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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Escape a Kingdom || Silver Vanrouge

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a bad novel. The prince is awful. The villainess is worse. The only thing keeping you going is your gorgeous, tired fiancé, Silver Vanrouge.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a good friend. A great friend, even. The kind of friend who remembered birthdays, hyped up questionable outfit choices, and provided alibis without asking too many questions. But as you stared at the abomination that was your best friend’s first novel, you began to reconsider your life choices.

The book sat in your lap like a lead weight, its aggressively pastel cover mocking you with every passing second. You had read it. You had survived it. But at what cost?

It had started as a simple enough premise: Silver, Duke of the North, was engaged to the heroine. A heroine so naively pure that if someone told her oxygen was a scam, she’d hold her breath until she passed out. The main villains were the neglected fifth prince and his fiancée, the villainess.

The villainess wanted Silver, but Silver wanted nothing to do with her. The fifth prince wanted the heroine, but the heroine, lacking two functional brain cells to rub together, had no idea what was going on.

And then things went completely off the rails.

Somehow, in a sequence of events that you were still trying to understand, Silver got shipped off to an unwinnable war and promptly died. The villainess mysteriously vanished (???), and then—without explanation—the heroine and the prince got married. The end.

You closed the book with the slow, deliberate movements of someone trying not to hurl it through a window. You inhaled deeply. You exhaled through your nose like a dragon trying not to incinerate a village.

You placed the book on the table.

Then you pressed your forehead against the table and contemplated your existence.

Tomorrow, you had to meet your best friend. You had to look them in the eye and tell them what you thought. You had to lie. Or worse—tell the truth.

You did not want to do this.

You needed divine intervention. A bolt of lightning, a sudden coma, a wormhole opening up beneath your feet.

As you walked to their house the next day, still praying for salvation, the universe finally answered.

Unfortunately, it did so in the form of a feral, airborne raccoon.

You were minding your own business, walking past a trashcan, when—BAM. A raccoon launched itself at you with the force of a caffeinated cryptid. There was no warning. No time to react. Just a blur of fur and the sheer weight of your sins crashing into your face.

Startled, you screamed, stumbled, and in a tragic display of physics and poor life choices, tumbled backwards—directly into the trashcan.

The lid snapped shut.

You flailed. You kicked. You thought, Wow, this is really happening, huh?

Then, to add insult to injury, the trashcan began to roll.

With you inside it.

You careened down the street, a human burrito of garbage and regret, before hitting a curb at just the right angle to be yeeted violently into the air.

There was a moment—just a moment—where time slowed, and you thought, Well. At least I don’t have to tell them anymore.

You woke up with that distinct, gnawing feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t the usual I forgot to send an email kind of off. No, this was the I am in the wrong dimension kind of off.

First of all, the bed was too big. Not just luxurious hotel big, but dear God, am I a Victorian orphan who got adopted by a morally gray billionaire? big.

Second, the air smelled clean. Not the comforting, familiar scent of your slightly questionable apartment, where the air carried the faint traces of instant ramen and the existential despair of adulthood.

Third—why was there noise?

You lived alone. The only other living creature that occasionally graced your presence was that one cockroach you had an unspoken truce with. So unless Mr. Roach had recently acquired sentience and thrown himself a rager, someone else was here.

Panic kicked in. You bolted upright, turned your head—this was absolutely not your home.

The walls were pristine. The curtains looked expensive. There was a vanity table. The entire place screamed old money, like the kind of place where people casually owned oil paintings of their ancestors who may or may not have committed tax fraud.

You shot out of bed so fast you nearly concussed yourself on the nearest piece of furniture. Your feet hit the floor. You sprinted to the mirror, skidded to a stop, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Staring back at you was a person. A person you knew. A person whose entire personality consisted of:

Being impossibly, devastatingly naïve.

Trusting people so fast she’d probably accept a drink labeled 'Not Poison' because "surely no one would lie about that."

Having the observational skills of a decorative cactus.

You were the heroine.

A low, horrified whimper escaped your throat. You sank to the floor, trembling hands pressing into your face.

This was a nightmare. A cruel joke. A divine punishment for every time you had talked smack about the heroine’s IQ in your past life.

The girl who had the critical thinking skills of a potato. The girl whose brain you had long suspected was running exclusively on the Baby Shark song on loop.

And now you were her.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against the cool floor.

You had survived death. You had defied the natural order.

And for what?

To be reincarnated as a human goldfish with no object permanence?

You were going to die.

Again.

Before you could shake your fist at the heavens and demand an explanation for your untimely demise (courtesy of an overly aggressive raccoon and an unfortunately placed trash can), you needed to do what all great strategists did when thrown into an unwinnable situation: panic internally while pretending you had a plan.

You knew this story. You knew its plot holes were deeper than a budget dungeon crawl, and its character motivations made less sense than a pigeon with a degree in economics. But you had an advantage—foreknowledge. And by the gods, you were going to use it.

The first step? Establishing yourself as Not an Idiot™.

The second step? Ensuring you did not, under any circumstances, end up falling for the fifth prince’s brand of bootleg romantic villainy.

The third step? Avoiding an untimely death like the last protagonist (RIP Silver, Duke of the North, gone but never forgotten).

With this sacred checklist in mind, you marched outside, determined to assert control over your fate—

—only to be immediately ambushed by a squadron of highly trained maids who descended upon you like a swarm of fabric-wielding locusts.

You barely had time to register their presence before you were stripped, perfumed, corseted, and shoved into an outfit so elaborate that it probably required its own construction permit. There were lace trimmings, unnecessary bows, and a pair of shoes so polished you could see your rapidly growing sense of existential dread reflected in them.

You were officially trapped in Victorian Dress-Up Hell.

And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, you were dragged straight to breakfast with your fiancé.

Now, normally, this would be the part where you started screaming. But then you remembered who your fiancé was.

Silver. Duke of the North. The only well-written character in the entire dumpster fire of a novel. A man of honor, competence, and stunning good looks.

Stunning good looks?

That was putting it lightly.

The moment you walked into the dining room, you had to physically stop yourself from gasping like some sort of Victorian maiden experiencing her first bout of hysteria.

Because dear gods above and below—how was he even prettier than his book illustration?!

This was unfair. Illegal. You wanted to file a formal complaint to whatever divine entity was responsible for sculpting this man.

His eyes were closed, silver lashes resting against his cheeks, and you thought—if Sleeping Beauty ever existed, this would be him. A prince of ethereal beauty, untouched by the sins of the world.

And then his eyes fluttered open, revealing a shade that can only be described as 'auroral', and you had to actively bite the inside of your cheek to avoid making a noise so embarrassing that you would have to immediately fake your own death to escape the consequences.

Silver, unaware of your minor cardiac event, blinked at you in mild surprise before rising to pull out your chair. Like a gentleman. Like a man raised with actual etiquette.

Oh. Oh, you were in danger.

Swallowing down the entirely inappropriate reaction threatening to burst forth, you sat down and focused on eating. Silver, as always, was polite and composed, and just when you thought you could make it through breakfast without incident—

He mentioned the prince and the villainess were visiting today.

You must have made a face because he immediately looked concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You usually enjoy their visits.”

Ah. Right. The original heroine was an idiot who thought being terrorized by a manipulative prince with daddy issues and a deranged villainess was fun.

You plastered on your best "I am absolutely thrilled" smile and forced out a chipper, “I can’t wait.”

Silver, bless his soul, nodded.

Internally, you were already constructing an elaborate plan to ensure that the prince got the message loud and clear: you were NOT interested.

And if that involved metaphorically throwing him off a metaphorical cliff?

Well. You had no objections.

The moment the Fifth Prince and the Villainess walked into the room, you instinctively tightened your grip on Silver’s sleeve like a soldier preparing for war. Because that’s exactly what this was—a battle. A battle of wits, patience, and trying very hard not to start swinging the nearest porcelain teapot.

The prince, in all his bootleg Casanova glory, approached first, his slick hair practically radiating the arrogance of a man who had never been told “no” in his entire life. His regal posture was flawless, his smirk expertly practiced in front of a mirror for at least five hours a day, and his eyes held the glint of a man who truly believed women were won like prizes at a rigged carnival game.

He reached for your hand, expecting you to giggle like a brainless debutante and let him hold it for an amount of time that was definitely pushing social norms.

Instead, you gripped his hand like a corporate executive about to close a high-stakes business deal. One firm shake. Then, for good measure, you slapped him on the back with the solid force of a man congratulating his buddy on a promotion.

“Good to see you, pal,” you said, voice brimming with friendly aggression.

The prince, visibly malfunctioning, blinked. “I—”

But you were already moving, looping your arm through Silver’s and pressing close to his side like you were the world’s most affectionate barnacle.

Silver, bless his chivalrous heart, barely hesitated before holding your hand firmly in return, his grip warm and steady. You had to physically restrain yourself from letting out a deranged, victorious giggle at the look on the prince’s face. He was staring at your interlocked hands like someone had just stolen his dessert plate right in front of him.

Oh, what a shame. What a tragedy. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

Then came the villainess.

She strutted forward, all sharp smiles and predatory grace, her heavily perfumed presence announcing itself like a nuclear bomb made of floral overkill. Without hesitation, she reached for Silver’s arm, her movements slow, deliberate—

Silver, in response, immediately took a step back like she had just pulled out a vial labeled “Highly Contagious Disease—Do Not Touch.”

You had never respected a man more in your life.

With the efficiency of someone handling a customer complaint, you smoothly stepped between them and took her hand instead. One quick shake—firm, professional, just detached enough to say I acknowledge you exist but not in any way that brings me joy.

She stared at you, visibly seething, like a cat that had just been denied access to the good couch.

Behind you, Silver sighed in such obvious relief that you were pretty sure you just secured a place in his will.

Tea time was, predictably, a disaster.

The prince kept attempting to flirt with you, hitting you with lines so cringeworthy that they could legally be classified as psychological warfare. Every time he tried, you shot him down with the efficiency of a seasoned HR manager rejecting an office romance scandal.

Meanwhile, the villainess was shamelessly trying to touch Silver, leaning in with the dramatic flair of a woman in a period drama who had just found out she had two months to live. Silver, for his part, looked two seconds away from either falling asleep or astral projecting out of sheer discomfort.

By the time they finally left, you had experienced the emotional equivalent of running a full marathon while being chased by geese.

Silver, apparently just as exhausted, slumped onto you like a marionette whose strings had just been brutally severed.

You sat there, unmoving, staring at the top of his head like you had just been gifted an extremely delicate and beautiful artifact. His silver hair was soft, his breathing slow and steady, and—

Oh. You were in danger again.

Future plans. Right. Focus.

You sat there, contemplating your next move like a war general preparing for battle. Clearly, Operation I Am Not Interested, Your Highness was off to a strong start. But you needed a long-term strategy. A game plan. A—

Silver stirred.

You glanced down, just in time to see his eyes flutter open, confusion evident in the soft furrow of his brow. Then he blinked. Looked around. Realized he was half-sprawled across your lap.

A deep red blush spread across his face like ink soaking into parchment. “I—I’m so sorry—”

You, feeling absolutely no shame about using this opportunity to appreciate just how stunning this man was, smiled. “It’s okay.”

Silver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and never return.

And as you gazed at him—this rare creature of beauty and genuine kindness, blushing like he was the maiden in distress—you thought, It has to be illegal to be this pretty AND nice.

And then, in true romantic fashion, you immediately started plotting ways to keep him as far away from the main plot as possible

You had, to put it simply, absolutely nothing to do.

After successfully fending off the Fifth Prince’s attempts at romance and blocking the Villainess like a medieval goalie, your schedule was depressingly empty. No political meetings. No noble drama. Just you, a very comfortable chair, and the creeping existential dread of living inside a book with a plot so brain-cell-depleting that it should come with a warning label.

