedics resuscitated him, holding his hand in the screeching ambulance, and outside the room when the doctors pronounced him dead again. Vision had died twice—and Wanda watched each time.

It was Vision’s dying wish to have his body dedicated to science, so there was no burial. When Wanda completely disappeared, there was not even a funeral held. No one had seen or heard from her since Vision died, and you remembered that every time you saw your friends. Her absence was unignorable.

When the movie was finally over, Steve insisted that you watch something lighter so that he could feel better before going home. Natasha laughed as he put Bluey on.

“God, I feel drunk,” you groaned as you laid your head back against Nat’s sofa and cast your legs across her lap. “We drink too much.”

“You drink too much, bunny,” Nat remarked as she opened another beer for herself. “You’ve gotta remember you’re still a lightweight.”

“Have some water,” Steve said, grabbing a water bottle from the table and tossing it to you. The water felt refreshing on your tongue as you chugged half of it in one go.

“Woah there, everything you just drank is gonna come right back up,” Nat laughed, gently taking the water bottle away from your mouth as you swallowed the last bit and wiped the stray drops from your mouth.

Feeling antsy from the movie, Steve opened his phone and checked his messages. You watched as his eyebrows sewed together, his eyes widening. “Guys.”

“What?” Nat sighed, casually casting an arm over your shoulder as she stared mindlessly at the TV.

“Sam just sent me this article,” Steve said, turning the phone so that you and Nat could see the screen. “Apparently, we got a killer on the loose.”

Natasha leaned forward with concern, reaching over you to grab Steve’s phone so she could read it. You peered over her shoulder and saw that the article said there have been multiple fatal stabbings across the city in the past week all linked to one unidentified suspect. Out of abundance of caution, the police department was issuing a citywide curfew starting at 11 p.m. and warned citizens to be on the lookout for a tall, cloaked individual wearing a white ghost mask.

“Ghost mask,” Natasha remarked as her eyes read over the words at the same time as yours. “Jesus Christ.” She handed Steve’s phone back to him.

Steve sighed and read over the article again. “What has the world come to?”

Your face was set in an expression of concern as you thought over the circumstance, and then you remembered that the city has issued a curfew. Grabbing Nat’s wrist, you turned it and looked at the time on her watch. “It’s 10:50. The curfew starts a 11.”

“Shit,” Steve groaned in realization, looking at his watch, too.

“You guys can just stay here tonight,” Nat offered, sitting up with urgency.

“Nah, Nat. I have to train early in the morning,” Steve said, pushing his phone into his pocket and downing the last of his beer before slamming it down on the coffee table. “And after that movie, I’m barely gonna get enough sleep tonight as it is.”

“I bet I could make it home before 11 if I leave now,” you said, standing up to your feet.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nat said as she sprung to her feet with you. You looked at her questioningly, and she tilted her head and hesitated. “If there really is a killer on the loose, you shouldn’t be walking home alone at night, curfew or not.”

“I need to get home to feed my neighbor’s cat,” you argued. Nat’s eyebrows raised, and you sighed and explained, “She went on vacation for a week, and I’m supposed to feed the cat every night. It’s already so late—the kitty’s probably starving by now.”

“Then let me walk you home.”

You tilted your head like hers. “Then you would be the one walking home alone, silly.”

“I’ll get her home,” Steve announced as he slipped his brown jacket on. “Her apartment is on the way to mine.” Nat stared at him, not very convinced. “It will be fine, Nat. But if she’s going to leave, we need to do it now.”

Throwing her head back in frustration, Nat gave in. “Fine. But you better use yourself as a human shield if a guy in a ghost mask jumps out of an alley at you.”

Steve crouched and leveled his fists in front of his face, punching the air in front of him. You and Nat just stared blankly at him as he straightened and smiled sheepishly.

“Aren’t you the one who just nearly pissed your underwear from a scary movie?” said Nat.

“That’s demons!” he argued. “I’m a total boss in real life.”

“Don’t ever say total boss again,” Nat grumbled as she picked up your jacket from over the couch and slipped it over your arms gently. Nat was always extra caring and protective over you. Whether it was a best friend thing, a sister thing, or something more, she always did everything possible to make you feel safe and taken care of, especially after Wanda disappeared. She knew how close the two of you were and how much it affected you when she up and left.

Natasha walked the two of you to her front door, Steve leaving first and you following after. Before you passed through the door, you stopped, turning to Natasha who stood close to you.

You hesitated. You had asked everyone you knew this question a million times, almost every other day. You felt annoying and absurd, but you just couldn’t help the constant gnawing feeling inside you that was driving you crazy. But you knew Nat would never judge you.

Natasha read the concern on your face, crinkling her brow and leaning closer to you. Looking up at her, your lips opened a few times before you whispered, “Have you heard from Wanda?”

She must have assumed that was what you were going to ask, because her lips pressed into a straight line and her eyebrow softened. “No, I haven’t bunny,” her raspy voice assured you.

Disappointed, you sighed and looked at the ground. Nat’s hand met your shoulder, her warm palm rubbing it comfortingly.

“She just needs some time.”

“It’s been two months, Nat.”

“Everyone grieves differently, bunny,” she told you as she had told you a million times before, after each time you had asked her. “She’s grieving Vision, and you’re grieving her. Just as you want her to move on, you need to move on, too.” Hearing someone tell you to just move on was never the best advice, but with the way Nat was holding your shoulder and the gentleness laced in her voice, as if she was afraid that talking too loudly might break you, you found it assuring.

“Okay,” you whispered. She gave you a look questioning if you were okay, to which you answered with a slow nod and a soft smile.

“10:52!” Steve called from down the apartment hallway.

Nat quickly leaned forward and kissed the top of your head. “Be safe, bunny.”

“You, too.” You patted her arm and turned away, catching up to Steve who led you down the stairs.

Everyone had taken the curfew seriously, because the streets were nearly empty as Steve walked you home. He talked about all the training he had to do in the morning, to which you disinterestedly listened because it comforted you from the dark, quiet streets. Once you finally made it home, Steve hugged you goodbye and left to go to his apartment just a couple blocks over.

First, you took out the key your neighbor had given you and went into her apartment, being met with her orange and white cat who was already meowing at the door when you walked in.

“Hi, kitty,” you cooed, leaning down to rub the cat’s back as he pushed his forehead against your shin, his tail curling around your calf. “I’m sorry kitty, I know you’re so hungry.”

You got the food out from the cabinet where your neighbor kept it and poured it into the cat’s bowl, watching him instantly settle down into proper loaf position to hungrily eat.

“I’ll be earlier tomorrow,” you promised him, giving him a few more pets before you watered your neighbor’s succulents and then left, making sure the door was locked behind you. A door down, you entered your own apartment, sighing and letting your back lean against the cool door for a moment.

Coming back home alone was always depressing. You didn’t understand. You had lived alone for years because you liked it that way—you liked having your own space, your own things, your own comfort zone to relax in. The past two months, the emptiness was deafening.

“Maybe I should invest in a cat,” you murmured to yourself as you slid your jacket off and hung it on the coatrack.

After taking a shower, you still felt a little too tipsy to sleep. Plus, as braver you were than Steve, the movie did have you feeling a little on edge. So instead of going to bed like you normally would, you dragged your favorite fuzzy blanket from your bed to the couch and turned on Bluey, starting where you left off at Nat’s. You also got a bowl of Lucky Charms both for comfort and because you needed your stomach to settle from all the pizza grease and alcohol.

Five minutes into Bluey and stuffing your face, you felt your phone ringing from the table beside the couch. Crunching on the cereal, you glanced over to your phone that vibrated, moving slightly atop the table. It was Nat’s contact lighting up your phone, the screen filled with your favorite picture of her where she’s wearing a green face mask with a cucumber slice over one eye, her other eye squinting open.

Shifting the bowl to your right hand, you reached to your left and grabbed the phone, tapping the answer icon and bringing it to your ear.

“Yes, I made it home safe, Nat. Steve didn’t get stabbed, nor did I, and everything’s safe. You can sleep soundly tonight,” you immediately answered with a little giggle, already knowing that she was calling to bombard you with questions about if you made it back safely.

There was a beat of silence where all you heard was Bluey playing in front of you and the distant sounds of your neighbor’s cat meowing. A staticky hushing sound flooded through your phone’s speaker, and then a voice.

“Speaking too soon?”

The left side of your face where the phone was pressed tingled at the unfamiliarity of the voice in your ear. It was a strange, raspy voice, and you could tell almost instantly that it sounded audibly modified.

You second guessed yourself—was it someone else who called you? You took the phone away from your ear and looked at it again, but it was still Nat’s name in heart emojis and the picture of her in the green face mask with the cucumber slice over her eye. You brought it back to your ear, eyebrows sewing in confusion.

“Who is this?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” the voice drawled, low and hoarse in your ear, a tone of excitement laced in their voice.

You couldn’t help but feel a tendril of fear in your chest as the logical side of you tried to sort through all the possibilities of why Nat’s number had called you, yet you were not speaking to Nat.

“Is this a scam caller?” you blurted. “I know they figured out how to make it look like one of your contacts is calling you, but I’m not interested in your multilevel marketing scheme tonight, okay, buddy? Try again with a geriatric and maybe you’ll catch your luck.”

You were about to hang up before the voice spoke again, loud but hushing in your ear. “Let’s see… The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? No, that’s Natasha’s. What about Frankenstein? No, you’re too young for that. That would be more of Steve’s liking, wouldn’t it?”

Your lips fell open as the voice piqued your concern again. This definitely was not a scam caller, because there was no way a random stranger would know not only your friends’ names, but also which movies they had picked for movie night the last two Fridays in a row.

“What about… The Conjuring?!” The person’s voice rose in excitement, blaring through the speaker of the phone. A hissing laugh flooded the line, and your heart was starting to noticeably pound in your chest.

“Sam?!” you confidently asked, despite the seeping fear in your chest. Sam would know what you all had watched together, and he would definitely be the one to prank call you using a voice modifier just to scare the shit out of you.

