#this is what i get for trying to write a story i've been working on for years and i choose uu to put on while i write

[qqueenofhades]

I bought your 'Empire' the other day (which I am excited about; I haven't started it yet), but somehow completely missed that you had written historical fiction, and about the Plantagenets, my favourite historical dynasty, so I'll be jumping on that.

I was wondering if you had recommendations for historical fiction set during the Plantagenet reign? I've tried Sharon Kay Penman and unfortunately didn't get on with her writing, which is a shame as I've heard good things about her series. I know Philippa Gregory has several novels set during that time period, but her books seem to be verging on bodice rippers, which isn't what I'm looking for. Was just curious if you had any suggestions for well-researched fiction set during the Plantagenet reign.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for several days (my apologies) largely because I was trying to think of a more helpful answer for you. Medieval historical fiction is VERY hit and miss for me, not least because it is often written by people who, uh, are not historians and thus have Certain Ideas (TM) about what the medieval period is like. Or they want to use various aesthetics, or they want to make some (usually questionable) point about how women were treated in the past, or they just go whole-hog on total nonsense. As an example of all of these things at once, let us all stare in horror at this recently-released book description together:

(The book is called the Stone Witch of Florence, by the way. I took one look at this and ran screaming. WHY.)

A stone witch?? So she channels the power of gemstones like a modern-day Instagram healing crystals influencer??? BUT ZOMGZ WITCHCRAFT. In the middle of the Black Death. "Unorthodox cures" you say. But they also need holy relics for protection, and I totally trust the author to understand about medieval hagiography/cult of the saints. Totally. We definitely won't get some half-baked comparison between Sekrit Women Magical Gems Which Really Work and Dark Ages Church Superstition Holy Relics Which Are A Fraud, or.... something??? And our nobly mistreated protagonist will super definitely be a real physician if she gets these and never ever accused of witchcraft (which LET US ALL SAY IT TOGETHER IS AN EARLY MODERN THING!!!!) Because medieval medicine was just a bunch of gemstone vibes anyway! Makes total sense!

...my head hurts.

Anyway, while not all examples are this egregious, the point is: I love historical fiction, but I almost always can't read it when it's set in the medieval era. I read Sharon Kay Penman a while ago and enjoyed her stuff at the time, though I have assorted gripes with it on a stylistic/historical level. While Philippa Gregory does have real academic credentials, she likewise has gone totally down the bodice-ripper alternate-history crackpot theory Secret Women Magic version of things, which is... fine if that's your jam, but just like you, it is not mine. I thus have to read fiction which is set in other periods or which I know less about or where at least I am more capable of turning off my brain and accepting things for the sake of the story. So as you see, I unfortunately don't have many useful suggestions for you in this field, since the kind of medieval historical fiction that I like to recommend is, say, The Name of the Rose. Which is terrific and written for someone of a professional medievalist's level of knowledge, but is not exactly everyone's cup of tea when they just want something fun and easy to understand.

I am, of course, happy to give other book recommendations if you'd like to broaden your request, and I'll do my best to think -- but yes! As I said, I wish I could be more helpful here. I shall persist.

(Also, of course: thanks for buying EMPIRE! I do hope you enjoy.)

[impactrueno]

Hi! I really love your comics, and art in general! Your Hey Arnold and Simpsons stuff was fire, and I've been loving your Beetlejuice comics (Lydia and Juice's falling out got me tearing up lmao) As far as your Beetleverse comics go - idk if this is something you've mentioned somewhere - I know they're probably meant to be, like, separate canons and stuff, but if they were to take place in the same kinda "timeline", what would the order of events be?

Does CartoonLydia meeting older MovieLydia - a Lydia who's had some really negative experiences with MovieBJ and preaches that ToonLydia SHOULD NOT trust ToonBJ - have any impact on her getting fed up with her BJ and breaking it off with him?

Again, thank you for making these comics - they're dope as hell, and I'm excited for what comes next!

thank you so much!

the beetleverse comics are just a "what if" where we pull each duo out of their respective canons (unceremoniously) and force them to be in their little white void enclosure that i made for them lol

so the events in the story i'm currently doing haven't been influenced by any of that. but if they were to take place in the same timeline, it'd happen some time before the end of the show (maybe even before season 4,) and i think movie lyds telling her to be wary of toon bj would make her doubt herself and her beej for a moment, but then would be proven wrong or realize that movie lydia was wrong about him. and this would not make sense in a real life situation (in fact, it would be concerning) but here's the thing:

something i've found interesting to think about with the beetleverse comics is that each duo operates on different logic. movie lydia is closer to real life logic aka "why the hell are you letting this child hang around so closely with this weird old man" but cartoon bj and lyds work under saturday morning cartoon logic, meaning none of the things movie lydia is fearing would ever happen, because it's a show for kids. so in their little universe, cartoon lydia is perfectly safe with her beej, who as we all know would sooner die all over again than to cause her any harm, so she has nothing to fear. they'll just be best friends forever (with a few bumps along the road of course) and that's it. movie lydia can't even wrap her head around that.

now going back to the current story of them 30 years later; i'm still writing them under cartoon logic for the most part, but with a bit more realistic flavor. so their relationship is still too weird to happen in real life, only now we're seeing the consequences of the friction between them that was already there in the cartoon, and he can't joke his way out of this one or have silly incidental music and sound effects to lessen the blow. movie lydia's warnings wouldn't have had much of an effect on them because this was something that was going to happen either way, and cartoon lydia's problem with bj was never "you're a creepy old man why are you obsessed with me" (real life logic) and more so "you're supposed to be my best friend in the whole world but all i do is babysit you and solve your problems for you while you try to scam some sucker out of their money and i've had it" (cartoon logic)

i hope all that makes sense lol

[malk1ns]

november 22 vs jets, 4-1 loss

someone was in a mood.

this is omegaverse. it's also not entirely what i set out to write, but i got a little lost in in the setup at the start and then sid got a little less feral-alpha and more i've-been-pining at the end there so...here we are. also not nearly as long of a sex scene as i'd planned but sometimes i don't actually decide what gets written! hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Zhenya doesn’t trust the team’s new dynamic specialist.

He’s an omega—they often are, omegas tend to get funneled into career paths that involve heightened sensitivity to smell and emotions young, just like alphas are encouraged towards sports—but that’s not why Zhenya doesn’t trust him, not at all. 

Kris had laughed at him when he first brought it up, patted his shoulder and said that Zhenya had no reason to be jealous, he was still everyone’s favorite omega no matter how many specialists the team brings in. Zhenya had socked him on the arm hard enough to bruise.

He’s never been that kind of omega. Most omegas he knows aren’t, actually—the stereotype that they’re all fawning after alphas, tripping over themselves for attention and picking fights with other omegas at the drop of a hat, isn’t based in any sort of reality that Zhenya’s experienced. He’s been surrounded by ‘traditional’ omegas his whole life, been treated by them and trained by them and gone to them for help regulating his cycle, and they’ve all been fiercely protective of him, gone out of their way to make sure that he’s taken care of and safe.

So, no, it’s not that Zhenya distrusts this guy because he’s an omega. Zhenya doesn’t trust him because he’s a fan.

The Penguins are usually pretty good at weeding out people who are going to be weird about working with the players from their employee pool. Fans are inevitable, especially with the emphasis the team puts on hiring local, but there’s a difference between being a fan and a fan. 

Zhenya’s not sure how this one got through. And to be fair, the guy hasn’t done anything egregious—he’s not touchy, he’s not flirting, nobody’s said anything about feeling uncomfortable with him—but Zhenya can see the stars in his eyes when he looks at Sid, and when Zhenya had his own check-in, the kid barely even pushed back on Zhenya’s treatment plan, just accepted when Zhenya said he was fine and didn’t need any adjustments made.

Zhneya reported the official severance of his mate-bond over the summer. Their last specialist would have subjected him to hours of questions and testing to verify that he truly didn’t need his hormone-balancers changed, but this kid had taken him at his word so quickly that Zhenya was uneasy. If Sid’s checkup went any differently, Zhenya will eat his hat.

Even with that type of deference, though, Zhenya would expect him to have noticed that Sid’s heading towards early rut.

Omegas are always the first to notice when alphas enter pre-rut. It’s less a difference in smell than it is a difference in intensity, in presence. Sid already looms large enough in Zhenya’s subconscious, but when he’s nearing rut it becomes almost unbearable, especially if he doesn’t notice in time to take the pills that suppress the worst of it.

Zhenya can’t believe nobody else has noticed. Then again, he’s been hyper-sensitive to Sid for the last year and a half, ever since he and Anna first separated.

An omega fixating on an alpha like that is something a competent dynamics specialist should have been able to suss out, demand information on, and put together a treatment plan to rectify. This new guy hasn’t noticed a thing, and it’s embarrassing enough that Zhenya certainly isn’t going to bring it up on his own.

Sid’s also normally more on top of his cycle, but he’s stressed this season, fielding calls left and right from guys he hasn’t spoken to in years trying to get info on if he’s planning on jumping ship and being the public face of a team that’s underperforming so drastically it’s a national story every night, so Zhenya isn’t all that surprised.

Sully gives them the day after the Lightning game off, and only half the guys get scheduled for on-ice work the day before the Jets come to town. By the time the special teams units are done with extra video review, Zhenya’s practically dizzy with Sid’s pheromones, and even Kris is starting to wrinkle his nose and cast sidelong looks of concern Sid’s way.