So, naturally, you decided to go watch Silver train.

And damn.

You thought you were prepared. You really did. But watching Silver train was a completely different beast from reading about it in the novel.

The way his sword cut through the air? Poetry.

The way his muscles flexed as he parried and countered? Divine artistry.

The way he casually knocked his opponents to the ground while offering them helpful advice like, “You left your right side open. Try shifting your stance” as if he hadn’t just folded them like cheap laundry? Criminal.

You found yourself wishing for one of those tiny opera glasses so you could watch this in HD. Maybe even a chaise lounge so you could dramatically swoon at the appropriate moments.

But you settled for the next best thing—sitting with a cold bottle of water, pretending you weren’t staring at him like an awestruck peasant witnessing a deity descend from the heavens.

Silver eventually noticed your presence and, being the kind soul that he was, immediately came over. Probably to check if you were in distress because, let’s be honest, the original heroine never did anything without needing someone’s help five minutes later.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, eyes filled with genuine concern.

You blinked. “Nope. Just brought you this.”

You handed him the water, and— oh. Oh, wow. Was he blushing?

“I—thank you,” Silver said, taking the bottle with a kind of stunned hesitation, as if no one had ever done something nice for him before. Which, honestly, in this novel? Entirely possible.

“Well, since you’re bored,” he continued, after taking a drink, “would you like to take a walk around town?”

You nodded. Because, really, what else were you going to do? Stare at a wall? Accidentally trigger a romance flag with the prince by breathing in his general direction? No, thank you.

The town was bustling. People were selling overpriced trinkets, children were running around with the manic energy of creatures that had never paid taxes, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.

You were browsing a suspiciously glittery hat stall when you saw it—a tiny fortune-telling booth, tucked between a bakery and a store selling the kind of weapons that definitely weren’t legally registered.

“Want to check that out?” you asked Silver, jerking your head toward the booth.

Silver, because he was down for anything as long as it didn’t involve unnecessary drama, nodded.

The fortune teller was exactly what you expected. Mysterious robes? Check. Hood obscuring half their face? Check. A table full of random, ominous objects? Check. A single, gnarled hand that slowly reached out the moment you sat down? Horrifying, but also check.

“Your fate is… twisting.” The fortune teller’s voice was dramatic, like they got paid per cryptic sentence. “You must learn to change your destiny. And… most importantly… you must learn how to say no.”

You and Silver exchanged looks.

“…Huh?”

The fortune teller did not elaborate. They simply leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Well. That was unhelpful.

You both stood up, ready to leave when—

“Oh,” the fortune teller added, just as you were stepping out. “Good luck with your romance.”

You and Silver froze.

The air became so thick with tension that you could probably cut it with one of the overpriced swords from earlier.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you made eye contact.

Silver, visibly flustered, stared very hard at a distant fruit stand.

You, on the other hand, suddenly found a deep, profound interest in the cobblestone street, as if it held the answers to life’s mysteries.

The entire walk home was excruciating. Not because of anything bad—no, because your brains were both melting from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Every time your hands almost brushed, one of you would jolt like you’d been electrocuted.

At one point, Silver cleared his throat awkwardly.

At another, you tripped on absolutely nothing and had to pretend it didn’t happen.

By the time you got back, you were convinced that the fortune teller wasn’t actually magical, just a professional-level troll who lived for drama.

And you, unfortunately, had walked straight into it.

It was a perfectly peaceful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and for once, you weren’t being subjected to the medieval drama equivalent of a telenovela.

So, naturally, fate decided to drop-kick that peace into the sun.

One moment, you were lounging in the garden, enjoying the fleeting calm, and the next—

A shadow descended upon you. Something small, fast, and full of chaotic energy launched itself from the goddamn sky.

You barely had time to react before you were two inches away from seeing God again.

By some miracle (or the sheer will of your survival instincts), you managed to not die as a tiny, incredibly energetic man landed in front of you, grinning like he hadn’t just almost assassinated you with his entrance.

“Oops!” he chirped, not looking apologetic at all. “Did I scare you?”

Scare you? Sir, you had aged ten years and seen your life flash before your eyes like a badly edited PowerPoint presentation.

“Who—” you gasped, still processing your near-death experience, “—who are you?”

The menace placed a hand on his chest, dramatic as hell. “Nice to meet you, future daughter-in-law!”

Oh. Oh.

So this was Silver’s dad.

You had to take a moment. Because one—this man did not look like anyone’s dad. He looked like someone’s mischievous younger brother who steals your socks and sets them on fire for fun. And two—Silver was so calm and gentle and responsible.

How?

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??

Genetics had to be playing 4D chess.

But you quickly discovered that while Lilia was absolutely, certifiably insane, he was also hilarious.

So, like any normal people, you both immediately started talking mad shit about the Fifth Prince and the Villainess.

“Can you believe,” you huffed, sipping your tea like an 18th-century noble gossiping at a ball, “that the Prince keeps trying to flirt with me in front of Silver? In public? With witnesses?”

Lilia cackled. “That boy has no shame. And his fiancée—gods above, she has the personality of a spoon.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “RIGHT?? And she keeps trying to touch Silver like he’s a limited-edition collectible.”

Lilia grinned. “Well, he is handsome.”

“Yeah, but he’s not touchable handsome. He’s look from afar and cry a little handsome.”

“Ah, so you cry when you look at him?”

“…I— I feel like I’m being entrapped by my own words.”

“What are you two talking about?”

You both turned to see Silver standing there, looking… confused.

You, ever the graceful conversationalist, froze like you had been caught committing treason.

Lilia, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.

“Oh, just talking about our beloved Crown Prince,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm so thick you could butter toast with it.

Silver blinked. His eyes slowly drifted to you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Your dad and I were just bonding over our deep, mutual hatred.”

There was a pause. And then—

Silver smiled.

Not just any smile. A pleased smile. The kind of smile you’d expect from a man who just found out his worst enemy stepped on a rake.

Which. Well.

Considering the Crown Prince was his worst enemy, that checked out.

Unfortunately, the moment of camaraderie didn’t last.

Because Lilia, with the delight of someone about to ruin your entire month, dropped a bombshell.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to wreck your day, “war is brewing. The Prince wants Silver to go to the front lines.”

You stopped breathing.

Your blood turned to ice.

The original heroine had been all for it—saying some nonsense about how it was the right thing to do and how Silver should go save lives.

You?

You were NOT that kind of saint.

You were going to beg.

You were going to grovel.

You were going to throw yourself onto the ground like a soccer player faking an injury if you had to.

Silver was NOT going to war.

Lilia was watching you now, a knowing smile on his face.

You were too busy plotting your fiancé’s survival to care.

You had barely finished your morning tea when trouble arrived at your doorstep, wrapped in a cloak of audacity and bad financial decisions.

See, apparently, the previous owner of your body had the charitable sense of a malfunctioning Roomba. She’d give money to anything that sounded remotely good. Orphanage? Sure! Rehabilitation center? Fantastic! An organization claiming to rescue drowning fish? Take all of it.

And now, since you had not been throwing bags of gold at questionable "charities" like a medieval Jeff Bezos with a conscience, someone had come personally to shake you down.

The man standing in front of you was the exact type of person who looked like he belonged in a back alley deal gone wrong. He had the thin mustache of a man who thought twirling it made him look menacing and the beady eyes of someone who’d absolutely try to sell you "magic beans" at a 500% markup.

"You!" he sneered, pointing a bony finger at you like he was about to curse your entire bloodline. "Why have you ceased your donations to the Sacred Order of the Benevolent Fish Saviors? Do you not care for the plight of the aquatic brethren?"

You stared at him, unblinking.

“…Are you seriously trying to convince me that fish can drown?”

"The oceans are a dangerous place!" he snapped, voice thick with righteous fury. "Only the kindhearted can understand the delicate balance of aquatic life—”

"Alright, shut up." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No more money. Get a real job. Touch some grass. Read a book that isn’t written by con artists."

You thought that would be the end of it. Oh, how wrong you were.

Because instead of groveling like any normal scam artist when their grift gets cut off, this man decided to take the most insane course of action possible—he lunged at you.

Now, let’s get one thing straight. You were ready to commit a crime. Your 4-inch heels were locked, loaded, and prepared to introduce themselves to his ribcage. But you didn’t even get the chance.

Because before you could react, something blurred at the edge of your vision—

CRACK.

The next thing you knew, the man was frozen in place, his wrist locked in an iron grip, and standing beside you was Silver.

Silver, who you hadn’t even noticed entering the room.

Silver, whose grip looked firm enough to end generations.

Silver, who just made a grown man sound like a dying accordion.

The scammer wheezed, his face rapidly losing color as he tried and failed to wrench himself free.

Silver’s expression? Calm. Unbothered. Serene, even. Like he hadn’t just manhandled this guy into an early retirement.

“…I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attack my fiancée,” Silver said, voice so polite that it somehow made everything ten times more terrifying.

You blinked. You could physically hear the bones in the scammer’s arm considering a career change.

Silver finally let go—shoving him toward the door like he was disposing of a particularly annoying mosquito. The man stumbled out, barely managing to stay upright, and within seconds, he was sprinting off the property like the devil himself was on his heels.

When Silver turned back to you, he looked almost sheepish. "…Sorry you had to see that," he murmured. "I don’t usually act like that in front of others."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

“Oh no, Silver, that was awful. Truly terrible. In fact, I definitely did not find it insanely attractive when you nearly broke a man’s wrist for me.”

Yeah, no way in hell were you admitting that.

Instead, you just smiled, folding your hands neatly in front of you. "No, no, it’s fine. No need to apologize."

Silver still looked vaguely guilty. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard to resist the urge to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

Because holy shit.

Was it legal to be this attractive AND chivalrous?

If Silver kept this up, you were going to have a serious problem.

The ball was grand, elegant, and, most importantly, the single biggest waste of your time since you once spent two hours watching a documentary about the history of forks.

You had already resigned yourself to being bored out of your mind when Lilia swooped in like the guardian angel you never asked for and dragged you to a shadowy corner of the ballroom. This was, according to him, the best place to engage in the most sacred of all noble pastimes—people-watching and ruthless judgment.

And what a show it was.

"Oh, oh, look at that one!" Lilia cackled, nearly doubling over as he pointed at a woman who had, in a bold and truly ill-advised move, decided to wear a dress that looked like a monochrome cake. "She looks like she repurposed a funeral veil!"

You took a sip of your drink and nearly spit it out. "Lilia, that dress has committed war crimes against fashion."

"The ruffles! The sleeves! It’s like someone asked themselves, ‘How do I make this look as unflattering as possible?’ and then succeeded beyond their wildest dreams," he added.

You continued this noble pursuit for a solid fifteen minutes, giggling over outfits that defied both reason and taste. The two of you had just started critiquing a man who looked like he had raided a circus wardrobe when your night took a dramatic turn for the worse. The prince—His Royal Unwantedness—had spotted you.

You watched in horror as he began striding over, each step dripping with the unearned confidence of a man who had never been told "absolutely not" in his entire life except by his father. This was a man who probably thought women fainted at the mere sight of him when, in reality, they were most likely collapsing from secondhand embarrassment.

Lilia’s expression shifted instantly. The usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and sharp. He looked ready to commit several crimes, and you were tempted to let him.

But no. You were mature. You were reasonable. You were absolutely about to handle this like a professional.

So you winked at Lilia and whispered, "Relax. I got this."

The prince didn’t bother with pleasantries when he arrived, because of course he didn’t. "Dance with me," he said, because why waste time on politeness when you can just issue demands like a badly written romance villain?