“Is Conjuring your favorite movie, y/n?”

Your body froze as your brain started to run out of possibilities as to who it could be. The sounds of Bluey and the neighbor’s cat started to drown out of your hearing, your hand on your bowl of cereal turning sweaty and hot.

“Why don’t you put the Lucky Charms down so we can have a proper conversation?”

A gasp struck out of your throat as you set the Lucky Charms down harshly on the table, a few marshmallows and some milk spilling out of the bowl and onto the table. Pushing your blanket off your body that was now growing hot, you turned around to look around your apartment. The kitchen was empty, and so was the bathroom that you could see into, and so was your bedroom whose door was open.

“Who are you?” you demanded shakily, whipping your head to the window where your blinds had broken and hadn’t been replaced, looking out at the fire escape and seeing no one there.

“Don’t turn your head too hard there, y/n. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, haven’t you?” the sinister voice said over the phone, and now your entire body was starting to throb in fear.

“If this is a prank caller, you should know my friend is a hacker and she will find out who you are,” you said, jumping up to your feet and turning in circles around your apartment even though you still saw no one there.

“One… two… three… four…” The voice counted, and on the other end of the line you could hear the light clinking of metal. “Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen! Fifteen beer caps!”

Your eyes went wide and instinctively started to moisten as you realized that the sound of metal was the pile of beer caps that the three of you had built on Nat’s table.

“Oh, you said your friend is a hacker? Are you talking about Natasha? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Natasha won’t be helping you out with anything anytime soon—or ever.”

Could it be Natasha herself prank calling you? That would be extremely out of the blue for her, since she seemed so worried about you walking home and she knew you were feeling extra sensitive about everything that had happened in the last few months. There was no way she would do that. But it was Nat’s number calling you, and there was the sound of the beer caps in her apartment, and the words of the person telling you that Nat was in some way incapacitated permanently.

“I’m calling the cops!” you yelled, taking the phone away from your face and instantly ending the call. Your trembling fingers fumbled to go back to the call app and dial the local police station’s number, accidentally opening other apps. Before you could dial anything, Nat’s contact lit up your screen again. Frustrated, you denied it, but almost instantly it blocked your screen again.

Maybe it was all a joke and now Nat was calling you to tell you she was okay, you thought. You answered the call with a very frustrated, “Hello?”

“You hang up on me again and I will gut you like a fish!” the voice angrily hissed with such power and fury that it made your back straighten suddenly. The loudness of their voice overpowered the voice modifier, but even as their voice changed, you still couldn’t put a finger on if you recognized it or not.

You just closed your mouth, breathing hard as your forehead grew sweaty and feverish.

“Unless you want me to slice pretty little Nat’s throat right open, I suggest you sit still and comply.”

Relief washed over you as you took the caller’s words meaning that Nat was still okay. In the silence on the line, you could hear the sound of a car in the background. This person was driving.

“What do you want?” you asked, and now that you knew for sure they weren’t near you, you ran to your bedroom and opened the drawer of your nightstand as quietly as you could.

“I want you to tell me your favorite scary movie,” they lolled with bemusement.

Focused on getting the gun out of your drawer and bullets from a pack of ammo to load it, you didn’t say anything.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s a simple question. Everyone has a favorite scary movie.”

You realized that you didn’t hear the sound of a driving car in the background anymore, and they were getting impatient, so you blurted the first thing you could think of. “Saw.”

“Saw? With all that blood and gore?!”

“It’s a classic,” you breathed as you loaded the gun and then held it up, carefully walking back into the living room.

“You Americans always follow the sheep,” they said with a despicable laugh, and you could hear noises in the background.

“So… you’re not American?” you asked, trying to get more information about who was calling you. While you wanted to hang up and call the police, you knew they would just keep calling you back quicker than you could dial 911, and you thought you might as well try to figure out more.

They dodged your question completely. “What do you like so much about Bluey?”

Gasping, you turned towards your TV and pointed your gun at the animated characters on the screen. It was sickening, looking at the cute, childish show while you were holding a gun and being held hostage on the phone by a psychopath. You were starting to think they must be just a prank caller. Maybe they picked some random person, who happened to be you, and followed you to Nat’s apartment. They saw you were drinking and used their own beer caps to make you think they were in Nat’s apartment. Maybe they had seen you through the window eating Lucky Charms and watching Bluey. It had to be a prank.

“It’s… it’s cute,” you faintly answered, going to the window slowly, with your gun pointed at the glass.

The voice laughed again, singeing your nerves as you peered out of the window into the darkness, looking around as far as you could to make sure no one was there.

“Do you wanna hear a joke?”

Seeing that no one was anywhere near the window, you moved back across your living room.

“Sure,” you whispered.

“Knock… Knock.”

Your eyes instantly shifted to the front door which was right ahead of you. Did you even lock it? Were they mentioning the door because they were right outside?

Quickly, you jumped to the door and locked the handle and slammed the chain shut at the top of the door. Holding your breath, you brought your eye up close to the peephole, expecting to see some strange man standing outside your door. To your relief, there was no one there.

“W-Who’s there?” you whispered, keeping your eye at the peephole in case they jumped into sight.

You were met with the sound of the call being disconnected. Confused, you looked down at your phone, but the moment you did, you heard the piercing sound of glass shattering. Out of fright, you dropped your gun, and it slid out of reach under the kitchen table.

Shrieking, you turned around and saw that the window you were just standing at had been kicked through. In came a dark figure slinking through the broken window, heavy boots crunching the shards of broken glass on the floor as they stepped into the apartment. You froze. Their other foot came through, the trail of their black cloak slipping over the windowsill as they stepped fully inside your home. They stood, straightening themselves like a demonic shadow standing across the room from you.

What should have scared you the most was the large, shiny knife they held in their hand. But what really scared you was when they lifted their face to show a white ghost mask with darkness for eyes and a horribly, sickeningly twisted open mouth in the shape of a scream. From across the room, you saw the blood splattered across the mask, staining its otherwise spotless white surface. The black glove on their hand squeaked as they tightened their fist around the knife, the ghost mask tilting slowly to the side as they stared you down from behind the mask.

Your phone slipped out of your hands, and the sound of it crashing to the floor propelled you out of your frozen state. Unable to breathe, you grunted in fear as you turned and started to unlock your door so you could run away.

Heavy booted footsteps came thudding towards you as your sweaty fingers struggled to unlock the door, and you turned your head to see that they were coming right at you, raising the knife in the air which spread their black cloak out like wings of a black bird coming down to snatch their prey. You shrieked and jumped to the side right as their arm came down, hearing their large knife stick right into the wood of the door.

Stumbling like an idiot, you sprinted to the only other exit in sight—the broken window they had just come through. You had a little time as they were pulling their knife out of the door, but right as you got to the window, they were running towards you again.

The fear and adrenaline pumping through your blood was making you dizzy. You let out another undignified squeal of terror as you moved away from the window and jumped between the couch and the TV.

The masked killer which you had read about in the article stopped when they saw you moving directions, now standing on the other side of the couch from you. You jumped to the right, but they moved with you.

���Stop!” you screamed, moving to the left only to have them move at the same time as you, still holding up the shiny knife that glinted under the light of your apartment.

You were cornered. There was nowhere to go now. You just stood there, your knees shaking, crouched, just waiting for them to make their move.

In a sudden swoop, they leaped over the couch and lunged at you. You screamed, jumping away just in time for their knife to slice across your upper arm in a non-fatal catch. The person fell right into the TV, the screen on which Bluey still played turning into glitches as they knocked it right off the wall in a loud crash.

Sprinting to your bedroom, you slammed the door shut and locked it, lunging towards the window by your bed. You could hear them fumbling to get up in the other room.

You had this window glued shut several years before out of fear for your own safety. You lived in a dangerous city. There was a fire escape right outside your window. It was only common sense to have glued it shut so that no one would sneak into the window right beside where you lay sleeping in bed.

The cut on your arm was already gushing, bright red lines of blood flooding down your arm and trickling into your palm, making your grip on the window slippery. The cut hurt, and as you tugged upwards on the window, it hurt even more, but you were desperate. People could lift cars out of their own adrenaline, surely you could snap the barrier of super glue standing between you and your last effort to escape.

The doorknob to your bedroom aggressively throttled. You could hear them shoving their shoulder against the locked door, and you started to sob as you tried harder to open your window, feeling like there was a timer right over your head counting down to your own death. It was a manic state you were in, pulling at the window as your arm covered itself in your own blood and the person started using their boot to heavily kick down the door.

“Come on!” you cried, your bloody hand slipping off the window.

With another powerful kick to the door, it came right off the hinges, slamming into the adjacent wall as the cloaked, masked person started storming towards you.

There was nothing left to do. You tugged at the window again, not even bothering to watch them come towards you. If you were going to be murdered, you didn’t want to see them as they did it.

Instead of a knife, you felt two gloved hands grab you by your sides and lift you, throwing you onto your bed. You lost your breath as your back hit the mattress with force, and you watched as the person climbed over you. You were at least going to give them a fight.

Raising your legs, you tried to kick them away, but they grabbed hold of your ankles as they climbed between your thighs, using a great deal of strength to keep your legs still. You even heard them grunt in frustration, and the sound of them struggling to hold you down gave you a boost of confidence to jump up and punch them right in the mask. The person took one hand away from your leg to cover the mouth part of the mask, and you used the opportunity to kick them in the chest. To your surprise, they hardly faltered. The mask faced you again, and something in you twisted. The mask did not change its expression, but you knew now they were very, very angry.

They snatched your free leg and climbed further over you, leaning down and snapping their knifeless hand over your throat, squeezing hard. You watched as they raised the knife above your head. You choked and grabbed at their hand, using your legs to try and kick at them again, but they were kneeling between them, so all you could do was dig your heels into their hips which didn’t have any effect.