Sid books it for the gym before anyone can corner him, though, which means Zhenya has no choice but to track down the specialist with his concerns.

Kris comes with as back-up, like he always does. One too many instances of Zhenya slinking out of offices with his tail between his legs and rage written on his face after being written off for being overly-emotional their rookie year has made it a habit for them; Zhenya takes point on laying out any problems they have, but Kris is there to lend support and legitimacy.

The specialist—Ben, his nametag says—listens as Zhenya stumbles through what he’s noticing, face getting paler and paler as Zhenya makes it perfectly, unavoidably clear how badly he’s dropped the ball.

“I’ll have to run his bloodwork, but…” Ben hesitates, but Zhenya’s glare gets him babbling. “It’s only, I don’t think—the service doesn’t have any omegas available this week. They send the list every Monday, you know, which of their contractors are around for breakthroughs, but we got a note Sunday night that there weren’t going to be any omegas until next week—some scheduling problem, I don’t know, but there’s nobody they can send for Sid.” He looks between Zhenya and Kris in desperation. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re not just thinking because you—”

Kris growls under his breath, and Ben shuts his mouth. “G knows Sid better than anyone,” Kris says, crossing his arms and managing to loom even from where he’s leaning against the wall across the room. “If he says Sid’s going into rut, he’s going into rut. Not his job to tell people, but we have each other’s backs.”

Zhenya will be surprised if Ben is still employed with the team when 2025 starts.

Ben’s fretting over his computer when Kris and Zhenya leave, muttering to himself as he types out different search queries, trying to find an emergency agency that has a hope of getting approved by the team on such short notice.

He won’t. They only go through one service provider for a reason.

“We’re fucked,” Kris mutters. “That kid doesn’t know anything, Sid’s gonna end up missing a whole week. He’s going to be furious.”

Zhenya doesn’t reply. He has a really, really bad idea.

—

It wouldn’t be the first time Zhenya helped Sid through rut. Zhenya’s own heat is as regular as clockwork and meticulously controlled, has been since he turned 14 and presented for the first time, but Sid spent his teenage years and first few seasons in the league going from medication to medication until his cycle stabilized on its own. There had been a few times when there was no one else available, and they were young and dumb and, as those times proved, painfully compatible.

He’s done it before. No reason he can’t do it again. He was always able to get Sid’s rut to break overnight; if Sid can make it through the Jets game without losing it completely, they might not even miss the second half of this week’s back-to-back.

Convincing Sid will be the hardest part, Zhenya thinks as he goes through his pre-game routine. Sid’s always been respectful to the point of insult about Zhenya’s status as an omega, shutting down locker room talk and off-color jokes firmly and skirting the reality of Zhenya’s heats with a level of avoidance that would make Zhenya think he were a virgin if it weren’t for Zhenya’s hands-on experience. Sid had shut down their hookups Zhenya’s second year so politely that Zhenya hadn’t even realized what was happening at first, but when he’d picked through the conversation later he’d realized that Sid had been concerned he was taking advantage of Zhenya.

He hadn’t been. Zhenya can take care of himself. He thought about getting offended by the implication, about challenging Sid on it and forcing the issue, but then he got back together with Oksana, and after that fizzled out for the final time he met Anna, and it just never felt worth putting a wedge in their friendship just to prove a point.

Zhenya’s prepared to wedge it wide open now. When Sid picks a fight with some Winnipeg forward three minutes into the third, though, he’s shamefully relieved that it probably won’t take much arguing to get Sid to come home with him. Sid’s usually so logical that any arguments they have end with Zhenya losing before they even truly get going.

Zhenya shifts on the bench. They’re losing again, and Sid’s angry and half out of his mind with rut-haze, but seeing him throw punches and snarl his dominance in someone else’s face will never not be hot, no matter the circumstances.

Kris elbows him hard enough to feel it through his pads. “You’re going to do something stupid, huh,” he hisses, and Zhenya nods, watching as Sid barks at the ref on his way to the box. No point pretending, Sid’s going to zero in on him the second he realizes Zhenya’s interested after the game. “Fuck,” Kris sighs, elbowing Zhenya again. “I’ll try to cover for you. Get him out of here as soon as you can, he’s going to cause a riot with the crowd if he hangs around for too long.”

—

Sid’s the first one down the tunnel after the final horn goes off. Zhenya had kept his distance at the end of the game, not wanting to push Sid even further into rut, but even with space between them he could tell that Sid was quickly losing coherency, his big eyes all pupil and his nostrils flaring, snapping at Ricky and Rusty whenever either of them try to talk through a play with him. He spent the last few minutes of the game shoving off the training staff who tried to talk to him, and it took Kris frantically whispering to Sully to get everyone to back off.

Zhenya barely makes it through his shower before Sid gets a whiff of his scent. Kris runs interference, blocking the rest of the team from the change room as Zhenya somehow manages to dress them both while fending off Sid’s advances and keeping his own instinctual fawn response in check.

He’d vaguely thought about having someone from the car service drive them home, but the idea of sharing space with anyone other than Sid is intolerable, so he white-knuckles the drive home, Sid’s scent rising in the close air of his car. It’s suffocating.

“How did you know?” Sid asks suddenly as they turn into Zhenya’s neighborhood. He sounds perfectly lucid, like they’re just having a casual everyday conversation and not like Zhenya’s driving them home so he can sit on Sid’s dick for the next six hours. “I barely even noticed, and you…how?”

Zhenya glances to his left and immediately regrets it, because Sid’s got one hand down his own pants and is stroking himself off. His other hand is braced against the dashboard, almost like he’s stopping himself from reaching for Zhenya.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Zhenya focuses back on the road. Just a few more turns and they’re home. “Since last year I’m notice you more,” he says plainly. “You know, when Anna and I break up, like, you’re smell so much more to me than before.”

Sid groans in response, and Zhenya skids up his driveway so fast he scatters gravel everywhere when he brakes.

“I never stopped noticing you,” Sid gasps in his ear when they finally make it to Zhenya’s bedroom and Sid’s got him pinned down to the mattress, frantically ripping at his clothes to get them skin-on-skin. “I shouldn’t have told you we had to stop, you were mine and—fuck, god, you should have been mine this whole time.”

“Shh,” Zhenya soothes, arching his back to rub along Sid’s body and tilting his head to one side to expose his neck. He gets to watch in real-time the way Sid fixates on his scent gland, the way his pupils dilate even more and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Zhenya was happy in his relationships. Perfectly satisfied, genuinely in love. He doesn’t regret them. But there had been a part of him that never let go of Sid.

It’s all instinct the way he spreads his legs, purring enticements as Sid clumsily lines up and moaning as Sid sinks into him too fast, the stretch painful and so good. Sid was always a little careless during his ruts, always a little more selfish than he’d probably care to admit to being with his lovers, and Zhenya missed the rough treatment, missed the way Sid took what he wanted.

He’s going to be sore tomorrow. He won’t skate well, won’t score again, and he’ll have to listen to Sully scold him for yet another disappointing performance in front of their home crowd.

But Sid’s teeth are scraping over his scent gland, and Sid’s knot is swelling inside him, and Zhenya can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

[m4rv3l-girl]

I've Recently stumbled across your page and I am already in love with your writing! The way you capture the story and the characters amazes me! I've never done this before but I have a request if you have time to make it come alive✨️

Reader is Tony starks daughter and is dating bucky, her dad didn't agree and right before reader had a solo Misson, she argued with Tony about bucky and they left on bad terms, bucky said goodbye and waved off reader on thier Mission. It was only supposed to be a 3 day mission and then home again but reader goes missing, kidnapped by hydra or something and they keep her captive and torture her for information on thier winter solider and Tony and bucky work together despite thier differences to find you. After bucky did some digging he found an old hydra base and seen there was some recent activity and figured that was thier best shot, once they got to you, you was unresponsive and bucky carried you back to the quinjet, and Tony broke down apologising and praying for you to come back. You spend a few days in medbay with bucky and Tony by your side and when you awaken, Tony tells you he approves of bucky and couldn't be happier that you're with him because he loves and cares about you as much as he does🥹

Crossfire

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Kidnapping. Torture. Injury. Blood.

Y/N paced across the polished floors of the Avengers Compound, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and nerves.

The mission briefing echoed faintly in her memory—a quick in-and-out reconnaissance, a simple data retrieval from an abandoned HYDRA facility. Three days, tops. But the tension in the air between her and her father made it feel like she was walking into a battlezone before even stepping foot on the Quinjet.

"You’re distracted," Tony Stark said sharply, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. His tone carried the weight of the argument they had been having for the last twenty minutes. "And you know what happens when you're distracted out there? You make mistakes. Mistakes that could get you killed."

Y/N halted mid-stride, her shoulders squaring as she turned to face him. "I'm not distracted, Dad. I'm focused. You just don’t like the fact that I’m with Bucky."

Tony threw his hands up, his voice rising. "You’re damn right I don’t like it! The guy has a kill list longer than the history of Stark Industries. I’m supposed to be okay with my daughter dating a former HYDRA assassin?"

"Former," Y/N snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "He’s not that person anymore, and you know it. You’ve worked with him, fought alongside him. He’s saved lives��your life."