You took his hand with a practiced, polite smile. "Of course, Your Highness," you said sweetly, the verbal equivalent of setting a trap and waiting for him to fall right in.

The dance started off normally enough. The prince led you across the ballroom, his movements controlled and graceful. Unfortunately, any illusion of elegance was immediately ruined by the fact that he would not stop staring at you. Not in the way Silver did, all soft and careful, but like he was trying to figure out if you were edible.

"You seem different tonight," he said, voice oozing with forced charm. "More… confident."

You forced out a laugh that you hoped conveyed the exact right amount of fake amusement. "And you seem exactly the same, Your Highness."

If he noticed the insult, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled you just a little closer. That was his first mistake.

His second mistake came when his hand decided to wander lower than what was remotely appropriate.

Your reaction was immediate. You didn’t even think—your knee just shot up with the force of divine judgment.

And oh, what a glorious moment it was.

The prince let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying peacock and a man realizing all his hopes and dreams had just been shattered. He crumpled like a marionette with cut strings, collapsing into himself as the entire ballroom fell into stunned silence.

For one perfect, breathtaking moment, nobody spoke.

Then you gasped dramatically, placing a delicate hand over your mouth like the very picture of innocent devastation. "Oh my goodness!" you exclaimed, voice laced with the perfect amount of fake concern. "I was simply startled when you touched me there! I had no idea you were so close!"

The Empress, who had been watching this whole scene unfold with the same expression one might wear when realizing their soup had a cockroach in it, took a single look at her son, let out a long, exhausted sigh, and then turned on her heel and left the ballroom. She didn’t even glance back.

Somewhere behind you, Lilia was laughing so hard he had to physically clutch a pillar for support.

Before you could bask in your triumph, a warm, familiar presence appeared at your side.

Silver.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice quiet but firm.

You nodded, still recovering from the sheer joy of watching the prince—His Royal Lowness— collapse like a sandcastle at high tide. "I’m fine," you assured him.

Silver, ever thorough, scanned you with a careful gaze, double-checking for any signs of distress. Apparently satisfied, he slowly turned his attention to the prince, who was still on the floor making noises that sounded vaguely like whimpering.

Silver’s face remained neutral, but the sheer force of his glare was something otherworldly. You were surprised the prince hadn’t just spontaneously combusted on the spot.

Lilia sauntered up beside you and, with the most casual nonchalance in the world, lifted his hand and gave you a perfectly subtle high-five.

Falling in love with Silver was not something you had planned for. It wasn’t even something you had remotely considered, because falling for a fictional character—even one brought to life by the absurdity of your existence—was stupid.

And yet, here you were. Doomed.

It had started subtly, like a slow-acting poison. You’d watch him train and catch yourself admiring the way he moved, graceful and disciplined, like a warrior from some epic tale.

Then it got worse. A white bunny hopping through the garden? That looks like Silver. A particularly stunning sunset, lilac and soft? Those are Silver’s eyes. A suspiciously sharp knife on the dinner table? Silver has a sharp sword.

There was no escape. The entire world had transformed into a living scrapbook of Silver-Themed Hallucinations, and it was ruining you.

You couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, there he was—standing under the moonlight, holding your hand, looking at you like you were something precious. It was unbearable.

Which brought you to now.

You were sitting at a tea party, drowning in a state of sleep deprivation so severe that you were genuinely considering just face-planting into your teacup and accepting whatever fate awaited you. The sunlight was too bright, the air was too floral, and the pastries tasted like nothing. Everything sucked.

And then, because the universe hated you, the villainess approached.

She had the smug, self-satisfied look of someone who had never had a single original thought in her life. "Oh dear," she said, voice dripping with saccharine mockery, "you look absolutely dreadful today. Has your precious Duke been keeping you up all night?"

Usually, you would have handled this with grace. A snide remark, a well-placed jab, maybe even an eyeroll so dramatic it would have sent you into another timeline.

But not today.

Today, you were tired.

Today, you were grappling with a full-scale emotional crisis.

Today, you had reached your limit.

So, instead of responding like a rational, civilized person, you calmly reached for the nearest cup of juice, lifted it with all the dignity of a noblewoman, and threw it directly at her face.

The liquid splashed over her dress, staining the expensive fabric a deep, unforgiving red.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Her mouth opened, presumably to shriek, but you were not done.

Before she could get a word out, you grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward so she could fully comprehend the depths of your unholy exhaustion.

"The next time you run your mouth," you said, voice dangerously low, "you might just end up meeting God."

Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.

Oh, but you weren’t finished. You gave her collar a final, dramatic tug. "And keep your hands off my fiancé."

Then, with the grandeur of a war general who had just claimed victory, you released her, turned on your heel, and stormed out.

Silver, who had witnessed everything, stared at you as though you had just set the entire kingdom on fire.

You grabbed his wrist, ignoring the way he flinched in bewilderment, and dragged him out with you.

You didn’t stop until you were safely inside the carriage, away from prying eyes, and only then did you collapse onto the seat, pressing your hands against your face.

Silver sat beside you, still looking utterly shell-shocked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly struggling to form a single coherent thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for your hand. His touch was warm, steady—like an anchor. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly.

And that was it. The last thread of your restraint snapped.

Before you could even think about stopping yourself, you turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

It was immediate. There was no hesitation, no moment of confusion. Silver kissed you back like he had been waiting for this his whole life. His hands moved to cradle your face, gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—time had ceased to exist—but when you finally pulled away, your heart was a mess.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment crush you. "I love you," you admitted, voice raw. "And I have been suffering."

Silver’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then, with a sudden, almost breathless laugh, he leaned in again. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips, "so much."

And then he kissed you again.

Take that, villainess.

There were many things you did not want to deal with first thing in the morning.

A war? Absolutely not.

A war involving Silver? Somebody was going to die.

You groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed at the noise downstairs, feeling like a corpse being forced to participate in capitalism. You stomped downstairs, barely managing to keep yourself upright, and immediately regretted existing.

Silver was already in the living room, arms crossed, looking about two seconds away from snapping someone’s spine in half like a stale breadstick. Lilia, usually a walking cryptid with an unshakable grin, looked like he was holding back every unholy thought in his mind just for the sake of his son’s sanity.

And then. Them.

The Prince. The Villainess. The living embodiments of tax fraud and emotional instability.

Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest maid, who was visibly vibrating with fear, and whispered, "What’s happening?"

She gulped. "T-The Prince is trying to send His Grace to lead the war."

Your soul ascended.

Your patience evaporated.

You had not suffered through an isekai, navigated 18th-century nonsense, and fallen head over heels for your incredibly hot and kind fiancé just for him to be thrown into a battlefield meat grinder because some discount royal didn’t want to risk his own cowardly neck.

You stormed across the room like a woman possessed, and the moment the Prince saw you, his whole face lit up—because he thought you were still the naive airhead he could manipulate into convincing Silver to go die for him.

The Villainess, however? She shrank back immediately.

Maybe it was the murderous glare you were directing at them. Maybe it was because she had witnessed your unhinged wrath firsthand. Maybe it was because deep down, she understood that she was in the presence of a feral raccoon of a person who had already died once and had nothing left to lose.

The Prince reached out to touch your shoulder as if he could physically weasel you onto his side.

Big mistake.

You swatted his hand away so hard you nearly dislocated his wrist.

"No," you said, voice dripping with finality.

The Prince blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Silver’s not going to war." You looked him dead in the eyes. "Try someone else."

Silence.

The Prince’s face twisted into a diplomatic smile. "But, my dear—"

"Do I look like your dear?" You took a step forward, forcing him back. "Silver already said no. The Emperor didn't send a decree, which means you’re just trying to shove him in front of your responsibilities, aren’t you?"

His jaw clenched. "That’s not—"

"Oh, but it is," you cut in, grinning like a predator who just found dinner. "If you need a sacrifice so badly, why not lead the war yourself? Oh, wait—you’re scared." You tilted your head. "Why should Silver go fight and die in your place? What do you contribute to this kingdom besides being the reason the Empress probably drinks herself to sleep?"

Lilia let out a choked laugh. Silver covered his mouth to hide his amusement. The Villainess looked like she wanted to phase out of existence.

"How dare you!" The Prince seethed, looking like a child whose toy had been taken away.

"How dare you?" you mimicked back, voice laced with venomous mockery. "Seriously, just die already. It’s called natural selection. Worms like you don’t deserve to keep reproducing and terrorizing the female population."

The Prince, red with humiliation and rage, looked like he wanted to lunge at you, but before he could humiliate himself further, he turned on his heel and stormed out.

The Villainess trailed after him, but not before giving you a look that was equal parts impressed and terrified.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Silver and clapped your hands together.

"So," you said, still brimming with unholy energy. "Let’s get married."

Silver, who was still processing the apocalyptic verbal execution you had just delivered, blinked at you. "What?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. Immediately. Preferably before they try something else. Then we can go on a honeymoon somewhere far away from all this war nonsense."

Silver stared at you, beautifully confused. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," you replied. "Pack your bags, babe, we’re getting hitched."

Silver, against all odds, smiled. And then, he agreed.

Lilia threw a celebratory punch in the air.

Congratulations. You’re planning a wedding now, baby!

Planning a wedding was supposed to be a stressful but joyous occasion.

Your reality? It was mostly just stress.

Between dodging passive-aggressive nobles, fending off suspiciously enthusiastic tailors, and ensuring that the wedding menu didn’t include anything remotely related to the Prince’s favorite foods out of sheer spite, you were running on fumes.

And that’s when Silver came to you, looking strangely hesitant.

Immediately, your brain went to worst-case scenarios.

Was he having doubts? Did he get conscripted behind your back? Was he about to pull a tragic self-sacrifice move that you’d have to thwart with unhinged levels of devotion and threats of arson?

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice unsure.

You, in full fight-or-flight mode, clutched your chest. "Silver, if you’re about to say something stupid, I’m legally obligated to stop you."

His expression twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or endeared. "It’s not stupid," he assured you. Then, after a pause, "I wanted to ask… do you like this country?"

You stared at him. Stared.

"Silver." You grabbed both his hands. "Are you joking?"

His gaze softened, but he stayed serious. "If you had the choice, would you leave?"

You blinked. "Why?"

Silver exhaled, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. "Lilia and I… We lived somewhere else before we came here. I was thinking—if we left, we could live peacefully. Away from all this. We wouldn’t be nobility, but we wouldn’t have to deal with—" He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entire kingdom’s collective insanity.

And that’s when it hit you.

You could leave. You could actually escape.

You didn’t have to waste your life playing politics in a country where half the nobility was allergic to common sense. You didn’t have to pretend to care about court scandals that made your brain rot. You didn’t have to deal with war-hungry royals who had the intelligence of a damp sock.

You could take your hot, kind, sword-wielding fiancé and dip.

You could live a peaceful, quiet, cottagecore dream where your biggest concerns would be whether the goats ate your laundry or if Silver accidentally adopted another wild animal.

You gripped Silver’s hands so hard you nearly cut off circulation.

"Silver." Your voice shook with emotion. "I love you so much right now."

He blinked, startled by your intensity.

"I’m taking as much wealth as I can from this godforsaken kingdom," you declared, fully committed. "And then we’re running. We’ll live a cozy life, I’ll grow a garden, you can train without political idiots breathing down your neck, and we’ll be so disgustingly in love that Lilia will probably want to leave out of secondhand embarrassment."

Silver stared at you for a beat, lips parting slightly—before he suddenly let out a breathy laugh.

God, he was so beautiful when he smiled.

He cupped your cheek, gaze warm, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was soft, reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You melted, gripping his sleeve to keep yourself from combusting.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Then that’s it. We’ll get married, and we’ll be free."

And that was that.

You were getting married and escaping these lunatics before they had the chance to retaliate.