Their hand squeezed your throat hard, the leather of their gloves digging into your skin. Losing air, you grabbed at their iron grip on your throat, staring up at the horrifying ghost face above you and their knife positioned to strike.

If they were going to kill you, your dying wish was to see who this serial killer was. They were breathing hard, loudly, distracted by the passion of their pending kill, so you flew your hands to their face and ripped the mask off.

A head of red hair came spilling out of the mask as you tugged it off, and you were met with wide green eyes. If you weren’t already being choked, you would have lost your breath at the sight of Wanda above you.

“W-Wanda?” you choked, your face going bright red as your vision blurred. Your eyes shifted between the mask in your hand and her face—it was her the whole time.

Her lips snarled, showing her canines at you. Her pupils were wide and frenzied, a pink flush in her face and a shine on her forehead whether from the efforts of trying to catch you or from excitement of finally catching you. Her lip was busted from when you had punched her over the mask, a little blood bubbling into her mouth and spreading across her teeth.

She looked at you for a moment, her face hardening, and she released her hand from your neck right before you were about to pass out. You desperately sucked in air, coughing and choking as your lungs filled with oxygen.

“So I did get you,” she said, her eyes moving to your bloody arm. Her tongue ran over her lower lip as she reached down and ran her gloved hand over the cut, smearing more blood across your skin. Fear twisted inside you as you watched her pink lips turn into a demonic smile.

“Wanda,” you whispered, breathing heavily as you saw her more clearly now. “What have you done?”

Was she the same ghostfaced serial killer who had been killing people in the city? Is this where she has been for these two months, breaking into people’s homes and stabbing them to death?

“It didn’t take long for Natasha to swoop in, did it?” she asked, and you realized then that when the voice modifier glitched over the phone, it had been her voice you heard. It’d been so long since you heard it that you hadn’t even recognized it, but you knew now.

“What?” you breathed, eyes flickering to the knife still in her hands.

“I’ve been gone for two months, and she already has you in her grip,” she spat, her lips curling in anger.

“Where did you go?” you blurted. “Why did you disappear?”

A smile stretched at her mouth. “I needed some time adjust my… perspective.” She enunciated the word slowly and sharply as she brought the knife to your bruised throat.

You gasped and flinched when you felt the cold metal lay flat across your skin and then turn so that the point pushed against your flesh, threatening to rip it.

“I used to be so selfless. I avoided you for Vision’s sake, so as to not hurt his precious feelings.” She started dragging the point of the knife down the column of your throat, her breath hissing between her teeth in excitement. “But Nat was still there after he died, so I left. I couldn’t be around if I couldn’t have you still.”

You watched her in terror as she spoke, her wide pupils focused on the way the knife moved across your skin, pressing in but not cutting.

“I sat back and watched. I watched you see her nearly every day. I watched you go to her house for those stupid little movie nights. I watched you sit at home and talk to her on the phone. God, how could you stand listening to her voice that much?”

“Nat was there for me when you weren’t,” you spat, forgetting that she had a knife to the most vulnerable part of your body.

Her eyes shot up at you again, seized with anger. She dragged the knife down to the collar of your shirt as her other hand grabbed a fistful of the fabric, and she started cutting it right off your body. You were reminded that Wanda was not herself now, that she had spent the last two months going insane. You were not safe.

You gasped as Wanda cut right down the fabric of your shirt so easily that it made you realize just how sharp her knife was. She pulled the fabric off your body and threw it down, leaving your upper body entirely naked. She looked down at your chest and seethed.

“You’ve always been so perfect,” she whispered, using her knife to draw a gentle line down your sternum. “I love watching you through the cameras but seeing you in real life is so… fucking… hot.”

She got a little ahead of herself as she dragged the knife down between your breasts, her hand jerking and cutting the skin on the inside of your breast. You shrieked and jumped, feeling tears well up in your eyes and spill down your hot face.

“C-Cameras?” you stuttered, your chest heaving as you breathed through the pain.

Wanda looked up ahead of you, and you tilted your head up to follow her eyes. How could you be so unobservant? In the top corner of your room was a little black circle with a lens, and as your eyes shifted, you saw that every single corner of the room had a little black lens.

“And in every other corner of your apartment, sweet cheeks, as well as Natasha’s.” She laughed at the terror on your face as you realized that you had been watched for weeks on end without even knowing.

Her eyes fell down to your chest where the cut on your breast was bleeding now, gravity tugging a drop of the blood down the center of your stomach. She let out a shuddering, primal growl as she leaned down and brought her lips to the cut.

Your body stiffened as you felt her lips, so close to a sensitive part of your body, kissing the deep cut that started to bleed more. She kissed it again and then ran her tongue over it, moaning at the taste of your blood. It made your face go hot and red as Wanda’s hair tickled your arms, her tongue moving upwards until it swirled around your nipple.

You squealed, thinking about asking her to stop but knowing it was no use, anyway. It scared you the way your body reacted to her, your nipple hardening in her warm mouth as she sucked on it.

She let it go with a pop, coming back up to reveal that her lips and chin were smeared with your blood. You glanced down to see that the breast she had paid attention to had smudges of blood all over it.

“Wanda, please,” you begged. “I’m sorry for whatever you think I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you or—”

A sudden slap to your face stopped you from where you spoke. Your head whipped to the side with the force of the slap, and through the stinging pain of the leathered force you also felt a sharp pain—she had been holding the knife. Warm blood trinkled down your sliced cheek as your flooding tears mixed with it.

“Don’t be so sad, detka,” she purred, taking your chin with hypocritical gentleness and turning your face to look back at her. “You can’t help it you’re a needy slut. I mean, just look at what’s happening. Here I am, cutting you up, and your little pussy is already so wet, isn’t it?”

She rolled her hips forward suddenly, and you felt a hard bulge under the cloak press against your core. The friction made your body shiver, and it was then you realized the wetness between your legs. Wanda grinned widely down at you, looking like a predator with her pearly smile covered in blood.

“Besides, it’s Natasha who stole you from me, and I don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

She looked down at your shorts and started to tug them off, but your eyes widened at her words. “Nat? What did you do to her?!”

“Shhhh…” she shushed you as she peeled your shorts and panties to the floor, leaving you completely naked under her. “Don’t worry, detka. I always clean my knife between kills.” She smirked at you and sat up, kneeling between your open legs.

Your mind raced at thoughts of Natasha—was she dead? Was it your fault? Was Wanda going to kill you, too?

You jumped when you felt the knife dragging across your inner thigh, slicing open your skin that bubbled with more blood. Wanda groaned at the sight, and you felt a mix of relief and fear when she set her knife down on the bed near her hand, far enough out of your reach.

“Just look at you, detka,” she purred as she smeared the blood around on your thigh, the pain vibrating through you. The terror of bloody craze on her face struck a chord inside you that made you both scared and thrilled. “All bloody for me—and so fucking wet.” She moved her eyes to your pussy, using her finger to spread your lips open. Your cheeks burned when you heard the wet sound of your folds moving.

Wanda reached down and grabbed at her crotch, grinning as she leaned back down to you and started kissing the bloody side of your face. “I’ve been waiting so long for you,” she whispered right into your ear, making your skin hot. When her tongue licked up the blood on the side your face, you cringed and whined. She moved her kisses to your neck, biting you with force as she started to grind her hips against you, getting excited.

Your core was throbbing hard as her bulge moved right against you, your knees bending up around her and threatening to spread wider for her. She was putting you under a bloodied haze, and your body was yielding to her. It made you cry harder, but your hand met her shoulder and begged her closer against you.

“Fuck,” she groaned, grinding harder against you. She was breathing heavier now, and when she leaned up to look at you again, there was even more blood on her face. “I want you to watch me fuck you.” She reached down between her legs, and chills ran up your spine as your body tensed in preparation. “I want you to look me in the eyes as I fuck your pussy the way it should be fucked—because it’s mine and you’re mine, and there’s just nothing you can do about that, can you, pretty little doll?”

Your hands grabbed desperately at her arms, words leaving you as your body grew hotter and hotter with desire. She shifted the fabric of her cloak, and pressed herself down against you, her hand still reaching down.

“My pretty little doll,” she breathed as she stared down at you. Suddenly, you felt the tip of something large pressing into you, and suddenly her strap was sliding all the way inside you. You groaned as your walls stretched around her girth, hands grabbing a fistful of her cloak as she buried her cock deep inside you. Wanda only laughed at the look of pain on your face, snapping her hips so that the entirety of her length pushed into you.

“Wanda,” you begged—begged for her to stop, for her to continue, for her to kiss you, for her to let you go—you didn’t know what for.

“Just as tight as I thought you’d be,” Wanda groaned, her eyes rolling back as she started to move her hips. You laid under her, legs spread, bloodied and cut up, letting her fuck you right there on her own bed.

“Too big,” you whined when she started moving faster, her strap bulging tightly inside your pussy. She only laughed again.

“Take my cock, detka. Or would you rather take my knife?” She grabbed the knife again and pushed it right against your throat, causing you to screech in fear. “I would like to leave as many cuts on your pretty body as I can, but I think you might not want me to cut right here, would you?”

You wanted to shake your head but quickly decided against it with how hard the knife was pressed to your throat, so you gave a pathetic, “No.”

“Good,” she growled, her free hand grabbing your hip to keep you still as she started fucking you harder. Grunts of pain left your lips and grunts of pleasure left hers as she drove herself inside you over and over again, thrusting her hips upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you just to drive you a little crazier and make your body betray your mind even more.

It was working. The pain faded and pleasure filled in all the cracks as she fucked you. She was groaning like a wild animal, and the sight of your blood on her face made you even more sickeningly turned on.

Keeping the knife on your throat, steadied with her elbow digging into your collarbone, she slipped her hand down between you and started rubbing your clit with her gloved fingers. The leather was painful at first, but as she massaged your clit just right, it started to propel your pleasure.

Disgusting sounds filled your ears. The squeaking of the bed under her forceful thrusts, the wet squelching of your pussy as she filled it with her cock, the sound of her grunting, and the vibrations of your own moans in your throat that you tried your hardest to keep silent.