Tony’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. "That doesn’t erase what he’s done, Y/N. You’re too close to see the danger—"

"Danger?" she cut him off, incredulous. "You’re one to talk about danger, Dad. I grew up watching you suit up and put your life on the line every other day. And guess what? You weren’t perfect either. Bucky has done everything to make amends, and I love him. Why can’t you just accept that?"

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Tony’s face softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But he quickly buried it under a defensive mask. "I’m not trying to stop you from living your life, Y/N. I’m trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? From being happy?" Her voice cracked, a mix of anger and despair laced in her words. "I thought you’d understand by now that I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to trust me."

Tony opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway, his blue eyes flickering between Y/N and Tony, tension etched into every line of his face.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked, his voice measured but tinged with concern.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Peachy."

Tony shot Bucky a withering glare. "Great. Just in time for the part where I get ignored because you’re here."

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Y/N, his hand brushing hers. "You ready to go, Doll?"

Y/N nodded, her anger with her father momentarily eclipsed by the comfort Bucky’s presence brought her. She grabbed her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"You’re still not listening to me," Tony said, his voice strained as she moved toward the door.

Y/N paused, glancing back at him. "I heard you, Dad. But I’m still going."

The words hung heavy in the air, a finality that neither of them wanted but neither could avoid. Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping as though he’d already lost.

Bucky followed her out into the hangar, his metal arm brushing against her shoulder. "You good?" he asked quietly once they were out of earshot.

Y/N exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Not really, but I will be. He’ll come around eventually. He has to."

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together. "I’m sorry. I know this is hard."

Y/N stopped walking and turned to face him. "It’s not your fault, Bucky. He’ll see what I see in you someday." Her voice softened, her hand reaching up to rest against his chest. "And when he does, he’ll realize you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me."

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small, grateful smile, but his eyes still held a trace of sadness. "I’ll wait as long as it takes, Doll."

The Quinjet engines roared to life behind them, signaling her departure. Bucky walked her the rest of the way in silence, his hand never leaving hers. At the base of the ramp, he stopped, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Come back to me," he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

"I always do," she replied, forcing a brave smile.

Bucky hesitated, then leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to make her heart ache. He stepped back as the ramp began to close, his eyes locked on hers until the Quinjet doors sealed shut.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself as the jet lifted off. The mission awaited, and she had no idea it would be the hardest battle she’d ever face.

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

The Quinjet’s descent was smooth, its engines humming softly as it hovered over the outskirts of the abandoned HYDRA facility. Y/N sat strapped into her seat, her mind focused on the mission at hand. It was just a data retrieval—no direct confrontation expected, no heavy lifting. Simple. Yet she couldn’t shake the lingering weight of her argument with Tony, his voice still echoing in her head.

"You make mistakes when you’re distracted."

Shaking off the thought, Y/N tightened the straps of her tactical vest and tapped the comms in her ear. "Quinjet’s holding steady. I’m heading in now," she said, her voice calm and collected.

"Copy that," Natasha’s voice came through the comms. "We’ll be on standby if anything goes sideways. Keep your comm open."

"Always do," Y/N replied, grabbing her pack and stepping off the ramp.

The facility was quiet, overgrown with weeds and moss, the metallic structure dulled by time and abandonment. The surrounding trees swayed slightly in the wind, their shadows stretching ominously over the building’s rusted exterior. It looked like any other defunct HYDRA site—empty, unassuming, and forgotten. But Y/N knew better. HYDRA rarely left things without a reason.

She approached the entrance, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Her fingers brushed over the keypad by the door. It was broken, wires spilling out like spilled guts. It took only a few moments of tinkering before the door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.

"First door’s open," Y/N reported, stepping inside.

"Good. Be careful," Natasha replied.

The air inside was stale and cold, carrying the metallic tang of disuse. Y/N moved cautiously, her steps light but deliberate. The map of the facility played out in her mind as she advanced toward the central server room. It wasn’t far—just down a few turns and one floor below.

The first few corridors were uneventful, lined with old HYDRA propaganda and broken equipment. She paused briefly to inspect her surroundings, ensuring she wasn’t leaving tracks or triggering any dormant security systems.

"How’s it looking?" Natasha asked over comms.

"Quiet," Y/N replied. "Almost too quiet. I’m at the main staircase now, heading down to the server room."

Descending the steps, Y/N felt a chill creep up her spine. It wasn’t fear—not yet—but the kind of awareness that came from knowing she wasn’t truly alone. She tightened her grip on her weapon, her other hand brushing over her utility belt.

The server room door came into view, heavy and fortified with an old HYDRA insignia etched into its surface. It was locked, of course, but Y/N was prepared. Pulling a small device from her belt, she attached it to the door’s lock. The device beeped softly, hacking into the outdated system.

"Almost in," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone on the comms.

The lock clicked open with a satisfying hiss. Y/N pushed the door ajar and slipped inside, her eyes scanning the room quickly. Rows of servers stood like silent sentinels, their lights flickering faintly. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of the machinery.

"Made it to the server room. Starting the data download now," she reported, setting her pack down.

"Copy. Keep your eyes peeled," Natasha warned.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got this," Y/N replied, inserting a small drive into one of the servers.

The drive blinked to life, and data began to flow onto its storage. Y/N kept her weapon close, her gaze flickering between the server and the door. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness—the hum of the servers, the soft beep of the download, the distant groan of the building’s aging infrastructure.

"Download at 30%," she said after a few minutes.

The process was uneventful, just as she’d hoped. At 70%, she allowed herself a small smile. This was exactly what she needed—a straightforward mission, no complications, no distractions. It would give her time to clear her head, to figure out how to talk to Tony when she got back.

The drive beeped again, signaling completion. Y/N pulled it free, tucking it securely into her belt pouch.

"Data’s secure. Heading back to the Quinjet," she said, rising to her feet.

"Good work," Natasha said. "Keep an eye out—something feels off about this one."

Y/N didn’t argue. She felt it too, that unsettling itch at the back of her mind. Her senses sharpened as she made her way back to the staircase, her steps even quieter now. The corridors seemed darker than before, the shadows longer and more sinister.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—the faintest shuffle of movement behind her. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned, her weapon raised.

The staircase was empty, but the air felt heavier.

"Nat, I think I’ve got company," Y/N whispered into the comms.

"Do you see anything?" Natasha asked, her tone instantly alert.

"Not yet," Y/N replied, backing up the stairs.

She was almost at the top when a sharp noise echoed through the corridor—a clang of metal against metal. Y/N whirled around just as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Before she could react, a figure lunged at her from the side, slamming her against the wall.

Her weapon clattered to the ground as she struggled against the assailant, a HYDRA agent clad in tactical gear. She managed to drive her knee into his gut, sending him stumbling back, but more figures emerged from the shadows.

"Ambush!" Y/N shouted into the comms, adrenaline surging through her veins.

"Y/N, get out of there!" Natasha’s voice was sharp, but the words barely registered.

The agents swarmed her, their movements precise and coordinated. Y/N fought fiercely, her training kicking in as she blocked blows and struck back. She landed a punch that sent one agent reeling, then ducked under another’s swing, sweeping his legs out from under him.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull as one of the agents struck her from behind. Y/N’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She tried to fight through it, but the world tilted violently, and darkness crept in at the edges of her sight.

"Y/N!" Natasha’s voice was frantic in her ear.

The last thing Y/N saw before the world went black was the HYDRA insignia on one of the agent’s uniforms.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Consciousness crept back slowly.

Accompanied by the steady throb of her head and the unmistakable ache of her muscles pulled too tight.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing dim, flickering light. The air was stiff, carrying the sharp scent of metal and disinfectant. She tried to move, but her body was restrained. Her wrists burned where they chafed against something unyielding. As her senses sharpened, she realized she was tied to a chair, her arms pinned behind her and her legs strapped down tightly.

The room was sterile and barren, its walls an industrial gray with faint streaks of rust. A single lightbulb swung overhead, casting shifting shadows around the space. There was no window, no visible way out except for a heavy metal door directly in front of her.

Y/N tugged at her bindings experimentally, her breath hitching when the cuffs dug deeper into her skin. They were reinforced, leaving little room for maneuvering.

Her comms were gone, her weapons stripped away. She was completely alone.

Before she could test her restraints further, the door groaned open. Y/N’s eyes snapped up, her expression hardening as a HYDRA agent strolled in. He was tall and wiry, with sharp features and a smug grin that made her stomach turn. His uniform was pristine, adorned with the HYDRA insignia on the shoulder.

“Well, look who’s awake,” the man drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with false cheer. He carried a clipboard in one hand, tapping it lightly against his palm as he approached.

Y/N didn’t respond, keeping her face blank despite the fear roiling in her chest.

The man circled her slowly, his boots clicking against the floor. “Y/N Stark,” he mused, as if testing her name on his tongue. “Tony Stark’s pride and joy. And yet here you are, all alone, with no daddy or boyfriend to save you.”

She clenched her jaw but said nothing.

The agent chuckled. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I have all the time in the world.” He stopped in front of her, crouching so they were eye level. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. About Stark. About Barnes. About SHIELD.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Go to hell.”

The agent’s smile didn’t waver. He straightened, setting his clipboard on a nearby table. “I was hoping you’d say that. It makes things more fun for me.”

He picked up a small device from the table—a thin rod with a glowing blue tip. Y/N recognized it instantly: a neural stimulator, HYDRA’s favorite tool for “persuasion.” It sent jolts of electricity directly into the nervous system, causing excruciating pain without leaving a mark.