Honestly? Best wedding gift ever.

Mornings in your new life were warm, lazy, and sweet— the kind of peace you never thought you’d get after surviving the absolute circus that was your past life.

You stretched with a yawn, shuffled into the kitchen, and started making breakfast. The house smelled of fresh bread, eggs, and domestic bliss.

And then, like clockwork, Silver appeared.

You weren’t sure if he was half-awake or just naturally this clingy, but the second he found you, he wrapped himself around you from behind. His arms encircled your waist, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured against your skin, voice still husky with sleep.

Weak. You were weak.

“Silver,” you tried to scold, but it came out softer than intended.

He hummed, not moving, not even pretending to be helpful. His weight was solid, grounding, a warm anchor against your back.

"You are actively making this difficult," you sighed, flipping a pancake.

“Difficult to cook?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw.

“Difficult to live, Silver. How am I supposed to focus when you’re like this?”

He chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t see the problem.”

And this was your life now.

In the afternoons, Silver trained with Sebek, and you watched, entertained by their very specific brand of friendship.

Sebek was loud, passionate, and dedicated. Silver was calm, level-headed, and tired. Together, they created the strangest dynamic known to man.

“Silver, your form is slipping!” Sebek barked, nearly vibrating with intensity.

Silver deflected Sebek’s attack without even looking. “It’s fine.”

“It is NOT fine!” Sebek yelled, throwing himself forward with the fury of a man who took personal offense to subpar swordsmanship.

You sipped your drink, watching this unfold like it was a very dramatic stage play.

Eventually, Silver knocked Sebek’s sword from his hands with an effortless twist, and Sebek fell to his knees, gasping.

You clapped. “Wow. What a performance. I’d rate it a solid 8/10.”

Sebek looked offended. “8?! What was missing?!”

“More drama,” you said. “Maybe fake your death next time. Really sell the loss.”

Sebek narrowed his eyes, as if actually considering it. Oh no. What have you done?

Lilia showed up almost every day, either to offer unsolicited advice or to cause chaos. Sometimes, he brought Malleus.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from realizing that Malleus was the fae prince.

Today was no different. He arrived grinning, eyes full of mischief, which was already a sign of danger.

“So,” he started, dramatically leaning in. “Have you two considered… adopting a dragon?”

Silver blinked. You stared.

Malleus, sipping his tea beside him, nodded sagely. “It would be an honorable task.”

You set your cup down very, very slowly.

“I—what?” you asked, convinced you misheard.

“A dragon,” Lilia said, as if that explained everything. “You’re living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, why not raise a baby dragon? Imagine the bond! The companionship! The chaos!”

Malleus actually looked excited. “I could grant you one from my own lineage.”

Silver looked at you, waiting for you to react.

You looked at Silver.

Then back at Malleus, a literal fae prince, who had just casually offered to gift you a baby dragon.

Sebek, in the corner, looked like he was about to faint.

“...You’re joking,” you said, voice dangerously neutral.

Lilia and Malleus just smiled.

You dragged your hands down your face. “I barely survived dealing with a corrupt kingdom, now you want me to raise a fire-breathing menace?”

“It wouldn’t breathe fire immediately,” Malleus assured.

“That is not the part I am concerned about.”

Silver, who had been quiet this whole time, actually seemed to be considering it.

You kicked his shin under the table.

He cleared his throat. “I think we should wait.”

Malleus sighed. Lilia just patted your back. “You’ll change your mind.”

Not likely.

But at night? It was just you and Silver.

After a long day of chaos and laughter, you’d collapse onto your shared bed, immediately melting into Silver’s embrace.

He kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. “Tired?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into his warmth. “Mm. Just happy.”

His arms tightened around you, like he never wanted to let go.

And this was your life now.

Your old country was probably in flames, but who cared? You had love, friendship, and peace.

Silver smiled at you, soft and content. And you thought, Yup. This is it.

Thank my best friend for writing this ridiculous, insane novel.

Who do you wanna see next?

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst silver x reader #silver twst #twst silver #silver x reader #silver #trash novel chronicles #silver vanrouge #silver vanrouge x reader

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wiisagi-maiingan · 2 years ago

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If you can recognize how much of North America was cultivated over thousands of years by indigenous people, then you also need to recognize that a significant chunk of "wilderness" here is dependent on human intervention to thrive.

There are countless plants and fungi, from mushrooms to grasses to trees, that have been proven to do best when regularly harvested, whether it's because harvest makes them release seeds or clears away dead growth or provides more light to younger plants, cultivation means that harvesting is often to the benefit of the plant.

Which means that you also have to recognize that locking those plants away from people, even with the best intentions, can actually do horrible damage to their populations and to existing ecosystems.

There isn't an easy solution to this problem. Proper foraging isn't something that most people are taught anymore and many of these plants do not have significant enough populations right now to survive excessive harvest.

But going forward, as we work on restoring ecosystems and helping our planet (and our relationships to the land) heal, then we need to acknowledge that humans and nature are not separate entities and that we've always been dependent on each other.

#slightly passive aggressive post about tags on my national parks post

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tanadrin · 6 months ago

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Can you explain in what what you think eugenics doesn't work? Does this basically boil down to skepticism about the accuracy of GWAS studies? My understanding is that academic consensus is "G probably exists, disentangling direct genetic inheritance vs genetic cultural inheritance is complicated but possible, we can identify a number of alleles which we're reasonably confident are directly causally involved in having a higher G factor"

when it comes to intelligence, its heritability, and its variation at the population level, my understanding of the science is:

highly adaptive traits don't, in fact, vary much at the genetic level between populations of a species because they are strongly selected for. in an environment where a trait is being strongly selected for, a population that failed to express that trait strongly will be rapidly outcompeted.

intelligence is probably the quintessential such trait for humans. we have sacrificed a great deal of other kinds of specialization in favor of our big brains. we spend an enormous amount of calories supporting those brains. tool use, the ability to plan for the future, the ability to navigate complex social situations and hierarchies in order to secure status, the ability to model the minds of others for the purposes of cooperation and deception means that we should expect intelligence to be strongly selected for for as long as our lineage has been social and tool-using, which is at least the last three million years or so.

so, at least as a matter of a priori assumptions, we should expect human populations not to vary greatly in their genetic predisposition to intelligence. it may nonetheless, but we'd need pretty strong evidence. i think i read this argument on PZ Myers' blog a million years ago, so credit where that's due.

complicating the picture is that we just don't have good evidence for how IQ does vary across populations, even before we get into the question of "how much of this variation is genetic and how much of it is not." the cross-national data on which a lot of IQ arguments have been based is really bad. and that would be assuming IQ tests are in fact good at capturing a notion of IQ that is independent of cultural context, which historically they're pretty bad at

this screed by nassim nicholas taleb (not a diss; AFAICT the guy only writes in screeds) makes a number of arguments, but one argument I find persuasive is that IQ is really only predictive of achievement in the sense that it does usefully discriminate between people with obvious intellectual disabilities and those without--but you do not actually need an IQ test for that sort of thing, any more than you need to use a height chart to figure out who is missing both their legs. in that sense, sure, IQ is predictive of a lot of things. but once you remove this group, the much-vaunted correlations between IQ and stuff like wealth just straight-up vanishes

heritability studies are a useful tool, but a tool which must be wielded carefully; they were developed for studying traits which were relatively easy to isolate in very specific populations, like a crop under study at an agricultural research site, and are more precarious when applied to, e.g., human populations

my understanding based on jonathan kaplan articles like this one is that twin studies are not actually that good at distinguishing heritable factors from environmental ones--they have serious limitations compared to heritability studies where you actually can rigorously control for environmental effects, like you can with plants or livestock.

as this post also points out, heritability studies also only examine heritability within groups, and are not really suited to examining large-scale population differences, *especially* in the realm of intelligence where there is a huge raft of confounding factors, and a lack of a really robust measurement tool.

(if we are worried about intelligence at the population level, it seems to me there are interventions we know are going to be effective and do not rely on deeply dubious scientific speculation, e.g., around nutrition and healthcare and serious wealth inequality and ofc education; and if what people actually want is to raise the average intelligence of the population rather than justify discrimination against minorities, then they might focus on those much more empirically grounded interventions. even if population differences in IQ are real and significant and point to big differences in intelligence, we know those things are worth a fair few IQ points. but most people who are or historically have been the biggest advocates for eugenics are, in my estimation, mostly interested in justifying discrimination.)

i think the claims/application of eugenics extend well beyond just intelligence, ftr. eugenics as an ideology is complex and historically pretty interesting, and many eugenicists have made much broader claims than just "population-level differences in intelligence exist due to genetic factors, and we should try to influence them with policy," but that is a useful point for them to fall back onto when pressed on those other claims. but i don't think even that claim is at all well-supported.

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 24 days ago

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tf!141 x angel!reader finding an angel that fell, “teaching” her how to live on earth and corrupting her innocence 🫣

Divine Intervention

 Pairing: Poly!141 x reader

Au: Fallen Angel! Reader x Human! reader

 Warnings: Sensual tension, implied corruption kink, religious themes (angel/fall imagery), mild dubcon-adjacent themes (consent present but reader is naïve), slow burn tension, swearing, possession/claiming, SMUT, reader falling from grace Author's Note: You fell from the sky and into their hands. But heaven had no idea what hell you’d walk into. Summary: You fell from the sky into their world. But instead of salvation, you found something darker—something tempting. Now, under their watchful eyes, your innocence starts to unravel. Masterlist MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

——

The first thing you remembered was heat. The second was pain.

You’d fallen. You didn’t know how. One moment, you were high above—weightless, woven into the light—and then…

Ash. Fire. Earth.

It had taken them hours to find you.

You’d landed deep in the war-torn woods, crumpled at the base of a tree, shivering. Wings bent. Feet bare. No concept of where—or what—you were anymore. But when they approached, bristling with weapons and suspicion, you raised your glowing hand—

And healed one of them.

After that, they didn’t ask many questions. They just took you with them.

——

The humans called themselves a task force.

They were unlike any beings you’d ever encountered. Made of steel and blood and heat. They spoke in clipped orders and sharp wit, hands rough with years of war, yet their eyes softened every time they looked at you like you were something fragile.

Especially when you smiled.

“You’re not from here, are you?” Kyle asked one night, sitting with you on the couch in the base rec room. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, and you were watching the flickering lights of the TV like they might burst into flame.

“No,” you said softly.

He tilted his head. “Where then?”

You glanced up. Your voice came out as little more than a breath.

“Above.”

He stared at you for a long time after that.

——

They learned quickly how untouched you were by Earth’s ways.

You didn’t know what a microwave was. You didn’t know why people wore socks. You cried when you watched a video of a dog being rescued, and you asked Johnny if eating ice cream for breakfast was really acceptable.

(He told you yes. John had to correct him later.)

Simon rarely said much. But he watched you.

And when he saw how you flinched from loud sounds, how your fingers fluttered nervously when you didn’t understand something, how you leaned closer to the warmth of their bodies without realizing it—his jaw clenched a little tighter.

Because he could see what the others were starting to see too.

You were breakable. But you were also changing.

——

The first crack came with a kiss.

Johnny teased you constantly. Called you “Angel,” winked when you were confused, poked fun at how you thought “bollocks” meant something polite.

“You ever been kissed, sweetheart?” he asked one evening, sprawled on the edge of your bed, boots off, grin wide.

You blinked at him, blinking like a fawn. “No.”

His smile faltered. “Not even once?”

You shook your head. “There was no need. We were made of light, not… flesh.”

Johnny exhaled sharply, leaning closer. “Want to know what it feels like?”

You hesitated. “Would that… help me understand Earth?”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, Angel. More than you know.”