Wanda took notice of this and pushed the knife harder on your neck. “Go ahead and let it out, baby. I’ve always wanted to hear you scream.”

It came tumbling out of you as you moaned for Wanda, and it encouraged her to fuck you even harder. The blood from the cut on your inner thigh was mixing with your own juices, causing a symphony of wetness and squelching from between your legs as she defiled you.

Pressure built in your lower tummy that bulged from her large strap filling you up. “That’s it. Cum on my cock, detka. Give yourself to me.”

Wanda was close to cumming herself, and it was evident in the way her hips thrust wildly and without rhythm, her eyes struggling to stay open.

“Wanda,” you moaned, grabbing at her as your orgasm started to crash over you. You couldn’t help but scream as your insides quivered around her, her strap still hitting all the right places inside you as you helplessly came.

Wanda grunted and opened her mouth, quickly reaching down and squeezing the base of the strap as she came. In the middle of your climax, you felt her faux cum spill inside you all at once, pumping you full until you could feel it in your lower tummy.

You were blinded by many things—from the shattering orgasm Wanda had just given you, from the blood loss you were enduring, from the fear and terror of the situation. By the time you came down from your high and could see again, Wanda was looking at your throat. In the heat of the moment, she had accidentally cut it just a little—not enough to really hurt you, but enough to make her go even crazier at the mere thought.

You were shaking and panting as Wanda smirked in victory and in malevolence. She looked over to the ghostface mask beside you and picked it up, pulling it on back over her head. She leaned down closer to you, the black eyes of the mask boring into your own as her head tilted.

“Let’s do another round, yeah? This time with the mask on.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Mosley Lane: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: This is the last piece of the puzzle. The piece before you can finally be set free from all this pain. You're going to do whatever it takes to help your friend and more importantly, yourself.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

The rest of the team comes back and you inform them of what you and Spencer talked about with Ashley. Not much is known about Roger other than he worked as an electrician for his entire adult life. He eventually married Anita Wled, the daughter of a family who owns a funeral home. Penelope works her magic on the couple and comes up with some very interesting information.

"Apparently, Anita can't have children. Repeated miscarriages. Eventually, Anita got too old to bear children," she says after pulling up her medical charts.

"The first abduction that closely resembles what's going on here was a decade ago in a different city. Children have gone missing every few years in different parts of the state. I guess they got too many and hired Ashley to help take care of their children. Look how well that ended for her," you sigh.

"We're running out of time. Twenty-four hours have almost passed."

"Look, we all think that Aimee could be alive. That's why there are hundreds of volunteers and officers combing every inch of the county."

"They're dragging the rivers and digging up the woods. That's not gonna help us if Aimee is still with the unsub, if she's still alive out there," Emily sighs.

"What about Charlie? Is he still alive?"

"Sarah believes it," JJ says.

"She's been saying that for eight years, JJ," Derek says. "Have you thought about why you suddenly believe her? Do you think it might be because you're a mother?"

"Excuse me?" you ask, suddenly upset at Derek's comment. "Did you really just ask her that? It doesn't matter if she's a mother or not. We all want to believe a mother when she says her missing son might be alive. The ruse used on Charlie is the same one that happened with Aimee."

"All I'm saying is, if we go from a single abduction to multiple abductions over ten years, that changes everything. We all have to be convinced that's what it is based on an unbiased profile."

"My evidence isn't enough to convince you? You've seen the sketches. You've seen what Roger and Anita look like. You know what Ashley went through. Is that not enough?"

"Okay," Emily says, trying to calm the fire between you and Derek. "What's the ruse? A distraction of a lost child and eight-year-old victims are taken from public places with little to no security. That's not just the same ruse. That's a signature, and I'm not a mother."

"Charlie would be sixteen now. We all know that preferential offenders typically dispose of their victims before they reach puberty."

"Unless his purpose is to help Roger snatch the kids," you say. "He's been with them since he was eight. He's completely submissive to them. He'll do anything they say, including helping them kidnap other kids. It would be why Charlie's body was never found. Penelope, we need more information on the kids that were taken. Ashley's lawyer is going need more evidence for her retrial."

Before Penelope can do anything, Hotch speaks to you.

"Are you doing this because you want your friend out of jail?"

"No," you sigh. "I'm doing this because there is an innocent woman doing the time for a crime she didn't commit. These kids are going missing because of this horrid couple, and it needs to stop."

"Fine. Coordinate with Reid and Garcia." He looks at Penelope. "Go back ten years nationwide. Start with abductions in target-rich environments. Rule out any with bodily recovery, dead or alive."

"I'm going to let Sarah know," JJ says and leaves the room.

"The rest of us need to check out Aimee's abduction site with new eyes."

There is a small possibility that Roger and Anita aren't the ones doing this, which is why Hotch is looking at this through an unbiased lens. You know they are the ones responsible, so you have to gather the evidence before you can do anything else. Ashley deserves someone to fight for her.

Since the year 2000, over two hundred children's bodies have not been found nationwide. In the state of Virginia, there are twelve. Charlie has been on the list for eight years, and Aimee just joined it. Aimee was taken from Ashburn and Charlie was taken from Leesburg, eight years apart. Both of them were taken a half mile from the highway. Karla Hartaway was abducted in 1999 when she was eight from Garrison. Stephen Shepherd was also eight when he was abducted in 2003 from Arlington. Danny Kenman was abducted at four in the afternoon from the mall. His parents are divorced, and he's still missing. Tracey Cain vanished from a park with both her parents present. Jake Wusman was abducted while he and his family were on a picnic.

You got in contact with the families you know are affected by Roger and Anita. Before their children were abducted, they confirmed that Roger would come into their houses to fix some electrical problems. Anita once supplied a family with a casket from her father's business. It's how they knew what children to target.

You're sitting inside the briefing room after just getting done talking to one of the victims' families. You're twirling a pen in your hand when Hotch walks into the room.

"Did you find anything?"

"Everyone I talked to had a run-in with Roger and Anita prior to their kid being taken. Roger did some electrical work in their houses, and Anita sold a family a casket for a loved one who passed. Days later or even weeks, their child went missing and Roger and Anita left town. That's not a coincidence."

"I agree."

JJ walks into the room with a woman who looks like she's seen better days.

"Hotch, this is Sarah Hillridge."

"Oh, we met when Charlie was taken. I mean, you know, you saw a lot of us. I'm sure we all look the same."

"Thank you for coming in. Have a seat."

"Sarah, may I ask you something?" She nods. "Do you know who Roger and Anita Roycewood are? Maybe they did some work for you? You know, electrically?"

"I think I might have known a Roger. I had some electrical work done before Charlie was taken. I remember because we had to stay with a family friend while the work was being done."

You look at Hotch and raise your eyebrows. Your suspects are looking more like the people who are doing this now. They might have taken Aimee, and they might have taken Charlie eight years ago.

"Alright, these represent kids taken from public places." JJ has a map pulled up with pins on it. "Locations are never hit more than once, but there are similarities in each--different malls, toy stores, carnivals, theme parks, and parades. They are places where families should feel safe, and where there isn't much security. That's twelve children over ten years old. We should interview all the families."

"I know a few of them. We had a support group. I mean, most of them have moved on," Sarah says.

"You're here, though."

"I saw Charlie three years ago."

"You didn't tell me that," JJ says quietly.

"My husband didn't believe me. Why would you?"

"Tell us what happened."

"At first, I saw him all the time. I thought I did and from what I understand, that's normal, but you can't survive that way. So Jake and I promised that we would move on. A few years later, I saw him. I mean, it was different. In my mind, he had never aged, but this was a teenage Charlie crossing the street. As quick as he was there he was gone again, but I know I saw him. Jake didn't believe me. That was the day he left me."

"What did you do when you saw Charlie?"

"I called for him."

"How did you know it was him?"

"I didn't, not for sure, so I called for him again. He looked back."

"Your husband didn't see him?"

"It was crowded. He disappeared. I lost him all over again," she sighs sadly.

"We'll be asking those parents to sign up for all that pain again. If they've moved on..."

"They'd take the chance if it meant their kids were alive," Sarah interrupts JJ.

JJ calls in the victims' families and has the entire team talking to them to relive their worst days to get a feel of what happened to them back then. You're in the briefing room on the phone with Abel in hopes you have enough for a retrial.

"I talked to the families of the kids who disappeared. Roger and Anita had contact with them days or weeks prior to their child being taken. We know Ashley babysat for them, and she described the kids who match the description of those who disappeared. Is this enough for a retrial? I'm working on getting more evidence but this is all I have right now."

"Send it over to me. It might be enough to convince a judge for a retrial. I'll be in touch."

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate this."

"No, thank you. I hated seeing Ashely go to jail. She's a good person."

"I know she is," you smile.

You hang up feeling really good about this. You believe wholeheartedly that she will get released this week if not next week. On your way to Penelope's desk, you see families talking with your team, most of them crying as they retell the stories of the worst day of their lives. You knock on Pen's door and walk inside.

"Hey, can you tell me where Roger and Anita live?"

"Unfortunately, that trial ended when your friend was arrested. They dropped their house and sold most of their things. If they are here, then they're using cash."

"Okay, if they have young children, they have to have a house, it has to be local, and it has to be big enough to look appealing. It also might have enough room inside or underneath it to keep the children in. So maybe a farm or something? Also, look for places that are secluded."

"I'll keep looking."

"Thank you."

Once everyone has left, you rejoin the team and Sarah in the briefing room.

"Eleven families have confirmed the same woman, forty to fifty years old, calling for children. In some cases, she even had a child with her," JJ says.

"Can I have a copy of those witness accounts?" you ask.

"Sure."

"She actually used the kids for the abductions? Were they her own or the ones kidnapped?" Sarah asks.

"We don't believe she's a mother. Most predisposed female offenders are not, but they are the most violent."

"You said that she's working with someone?"