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show fear.

The agent tilted his head, studying her. “You know, I’ve always admired your kind. So loyal. So resilient. But everyone has a breaking point.”

He activated the device, the blue light intensifying. “Let’s find yours.”

Before she could brace herself, he pressed the rod against her side.

White-hot pain exploded through her body, stealing her breath. Her muscles seized involuntarily, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips. The pain was blinding, radiating from the point of contact and spreading like wildfire.

When he pulled the device away, Y/N slumped forward, her breathing ragged.

“Still with me?” the agent taunted, tapping the rod against his palm.

Y/N forced herself upright, glaring at him through the haze of pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped, her voice hoarse but defiant.

His smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Tough girl,” he said, almost admiringly. “But this is only the beginning.”

The next jolt was worse, targeting her thigh. The electricity tore through her muscles, leaving them trembling and weak. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, tasting blood.

“Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” the agent demanded, his tone sharp now. “Where is he? What does he know about HYDRA’s operations?”

Y/N spat blood onto the floor, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sneered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. “Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. We know you’ve been cozying up to him. You think you can keep secrets from us?”

Her head throbbed where he pulled, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You’re wasting your time,” she said through gritted teeth.

His grip tightened before he released her abruptly, sending her head lolling forward. “Fine,” he said coldly. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

The next hour was a blur of pain. The agent alternated between the neural stimulator and his fists, delivering calculated strikes to her ribs and abdomen. He peppered her with questions, each one more demanding than the last.

“Where is Barnes?” “What are Stark’s latest projects?” “What does SHIELD know about HYDRA’s current operations?”

Each time, Y/N’s answer was the same: silence or defiance.

Her body screamed in protest, every nerve on fire. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her vision swam, but she held onto one thought with iron resolve: Don’t break.

By the time the agent stepped back, she was barely upright. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her head hanging limply.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he admitted, wiping his brow. “But strength only lasts so long.”

Y/N lifted her head weakly, a faint smile playing on her cracked lips. “You’ll… have to try harder than that.”

His expression darkened, and he raised the neural stimulator again. But before he could use it, the door creaked open, and another agent entered.

“Enough,” the newcomer said firmly, glancing at Y/N with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “We need her alive.”

The first agent hesitated, his grip tightening on the device. “She hasn’t given us anything.”

“Then we’ll keep trying,” the newcomer replied. “But for now, she needs to recover. Dead subjects are useless to us.”

Reluctantly, the first agent set the device down. He leaned in close to Y/N, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re lucky,” he hissed. “But don’t think this is over.”

He stepped back, and the two agents exchanged a few hushed words before leaving the room. The door slammed shut, plunging Y/N back into oppressive silence.

She slumped in her chair, every inch of her body throbbing with pain. Her breathing was shallow, her head heavy. But deep inside, a flicker of hope remained.

Bucky will come for me, she thought. He always does.

🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒🕒

The morning after Y/N left for her mission dawned uneventfully in New York. Bucky Barnes sat in the Avengers Tower common room, staring at the cold coffee in his hand. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but sleeping last night had been nearly impossible. He’d spent most of the night going over his last conversation with Y/N.

Her kiss had lingered, both on his lips and in his memory, but her nervous energy had also left a knot in his chest. He’d tried to reassure her that she’d be fine, but deep down, Bucky hated every second she spent on solo missions. She was capable—he knew that better than anyone—but the fear of losing her gnawed at him constantly.

Still, he’d let her go. She’d hugged him tight and told him to trust her, and he’d kissed her temple, swallowing his protests. Now all he could do was wait.

Tony Stark walked into the room, his usual swagger missing. He had his tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His face was drawn, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the argument with Y/N before she left had taken its toll.

"Barnes," Tony greeted curtly, settling into a chair across the room.

“Stark,” Bucky replied, just as curt. The tension between them was palpable, but both men had agreed to coexist for Y/N’s sake.

Tony’s gaze flickered to Bucky’s untouched coffee. “What, no appetite for caffeine today? Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge.”

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Just not in the mood.”

Tony let out a low hum, tapping at his tablet. He wasn’t one to dwell on feelings, but the weight of their last argument sat heavy on his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N’s frustrated face, her voice cracking as she defended Bucky.

"She’ll be fine," Tony muttered, more to himself than Bucky.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to him. “You better hope so,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, you’re going to regret every word you said to her.”

Before Tony could fire back, FRIDAY’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, I’m detecting an irregularity with Miss Stark’s mission. Her comms have gone offline.”

Both men froze, the tension in the room morphing into something heavier.

“What do you mean ‘offline’?” Tony demanded, sitting upright.

“Miss Stark’s communicator went dark approximately seven minutes ago,” FRIDAY responded. “I’ve attempted to reestablish contact, but there’s no response.”

Bucky was already on his feet, his expression hardening. “Seven minutes? And you’re just telling us now?”

“I alerted you as soon as the anomaly was detected,” FRIDAY replied evenly.

Tony swiped at his tablet, pulling up the mission parameters and Y/N’s last known location. A map of Eastern Europe materialized on the screen, marked with a blinking red dot.

“She was in contact before this,” Tony said, his voice tight. “She reported everything was going according to plan. What the hell happened?”

Bucky stepped closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder. “Can you pinpoint her last known coordinates?”

“Already done,” FRIDAY replied. The map zoomed in on a dense forested area. “Her last transmission came from these coordinates. There’s no sign of further movement.”

“She could’ve lost the signal,” Tony reasoned, though his tone was far from confident.

“Or someone took her out,” Bucky said bluntly, his jaw clenched.

Tony shot him a glare. “Real helpful, Barnes.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. If her comms went dark, something’s wrong.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Tony turned to FRIDAY. “Initiate satellite surveillance of that area. I want eyes on the ground, now.”

“I’ve already started the process,” FRIDAY confirmed. “However, the forest cover in the region is dense, and visual clarity may be limited.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated feeling powerless. The soldier in him wanted to grab a weapon and go, but without more intel, he’d be running blind.

“What about her tracker?” Bucky asked suddenly.

Tony frowned. “She wasn’t wearing a full tracker. Just the one embedded in her comms unit.”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t start with me, Barnes,” Tony snapped. “She insisted on traveling light, and I didn’t exactly have time to argue after our—” He cut himself off, biting back the word argument.

Bucky turned on him, his blue eyes blazing. “You didn’t argue because you were too busy picking a fight with her about me. And now she’s out there, missing, and we’re wasting time because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Tony slammed his tablet down on the table, standing to face Bucky. “Don’t you dare put this on me,” he hissed. “She’s an agent. She knew the risks.”

“She’s your daughter,” Bucky growled. “And you should’ve supported her instead of pushing her away.”

The room fell silent, both men breathing heavily as the weight of their words settled between them.

“Gentlemen,” FRIDAY interjected, “I suggest you put your differences aside. I’ve detected signs of unusual activity near Miss Stark’s last known location.”

Tony and Bucky immediately turned to the screen, their argument forgotten.

“What kind of activity?” Tony asked.

“Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures converging on the area shortly after Miss Stark’s comms went offline,” FRIDAY reported. “It’s possible she encountered hostiles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “HYDRA?”

“There’s no confirmation yet,” FRIDAY replied.

Tony grabbed his tablet, his hands moving rapidly as he analyzed the data. “We’re wasting time sitting here. Get the quinjet ready,” he barked.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He was already heading for the armory.

🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔🕔

The quinjet hummed as it cut through the sky, slicing through clouds with precision. Tony sat in the pilot’s seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Bucky sat beside him, silently scanning the mission data on a tablet.

Neither man spoke. The weight of their shared fear hung heavy in the air, but neither dared voice it.

“How far out are we?” Bucky asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Thirty minutes,” Tony replied, his voice clipped.

Bucky nodded, his gaze fixed on the screen. The thermal imaging showed nothing new, just the same cluster of heat signatures near Y/N’s last location.

“She’s strong,” Tony said suddenly, his tone almost defensive. “She’ll hold out.”

Bucky glanced at him. For a moment, he considered saying something comforting, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. She will.”

But deep down, both men knew the truth: time was running out.

🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖🕖

When the quinjet landed, Bucky and Tony moved quickly, stepping into the dense forest with weapons drawn. FRIDAY’s guidance led them to Y/N’s last known coordinates, the eerie silence of the woods amplifying their unease.

The site was undisturbed, save for a few scuff marks in the dirt that hinted at a struggle. Bucky crouched, his fingers brushing against the ground.

“Tracks,” he muttered. “Boot prints. At least six people.”

Tony scanned the area with a handheld device, his jaw tightening. “They took her,” he said grimly. “We need to move.”

Bucky rose to his feet, his expression dark. “Let’s go.”

Together, they followed the trail deeper into the forest, their determination unwavering. Neither man said it aloud, but the same thought echoed in their minds: We’re coming for you, Y/N. Hold on.

🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗🕗

The sharp sting of fluorescent lights buzzed above Y/N’s head, piercing through the darkness she had come to find solace in.

Every time her mind threatened to pull her away, back to a place of quiet oblivion, another jolt of pain grounded her to the suffocating reality of the room.

It had been a full day, though it felt like weeks. Time had blurred, lost in the cycle of pain, silence, and interrogation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink of water. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and each shallow breath she took sent spikes of agony through her ribs. She was sure one, maybe two, were broken.

But she was alive.