The kiss was featherlight—his lips brushing yours, lingering, drawing back. Your breath hitched. Your wings fluttered violently.

And behind you, a single feather fell.

When it hit the floor, it turned black.

——

That night, you cried in Price’s arms.

You were shaking. You felt different. The light inside you, the one that always hummed quietly, was dimming. You could feel yourself becoming… more. Heavier. Realer. Human.

“I think I’m falling,” you whispered into his shirt. “Truly falling.”

Price didn’t speak for a moment. He simply held you tighter.

“Then we’ll catch you,” he said. “We already have.”

——

They were patient at first.

They showed you how to exist. Johnny taught you to dance, twirling you in the rec room until you were breathless. Kyle explained what movies were and cried with you during Wall-E. Price taught you how to fire a gun (you didn’t like it) and how to drive a car (you loved it).

But it was Simon who taught you temptation.

Not through words—but in the way he looked at you.

That first time you wore one of Johnny’s shirts, just long enough to cover you but not long enough to be decent, Simon’s eyes burned.

“You shouldn’t wear that,” he murmured.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He leaned close, his voice a low rasp. “Because you have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you?”

Your breath caught.

Because… no. You didn’t.

But you were starting to want to.

——

One night, it all came undone.

It started with Johnny. Of course it did.

You’d wandered into the kitchen in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. Something about the air felt strange. Heavy. When you stepped into the light, Johnny nearly dropped the glass in his hand.

You were barefoot. The hem of your borrowed sleep shirt brushed your thighs. Your hair was messy, your expression soft with confusion.

“You alright, love?” he asked gently.

You tilted your head. “I can’t sleep. I keep feeling… things.”

“What kind of things?”

You touched your chest. “Warm. Low. Hungry, but not for food.”

He froze. His pulse ticked in his throat.

“You want me to show you what that is?”

You nodded.

Johnny kissed you again—but it was different this time.

Not soft. Not teasing.

Starving.

He pulled you against him, hands bracketing your waist. You gasped into his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your wings flickered behind you—and one more feather fell.

And from the doorway, three pairs of eyes watched.

——

Kyle was the first to join.

He crossed the room in three long strides, gently taking your hand from Johnny’s shoulder. You turned to him, lips parted, pupils blown.

“You want to understand this, yeah?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded.

He kissed your neck.

Then Simon’s hands were on your waist. His mask still on, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’re not leaving this room the same, dove,” he said, voice like gravel.

And then his lips brushed your shoulder.

You whimpered.

Price stepped in last. Calm. Composed. But his hands trembled when they cupped your jaw.

“You’re ours now,” he murmured.

And you knew it was true.

Because your light had faded.

But it was replaced by something else.

Desire. Hunger. Devotion.

——

They didn’t rush you.

Not at first.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, body flushed and trembling, with Johnny’s lips still wet from kissing you, and the others watching you like men on the edge of hunger—but still holding the line.

Price came to you first.

His hands were warm and steady as they cupped your face. He tilted your chin up with practiced ease, gazing at you like you were something precious. His voice was low, gravel brushed with something softer.

“We’ll stop if you want to. Say the word, Angel.”

You looked up at him, chest heaving, caught between worlds.

“I… I want to understand,” you whispered.

He hummed, approval deep in his chest. “Then let us show you.”

It began with touch.

Simon’s gloved hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingers moved slowly, reverently, tracing along the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, your ribs. Every time he brushed over something new, you gasped softly, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of sensation.

Johnny leaned in close to your ear. “You feel everything so deeply, don’t you?”

You nodded wordlessly.

“Good,” he breathed, and his mouth pressed against your neck.

Kyle kissed your shoulder while Simon’s hands framed your waist. It was a dance—four bodies learning yours, syncing breath, pressure, movement. They were worshipful. Greedy. Careful. Demanding.

Your shirt slipped away first.

Then your breath caught as Price whispered, “Lie back, sweetheart.”

You did.

They undressed you like a ritual. Johnny knelt first, pressing hot kisses across your stomach, his palms gliding over your thighs with rough, calloused reverence. His eyes flicked up to you, darker than you’d ever seen them.

“You’re so bloody soft,” he said, voice husky. “Bet you’ve never been touched like this.”

Your lips parted. “No. Never.”

Kyle leaned over and kissed you again—this time slower. Deeper. His hands splayed across your chest, fingers teasing your curves, feeling your breath catch beneath them. He moaned softly against your mouth.

“You don’t know what you do to us,” he murmured.

“I want to,” you said, voice shaking.

Simon’s fingers traced down your bare sides, lingering at the curve of your hips. He leaned down, his breath hot against your throat. “Then let us show you. One inch at a time.”

You were kissed. Touched. Claimed.

Johnny’s mouth worshipped you with hot, open kisses down your stomach. Kyle’s hands cupped your chest, fingertips teasing until your back arched. Price whispered filth and praise against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. Simon stayed at your side, watching, stroking your skin like he was etching every shiver into memory.

When you cried out—soft and overwhelmed—Johnny’s lips never stopped moving.

“That’s it, Angel,” he rasped. “Let go. Let yourself fall.”

And fall you did.

Again and again, into their hands. Their mouths. Their arms.

They took turns.

Not with greed, but purpose. Johnny kissed your thighs like he was grateful for them. Kyle touched you like you were sacred. Simon growled into your skin when you trembled under his palm, and Price… Price held your face while you gasped his name like a prayer.

The night blurred.

Sweat. Warmth. Laughter. Whispers.

“Look how much you’re glowing,” Kyle murmured against your throat.

Simon kissed your ribs. “You’re learning.”

“You’re ours now,” Johnny said, pressing his lips just beneath your navel.

And Price, steady and sure, whispered, “You were always meant to fall. You just didn’t know what was waiting for you at the bottom.”

By the end, you were sated.

Stretched across soft sheets with four men tucked against your sides, your wings sprawled wide over their bodies. No longer white. No longer untouched.

But not broken.

Transformed.

And when you woke hours later—your limbs aching in the best ways, your chest fluttering with something warm and full—you felt… whole.

You turned your head and saw them. Johnny with his messy hair pressed against your stomach. Kyle curled at your back, an arm slung over your waist. Simon, mask on but lifted just enough for his mouth to press kisses to your shoulder. Price at your side, eyes open and watching you with something ancient and endless in his gaze.

“You alright?” he asked, voice raw from sleep.

You smiled.

“I think I’m finally alive.”

——

By morning, your wings were black.

Not rotten. Not ugly. Just… reborn. Feathers sleek like raven’s velvet. Still soft. Still yours.

But no longer pure.

And when you looked at yourself in the mirror, lips swollen, neck marked, body trembling—you didn’t cry.

You smiled.

Because this was your new heaven. And they were your gods now.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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hanniebaeee · 4 months ago

Text

Clueless: Plus One

Changbin x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content MDNI

Genre: work besties to lovers, fluff

Summary: You and Changbin work in the same office and are work besties. He's so in love with you, but he's totally afraid to cross that line. And then you ask him to be your plus one for a wedding.

Clueless Masterlist

It was a normal Monday morning at the office. Changbin was staring at his computer screen, trying to focus on his work while his eyes kept drifting towards you. Because today you were wearing that pretty white dress that looked so good on you.

And you were flitting over to him like a fairy, that little bounce in your step making his heart flutter. Your head cocked to the side as you gave him a sweet, innocent smile you always wore when you needed to unload.

You leaned over his desk, placing your arms on it letting the drama unfold.

"Bin, I need to vent," you whined. "You won’t believe the crap I’m dealing with right now."

Changbin felt his breath catch, because even though you both have been friends for years, and he was literally your emotional support human - damn, did he love being needed by you.

"Come on, let it all out," he said, pulling a chair for you to sit on.

---

Chan: Guys, we need to have an intervention for Bin.

Felix: We do?

Hyunjin: Dude, just tell her already. She’s like, right there.

Jeongin: You're literally her work husband. She'd be happy to hear it.

Minho: He’s hopeless.

Jisung: Okay, what’s the plan? We can’t have him turning into a simp for the rest of his life.

Changbin: I want to tell her, but she’s too... innocent. I don’t want to scare her away.

Felix: Oh my god. Bin, she wants you to make a move.

Chan: No, no, we need something strategic. You don't have to scare her.

Seungmin: Just ask her out to lunch. Keep it simple.

Minho: Get her one of those giant stuffed bears.

Felix: Actually, I think Minho hyung's right. Bin, buy her a stuffed animal, write her a sweet card, and then tell her how much you care.

Changbin: What if she doesn't feel that way?

Jisung: Bro. She’s into you. She's with you all the damn time.

Chan: She already knows, Changbin. She’s just waiting for you to take the first step. Stop overthinking it.

Changbin: You think she knows?!

Felix: YES, YES, YES, SHE KNOWS.

---

Meanwhile, you were completely lost in your own world, flapping your arms and pouting over the office drama you were dealing with. And once you finished your tirade, you let out a dramatic sigh and Changbin’s eyes softened. His hand reached out, patting yours gently.

You blinked up at him, noticing the way he was staring at you.

"What?" you asked, half-laughing, thinking you’d said something funny.

"Nothing," Changbin said quickly, snapping back to reality, his cheeks going pink.

Changbin had rehearsed in front of the mirror. Made Hyunjin even pretended to be you for him to practice. And he'd just built up the courage to tell you. But the moment your eyes met across the room, you were zooming towards him like an excited puppy.

"Changbin!" You bounced in excitement, grabbing his wrist, your fingers warm against his skin. "I have something to ask you! I need a plus one for my friend's wedding next weekend, and obviously, you're the only person I’d want to go with."

Changbin’s brain? Completely fried. His heart? Beating at an inhuman rate. His ability to form words? Gone.

"A w-w-wedding?" he stammered, eyes wide.

You laughed at his reaction, completely oblivious to the internal crisis you had just triggered.

"Yeah! It’ll be fun! Free food, an open bar, and we can totally judge people together. Please say yes? Please please please!!!"

Changbin could barely function as he nodded quickly like a bobble head doll.

"Y-yeah. Of course. Uh. Totally. Wedding. Yeah."

You beamed at him, squeezing his hand before skipping off to your desk, leaving him standing there like a short-circuited robot. The second you were out of sight, he lunged for his phone.

---

Changbin: GUYS. HELP. EMERGENCY. RED ALERT.

Hyunjin: LMAOOOO WTF NOW

Minho: Did she lean over your desk again?

Jeongin: Did she?

Felix: What happened, Binnie? Breathe, mate.

Changbin: SHE INVITED ME TO A WEDDING. AS. HER. PLUS. ONE.

Jisung: OH MY GOD

Hyunjin: THIS IS PERFECT!

Chan: Okay, calm down. Breathe. What exactly did she say?

Changbin: “Obviously, you're the only person I’d want to go with.” WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???!

Seungmin: It means she wants to go with you, you dumbass.

Changbin: NO BUT LIKE. AS A FRIEND? OR IS THIS A THING?!?

Minho: It’s a date, you idiot.

Hyunjin: It’s giving ROMANTIC TENSION. It’s giving she wants you to rail her after the wedding.

Felix: HYUNJIN.

Jeongin: Oh my god.

Jisung: Binnie, listen. This is IT. This is your chance. Weddings are basically breeding grounds for romance. It’s scientifically proven.

Changbin: I CANNOT PROCESS THIS RIGHT NOW. HOW DO I ACT NORMAL?? HOW DO I NOT EMBARRASS MYSELF??

Chan: First of all, stop freaking out.

Seungmin: Second of all, do NOT overthink it. Just go, look hot, and vibe.

Minho: Third of all, make a move at the wedding. The atmosphere will be perfect.