"Yes. Roger, her husband. She chooses the victim while they do the riskiest part. They grab the child and manage the getaway."

"We don't know for sure if it's Roger and Anita," Hotch says. "I know what you're saying, Y/N. I believe you one hundred percent, you know this. You also know that we need more proof before we can definitively put this on someone."

"I know," you nod. "I'll keep working on my angle."

"Good. Don't give up."

"This is what Charlie looks like as a teenager," JJ says, putting a computer-generated photo on the screen.

"Um, he's tall and thin. His hair is darker than it was, but that's him. That's Charlie. Why would they take the risk of letting him out in the world?"

"They've had him in their control for eight years. He's either got Stockholm or he's being threatened."

Sarah looks like she is going to break down crying so JJ immediately steps in.

"Why don't we take a break, okay? Come on."

"Okay. Thank you," she sighs and allows JJ to take her away.

"Listen, I had Penelope look into Roger and Anita's address just in case it is them. They sold their house and most of their things once Ashley got arrested. I told her to look at places that are big and spacious, maybe a farm. It might be isolated, especially if Anita is violent."

"I'll narrow down the places they might be on the map," Spencer says.

"I agree with Y/N in that it might be isolated. I mean, there's no way to explain a houseful of kids at the neighborhood block party."

"Managing this many children isn't easy, and there have to be incidents where things didn't go as planned. We should start with domestic calls and disturbances. Concentrate on families who were visited by social services."

"I'll get Garcia," Spencer says and leaves the room.

"It's likely these unsubs were questioned before. Once we narrow down Garcia's list, we should revisit them."

Penelope returns with one hundred and seven places where Roger and Anita could be.

"Okay, I have one hundred and seven families visited by social services in the last ten years."

"That's too many to go door to door. We're gonna have to narrow that down. We need to figure out why they're staying in Northern Virginia."

"Their work could be the key. They could have a child-care facility on the premises as a cover."

"You know, it's most likely a single-income family. Someone has to be home to stay with the kids," Spencer says.

"They've been questioned before, so we can expect a rehearsed response."

"Okay, all of this helps." Penelope narrows down the list. "I have twenty-three families now."

Derek looks uneasy and Rossi picks up on this.

"What is it?"

"We're gonna be knocking on the doors of twenty-three families, and all of them have done something bad to a child. We don't have a warrant. Just our profile. If we get it wrong and leave that house, they'll destroy any evidence they have, including the children."

"That's why you have me," you say. "I'll know immediately if there are children hiding. Even if it's not Roger and Anita, I'll know."

"Just for added precaution, JJ, get an article of Aimee's clothing."

"What for?" Penelope asks.

"It's for the dogs."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[snowywolf1005]

ASL X MOTHER READER

STORY

You're happy.

You lost your home.

Roger took care of you.

You change your look.

Roger death.

You live on your own.

Rouge give you, ace.

You live the foosha village.

You raise ace.

You have to raise Luffy.

Luffy meet ace.

You meet sabo.

You have 3 sons.

You lost sabo.

Ace, go on advture.

Then, luffy go on adventure as well.

You say goodbye to him, with the animals that once lives your home.

You ask Dr. Vegapunk to make a seraphim of you.

You found out that ace was captured.

You try to save him, but you die.

You have a funeral. But...

You're alive. Your old friend saves you.

Then, your human body was given a traditional burial. Your soul went to your new body.

A body of the kaiju.

[paarthurnax59]

"Happy Memorial Day, bro."

Summary: It’s Memorial Day and you pay a visit to Steve Roger’s grave, your twin brother, with your husband and your kids. When facing his headstone, you are confronted with grief and guilt. Logan then decided to help you bring the closure that you needed.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x sister!Reader, Logan Howlett x Rogers!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, abandonment, reader is depicted as being Caucasian, grief, talks of suicide.

Important note: Regardless of how you feel about American politics today, please keep the comments respectful and do not dishonor those that paid the ultimate price for sustaining peace in the world. All who leave disrespectful comments will be blocked. 

Also, if you have served or have family members that served, whether be American or any other countries military that have passed on, please share!

 As Logan pulled the classic car up to Arlington Cemetery, you grabbed the flowers and photos, along with an American flag that Bucky helped you fold up. Both he and Sam were going to meet you after you had visited the cemetery with your kids, Charlotte and Joey, both nestled in the back sound asleep from the long car ride. Unbuckling your seat belt, you looked to the crowd of people. Mourning families and couples standing in front of the headstones of their deceased loved ones who paid the ultimate price. You saw as many people lay solemnly on the ground of the graves. There was this one older woman that you saw brushed her fingers on the headstone in front of her, as the tears began to fall from her wrinkled cheeks. 

“Baby?” You heard Logan’s voice, snapping you out of your trance, making you look into those beautiful hazel eyes you had grown to adore. “You alright?” He asked as he touched your face, gently stroking your smooth skin.

“I’m okay…just feels weird being back here again. Almost three months since the funeral.”

“Yeah, I know.” Logan replied as he got closer to you and kissed your forehead with a comforting hand on the back of your head.

    It had been three months since your twin brother, Steve, had passed away. After he returned the stones, he went back to the 1940’s and had the life with Peggy. The life that you had with Logan, a home and a family. He never truly got over her. The woman that was the very first, possibly the only woman, to show him interest while he was still your scrawny, older brother. When Steve went through the platform and disappear, he didn’t come back. Instead, you all looked to the lake and saw an old man sitting on a bench. That old man was your big brother. 

    He told you about when you all had defeated Thanos and how he wanted to leave this time and go back. You objected at first and even got angry at him for even abandoning you once more. The first time in the ice, and now to go back to the 40’s. Leaving behind his niece and nephew, his family to chase some dream that died the moment he crashed that plane in the 40’s. You refused to talk to him after a few days after that. Bucky had to literally drag you to the site where Steve had to return the stones. Logan was at your side the entire time as Steve gave you one last look before leaving through the time machine, never to return. Looking back, you began to think differently, and it was eating away at you.

“Come on, let’s get the kids up.” Your husband interjected, making you nod your head in agreement and got out of the car and to the back seat. “Munchkins? Wake up. We’re here!” Logan gently shook your daughter while you unstrapped your son from his car seat. The little two-year-old boy began to stir from his sleep as you picked him up and into your arms. You thanked your lucky stars that he didn’t start crying. 

“Daddy…” Your four-year-old girl awoke from her sleep and hugged Logan as he got her up from her own car seat. “Where are we?” 

“We are at Arlington Cemetery, little munchkin. It’s where many of the brave soldiers are buried.” Logan explained to his child. Both you and Logan decided long ago that you would be honest with them when it came to grim topics, like death. Seeing the line of work, you are both in and all of the things you had seen, it made sense to let them know of the nature of the world.

“Like uncle Stevie?” She asked sadly, making the both of you look at each other with gloom.

“Yes, Like uncle Stevie, angel.” You replied.

   Steve and Lottie, Steve’s nickname for her, were as close as an uncle and niece could get. As soon as she was born, like Logan, Steve was wrapped around her finger. Whenever Steve would come over, it was the best day of the week for Lottie. Playing tea parties, having sleepovers at his place, baking in the kitchen, trips all around the city. the Zoo, Coney Island and Central Park, you name it. Lottie adored Steve and he loved her just as much. It was one of the main reasons that you got so angry at Steve for leaving.

     Lottie was devastated when she found out her uncle Steve wasn’t coming back. At least, not how she remembered him anyway. You tried you best to explain to her that he wanted to go back to the 40’s, so he can have his own life. She still didn’t understand, which you were sympathetic. She was only a child and trying to explain quantum time travel were complicated to her already. All she thought was that her Uncle Steve had abandoned her. She didn’t eat or sleep for days after she was told Steve wasn’t going to return. You took her to the hospital when Steve was struck ill. She eventually was able to warm up to him again and Steve had shown her all the pictures of his own family. Of her aunt Peggy, and his son and daughter. Tony and (Name), naming both after the most important people in his life. You were happy for him, but at the same time had wished he would have found his happiness here in this time. 

   After the funeral, Lottie had stayed in her room. Barely speaking a word to anyone, even her own parents. It took a long time for her to cope with her beloved uncle’s death. You even had Morgan visit her, seeing as they were also very close one another. Time was the only thing that was going to heal her, just like you. 

“Let’s go, you got everything? You need me to grab anything?” Your husband asked and you shook your head.

“No, just take Joey. I got everything.” You answered and handed him your son, who was very happy to in his father’s arms. Grabbing all the stuff, your family strolled into the crowded cemetery. 

   As you walked into the cemetery with your family, you watched all the many people swarming the place, paying their respects to the honored dead. A few crying widows, children standing with their parents in front of headstones and parents mourning for their deceased child. Even fellow veterans kneeling in front of their fallen comrades’ final resting place, the lucky ones that made it back. It would make one wonder how many times you had come here before Steve was found in the ice. Kneeling in front of the graves of both Steve and Bucky, talking to them both like they could hear you. How you considered yourself lucky that you were the one Rogers that made it home. You were a nurse, like your mom, serving for the US Army, but still fought with your fellow commandos. There was never a guarantee of coming home from war. Once you had met some cooks that had to take up arms in the heart of battle. Back in the day, it didn’t matter what your station was or rank. You fight in the most dire situations. It what it meant to be a part of the military. Everyone is counting on you for something. 

“More crowded than I thought.” Logan interjected as he carried to two tired children across the hallow grounds, staring at all the people as they come by. 

“Yeah, it is.” You agreed as you continued to walk the historic cemetery. A few people recognized you and walked up to both you and Logan and thanked your for saving the world. As you continued your forlorn march through the grounds, you reached yours and Logan’s destination. Steve’s grave, lying next to your father’s grave, who died back in the first World War. 