That fact alone gave her the smallest sliver of defiance to hold onto, even as her body screamed at her to give up.

The metal chair she was tied to groaned softly as she shifted, her wrists raw from where the restraints dug into her skin. Her head hung low, strands of her hair matted with sweat and blood clinging to her face. She blinked slowly, trying to focus her vision, but the pounding ache in her skull made even that a monumental effort.

The door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fists, summoning what little strength she had left to steel herself.

“Still breathing, I see,” a voice sneered.

The Hydra agent stepped into the room, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. He was tall, with a thin, wiry frame that belied the strength he wielded. His cold, calculating eyes scanned her, searching for cracks in the armor she wore so stubbornly.

Y/N didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You’ve held up,” he said, circling her like a vulture.

“I always do.” She spat.

“You think you’re strong,” he whispered, his voice venomous. “But everyone breaks eventually. You will tell me what I want to know.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

The agent smirked. “Ah, defiance. Admirable. But futile.”

He rose to his feet, pacing slowly. “Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” he demanded. “His weaknesses. His routines. Anything useful.”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lip curled into a faint smirk, though the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The agent’s expression darkened. Without warning, he lashed out, his fist connecting with her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind her eyelids.

“Wrong answer,” he said coldly.

Y/N tasted blood, metallic and bitter, pooling in her mouth. She spat it out, the crimson splatter landing on the floor between them.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony. The Hydra agent wasn’t particularly creative in his methods, but he was thorough. He punched, kicked, and struck her with calculated precision, targeting places that would hurt the most while leaving her alive enough to endure more.

Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stifle her cries, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She focused on one thing: staying silent. Every moment she resisted was a victory, a small act of rebellion against the monster before her.

Her mind drifted to Bucky. She clung to the memory of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way his arms felt around her. She imagined him whispering reassurances, telling her to hold on, that he was coming for her.

“I’ll find you, Doll,” she could almost hear him say, his voice steady and sure. “Just hold on a little longer.”

It wasn’t real, but it was enough to keep her going.

Eventually, the Hydra agent grew frustrated. His fists were bloodied from the beating, and Y/N’s defiance had begun to grate on him.

“Why do you fight so hard for him?” he demanded, his voice filled with venom. “Do you think he’d do the same for you? He’s a monster. A killer. Do you really think you’re anything more than a distraction to him?”

Y/N’s head lolled forward, her vision swimming. She was too exhausted to lift her head, but she managed to rasp, “You don’t know him.”

The agent growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the wall. He turned to the guard stationed by the door. “Bring the electric setup,” he barked.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had endured physical pain, but the thought of being electrocuted sent a spike of fear through her. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the last dregs of her strength.

The minutes stretched into an eternity before the guard returned, wheeling in a cart with a sinister-looking device. The Hydra agent grinned wickedly as he connected the electrodes, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“This,” he said, holding up the wires, “is going to be much worse.”

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow pants. She refused to show fear, but the trembling in her body betrayed her.

The first shock hit her like a lightning bolt, her muscles seizing violently as pain tore through her. She bit down on her tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth again.

“Talk!” the agent demanded, turning the dial higher.

Y/N shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face. “Never,” she gasped.

The shocks came again and again, each one more excruciating than the last. Her vision blurred, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. She wanted to give up, to let the darkness take her, but the thought of Bucky and her father kept her hanging on.

“They’ll find me,” she whispered through cracked lips. “You won’t win.”

The agent sneered. “We’ll see about that.”

She didn’t know how much longer she could last, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙🕙

The hum of the Quinjet’s engines was deafening in the silence between Tony and Bucky. It wasn’t the soothing kind of quiet, the type that offered peace. This was the kind of silence that screamed louder than words, thick with desperation, fear, and the unspoken truth neither man wanted to voice.

Time was slipping through their fingers.

Bucky sat rigid in his seat, his metal hand clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that the material groaned in protest. His flesh hand rested on his thigh, fingers twitching with barely restrained agitation. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the holographic map in front of them, narrowing on the blinking red dot that marked the last location Y/N had been before her comms went dark.

"Why haven’t we heard anything yet?" Bucky growled, his voice low and edged with a dangerous kind of fury.

Tony stood at the console across from him, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. His fingers flew across the controls, pulling up every Hydra base within a 200-mile radius, cross-referencing them with known activity. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"Don’t think for a second I’m not doing everything in my power," Tony snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite. He was too worried, too consumed by the gnawing guilt threatening to consume him whole.

The argument they’d had—the words he’d thrown at her—played on an endless loop in his mind.

"You think I’m going to stand by and let him ruin you?" "You’re better off without him, Y/N." "I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me!"

He had been wrong. He knew that now. Bucky wasn’t the enemy, not when the real danger was out there, holding his daughter captive.

"Her last ping was here," Tony said, jabbing a finger at the map. "A base Hydra abandoned years ago. But…"

"But it’s not abandoned anymore," Bucky finished, his voice cold and flat.

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. "Satellite scans picked up heat signatures. They’re faint, but they’re there. It’s our best lead."

Bucky pushed up from his chair, pacing like a caged animal. His hands flexed at his sides, the familiar rage simmering just beneath his skin. "If they hurt her—"

"They did," Tony interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "You don’t take someone like her and leave them unharmed. We both know that."

The weight of the statement hit them both, a brutal reminder of the clock ticking down on Y/N’s life.

As the Quinjet drew closer to the coordinates, the tension in the cabin became suffocating. Tony adjusted his suit piece by piece, the arc reactor glowing faintly as he prepared for battle. Bucky was already geared up, his combat knife strapped to his thigh and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say.

The Quinjet’s navigation system beeped, and FRIDAY’s voice cut through the silence. "We’ll arrive at the designated coordinates in five minutes."

Bucky inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His mind raced with thoughts of Y/N—her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she always looked at him like he was more than his past. She had to be alive. She had to be.

"FRIDAY, scan for life signs as soon as we’re in range," Tony ordered, his voice firm but hollow.

"Already running scans, sir," the AI replied.

The Quinjet began its descent, the Hydra base looming in the distance like a jagged scar on the earth. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up.

"This feels wrong," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

Tony didn’t answer. He was already moving, the ramp lowering as the Quinjet touched down. Bucky followed without hesitation, his every sense on high alert.

The base was dilapidated, overgrown with weeds and rusted with age, but it was clearly operational. Lights flickered faintly in the windows, and the faint hum of machinery echoed from somewhere deep inside.

They moved quickly and quietly through the corridors, clearing rooms with precision. Every second that passed without finding her felt like a lifetime.

"Anything, FRIDAY?" Tony asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"One faint life sign detected below ground," the AI replied.

Bucky’s heart stopped. "Is it her?"

"Unknown, Sergeant Barnes. The readings are weak, likely due to interference."

Tony exchanged a look with Bucky, and for the first time, they were united in their fear. "Then we don’t have time to waste," Tony said.

The descent into the lower levels of the base was harrowing. The deeper they went, the darker and more oppressive the air became. Bucky’s grip on his rifle tightened, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When they reached the door to the room FRIDAY had identified, Tony hesitated. His hand hovered over the panel, his eyes darting to Bucky.

"You ready?" he asked.

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply nodded, his jaw set in determination.

🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛🕛

The room was cold, a damp chill seeping into Y/N's bones as if the very walls around her were trying to finish what her captors had started. Her head lolled to the side, resting against the edge of the chair. Each breath rattled in her chest, shallow and labored. She blinked sluggishly, the dim light overhead casting uneven shadows that seemed to mock her.

The Hydra agent who had come in earlier was gone now, his absence offering no relief. His tools of torment lay discarded on the table nearby: a scorched prod, frayed wires that still sparked faintly, and a bloodied rag he had carelessly tossed aside.

Her body bore the marks of his persistence, evidence of her refusal to give in. The electrical burns on her arms still throbbed, skin raw and blistered, and blood trickled down her temple from a cut that hadn’t stopped bleeding since he had struck her last.

She had screamed. She had cried. But she had not spoken.

"You’ll tell me what I want to know eventually," the agent had sneered earlier, his gloved hand tracing the edge of the prod. "Everyone breaks, little Stark. Even you."

Y/N had glared at him through swollen eyes, lips trembling but silent. Her defiance had earned her another jolt of electricity, the current tearing through her body with merciless efficiency.

She hadn't screamed that time.

Now, alone again, she wasn’t sure if her silence had been bravery or stupidity. It didn’t matter anymore. She was dying. She could feel it in the way her body was shutting down, each pulse of her heartbeat weaker than the last.

The faintest flicker of hope she’d clung to for the last day—Has it been a day?—was now extinguished. She had believed, foolishly, that someone would find her. That Bucky would find her. But the hours stretched on, the silence within the base mocking her.

No one was coming.

Her head tipped back, and a soft, bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips, though it hurt to even make the sound. The effort sent a sharp pain through her ribs, where she suspected at least one was broken.

"Guess this is it," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. Her throat felt like sandpaper, each word scraping against it painfully.

Her thoughts turned to Bucky, unbidden but inevitable. She pictured his face—those piercing blue eyes, the slight scrunch of his brow when he was worried. The way he always called her Doll with such affection it made her heart ache.

He had always been her safe place, her anchor. But now, she was adrift, sinking beneath the weight of her despair.

And Tony… her dad.

Tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision. She thought of the last conversation they'd had, the fight that had sent her storming off. The words they’d exchanged burned as much as the wounds covering her body.