Hyunjin: Bro, imagine slow dancing with her, looking into her eyes, and then whispering something smooth in her ear…

---

Changbin was literally hyperventilating, and the phone shook on his jittery hands.

---

Changbin: STOP I’M SWEATING

Felix: Okay, okay, let’s be practical. What are you gonna wear?

Changbin: WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHAT I WEAR I’M TOO BUSY DYING

Minho: No, Felix is right. You need to dress to seduce.

Jisung: I vote black suit. Tight. Tailored.

Hyunjin: Ohhh, and like, leave a few buttons undone. Chest slightly out.

Jeongin: Yup. Maximum thirst trap.

Chan: Okay but seriously, just be yourself. She already likes you.

Changbin: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT???

Minho: SHE INVITED YOU AS HER DATE, CHANGBIN.

Seungmin: I have never seen someone so painfully unaware of being wanted.

Jisung: Can we get a camera crew to film this wedding? I need to witness everything in real time.

Hyunjin: Maybe Binnie will finally grow a pair and confess.

Changbin: I AM GOING TO SCREAM.

---

Changbin dropped his phone on his desk and exhaled sharply, running his hands down his face. This was happening. This was real.

Changbin wasn’t sure how he got here. One moment, he was reeling from your wedding invitation. The next, he was being dragged - literally dragged - through a high-end boutique as you picked out suits for him to try on.

You were in your element, flipping through jackets, touching fabrics, and occasionally holding up pieces against his chest with a concentrated pout. Changbin, on the other hand, was struggling to stay alive.

The worst part? You were so hands-on. Adjusting his collar. Running your fingers over his cuffs. Tugging at his jacket to make sure it fit properly. Each time you touched him, his brain went on a vacation. He was convinced he was going to drop dead in this fitting room.

---

Changbin: I AM NOT OKAY.

Hyunjin: How's it going?

Jisung: WHAT HAPPENED. DETAILS. NOW.

Changbin: SHE’S TOUCHING ME.

Felix: Oh my god.

Seungmin: LMAO

Jeongin: Kinda vague, bro. Need more context.

Changbin: SHE’S FIXING MY COLLAR. SHE’S ROLLING UP MY SLEEVES. SHE’S ADJUSTING THE DAMN CUFFS.

Chan: You’re so dramatic.

Minho: No, no, let him suffer. This is hilarious.

Changbin: SHE JUST RAN HER HANDS DOWN MY ARMS AND WENT “HMM, THIS FITS NICE.” I AM NOT GOING TO MAKE IT TO THE WEDDING.

Hyunjin: SHE KNOWS. SHE ABSOLUTELY KNOWS.

Jisung: Confirmed. She’s torturing you on purpose.

Jisung: If you wanna follow Lix's path...it's the fitting room after all...

Felix: THERE IS NO PATH TO FOLLOW YOU MANIAC

Hyunjin: I agree with Ji 🤣

Chan: DON'T FLASH HER. I REPEAT, DON'T FLASH THE GIRL.

Seungmin: You could subtly drop a hint.

Changbin: WHAT IF SHE’S JUST BEING NICE?!?!

Minho: Bro.

Felix: BROOOOOOO.

Jeongin: THERE IS NO WAY. NO ONE IS THIS PHYSICALLY AFFECTIONATE BY ACCIDENT.

Hyunjin: SHE IS FLIRTING, YOU IDIOT. FLIRT BACK.

Jisung: BINNIE. LISTEN TO ME. IF A GIRL IS TOUCHING YOUR ARMS, ADJUSTING YOUR CLOTHES, AND LOOKING YOU UP AND DOWN WITH “HMM, THIS LOOKS GOOD” ENERGY, SHE WANTS YOU TO RAIL HER INTO THE FLOORBOARDS.

Changbin: I AM IN PUBLIC, YOU UNHINGED LUNATIC.

Felix: Can confirm. She’s flirting.

Changbin: But what if

Chan: STOP OVERTHINKING. SHE WANTS YOU.

---

Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of Changbin’s complete and utter breakdown. You turned, examining him in the mirror with a critical eye, tapping your chin.

"I don’t know, Binnie," you mused, stepping closer, your fingers slipping under the lapels of his jacket. "This one’s good, but I feel like we can do better."

“Yeah? Okay,” Changbin gulped, his entire body locking up.

You nodded and said, "Hmm. Maybe something darker? More fitted?"

You tugged at his lapels absentmindedly, smoothing them out before looking up at him.

"What do you think?"

"I-I...uh. Yeah. Sure." Changbin thought he might pass out.

You smiled, patting his chest. "Okay! Next one!"

As you spun away to grab another suit, Changbin slumped against the wall of the fitting room and sighed dramatically, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

---

Changbin: SHE. TOUCHED. MY. CHEST.

Hyunjin: OHH PSYCHOLOGICAL MOVE.

Jisung: IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER.

Minho: Bro is living a dream and still doesn’t get it.

Seungmin: If you don’t make a move at this wedding, I’m exiling you from this group forever.

Jeongin: Omg

Felix: Bin, mate, she’s literally dressing you up. This is it. This is your chance.

Chan: Just enjoy it. And for the love of god, STOP PANICKING.

---

Changbin inhaled sharply, watching as you approached with yet another suit. This one was black. Sleek. You held it up to him, smiling in satisfaction.

"This one," you said decisively. "I just know it."

Changbin groaned internally. He was so screwed.

Okay, so you were right. Changbin was dying. The suit was fitted, hugging his muscles in a way that felt borderline scandalous. The black fabric contrasted against his skin, and with the first few buttons of his shirt undone, he looked -

"Oh, my God." Changbin gulped.

"You okay in there?" you called.

No, I am NOT okay, I am experiencing a crisis because I want you to pin me against this fitting room wall, he wanted to say. But he wasn't Hyunjin. Or Minho for that matter.

"I’m fine!" he blurted, voice cracking. "Totally fine!"

"Lemme see, Binnie." He heard you giggle.

He stepped out slowly, and the second your eyes landed on him, your entire expression changed. Your mouth parted slightly. You blinked. And then you whistled.

"Wow, Changbin," you breathed, eyes raking over him. "This is the one."

He swallowed hard, shifting under your gaze. "Y-you think so?"

You nodded, stepping closer, your hands reaching for his cuffs - because of course you had to touch him again.

“Yeah," you murmured, adjusting them carefully. "This looks perfect on you."

Changbin thought he was going to pass out.

---

Changbin: *Sends a picture of himself in the said suit*

Hyunjin: HOT HOT HOT

Jisung: YOU LOOK HOT! SHE’S DROOLING, ISN’T SHE?

Minho: She’s probably imagining tearing that suit off you.

Seungmin: Or making you wear it to bed.

Changbin: I AM IN HELL.

Felix: You’re in a dressing room.

Changbin: SAME THING.

Jeongin: CHILL

---

Changbin had never had this much fun at a wedding in his entire life. The night had been perfect.

You clung to his arm dramatically when you saw an ex from college, whispering ridiculous insults into his ear. You had both rated every outfit in the visinity, and you had even whisked an extra dessert plate for Changbin when you saw the way he eyed the chocolate mousse.

And you dragged him onto the dance floor, laughing breathlessly as he spun you around like you were the only two people in the world.

God, he was so in love with you.

---

Jisung: STATUS UPDATE, NOW.

Hyunjin: Are you two making out yet??

Minho: Or have you found a dark corner to “talk” in?

Changbin: I AM TRYING TO SURVIVE THIS NIGHT, LEAVE ME ALONE.

Jeongin: So no dark corner? Disappointing.

Felix: Are you at least having fun?

Changbin: The best time.

Chan: Then why haven’t you CONFESSED YET???

Seungmin: Yeah, what’s your excuse?

Changbin: I’M WAITING FOR THE RIGHT MOMENT.

Jisung: YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR FIVE YEARS, BINNIE.

Hyunjin: DO IT. BEFORE WE SHOW UP OURSELVES.

---

By the time the wedding was over, Changbin felt warm - not just from the champagne, but because of you. You grinned up at him, swaying slightly as you both made your way back to the car. Every time your fingers brushed his, it sent sparks up his arm. And right to his heart.

This moment felt perfect.

“This was so much fun, Binnie,” you hummed, glancing at him. “Did you have a good time too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I always have fun with you.”

You beamed at him, and he smiled, his heart doing some drastic flips. He loved you so damn much. And he needed to tell you that.

“Y/N…” He swallowed hard, and his hands clenched. “I…I need to tell you something.”

“What’s up?” You stopped walking, turning to face him fully.

He exhaled shakily. Okay. Okay. You got this, Bin.

“I…I really like you,” he blurted, his ears turning pink. “Like, really like you. And I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you. And I didn’t wanna ruin what we have, but -”

Changbin froze, and his words died on his lips. Because you were crying. Panic slammed into him, and he was on autopilot in a second.

“Oh, shit! Wait - are you okay? Did I -”

And then, before he could fully die, you hugged him. You wrapped your arms around him so tightly, pressing your face into his chest, and whispered, “I was so afraid to say anything.”

His breath hitched. What?

“This is the happiest day of my life,” you murmured. “Because I love you too, Binnie.”

Changbin’s soul left his body. He squeezed you back instantly, his heart nearly exploding.

“You do?”

You nodded against him, sniffling slightly. And all he could do was hold you, completely overwhelmed with relief, with joy, with love.

---

Changbin: Sooo…Chan hyung, I may have found a plus one for your wedding

Chan: Ok…?

Chan: Changbin, is everything ok?

Felix: Please. Don't tell me you put it off till Chan hyung's wedding.

Minho: You two are gonna be doing this till all of us get married at this point.

Seungmin: Let the man speak

Changbin: Thank you, but I'll be attending Chan hyung's wedding with my girlfriend 😎

Jisung: OH MY GODDDDDDDDD.

Hyunjin: THANK YOU. FINALLY.

Minho: Oh wow. Ok.

Felix: YESSSS BINNIEEEEE!!

Seungmin: Took you long enough, dumbass.

Jeongin: I’M SO HAPPY I CAN’T EVEN INSULT YOU RIGHT NOW.

Chan: Well, congratulations Bin!

Jisung: NOW KISS. KISS HER RIGHT NOW.

Hyunjin: Yes yes go

---

Changbin laughed breathlessly, shaking his head as he tucked his phone away. And got into the driver's seat.

He turned to look at you as you were pulling on your seat belt. You glanced at him, your eyes shining, your smile soft.

And with his heart bursting, he did exactly what Jisung demanded.

He kissed you.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @hanadulsetaad

#skz #stray kids #changbin x y/n #changbin x you #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #seo changbin #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff

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sheep-from-rad · 4 months ago

Text

Blood Bound (Yandere Batfam x reader)

Note: I forgot I had this written in my draft notebooks for weeks now. I guess this might be part 1

Masterlist

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

You have always lived a normal life. You were raised in a small household where it’s just you and your father. Your mother was absent in the picture and you lived in the house near the edge of the town. Though small and seemingly insignificant in the fast moving town of Gotham, it filled you with contentment while growing up.

The absence of a mother figure in the picture made your father more protective. At an early age you were taught basic self-defense, survival skills, and even made you remember each escape route in the city. Even now that you’re a student at Gotham Academy, he still doesn’t take chances at public transportation safety. He will wake up early in the morning to make you breakfast and lunch, and then send you to school before going to work. You two won’t meet again until after school where he picks you up and makes you choose whether to get takeout or home cooked meal for dinner.

It was mid Psychics class when the intercom rang, the principal calling you to come to the office immediately. You looked up from your notes meeting the equally confused look from the professor and your classmates. Whenever some kid is needed for an intervention, the principal would only send a staff to pick them up. The intercom on the other hand is reserved for emergencies or when a student commits a big misconduct punishable by suspension or expulsion.