“Here we are.” Logan said as he placed down both his children. “Let me get those, sweetie. You can place the flowers down.” He turned to you and grabbed the flag and pictures. Logan stood back a little with your kids, allowing you to place the flowers by his grave. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and placed the flowers on your beloved brother’s grave. Red poppies, that symbolized remembrance and hope for a peaceful future. A flower used commonly for occasions such as days like today. Memorial Day. Logan then placed the flag which was encased in glass and some of the pictures of Steve form both the forties and the modern era. You all stepped away and as you did, your little girl stood by you, clinging onto your leg, sniffling as she looked at her uncle’s gravestone. Your son soon joined in with you as he stood by his older sister, despite no knowing what was going on. Logan walked toward you, placed his arm around and sighed.

“I feel guilty, you know.” Your voice cracked as you look at Logan with the saddest expression that he had ever seen you make. Tears started to seep from your eyes.

“Why? You have done nothing wrong.” He asked truly growing confused as to why you, his wife, felt like you had to say such a thing. Logan and Steve may not have always gotten along, but one thing he knew for certain was that your brother knew Logan loved you. 

    You two had met back when you were serving as an Army nurse in the 40’s. He was serving with your brother as part of the Hollowing Commandos. Your eyes met and the both of you could not look away when you were both in the same area. You had dated for a time, but when you lost Steve in the ice, you broke up after due to not getting over your supposed brother’s death. You traveled around the world when you found yourself meeting the Ancient One, sorceress supreme. She had revealed to you of the great potential to become a powerful sorceress. You accepted her training and through the decades severed her and the Masters of the Mystic Arts. Never aging or growing ill. Throughout the years, you grew close with the ancient one. Sharing with her about your grief and loss, of both Logan and Steve. 

“All things that are meant to be… will come to pass in its own time.”

   She told you at one point about the pain you had endured. That whatever is meant to be, will happen. You trusted her words, believing and hoping things will work out like they are meant to. When word broke out that Captain America had been freed from the ice, and was alive, you left for the States as quickly as possible. You arrived by portal at SHIELD headquarters, ready to welcome your brother back home.

   When he first saw you, he was in shock of how you remained young and spry as you were. You told him that you had become a sorceress of the mystic arts. Over the years, you fought together, against Loki, aliens, genocidal robots, dark warlocks, and the Brotherhood of Mutants. He stayed with you through the good and the bad times you had in this time, just like when you were kids fighting off bullies in Brooklyn. 

   After finding your ex, Steve helped you through Logan had no memory of who you were. After you helped Logan gain back his memories, you started relationship from square one. Overtime, your love for each other had restored and blossomed. The two of you wedded within a year, with Steve as Logan’s best man and Natasha as your maid of honor, with Charles conducting the ceremony. Thus, your married life with Logan began. Soon, after you both had two children together, Charlotte Stephanie Howlett and Joseph Logan Howlett. Named after the most important people in your life.

   Even though Steve had said he was happy for you, you could help but noticed the Longing gaze he had when he watched you and your family. Looking as though he was missing out on something, or someone. While in this era, his entire life was dedicated to duty and keeping the world safe. Barely even had time to rest or even start a life of his own. You finally were starting to realize, he needed to leave in order to live the lie he wanted. He needed to go back to a time where everyone believed him to be dead. To be with the one whom he never stopped loving, like you with Logan. Suppose that runs in the family.

“I should have been more supportive of him, you know. Of him wanting to go back to the forties.” You admitted sadly as the guilt started to take hold of you while you looked deep into Logan’s eyes and then the tears started to fall. Logan held onto your hands tightly as you started to sob. “Ever since he was rescued from the ice, Steve always felt like he was out of place. He was like a ghost, trapped in a world where he no longer belonged.” You continued as you cried, leaning into Logan all the while he rubbed your shoulders tenderly. “He wanted it, the life you and I got. Marriage, family, a much quieter existence and not be forced to go off and fight all the time. He was never going to have peace unless he left. I feel so selfish for trying to make him stay.” You cried harder as Logan wrapped his arms around you and held you as close as humanly possible. “All because I didn’t want to lose my brother again. I have lived for nearly seventy years without him. I lost my father, my mother and now I lost Steve. My twin brother.”  Your two children looked up at you, knowing that you were in serious distress. They both surround you with tiny arms trying to engulf you in a hug to calm you down. 

“Don’t cry, mama. We wuv you.” Your daughter mumbled as she too sounded like she was about to cry. 

“Ma!” babbled your young son as he reached up and pulled at the hem of your dress, who was feeling exactly what his sister was feeling. You looked down and smiled as your son’s brown eyes widened with some tears in his eyes. The sorrow from your being so strong that it was affecting your own children. 

“Joey, my sweet boy.” You said as you picked him up and kissed his sweet face fiercely and he cuddled close to your head. Logan had his little girl right in front of him and placed a warm comforting hand on her beautiful, blonde covered head. 

“Sweetheart, if there’s anything in this world you are not, it’s selfish.” He calmed you down as you snuggled closer to your boy. “When I first met you, all those years ago, I couldn’t believe on how a beautiful woman like you could be so compassionate, caring and brave all in one.” He continued. “I saw on how much you cared for the injured and the wounded during the war. Even the enemies that had surrendered, you still gave them medical treatment even when others refused to help them. Not once, did you stop until every person had gotten aid. Steve and Bucky basically had to pull you away from the infirmary tent because you nearly burnt out from treating people.” A small smile creeped on your lips while the tars still fell down your pale cheek. “I wanted to ask you out so badly that I felt like the stars aligned perfectly when you said yes. I was so in love with you then that I wanted to ask you to marry me after the war had ended.” You chuckled at the memory of the short courtship that you and Logan had during the war. “Then…Steve went into the ice, and you were devasted. You were a shell of your once bubbly and loving self. I yelled and screamed at you to get over him. That he was dead and never coming back.” He sighed with a remorseful huff making him think back to the day of when you two breaking up. “Then you left. I regret it every day of my life for letting you walk away after that fight. However my stubborn ass-“

“Language, James. We have the kids here with us.” You interrupted him. 

“God, you really are his sister.” He joked and you giggled despite the serious and heartbreaking conversation you both were having. “Anyway, I was just too stubborn to go back and help you through your loss. So, I went back into the army and fought like hell until I met Stryker. I got these,” He held out his fist and the adamantium claws came out. You weren’t sacred of them and reached out your free hand and touched them carefully so that you would not get cut. Logan then retracted them and went on with his story. “Then I lost my memory. For over twenty-five years, I had no idea of who I was or where I was going. I had no purpose or self-worth even. I was just going through the motions as I fought cage match after cage match, trying to make petty cash so I could eat. I was miserable and was alone with no one by my side. Every time…I looked at my claws…I wanted to just…end it.” He admitted making you cry again. You knew of Logan’s attempt at taking his own life, but you only heard it from Charles and Rouge. Never had you heard it through his own lips, like he was confessing an unpardonable sin. It truly made you hate yourself for ever leaving him in the first place. 

“Logan, I’m sorry. I should have been there. I never should have-“

“Let me finish, honey. Please.” Logan softly interrupted you, making to you listen to his story. “However, I odiously couldn’t. I would heal after every attempt. Every cut and wound, I would just heal. Leaving no scare, scrape, or mark on my skin. There was nothing, like the void that I was so desperate to fill.” He looked down and saw that Charlotte was now the one hugging him, obviously feeling her father’s suffering. How you got so lucky with wonderful children like these two munchkins was beyond you. “Then I met Rouge, Charles and the X-men. They helped me to find answers of who I was. I helped protect and train the kids at the school. They gave me a purpose, one that I was satisfied with.” He alleged as he stroked his daughter’s hair. “But…every night…along with the nightmares…someone was there…calling out to me…telling me to hold onto her hand…saying that everything was going to be okay.” He whispered intensely, like it was deep, dark secret kept hidden deep, buried underneath all of the malice and hardship. “That voice…reaching out for me…was you.” He said in your ear, making your gasp and your heart race like a comet. “Somewhere out there, even though I had no idea of who or where you were, I knew you held the missing piece of me. I asked Professor Xavier once, but he said that he was not abled to see your face. Only able to hear the sweet sound of your voice.” Logan whispered in your ear, which made you blush. It’s amazing that after all these years, Logan still had this effect on you that made you so weak in the knees. “So, I ignored them, no matter how many times my dream image of you came back to me in my mind. Then the day came that the Avengers came…then… I heard you. Yelling at something your brother did as you came walking down that jet, cute as a button and fierce as a mountain lion.” You felt the smile form on his lips as he confessed his thoughts from the past. “I felt like I strayed into a daydream. Like my mind was playing tricks on me. Then I had the professor tell me in my head saying that he heard your voice as well and it wasn’t a mind games. When you saw me…you stopped in your tracks and tears began to well in your eyes. At that moment, I knew you knew me from somewhere. You came running to me, trying to embrace me like your life depended on it.” He picked up his pace in his tone, he sounded almost excited with the prospect of meeting you again like it was the first time he met you. “However, something deep inside of me, a much darker part of me, wanted to reject you. Shove you aside and stay as far away from you as humanly possible. So, I pushed you away, distrusting you in an instant and denied any interaction with you.” He said as you think back to you’re your experience meeting him again after all this time. You believed that because you broke up with him that he didn’t want anything to do with you and even hated you after that. When you talked with Charles about it, he said it was because his mind was at war with him. Fighting for who gets to be in control, Logan or the demons that were plaguing his mind. You wanted to help, you wanted Logan to end his suffering and bring his memories back. “Looking back, I hated myself for it, even then, I believed that you didn’t deserve it. I was too damaged and broken, so pushed you away so you didn’t get drag into my mess. A few days later I overheard you and Steve talking to Charles. About the possibility of getting my memories back.” That information surprised you. You didn’t think Logan was listening to your conversation with Charles.  

“Charles told me that it might be too dangerous, but I refused to give up. I didn’t want to give up on you again, Logan. Walking away from you in the forties was the biggest mistake of my life.” You confessed to him, feeling like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

“I know, and I couldn’t be more grateful that you did.” He replied. “I told Charles that I agreed and would do my part as well to get back my memories. When you came to me with the spell, I was apprehensive, but I was more than willing to trust you, despite the battle that was going on in my head.” He acknowledged, thinking how risky it was to help him. “I was told of the risks…the risks of you being braindead.”