"You think you’re untouchable because you’re my daughter? Because you’re dating Barnes?" "You don’t trust me to handle myself, and that’s the problem."

She had been so angry, so sure of herself. But now, sitting here on the edge of death, she couldn’t even remember what she had said to him as her final words before the mission.

Would Tony regret them? Would he care?

A fresh wave of despair rolled over her, heavy and suffocating. She let her eyes slip closed, her body slumping further against the restraints.

She was so tired.

Time lost meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Seconds blurred into minutes, minutes into hours. The only constants were the ache in her body and the pounding in her head, faint and unrelenting.

At some point, the Hydra agent had returned. His boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his silhouette looming over her. He said something, but the words were garbled, unintelligible.

He hit her again—she didn’t know where, only that it hurt. And then he left, muttering something about "usefulness" as he disappeared through the door.

She was alone again.

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her lungs burning with every inhale. She tried to lift her head, but it felt too heavy, her strength long since drained.

She tilted her gaze upward, staring at the cracked ceiling. The faintest flicker of a thought crossed her mind—a desperate plea she hadn’t dared to voice before.

"If anyone’s out there… please."

The silence answered her.

It wasn’t until later—how much later, she couldn’t say—that she heard it.

At first, it was so faint she thought she was imagining it. A soft hum, low and soothing, cutting through the oppressive quiet of the room.

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her bruised face. Was it her mind playing tricks on her? A final mercy before the end?

But then it grew louder, more distinct.

A voice.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, the faint rhythm skipping erratically. She strained to focus, to make sense of the sound.

"Doll…?…Y/N?..."

Her eyes fluttered open, wide despite the agony that coursed through her. That voice. She would recognize it anywhere.

"Bucky," she croaked, the name barely escaping her lips.

Her body trembled as she tried to move, to shift against the restraints holding her down. The pain was excruciating, but she didn’t care.

They were here.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Bucky had found her.

The faint hum of his voice was joined by another sound—a distant, rhythmic pounding. Footsteps.

Her breath hitched as tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting through the grime that covered her skin. "Bucky," she tried again, louder this time, though it came out as more of a rasp.

The footsteps grew closer, the sound echoing through the hallways like a beacon. She forced her head up, her neck protesting the movement, and fixed her gaze on the door.

Please…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The door slid open with a groan, revealing a scene that made both men’s hearts drop.

Y/N was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head hanging low, her body battered and bruised. Her hands were tied behind her back, her wrists raw and bloody. The floor beneath her was stained crimson, a grim testament to what she had endured.

"Y/N!" Bucky’s voice broke as he rushed to her side, dropping his rifle and cupping her face gently in his hands.

Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow. She didn’t respond, her head lolling slightly as Bucky tried to rouse her.

"Come on, Doll," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Stay with me."

Tony stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the sight of his daughter in such a state. But then he was moving, fumbling with the restraints to free her.

"She’s alive," he said, his voice shaking. "Barely, but she’s alive."

Bucky didn’t let go of her, his thumb brushing softly over her cheek. "We’ve got you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ve got you, Doll. You’re safe now."

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

Bucky nodded, scooping her up as gently as he could. She didn’t stir, her body limp in his arms.

"Hang on, Y/N," Tony whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, just hang on."

As they carried her back to the Quinjet, the weight of their failure pressed down on them both. They had found her, but the fight was far from over.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The soft whir of the Quinjet engines filled the cabin as it raced back to the compound.

Bucky sat with Y/N cradled in his arms, his hand trembling as it brushed gently against her cheek. Her face was battered, her skin pale beneath the bruises and streaks of dried blood.

“You’re okay Doll, hang in there…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer.”

Y/N’s head leaned against his chest, her breaths shallow but steady. She tried to respond, to offer him the comfort she knew he desperately needed, but her voice was a faint rasp.

Across the cabin, Tony sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He stared at Y/N with an expression that Bucky had never seen on him before—raw, unfiltered anguish.

“She’s going to make it,” Tony muttered, as if saying it aloud would will it into existence. “She has to.”

Bucky didn’t reply, his focus entirely on Y/N. He could feel her heartbeat, faint but persistent, as if she were clinging to him with the last of her strength.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured again, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The Quinjet touched down at the compound, and a team of medics was already waiting. Bruce Banner, dressed in scrubs, stepped forward, his expression grim but focused.

“Let’s move her,” Bruce said firmly, directing the medics to carefully transfer Y/N onto a stretcher. Bucky reluctantly let her go, his hands lingering as if afraid she might disappear the moment he wasn’t holding her.

“I’m going with her,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce nodded, sparing him a brief glance. “Fine, but let us do our job, Bucky.”

Tony followed behind them, his silence unnerving. He hadn’t spoken since they landed, his usual bravado replaced by a heavy, suffocating guilt.

In the medical bay, the atmosphere was tense as Bruce and his team worked on Y/N. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring her fragile vitals. Bucky stood at the edge of the room, his fists clenched as he watched them clean her wounds, set her broken rib, and stitch the gash on her temple.

Tony stood beside him, his gaze fixed on Y/N’s pale face. He finally broke the silence, his voice barely audible.

“This is my fault,” he said, his hands shaking. “If I hadn’t—if we hadn’t fought before she left…”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from Y/N. “This isn’t about the fight,” he said quietly. “It’s about them. Hydra. Don’t lose focus now.”

Tony didn’t reply, but the guilt in his eyes remained.

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce stepped back, pulling off his gloves. “She’s stable for now,” he said, addressing both men. “The next 24 hours will be critical. She needs rest and observation, but she’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through this, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Hours later, the medical bay was quiet. Tony sat slumped in a chair by Y/N’s bedside, his head in his hands. Bucky was on the other side, his metal hand resting gently over hers.

“She always gets herself into trouble,” Tony muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was thick with emotion. “Just like her mom.”

Bucky glanced up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in Tony’s tone.

“She used to drive me crazy, you know,” Tony continued, his eyes glistening. “So damn stubborn. I see so much of her in Y/N.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I was wrong about you, Barnes.”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the admission.

“You love her,” Tony said, his voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I see that now. And she… she loves you, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Someone who’d protect her when I couldn’t.”

Bucky’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened. “I’ll always protect her,” he said softly. “I swear.”

Tony nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought back tears.

It wasn’t until early the next morning that Y/N stirred. Her fingers twitched first, a faint movement that made Bucky’s breath catch.

“Doll?” he whispered, leaning closer.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a soft groan. Slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy but undeniably alive.

“Bucky?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here, Doll.”

Tony was at her other side in an instant, his expression a mix of relief and overwhelming guilt. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Dad?”

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s me. I…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the fight, for not trusting you… for not being there when you needed me. I…You picked a good one, Sweetie, I’m sorry, He’s..—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the pain it caused. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Tony exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he reached for her hand.

Bucky leaned in closer, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me, Doll,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I thought I lost you.”

Her tired eyes met his, and she managed a small, teasing smile. “You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

His lips twitched upward, a weak chuckle escaping him. “I’m so glad you came back to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Y/N’s smile softened, her gaze steady despite her exhaustion.

“I always do.”

——————————————————————————————————

Thank you for taking the time to leave a request. Hope you enjoyed it, Hun! 🫶

Requests Open!

[ghouljams]

how does one become free of insecurity? i’m already doing therapy but i feel i’ve only moved away from hating myself so much i want to d*e into just thinking everyone’s better than me

It's a long journey, but well worth it.

I don't think anyone is ever truly free of insecurity, but I think there's also a lot that is unpacked simply through the language we use to describe ourselves and the jokes we allow other people to make at our expense.

Therapy is great at helping you deal with the big feelings, but sometimes little things get caught in your head and it's hard to shake them. Here are some things that I do to keep myself feeling good, and also some things that I'm working on:

No suicide jokes. I make it a point never to joke about "oh I'll just kill myself" or anything like that because ultimately it just makes me feel worse and nobody finds it funny. It's also a good way to change your thinking and direct your solution brain away from "I'll just end things when shit gets hard." This one is a constant battle.

I compliment myself whenever I have the chance. I take every compliment someone gives me. I pretend to be vapid and self-absorbed. I make kissy faces at myself in the mirror. I tell other people how pretty I am, and I don't fucking care if they think I'm a stupid bimbo because I'm trying to love myself and that's more important.

Being kinder to my younger self. This one feels weird but I found myself being mean to little Ghoul when I was really sad. It feels easy to take out your anger on a kid that didn't know any better, and it doesn't guilt you because that's you that you're hating. But look. You were just a kid. You weren't stupid or ugly or unlovable or evil, you were a kid. I just caught myself calling my teenage self ugly the other day on my way to visit my mom and I had to stop and go "why am I saying this? I was just a kid." And it made me cry a li'l bit ngl, but if felt... idk it felt good in a way.

Don't let fucking anyone tell you, you're not worth it. Does your friend make jokes about how dumb you are? Or how you're so cringey? Or so embarrassing or bad at something or forgetful or WHATEVER? Yeah, fuck that noise. Tell them to stop doing that. Tell them it hurts your feelings and if they still don't stop they aren't your friend, they're your bully. I fucking hate bullies. Don't let anyone talk down to you, I don't care if it was a joke at first, it's not funny anymore. Fuck them.