Well, you did have your fair share of trouble but all of those combined is not enough to warrant a suspension. You made solid knocks on the mahogany door and waited for the principal to say ‘come in’ before placing your hand on the cold door knob and twisting it open. Inside was the principal and a police officer from Gotham PD. “What’s going on?” you asked, taking a seat as you watched their grim expression.

“There was a break in at your place. The place was torched down and your father was burned alive”

Damian glared heavily at the titanium case that they had unearthed earlier on the crime scene. The execution of the crime was well timed. The break in happened just an hour after Duke had made his rounds on the town edge, while Damian is at school, while Tim is being forced to rest, while Jason is out of town with Dick, and while Bruce is at work. The entire house is burned down probably to erase evidence that led to the criminals or erase the evidence of the criminals being there in the first place.

He was ready to write down the case as a possible mafia related crime until Ace started running around and started digging beneath the ashes that used to be the house’s floorboards.

The dark fabric inside the now cracked titanium safe was unmistakable. The ideology of creating utopia by getting rid of the filth that is humanity and bathing the new paradise with its blood. Leaving the League of Assassins is a death sentence and a leap of faith but surviving for years after leaving is far more impressive. Still, the desperation of fear for life is present as evidenced by the locks of hair wrapped in paper with Archangel Michael’s prayer and a hastily scrawled note that reads, ‘I never regret taking you away’.

Taking who away?

The beeping of the comms echoed inside the batcave, taking Tim’s focus who just entered the cavern. “Barbara, any news?” he asked in between yawns. Barbara sighed on the other end of the line followed by the shuffling of papers and sipping of coffee.

“The DNA from the hair inside the titanium case didn’t match the victim’s” Then there was a pause. It hangs high in the air before she drops the next set of information. “But it matched Bruce’s and Talia’s”

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ladyrosemone · 5 months ago

Text

History does not remember blood, it remembers names

Using Google Translate here, sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies 🗣‼️‼️

Tw: allusion to child prostitution, prostitution, death of a secondary character, abandonment of minors, allusion to negligence.

It wasn't always like this, you know.

You weren't like this when was younger, when mom would put you hair in those cute braids or dress you up to match her on dress-up Wednesdays, or even when she taught you how to put on makeup instead of buying the bike you wanted, one that you friend Michelle had. It was metallic blue, with white streamers hanging from the handlebars, and you still remembers it clear as the sun because that was the first time you felt envious of something foreign.

You was never blind to injustice, you saw it every day; at school when the teacher took you away recess because some brats weren't silent, at home when mom didn't give you dessert for some stupid reason, but the most recurrent one was the one that took the bread out of their mouths.

You understood it when you turned nine, when you woke and you beloved mother decided it was time for contribute to the household; On you birthday she took you to a fat old man, whom she said was his boss, he dressed you the way her mother dressed on a Wednesday and a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday and a Sunday and she put so much makeup on you that you eyes burned.

She didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to do it, but when your boss comes to your home to demand protection money and sees you child, what else do you do but make things easier?

That's what adults love most.

She was not a bad mother, she was loving and protective, affectionate and self-sacrificing, but she was also a woman desperate to fulfill the most basic needs of a human, to eat and sleep safely one more night, and if she must use her little girl for that, may God forgive her on his last day.

And you loved her too, but not enough to intervene when you saw being pulled into a car, or asked her boss for help when others did, and you'll be damned if you refuses to be taken to the police station to take a statement, poor baby.

"Is in shock" they say that word a lot, even now "Leave in a foster home, there is no room in orphanages"

Like divine intervention, an old but royal gentleman like a general entered his life.

Alfred Pennyworth took you to a large house one day; He apologized for taking a while to find her, saying that he would never have expected that a child of Bruce Wayne would have been born in a prostitution ring and lived there for eleven years.

Suddenly you had a father and a brother, but it was like you didn't have them at all.

Bruce not a father, never a father was distant, like one of those men who only rented you to pretend to be a therapeutic doll, and Richard was...annoying, angry, lashing out at everyone all the time, a brat who left you without dessert because of his tantrums.

But you were good at something, at pleasing; It was never touched, thank God, but you're observant and you've learned a few tricks to cajole people.

That didn't work in them, not until Jason Todd came along.

He was better than Richard without a doubt, and for a few years he was you best friend; two peas in a pod, vanilla and chocolate, brothers of everything but blood, and for a time you found home in him.

And then Joker took him away.

You were never interested in being vigilante, dressing up as a traffic light and running across the roofs at night, but in those years you wished could have gone with him, to be a Robin just so you could avenge your brother.

Shortly after, Tim Drake arrived, Bruce's shadow, his little chameleon copying his movements, his gestures, his personality and you hated him with every part of your being.

At that time you stopped trying to bond with Bruce, you would never be his son, and quoting what he said;

"I don't have time, not now, not for you"

But yes for Barbara, yes for Stephenie, yes for that spawn of hell with whom you share blood, and yes for her adored daughter, Cassandra.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back, finding out that Jason, your brother Jason, had come back to life and never came to you, the only person who has entered your heart besides your mother, had abandoned you, betrayed you.

And then a metahuman arrives and they open the doors to him as if it were nothing?

Well, fuck them.

Although in reality, it was not your plan to return to your origin, who would have thought that finding your old friend Michelle in an alley after being thrown out of a van on the verge of death was going to give you the biggest reward in Gotham.

Loyalty.

Unlike you, Michelle did not have a millionaire father who claimed her like a carnival puppy, and her fate was no different from that of her dead mother, but she had contacts, people who knew things about more people and that a third spectator like you could use.

And if you learned anything in that damn mansion, it was to sweeten their words, caress egos and say what they want to hear, you learned to deceive and pretend, to disguise your intentions and attack without killing.

You learned to be a snake instead of a bat.

And like sweet karma, divine intervention or whatever you like to believe, starting your business from the brothel where your mother sold you by giving that fat bald guy to his enemies and taking his place, wasn't a bad way to start his story.

"Don't you think that's a brutal origin story?" You ask, looking with amusement at the infiltrated man now slowly bleeding out on your rug, Is it considered a fur rug if it's the skin of the past boss?

—Liar —he mutters in pain, writhing in pain and under the gaze of your cruel eyes — You killed them in cold blood! Your poisonous tongue made us destroy ourselves from within! Two-faced whore!

“I always like how creative they get when they’re dying” you reply, leaning back in your leather swivel chair, because no animal cruelty for you, you are not a monster “Anyway, I hear Ivy needs test subjects for her new fragrances, but I think you’d make a better fertilizer, Michelle dear”

Your right hand opens the door, where two men grab the traitor and take him out while he continues screaming, varying between cursing her and crying out for mercy "I hope it helps Pamela before the hyenas eat him"

Now you're Gotham's super predator, and your heart is hungry.

#batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #yandere x reader #batboy!reader #batsis!reader #unattended reader #abandoned reader #dc x reader #batfamily x reader #batbros x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batman

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bonefall · 2 months ago

Text

[ID: Ask from @storiesandsquirrels, transcribed in alt text]

also: link to Cow Lore

There's one major misconception here I've gotta correct before answering earnestly; Holsteins do need Super Duper Food. This is one of their major problems as a breed, you need to give them high quality feed for high quantity, low quality milk.

But! That said! These are valid questions that deserve real responses. In spite of the quick correction, I actually want to answer them as you phrased them because I think it would be more illuminating. I'm going to try and summarize them as I go along;

Question 1: "Why wouldn't we want to use The Most Efficient Cow?"

The simplest answer is disease. My ""prediction"" came true, and bird flu has mutated to spread extremely easily through the infected udders of Holsteins. No one has died of bovine-contracted HPAI yet, but with Brainworm Bobby and his love of raw milk in charge of the CDC...

well. my last prediction was prophetic. let's hope this one's not.

Minmaxing a breed for one specific purpose always means intensive inbreeding. Like I mentioned, 9 million Holsteins are genetically equivalent to 60 individuals. A more genetically diverse population is one that will be better at preventing disease outbreaks, and reducing their severity when they do.

And what even is the Most Efficient Milk Cow? If you're only selecting for pure milk production to drive down its cost, you get a breed of cattle that lacks every other important trait that would make it good livestock;

They get sick more often, due to inbreeding depression and lack of physical fitness, requiring more antibiotics and veterinary care.

They are bad parents who will need more human intervention to birth and raise calves

They won't be good grazers, meaning they need a specific food grown for them, increasing how much "functional" land is actually dedicated to cattle husbandry.

Their carcass won't yield as much meat, so more cattle have to be raised and slaughtered to meet demand.

Their bodies will burn out much quicker than a healthier animal, meaning you need to replace your livestock more often.

When it comes to living beings, "efficiency" is "fragility." It's not a stable system to begin with.

Even with the pure logic aside, just, step back here and look at the situation with a heart. We'd be making unhealthy, short-lived animals lacking critical instincts to lead good social lives. AND we probably haven't even fixed the "less land" problem, just shifted the land off-site.

For what? For more milk? We have SO MUCH milk we don't even know what to do with it!

Question 2: "Isn't an overabundance of cheap milk a good thing?"

no.

Under the infinite genius of Capitalism, thousands of gallons of milk just gets poured into the sewer daily because there's too much of it. Transporting it to a processor would cost more than it's worth, sometimes the processors turn milk away because they don't want to overproduce products, and even the US government can't subsidize every last drop; it still has 1.4 billion pounds of cheese in various caves and warehouses across the country.

The price of milk cannot get any lower because it's already being sold below the cost it takes to produce it, and yet, we're still here literally pouring it down the drain.

[photo from bill ulrich who photographed a farmer dumping milk back during the pandemic. this isn't even a recent photo. this happens every time there's a milk surplus. im using this photo because i like the farmer's cunty little pose. look at him. "just ain't right"core.]

And milk being dumped into the sewer is more than just wasteful. It's a biohazard.

Milk doesn't stop rotting when it's dumped. If you live downstream of a milkhouse, improper milk disposal reeks.

It's full of nutrients, too, which causes diatoms, cyanobacteria, and other types of algae to go into overdrive-- causing a Harmful Algal Bloom event in the water, or HAB.

HABs are horrific. There's HUNDREDS of different types. They can suck up oxygen and create "dead zones" which kills all aquatic life, they can poison the water supply for an entire town, and some can even cause toxic fumes that make it hard to breathe on land.

Now, listen, I don't want to scare you into never dumping out rotten milk or anything! It's that on an industrial scale, it's REALLY REALLY bad if a farm overproduces milk-- especially crummy milk that can't be made into decent cheese or other dairy products.

In fact, if we did produce milk on a smaller scale, it would be better for everyone! Unless you're a Milk Guzzling Fiend like I am, you probably wouldn't need to buy a whole gallon at a time. In countries like Italy, it's sold fresh and in smaller containers, and you're just expected to pick it up as you need it.

This is why milkmen used to exist, and still do in places that are cool; they'd deliver your supply fresh from the creamery. Less waste, less stress! The "subscription model" is actually sooooooooooo much better for milk production, since it helps to stagger out those "surges and drops" of demand that leads to milk dumps.

Question 3: "If the cow eats less, doesn't that mean less land for pasture, which is a good thing?"

There's a lot to unpack within this sentiment. It's actually based on a couple of common assumptions on a few levels, which are incorrect in fascinating ways. Challenging this means opening up your worldview on how complex keeping livestock actually is!

I'll start with the simpler part;

You could cut fresh pasture out of the equation entirely and shove a cow into a concrete pen with a food box-- but are you counting the land growing the fodder?

When you grow corn the way that we do on industrial farms in the US, it's unbelievably destructive. Unending oceans of monoculture. Fogged with pesticide, pumped full of fertilizer which causes HABs like dumped milk does, sprayed with thousands of gallons of wasted water.