“It was worth the risk, Logan. You were worth the risk. Always were.” You sweetly talked to the love of your life. Logan truly didn’t know what else to say to that. You were willing to risk being a vegetable for the rest of your life it meant getting him back. 

“And you succeeded.” He remarked with a kiss to your head. “What I’m trying to say, (Name), is that you are not selfish. Not even close to such accusations. Steve was your brother and you wanted him to stay. Nothing more.” Logan held you close as your entire family looked at Steve’s name that was scribed into the marble stone. “You were the best sister and the best wife and mother that anyone could ask for.”

“Best mama eva!” Lottie shouted and hugged you by your legs. You chuckled and bent down to kiss your daughter’s head. 

“And you are the best daughter ever.” You claimed as she looked up at you. You looked to both family as you stood there looking at Steve’s grave for a little while longer. Soon, Buck and Sam came along to pay their respects to their best friend ns see you, Logan and the kids. You all stayed there for a while longer before heading to Sam’s place for a Barbeque. You packed up all the pictures and flag before heading out, leaving the flowers behind. One last time, you look back at the headstone and smiled before leaving with your family.

“Happy Memorial Day, Bro.”

[shirohige-pirates]

A Truly Mythological Christmas

Cisfem!Reader x Marco the Phoenix

Also on Wattpad // Ao3

18+ - this story is going to get steamy in ways not allowed for your holiday Lifetime specials. Swearing, cheating, assassins, intrigue - you know, all that simple small town stuff.

Note: Halvard is a name that means Stone Guardian - in this story it's not someone's name, but reference to a more literal stone guardian.

Chapter 2: Hometown Blue

SPX airport was relatively small. It had maybe eight gates per wing, and only two wings to speak of. Rarely a stop for layovers, most people only ended up here because this was their destination, or where they were leaving from. The walk was just long enough to help stretch your legs out from the plane ride, and give your luggage enough time to be unloaded, so that you weren’t waiting more than a few minutes before the carousel began to move.

Dadan hadn’t been able to coordinate leaving the house herself to come get you, but you recognized Makino when you saw her. The two of you got your bags loaded into the trunk and hugged before getting into the warmer car.

“So how’s work been?” Makino questions as she makes her way out of the small airport and onto the expressway.

“Oh you know, worked my way up into an executive position and ended up engaged to one of Linlin’s sons.” You sigh, condensing six years of hard work into a single sentence. The two of you kept in touch a little since you moved away, but once Makino had taken over the pub from her mother, all you two really did was touch base every now and then.

“Oh? You don’t sound happy about that.” She muses.

“I can tell you, but you need to promise me you won’t crash the car.” You say it with a laugh, and Makino giggles with you, but she nods.

“I won’t crash the car.”

“Found him balls deep in two blondes in our bed before I came down here.” You say flatly.

“… Oh.” Makino stutters for a moment, driving in silence for a solid minute. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

You laugh, a good and proper laugh, and it slides into a rough sigh. “I came home from work earlier than either of us expected, and found him in bed with two blondes I recognized. I can’t say I was entirely surprised by it.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She pats your leg reassuringly. “I’m sorry. Even if you see it coming, that’s still hard.”

“Yeah… Ah, but now I have a couple months back home to just relax and move on, I suppose.”

“And I’ll do whatever I can to help. You know Dadan’s got three new boys, right?”

“Yeah, she told me about them. Two eight year olds and a five year old?”

Makino nods. “They’re in overdrive most of the time, but they’re good boys. Sabo’s the most well-behaved of the three, but Ace does his best, and Luffy’s… well, Luffy’s five, so it is what it is.”

“Hahaha, yeah, I bet.”

“You heard about Newgate and Roger, right?”

You nod. “Dadan told me. I tried to get time off work to come to the funerals, but my boss and I couldn’t make it work. Roger had an impact on the world, and Newgate was no different. Passing within a week of one another through the islands into chaos.”

“The town never had so many marines in it before, but they didn’t interfere with anything, just kept the peace, and most of the gawkers, outside city limits.” She explains before switching to a lighter topic. “The Musketeers took over the business.”

“Really?”

Makino nods. “Marco runs the store directly - he’s been letting the boys help, says he’s going to have to start paying them soon. Apparently they learn really fast and are doing their best to help. Izou’s been mostly finances and inventory between the store and the farms, and Thatch’s focus has been on the farms more than the store itself.”

“Haruta’s still doing communications, and Vista’s in distribution, yeah?” You question and she nods.

“Whitey Bay took over the international travel that Marco was doing-.”

“He was traveling all this time?”

Makino smiles. “Yeah. I guess he was doing a lot of leg work for networking with other islands, and setting up preliminary trade agreements and such. I think he really only spent about 3 months out of the year here, and even then it was just for the holidays.”

“Huh.”

“Right? Sounds like big city stuff, in the middle of Podunk nowhere’s-ville, doesn’t it?”

You grunt. “Yeah, kind of. Ole Bay took it all over though, huh?”

“Yeah, and goodness, don’t call her that to her face, she’ll kill you.” Makino teases.

“I suppose so, she’s only got a couple years on the rest of us, but back then it felt like such a big gap.” You muse.

“She was probably glad to effectively trade places with Marco,” she continues. “Ace, Sabo and Luffy all picked up that same old name, and I think she was ready to throw them in the river.”

“When one of the most well-known seasonings is called Old Bay, it’s hard for you to get away from a nickname like that when your name is Bay.” You shake your head. “Still, I’m glad things seemed to have turned out well for everyone.”

“And you?” Makino prompts. “I know you’ve said before, that you enjoy your work, but, well…”

“Ah. Yeah.” You sigh, chewing on your thoughts for a few moments. “I enjoy my work. It feels meaningful, and it’s challenging. It doesn’t hurt that I make enough money to live well and send Dadan money too. But I’m not going to lie, I’m worried this whole thing is going to change that.”

“Sour the work, or the company?”

“Oh the company more than the work. If I could find something similar, with a comparable company, and have a comparable impact, then that would be ideal. Not having to deal with Linlin or Perspero would be for the best for all of us, but also I didn’t do anything wrong.” You snarl the sentiment, snapping your frustrations into pieces with your teeth.

“I’m not the bitch who sells her kids off for financial gain to the point that Pero didn’t even tell me he loved someone else, and I’m not the asshole who cheated on his fiance with his secretary and her girlfriend. I shouldn’t be the one who has to leave, or change, or anything.”

“You’re not wrong, but…”

“Yeah, I know.” Sighing you lean back in your seat. You were about ten miles out of town, it wouldn’t be too much longer and you’d be face to face with Dadan. You needed to get this out of your system by then. She’d comforted you over the phone before you’d adjusted all your travel plans, and you didn’t want her to see you still upset over it.

“It’s not my company, and it’s barely going to be my choice. Katakuri’s going to do what he can for me, but if his mom puts her foot down, there’s not much he’ll be able to do.”

“Are you going to sue if you get fired over this?”

“Nah. I could, I’d have plenty of support in a wrongful termination lawsuit, but I have enough money to my name I might just decide to be petty if it comes to that.”

“Oh?”

“I took a picture of Pero in bed with the blondes—Hey!” You grab onto the door as Makino swerves. “Sorry, sorry! I should’ve forewarned that.”

“Yes!” Makino gasps, getting control of the car. “You took a picture?!”

“Yeah. No one moved, and I just… took it.” You shrug. “It was a little surreal, honestly.”

“I’ll say. What are you going to do with it then? This picture to end all pictures.”

“Right now I have no idea. It’s certainly going to be useful, whether I’m dealing with Linlin or Perospero, but I don’t want to have to use it.” You admit.

“You could-.”

“I’m absolutely not moving back home.” You interject. “Even if you’re going to say something like “I bet Whitebeard Agricultural could use someone with your immense talents”.” You imitate her voice a little, getting her to laugh. “I like living in the city, I like working in the city. I don’t dislike home, but, I mean…”

“You’re happy.”

“I am. Even in the face of all this, I still am.” You admit.

“Even so… It’s gonna be nice to see everyone again. Stroll through the shops.” Looking out the window you watch as the scenery goes by. Makino stays quiet, letting your mind wander.

“Where’s Pops buried?” You ask as she reaches the town’s exit.

“High point. Him and Roger both.” She answers. “They took them up through the tunnels so that no one outside of town knew where they were going. There’s a halvard up there, though, so you won’t be able to miss it.”

“Alright. I might make the hike tomorrow if the weather holds.” You murmur.

“He was kind of everyone’s dad in a way, wasn’t he?” She hums and you nod.

“Yeah, him and Dadan, it feels like they raised the town.”

“Dadan’s doing good.” She asserts.

“I know.”

“Those boys are going to make her hold on a lot longer, I think.” Makino says softly.

“She’s not that old, but… I’m sure you’re right.” You bite your lip, pushing back the emotions welling up. Dadan is okay, but thinking about how Pops passed away has you melancholy. “I can’t wait to meet the new rugrats.”

“They’ll be your brothers, yeah?”

“If Dadan officially adopts them, then legally yes. But I don’t mind being the big sister before all of that.” You admit. “We’ve never needed formality before. Oh they expanded the road?” You question, noting the barely paved road that led into town now has two lanes in either direction, and clearly painted lines.

Makino laughs. “There was such an ordeal during the funeral, with all the people, that the town decided to expand on the roadways afterward. We’re not exactly a tourist destination, but the event put Sphinx on the map, so to speak, and people come here for getaways. All those pretty rolling hills and long open roads of farmland were on the news and now here we are.”

“Next you’re going to tell me there’s a stoplight in the town.”

“Four, actually.” Makino corrects, and you both laugh.