This is something I'm working on, but when you start fixing one insecurity another will probably pop up. I've been working for a long time on liking how I look, and it's gone really well. But now I'm insecure about my intelligence. So I have to stop myself from calling myself stupid or not answering questions. I just fucking rocked my work trivia party, and Mr. Ghoul thinks I'm smart, so I just gotta keep track of my wins. Sometimes you realize that making yourself secure in one thing makes you insecure about another, but that's ok! There's a learning curve to all of this.

Everyone thinks everyone else is better than them. You don't have to be the best at everything, you don't even have to be the best at one thing! What's important is that you're doing your best. People notice when you're working hard, even if you're not churning out the best product because it means you care about it. Which brings me to

Done is better than perfect. Sure it would be great if you were God's most specialist soldier, but think about how much work that would be! Ok so you're not the world's best knitter, but the scarf you made your friend is their favorite scarf anyway because you made it. So you're not a world class writer, but you had a story in your head and you wrote it down. That's better than it never being written at all. Also just because you think it's bad doesn't mean other people won't think it's a masterpiece. Hell, half of the fics I wrote when I first started this blog I could write better now but that doesn't make them bad, it just means I've gotten better.

We as humans are constantly improving and evolving. Don't let who you are no stop you from striving towards who you'll be in the future. Taking one step down the path towards loving yourself is better than giving up and hating yourself forever. It's slow going, but man I've been doing this shit for a decade and I'm so much happier than I was at 18.

You might think that the more you improve the harder and faller you'll fall back to the bottom, but the lows don't get that low again. You're doing great. I'm proud of you.

[bodybeyondstories]

story prompt: A tailor has the power to enchant clothes to change the wearers body and does so when clients have unreasonable asks. like a guy with a flat butt ask for pants that flatter his rear so the tailor inflates his butt out of proportion…that kind of thing

My first thought with this was what if there was some sort of less than ethical business model based on forming a runaway positive feedback loop where someone had to keep coming back to have clothes altered and then ended up altered in some way, which would be fun to write eventually. Here I riffed on some classic careful-what-you-wish-for ass expansion.

1313 words

_____________

"You might have to adjust the seat a little, I've been hitting leg day pretty hard." Danny glanced down at me with an expectant smirk as I ran the measuring tape across his backside.

"Whatever you say, Cake Boss," I said, pretending the number wasn't exactly what it always was. "I might need to run and get a few more yards of fabric for this dump truck."

"Big butts are in style and I need to show off these gains." He swung his hips back toward the mirror to check himself out, eyes focusing expectantly on an unremarkable backside.

Are the gains in the room with us now? I thought, chuckling out loud.

Danny and I were good friends, and as such, he occasionally took advantage of the very generous friends and family discount for my tailoring services. This time, he wanted to get his suit refitted for the upcoming commitment ceremony of our mutual friends and favorite throuple, Jean, Gene, and Jerome, who were officially, begrudgingly, tying the three way knot. He had been through my shop no less than six times in the past several months, begging for an adjustment of this or that pair of trousers in anticipation of whatever new workout routine he had jumped into. He was obsessed with his ass, specifically--tragically--its undeniable flatness. I was a damn good tailor, but I could only do so much. News I had to break to him on a regular basis.

"Can't you like, work your magic or something?" he asked, winking down at me.

I thought for a long moment and relented, feet taking me toward the back of the shop. "I can try."

I reached behind my desk and pulled out a well worn notebook, decorated by decades of page folding, sticky noting, coffee staining, and annotating. It was one of many strange, sentimental pieces of inheritance I received from my mother, a practitioner of the craft who disappeared with her coven years ago. I was left with half memories of their gatherings, what little training I had paid attention to growing up, and of course, this notebook, my own annotations slowly forming a cross-generational palimpsest.

Occasionally, especially with my more tedious clients, I'll let my hobby cross into the tailoring business, enchanting the fabric with whatever magical push the wearing needs to feel their best self.

I pulled out a container of ink--hand made from ingredients foraged sustainably under the light of a full moon--and drew out what I hoped was the right mix of sigils for illusion and manifestation, sprinkled with a little bit of chaos, to give Danny the booty of his dreams. I stitched the small slip of paper into the waistband of his pants and handed them back to try on.

He slipped each leg in and pulled them up his toned quads, gasping as he stopped suddenly at the top of his hamstrings. What usually slipped on with minimal effort was now blocked by a perky bubble butt perched behind him.

"Nice!" he exclaimed, giving his newly hefty ass a jiggle. "I knew you could do it."

---

I rolled into the ceremony just as it was starting and posted up in one of the empty rows towards the back. As I passed the gaggle of bridesmates, gentlethems, attendants and henchmen (they all got to pick their own terms), Danny gave me a wink and a thumbs up, adjusting his waistline as the procession began.

As they walked down the aisle, I got a better look at my handiwork, and apparently so did everyone else. When he had left my shop his ass had looked delectably round and perky, but the pair of cheeks fighting for space as he strutted towards the front were on another level. They looked big. Really big.

Maybe it was the light? I tried to convince myself with a twinge of worry. I kept my gaze as professional as possible as he stood at the front with the rest of the attendants with his shoulders squared and hands clasped firmly in front of him. As the ceremony progressed, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in place as he shifted from one foot to the other, the tails of his suit jacket riding up over his meaty buns.

Those cheeks were definitely bigger than they were during the fitting. In fact, they were bigger than they were twenty minutes ago. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and small winces of discomfort confirmed what I--and likely others--had picked up on. His ass was inflating imperceptibly but undeniably.

Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Or maybe something went too right? I don't know. I hoped I could intervene before things got out of hand, but time was quickly running out on that plan. The attendant behind him took a step back as his ass slowly ballooned from his otherwise slim frame, straining the fabric of his pants to their limit.

Even a magically enhanced pair of trousers can only take so much. When Jean, Gene, and Jerome were two thirds of the way through the sharing of vows, the seat of Danny's pants finally gave way, revealing his now basketball sized buns spilling into the open air clad in a pair of plaid bikini briefs.

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. "Ooo girl," "Need his leg routine," "The whole bakery..." could be heard among the general whispers of surprise and politely restrained chuckles. Danny, face a flush of embarrassment, tried to hold what remained of the seat of his pants together as he slunk away, the attendant behind him quickly taking his place before the soon to be betrothed could notice the commotion or his wildly jiggling buns disappearing out of sight.

I found him behind the reception tent, clutching my handbag full of emergency repair materials for just this situation. But I quickly came to realize that some heavy duty thread and patches wouldn't be enough.

"Dude, it won't stop!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to cover the globes of his ass. "What do we do?!"

"Okay, um," I said, grasping wildly for solutions, "I have my notebook, I can try and figure something out on the fly. Just take your pants off and the growth should stop."

"...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't!" he snapped, turning to show me the waistband stuck just below his hips, unbuttoned and stretched to the limit yet still woefully incapable of making it over his massive--and still slowly expanding--posterior.

"Okay, Plan B," I said, reaching into my bag. I brandished a seam ripper as I turned him around and traced the waistband of his pants until I found where I had installed the sigil. "Wow," I muttered, marveling at a pair of globular, gravity defying glutes that were nothing short of a work of art.

"What's up?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just...it's a lot..."

"Yeah I think we've all figured that out. Can we address this crisis while I still have any hope of wearing normal clothes?"

"Right." I snapped back into focus, searching along the seams for my signature stitch. "Found it!" I beamed, slicing through with one deft cut and yanking the sigil from the fabric.

"Thank fuck," he whispered. "Can you stitch this back up before the reception?"

"Yeah, I should have everything here, just let me--"

I was cut off by the unmistakable soft staccato of seams tearing. With the spell broken, and the pants returned to their mundane state, the overstressed fabric no longer stood a chance against the melons ballooning from Danny's lower back. Seams split one after the other as what was left of his pants fluttered apart, revealing every extensive curve of his beyond bodacious butt.

"Okay," I said. "I might have some spandex in the car."

[midnight-mourning]

❄️MIDNIGHT'S DCA DECEMBER❄️

Hello! I've decided to have a little bit of fun this December and will be opening up requests for the month! Please see below for more details (With subheadings!):

Requests Overall

I will have 31 slots available for requests, first come, first serve. Each piece will range from 1000-2000 words in length and may (MAY) include a little doodle made by me.

Requests can be anything! They just have to be winter/holdiay themed (do NOT have to be releated to Christmas) and DCA-related

Winter/holiday themed means movies/stories too! Ex: i am a BIG fan of The Nutcracker (went insane when I saw @/robinette-green's au for the Barbie version lmao)

As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc. 

For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is FINE), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want

Potential Issues & Schedule

If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to. 

I will be posting these throughout December, ending on the 31st

In order to have enough time to write, I will be starting these as soon as I get the first request. To speed things up a little, requests will be open from 11/29 to 12/13 OR until I receive 31 unique requests. So that's maximum two weeks to think of an idea and share it with me. 

If I don't get enough overall or get anything prior to Dec. 1 I'll probably come up with some ideas of my own, but only if that happens! Additionally, if I don't get enough, I may open it up for people to request multiple times, again only if I don't get enough or run out of ideas (genuinely don't know how many I should expect so just trying to cover my bases lol)

To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.

HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)

Confused Spirit

For those who may be concerned (as I was before making this post lmao) Confused Spirit's schedule will not be affected by this! Now that it's back I'd like it to stay back lol. We may stick to an every two weeks schedule for a bit, or may go back to weekly, it will depend on life stuff, not on other writing things. I promise ^_^

Having little things like these also help prevent writers block, and thus stay more consistent with updates

Sharing & More

Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 31 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!