“Practically a city.” You muse, and this time Makino nearly snorts trying not to laugh.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nero Rose || Mob!Steve Rogers

Character: Mob!Steve Rogers x Detective!Reader

Warning: None

Words Count: 1,539

Summary: She has bad blood towards the famous gangster leader called Steve Rogers. With his influences, he sent her to the outskirts city. Then one day, you received a called that said Steve Rogers wanted to talk to you. When you come back and meet him again, something terrible happens. 

This is the story of the enemy-to-lovers.

A/N: Reblog and any feedback are much appreciated. I love reading all your comments. 💖😘

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi please 🥹

A crowded street, sounds of car horns, smell of piss. All the little things made you miss New York.

It's been 8 months since you left the city. It wasn't your choice to be exact. You left because the head of the police demoted you from detective to traffic police. 

You want to protest but it's impossible since your opponent is the powerful mob in the city. 

Steve Rogers is the king of the mafia. His power in business, politics and network in the underworld made him unbeatable. No one can bring him down. 

Until you did. 

You found the drugs and weapons that connected to Rogers. You got him good. And the media and citizens also support you. 

But you have no support when it comes to law and politics. The almighty Steve Rogers has given money to the judge and governor that could give them a third family. He also paid the best lawyer. 

In the end, he only spent 3 nights in jail and went home. While you got sent to the outskirts city. You hate your boss and everyone. It took a while for you to accept the new life you have.

When you started to let it go, you suddenly got a call from the chief of police. 

-Flashback Start-

He said, "Steve Rogers got stabbed."

You don't understand what's the point he told you this "Cheers for me. You want me to attend his funeral? I will wear white."

"He's still alive."

You scoffed "Too bad."

"He's a victim but he doesn't want to talk. He said that he only wants to talk to you."

-Flashback End-

That's why you return to New York. You want to see the look on his face, being pale and weak after getting hurt.

But before that, you're going to buy flowers. A gift for sick patients. You picked a perfect one for him. At the flower shop, you pointed at one flower. "I want that one."

The shop employee is an elderly woman. Her name is Sienna. You've known her since you were a kid. She's a joyful and funny grandma. 

Sienna raised her eyebrows and looked at the flower you chose. She picked the flowers one by one. "That's an odd choice to visit a sick person. It means 'You're dead to me.'"

You smirked "Is that what it means? Even better." 

You gave her the money after you received the flower bucket. "You're the best Sienna. I'll see you tomorrow."

She gave a warm smile "Bye, Y/N ."

You arrived at the hospital and immediately saw one of his trusted right hands. Bucky Barnes. He's standing outside while smoking. 

He put out his cigarette when he saw you "Detective Y/N."

You rolled your eyes "Fuck off. Where is he?"

Bucky scoffed and brought you to the VIP room. Before he opened the door, you could hear people talking, and laughing from inside the room. 

When the door got open, and you walked inside, everyone turned silent and looked at you. All of them are wearing black suits. 

8 months without seeing any mafia made you forget that you just entered enemy territory.

You gathered any courage that you had and walked towards the patient. You expect Steve to be pale, weak, and lying motionless on his bed since he got stabbed.

But your expectations betrayed you. In front of you, Steve Rogers is sitting like a boss with a half robe opened that shows his torsos tattoos. His hair even got combed to the back. He doesn't look sick.

"Aww, you bring me a gift. Thank you detective Y/N."

There it is. He always finds a way to make you angry. He knew you're not a detective anymore. You hate to admit it, even though he's a jerk, gangster, and narcissist. His face and his body are your type. 

Many fish in the sea but why do you have to like a man like him?

You clicked your tongue and then gave the flower to him "I ordered this for your funeral to be honest."

"Thank you doll." He handed the flower to his subordinate. "Did you buy this from the Sienna flower shop?"

"How did you know?"

"From the wrapping paper, the ribbon. I'm her loyal customer." He winked at you.

Well, that's something you learned from him. Perhaps he bought flowers for his girlfriend. 

You cleared your throat then grabbed a note and pencil from the pocket of your leather jacket.

"So what kind of person would dare to stab the gangster leader? That culprit must be crazy or a serial killer."

Suddenly the room turned quiet. Everyone is looking at you, including Steve. 

"You're right. Not even my rival dared to pick a fight with me. I could feel it. It's not them."

You crossed your arms "Why did you ask me to come here?"

"Since you left the city is not safe anymore. See? I got hurt. And, perhaps I missed the time we spent together."

You gritted your teeth. Geez, his words could make anyone misunderstood. The moment you spend with him is at the court or police station. 

The police station became an event. Paparazzi is always there, the media, he even invites a private chef to bring his lunch and dinner.

When you interrogate him, he always has wine beside him. It's impossible to make him stop since he got the best lawyer Matt Murdock. The famous lawyer who defends crooked people and always wins. 

You should've known that you have lost. 

"Enough with the jokes. What do you want?"

"I'm offering you a chance to come back. I want you to investigate my case."

"Why?"

Steve tilted his head a bit  "Because… I don't know. Maybe because I like playing with you."

You raised your voice "So you made me fly 4 hours to come here just for this?!!!"

Steve nodded. 

Oh, how he loves to see you being mad. That's his plan from the beginning. He still holds the grudge for you to make him stay in jail for three nights. 

-Flashback Start-

Steve was furious for sure when he got the letter from the court. He is the mobster leader in the city. How come a newcomer detective like you has the guts to put him to jail?

The audacity of ungrateful people. What's the point of bribing the police every month? They should've put a good leash on their member. 

Every second and every minute all he can think about is what he should do with you if both of you meet. Quick death or slow death. 

But he thinks of another plan when he finally meets you face to face. You're a new sheriff in the town. He wonders what kind of brilliant mind you have that made you able to catch him. 

When you interrogated him, you were fierce and fearless. Even the chief of the police told you to calm down but you wouldn't listen. 

Since that moment you got him interested. 

-Flashback End-

You suddenly stood up and sighed "If I had my gun, you would be bleeding right now."

"Is that a threat detective? Because I'm scared."

Bucky shook his head by looking at both of you. He turned his head to watch the TV. He widened his eyes when he saw the headline news. 

He turned up the volume "Steve, you should see this."

Both of you stopped arguing and looked at the TV. 

"Breaking news. Another stabbed victim at the well known flower shop called Sienna Flower's. The victim is a 77 years old female. Witnesses said the victim was closing the shop when she got stabbed. The paramedics informed us that the victim got stabbed on the chest and lost her life on the way to the hospital."

You gasped. "Sienna." You couldn't believe it. You just left the shop for an hour and something terrible happened. You lost your old friend. 

On your left, Steve only sees red. He clenched his fist. Sienna is a sweet old lady. His mother always went there and he always bought flowers from that shop for his mother.  

What kind of heartless person wants to hurt a kind person like Sienna? He will chase the culprit until the end of the earth.

"Boys."

"YES BOSS!!!"

"Gather everyone to check on that area. Everyone gathered all the information. I will kill that person by myself."

All his subordinates left the room after they got the order. 

After they left, Steve tried to stand up from his bed "Urgh." 

When he touches his left waist, you finally see his wound. It's still bleeding.

"Are you crazy? You can't move yet."

You're right. The stabbed wound was deep. If the painkiller runs out, this wound will be painful. The doctor told Steve that couldn't move his body freely for a week. And he doesn't want to get another stitch. 

Suddenly he got an idea. 

Steve leaned his body towards you and whispered in your ear, "Detective do you want to work together to catch who killed Sienna?"

You looked at his eyes. It never crossed your mind to work together with gangster leaders like Steve Rogers. But with his mafia connections, you could catch the culprits quicker. 

"Heck yeah."

A/N: Reblog and any feedback are much appreciated. I love reading all your comments. 💖😘

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi please 🥹

[alenseress]

Okay I thought thoughts and I really want to fixate on some horror for the month so here's the modern mishanks horror au breakdown

Mihawk and Shanks grew up and went to school in the same town on a gloomy coast. Never actually interacted, I mean, beyond small town casualty.

Shanks graduates and dives head first into the fishing industry instead of college and lives completely off-shore, inspired by Roger, who at some point retires and takes on the local lighthouse.

In the meantime, Mihawk stays put. He's Ray's kid, who's the town's preacher but more in an idgaf way. They come from a long religious line but by the time it comes to Ray, the church on their property is a complete ruin and Ray fulfills more of a governor's role than a spiritual guide. They're an okay family, actually.

Ray passes from cancer pretty young and Rodger follows soon. By that time Mihawk already has teen Perona and Shanks has already lost his arm, work and life long passion. So, he goes back home for Roger's funeral, learns that Mihawk is now kinda the town's phantom of the coast with his enormous empty property and the lighthouse, so he takes on the lighthouse for "the full recovery and rehabilitation period".

He asks Mihawk one day randomly, as his basically only immediate neighbor, to help him dye his hair and they kinda just bond after it becomes a regular occurrence.

Only kids present from the main-er cast are Perona, Zoro and Luffy per phone calls.

Perona is, again, Mihawk's kinda weird alternative kid, 16-17 something years of age, lived her whole life in the town

Zoro (14-15) volunteers to move back to town with his divorced dad after Kuina (his sister in this) has the stair accident and requires constant home care. They all hope for a quick recovery but the situation doesn't change even after a year (by the time of Shanks' arrival). So Zoro, even tho he loves his sister very much, becomes kind of a demotivated glass child. So Mihawk makes a deal — Zoro can come in and tweak with Ray's old abandoned bike projects any time and if he gets one of them moving, he can do with it whatever he feels like on Mihawk's enormous empty property under Mihawk's watchful eye. And that's he basically becomes the extra child in the house

Luffy (13) lives with Garp very much far away from the action but Shanks and Garp (coast guard his whole life) kinda have a long history of Shanks being a bastard, so at some point he became the unspoken uncle mentor hero family friend. Luffy calls him a lot because he feels that Shanks is lonely and sad for now

Haven't decided on the horror aspect yet but I'm getting there