I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^

Unrelated but similar, @/quilteddreams is working on a DCA Advent Calendar for December that's also really cool! (I'm helping out with beta reading :D) Highly reccommend you check it out once it starts posting! 

Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca December, just in case there's another similar tag out there and I'm not just taking it for myself

Alright, that's all for now, excited to see what you guys ask for!

Adding the tag list to this since y'all enjoy my writing lol:

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai

[balrogballs]

hello, i'm balrogballs, who has regretted this username since the second i chose it. i post mostly LotR/Silm content ✨

I write, illustrate, and shitpost — under the cut is a list of some of my work, and a little bit more about me.

about me: i'm 27, mostly based in the UK atm but grew up and schooled overseas. i'm also a novelist irl (literary-ecological fiction), currently working on book 2.

as my day job, i work as a humanitarian advocate and travel quite frequently - so i have extended times on here and extended times off here. if I haven't responded to a message/tag for a few days, it's probably because i have no internet access and the blog is running off a queue.

pronouns: she/her

fandoms: LotR, The Silmarillion. I haven't seen RoP yet but I do enjoy seeing stuff from it on my dashboard! I enjoy a ton of other stuff too, such as obscure German detective novels, and weird conservation projects.

what you can expect to find here: the blog is called balrogballs, not balrogbrains, so just a note that i really don’t take myself very seriously and you’re probably not going to find much Serious Fandom Discourse. i do have my moments however!

generally though, the gulf between my writing and my personality has been described as “like meeting mr bean and finding out he wrote the iliad”, so take that as you will! re: 18+ content, i repeat, the blog is called balrogballs not balrogbaby, and i essentially use the word DILF like a punctuation mark, so again do with that as you will.

interactions: feel free to open a chat or send me an ask, check out my asks tag as well!

writing: here's my AO3 account. i write almost exclusively for lotr/silm ✨

here's some fics I'm proud of:

the sword tree: Maedhros and Celebrìan 'teaming up' to open a rewilding sanctuary in Valinor to help traumatised ring war returnees. environmentalism, pacifism, and hope in the face of helplessness.

cast in stone: a fic about memory gaps, found family, and holes in the archive. imagine that "who tells your story" line from hamilton except it's 35k words long and starring Maglor, Maedhros, Elrond, Estel and Legolas.

i enjoy exploring decolonial/ecological themes in my writing but i try not to be insufferable and most of my works have some degree of absurdism/humour. i also have a oneshots series called Elrond Peredhel and his Feral Children, a fun romp tackling parenthood in LotR, in which every child of Rivendell is fucking unhinged because their dad is a card-carrying weird little freak ✨🌞

art:

you can find my art tag here! I mostly do graphic novel style "illustrations", because I don't know how to draw anything else 🌞

I saw your work posted on ____, was that you?

Absolutely not — I use no social media aside from this and AO3 (technically I have an "official" account, but that's managed by a publicist and has no elves). I've had a couple of stories reposted onto Wattpad/FFN before — that is not me, so please ping me a link if you come across anything I've written that's not either on here or on AO3 as TimelessUtterances.

(If you came from the “i had to explain to my publishers why i wrote fanfiction about elrond giving lindir the battering ram treatment before they greenlit my first novel” post, no the goddamn fic isn’t still up). However, I do often get questions re writing/publishing from people who read said post, and I’m always very happy to answer these or hook you up with lists of resources, so feel free to ask anything on that front!

[aerkan]

Okay, so, I'm feeling a bit melancholic right now and I, well, I guess I want to share my thoughts in case someone relates or needs to know they're not alone.

I've figured out a few years back that I'm firmly set in the aroace spectrum. I've never had a crush on anyone except for some fictional characters or famous people, but even then the farthest my 'affections' have gotten was a strong urge to offer them a hug, or wanting to hang out and laugh. Which I very quickly found out was the exact same as for my closest friends, just magnified by my excitement of the stories tied to those characters or my joy at hearing the person's jokes.

I've never been interested in sex. At all. I don't like reading about it, I get bored watching it, and the prospect of experiencing it fills me with nothing other than dread and annoyance. That's not to say I'm ignorant about it. I'm not. I know how it works, I know what 'my role' would be should I ever try it. But while all my friends were experimenting with it during our teens I stayed far away from the dating pool. Mostly.

I had my first kiss when I was 17. I felt weird right after because I've read a lot of romantic stories (looking back on it, it wasn't for the romance itself but the emotional closeness between the characters but whatever) and first kisses were meant to be something one should enjoy. Even my friends have said so. However, I felt nothing, only bored. It was my first kiss and I wished I could do something more fun.

So yeah, that didn't click and I spent the whole evening reasearching what the hell was wrong with me (turns out, there was nothing wrong with me). That's how the idea of me being ace took root but I wasn't very sure about it (didn't want to be).

Since then there have been a few more kisses, but nothing to be writing home about. I guess I've been trying to see if anything changed. It didn't. Gradually I had to admit to myself that I'm ace and what that means for me. After the initial shock of the new label I very quickly became comfortable being ace. It fit me and I was happy.

However, well, lately most my friends have started dating. Finding their life partners. My new friends already had lovers, when I met them or are also finding love. And I'm excited for them, really am. But this new development made me confront another part of my identity, which I've been steadily ignoring for years now despite knowing it wasn't exactly the norm.

I'm aromantic! (*throwing confetti*)

I've never experienced romantic love and probably never will. I adore my friends, they are the most important people in my life and I would do a lot of f*cked up things for them to be happy. And for the most part I'm okay with just hanging out with my classmates and seeing my other friends from time to time, making plans to see each other more when we're all free. But I also feel unbearably lonely sometimes. I feel unwanted, ignored and left out simply because I can't offer the same 'normal' conversations. I feel disconnected from society and I desperately long for a partner that would love me, that I could talk to every day, that I could hug and laugh with. Someone, who would be there when I get home, maybe waiting with a good meal or excited to tell me about the new tv show they started watching while I was gone.

Basically, what I'm saying is... I want a roomate. I want someone to live with me but someone who sleeps in a different bed. Someone who would let me cuddle them from time to time when life gets a bit harder than I can bear and someone who would be there when I need a laugh. Someone I can cook with or sing with. I want a friend living with me who wouldn't have that 'special someone'. I want someone who would want the same from me.

And the hardest part about this? Knowing I'm probably never going to have that. These days I live with this terrifying certainty I'm going to die alone and well... I already feel crushingly lonely right now. I can't imagine feeling like this for the rest of my life.

...well, this got really depressing. Wasn't the point, but it is the truth. I love being aroace, I love the warm little feeling I get when I make someone happy or the giddy butterflies in my chest when I make someone laugh. Ultimately, I love being alive to be excited about sharing a smile with a stranger. I would simply prefer if so many of my nights weren't filled with the existentinal dread of being left behind.

Sorry for the ramble guys, have a cute pokemon cause you're awesome!

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

***

As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[lady-gravity-129]

If I were to try to make a recap thing about Unstable Universe, would it be easier to go by POV or rough timeline?

I'm rewatching this series because I'm bored and I'm taking notes and they just so happen to include tangents on where events would go in a timeline.

I probably won't post it anywhere but like, it's over 20 hours of content. If the opportunity presents itself, I'll have a recap waiting for anyone who's curious but doesn't have time to watch a 20 hour series at that moment.

Yes, I'm taking notes on a Minecraft series. I like taking notes, I'm a very attentive person, I blame Gravity Falls for making me think when watching or reading stuff.

[skrunksthatwunk]

why the fuck did i write about birds this fucking sucks. i just found out birds only sleep for a few minutes at a time, hundreds of times a day. do you know what this is going to do to my structure? the logistics of their road trip? this is already like three days late and i've been fighting for my life to get A Plot Like Any Plot That Makes Sense out and now the birds fucking sleep for 5 minutes at a time.

[wildberryjams]

Hello ♡ It's been a while!

It's been over a year I think? I haven't kept track tbqh

I'm not really back, because I want to be noncommittal as possible (since I have a tendency to disappear when my motivation to write does)

But this is me saying that I'm finally working on under the rose again! ♡

I'd all but abandoned it months ago, but yesterday I had a burst of energy and managed to write a couple hundred words. Tonight, the total is 1300. It's not much, but it's a start!

I don't talk about my personal life for many reasons, but this year has been one of the most difficult I've ever experienced. The last thing on my mind has been Will and Azul, as much as I wish they'd kept occupying every inch of it like they used to.

That spark is coming back, I think! ♡ (More in the tags since this is getting long)

[bardnuts]

do y'all ever have times when all your closest friends are unavailable for one reason or another and you've had a bad day and kind of hate yourself but there's no one around you can talk to about it so you just

[emdotcom]

Hisuian Zoroark is one of the sickest designs in pokemon, but the model on that bloke is FUCKED. It's really bad. If they bother to port her over to other games, you know they ain't changing that model, either, 'cept to make the textures paler & duller.

I continue to despise pokemon, despite being a pokemon fan, I fucken guess. At this point, I gotta go all in on summat else, like Cassette beasts.

[queenerdloser]

me every day: okay i'm going to try and relax and think about something other than grad school applications

me, roughly 30m later: thinking about grad school applications