When you look at this image, I need you to understand you are looking at a dead zone. Like a suburban lawn, just because it's green doesn't mean it's good. Nothing grows here but corn and pests of corn, which gets poisoned and dies without returning any of that energy to the ecosystem.

This is usually what is being given to "grain-fed cattle," either when they're sent to a feedlot to hit their slaughter weight, or when they're lactating so they need the extra nutrition. It's also so nasty it's inedible to human beings.

Now, a lot of cattle farmers will just supplement their cow's diet, doing a mix of pasture feeding (much cheaper) and grain feeding (quicker gains). But the facts on this are clear; pasture-kept cattle result in LESS emissions and need LESS total space than cows in confinement.

In fact, there were a LOT of benefits!

Overall gas emissions from the cows dropped by 8%

Ammonia pollution was down by 30%

Not needing to run farm equipment for fodder planting and harvest reduced carbon dioxide emissions by 10%

Rotated crop fields didn't sequester carbon; but the newly converted perennial grasslands store as much as 3,400 pounds per acre.

The outside cows did produce less milk volume, but the milk they did produce was higher quality. So, looking at all the benefits here, it's clear that pasture is actually something that should be embraced for ecological reasons, not rejected.

In FACT, it should be EMPHASIZED. Because, this is the mind-blowing part,

Pasture can ALSO be an ecosystem.

In fact, I'm a Warrior Cats guy who once did a deep dive on moorlands just so I could write WindClan better. There are entire biomes that only exist because of grazing, and British lowland heath is one of them!

Keeping cattle in a sustainable, ecologically sound way is going to look different depending on where in the world you're doing it. So many earnest, good-willed people have bought into the lie that humans are a problem, and that everything "associated" with us becomes a barren wasteland as if we are tainted. YOU are not the problem! The problem is, and always has been, exploitation. Unsustainable relationships with the land we're part of.

Indigenous people in Europe, Asia, and Africa have been keeping cattle for thousands of years. In North America, cattle can be used to maintain ecosystems that have been badly affected by the colonial eradication of the American Bison. In South America, Brazil specifically has been making incredible advances with highly efficient integrated crop-livestock-forestry farming.

Generally, pastures here in the US are not as intensely managed as an equivalent crop field. Some people fertilize them, or water them mid-summer, but absolutely not to the same extent as industrial corn farms. Cattle are typically rotated between pastures, allowing each to re-grow before they come back to graze again.

Obviously, yes, overgrazing can be an issue. Not every open space should be converted into a pasture, and the destruction of other environments to turn into cow land is a problem. But that is an issue of bad land stewardship, not the mere practice of keeping livestock.

Bottom line, though? Cattle who can graze and survive outside are better for the environment than cattle that can't.

...but hey, you know what Holsteins happen to be really bad at?

EVERYTHING. GRAZING.

They are notoriously terrible grazers. They can't do megan THEEEEE thing that cows are known for. Fragile frames, a lack of fat to keep them warm outside, increased demand for food, distaste for any rough forage, horrible mothering instincts, the list goes on. Holsteins are a NIGHTMARE to try and keep outside all year round compared to other breeds.

(especially heritage breeds, like the Milking Devon, Florida Cracker, or Texas Longhorn. Between these three, you'd be totally covered in 80% of American climates.)

I've already explained why it's not actually very good or important that we minmax milk volume, but even if that was actually something we should value, there are so many downsides that they would absolutely not be the dominant cow breed in a truly "efficient" system.

"Less cows means less cow food and cow land" is sound logic, but Holsteins are not the right cow for that job.

Question 4: "How could this be done in a way that doesn't increase cost of living?"

I'm not sure how to answer this question, simply because I'm not Bonestar, Leader of AmericaClan. Wish I was. I would rule tyrannically.

It's worth noting that Brazil is the second largest producer of beef in the entire world, AND the number one largest exporter of it, AND only puts 30% of its land to total agricultural use. The USA dedicates over 50%. And also Brazil is net reducing its amount of agricultural land while increasing output.

It seems clear to me that the USA actually has a massive food waste and resource distribution problem, to the point where the price we pay for stuff is actually wildly disconnected from the actual value of the goods and labor.

I think the way that us Americans tend to frame our conversations on these topics as "growth" vs "cuts" instead of asking how to minimize waste by making existing systems more efficient prevents us from solving problems. We're also just... really culturally resistant to the idea of anything being more "expensive," even if it ends up costing us a lot more money in waste or mismanagement later.

Penny wise and dollar foolish ass country.

Question 5: "What can we personally do about this?"

I mean, I wasn't making a call to action in Cow Lore, I was just explaining to one of my regulars why I don't like Holsteins LMAO. Since you're asking though...

I don't think we can change the wider trend in the dairy industry without actual government intervention and regulation, though, and that's very unlikely in the current political environment. they just sent random dudes to Ausalvador-Birkenau and when the Supreme Court said "bring this specific person back" they said "nuh uh." fellas I don't think we're getting better dairy regulations in the foreseeable future.

So I think the most productive thing to do is focusing on supporting small farms and heritage breeds. Get involved in your community garden or heritage society if you have one.

Not only is that generally a very rewarding thing, but it will be helpful to you in case The Situation Gets Worse. Knowing your neighbors and having real human connection is your best defense against economic recession.

Supporting the locals is always a great thing to do, which can be as simple as going to farmer's markets. You don't need to buy fancy food every day to make an impact on your community-- it can be a treat sometimes!

You could also subscribe to the Livestock Conservancy's free newsletter, where they talk about the work they're doing and upcoming events. If you're a knitter, crocheter, or any other kind of fiber artist, you could even join in on a challenge they're running where you make items out of rare wool for prizes!

Should you end up liking the work they do, you can become a member for 4$ a month, or go to one of their educational events.

Even just talking about the problem can do a lot! Did you know the Highland Cow was actually critically endangered in the USA within the past 10 years? It was the work of the Livestock Conservancy, plus a surge in their popularity, that helped to bring their numbers up. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.

All that said, remember, you can't solve every problem. It's a big world and there's a lot of them. Being made aware of an issue doesn't mean you have to drop what you were previously doing-- just care a lot about something that you want to improve, and let that guide you.

#Funfact: My great-something-grammy boinked the milkman #and that's how my great-something-grandparent happened lmaoo #Straightup parody level family drama #queen behavior tho ngl #Perhaps I simply respect my Milkmancestor's game too much #got milk in my blood #bone babble #cows #i like. tried not to say it TOO much besides the powerpuff girls meme. but.#capitalism is the core problem under everything here #it doesn't actually encourage efficiency on a large scale; it *encourages* overproduction and *incentivizes* artificial scarcity #under a capitalist system it is a good thing to crush your small farm competition by literally flooding the market with cheap milk #because it's more profitable to dump sour milk onto the nearest poor community than lose sales to Meemaw Moomoo And Her Heritage Herd #and yeah the cows are sick and dying from genetic issues and infections. but it's cheaper to feed them antibiotics #because it's not like the dairy industry is the one who pays for the medical care of antibiotic-resistant superbugs that jump to humans!#the questions were genuine tho so I was trying to answer them without a Degrowth Rant lmaooooooooooo #will say as an aside though that when Cost of Living comes up as a concern there's a red part of me that is like #''comrade. ANY cost to live is too high.''

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thunderbolt-ing · 2 days ago

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Three Roommates and a Loft [3]

PREVIOUS | NEXT The One Where You Get Romanoff'd: A lifestyle adjustment, a bed-rotting intervention, a surprise guest, and a rebound roster. Yeah, you'll probably regret this later. Warnings: none, just pure silliness and slight (stupid) sexual innuendo. I'm sleep deprived when I'm writing this, so this is just pure crack. Word count: 6.6K (sorry for the mistakes, i dont proofread as you already know)

You were jolted awake at exactly 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the unmistakable sound of an old-timey trumpet muffly blaring through the ceiling, specifically, a World War II-era jump blues song.

🎵 He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,

He had a boogie style that no one else could play,

He was the top man at his craft,

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille,

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B! 🎵

There was only one possible culprit: Steve Rogers.

His room was directly above yours, and apparently so was his nostalgia-fueled alarm clock. The song continued at full volume for a solid two minutes before Steve finally got up and shut it off.

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the end of it.

Next came the footsteps. Then the light stomping. Then… counting… and grunting…?

Was he doing pushups? At six-thirty-five in the morning? On a Sunday?

You buried your head under a pillow and groaned. The realization settled slowly and painfully; the walls in this loft were way too thin. Adjusting to life here was going to take time and possibly noise-cancelling headphones. Or earplugs. Definitely earplugs.

Eventually, you managed to fall asleep again, though it was more like drifting in and out of consciousness while dreaming about WWII-era trumpets. Still, your body naturally woke up at your usual weekend time of 9:00 a.m., groggy but functional.

Noise was already filtering in from the living room—voices, at least two of them, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone being way too enthusiastic for a Sunday morning (suspects are either Steve or Sam. You’re leaning towards Steve).

You stared at the ceiling and sighed.

This was your life now.

With the weight of reluctant acceptance, you braced yourself for the horror of human interaction. You got up from your bed and mentally prepared yourself to walk out of your room looking like a witch who’d just crawled out of a bog. Your oversized t-shirt was twisted halfway around your torso, your hair was an unruly mess, and you were certain that your face bore the imprint of your pillowcase.

You didn’t even bother to make yourself look presentable. What was the point?

You needed caffeine. You needed breakfast. And most of all, you needed to not be spoken to until at least a cup of coffee had been fully consumed.

You sluggishly dragged yourself out of your room, your first stop being the bathroom. You just wanted to splash some water on your face and pretend to be alive. Instead, you opened the door to find a near-naked Bucky Barnes hunched over the sink, towel slung low on his hips, mid-shave.

Your brain short-circuited, but he didn’t flinch. He just met your stunned silence with a deadpan stare.

“Do you know how to knock?” he asked coolly, eyes narrowing like you’d just ruined his entire day.

You blinked, fighting the instinctive downward glance that, traitorously, happened anyway. It only made everything worse.

“Sorry,” you muttered, slamming the door shut as your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your face burned with the mix of rage and embarrassment, and now, thanks to him, you were fully and disturbingly awake.

From inside the bathroom, you heard him mutter just loud enough to be heard:

“Unbelievable.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped through the door, patience running thin with the lack of caffeine in your system.

“No thanks,” he called back flatly without missing a beat.

You were two seconds away from throwing the door open and escalating when Sam’s voice rang out from the kitchen:

“I told y’all to come up with a bathroom system.”

You huffed and stomped your way into the common area, still fuming.

Sam was at the stove flipping pancakes that were definitely a little burnt, but pretending not to notice. Steve was already seated at the newly placed dining table (thanks to your charitable donation), sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal, drama-free Sunday morning.

“Hey, sunshine!” Steve greeted you as you stepped into the room, entirely too cheerful for someone who caused your 6:30 a.m. trumpet wake-up call. “How was your first night?”

“What is wrong with him?” you shot back, completely ignoring Steve’s question. “Does he not believe in getting dressed after a shower? Is that not a thing for him?”

Sam’s laughter echoed through the loft. “Wait—did you see him butt-ass naked?”

Steve choked on his coffee, but being Steve, he tried to play it off with a composed nod and a sip like nothing had happened.

You gave Sam a withering glare. “Toweled, but barely. It was an assault on my morning.”

Sam was practically doubled over now. “Man, you and Bucky are gonna kill each other before the month’s out.”

“Yeah?” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, I’ll make sure I get to him first.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky said unenthusiastically, stepping into the room fully clothed this time.

“No one’s killing anyone,” Steve cut in with a chuckle. “We just need time to adjust. There are four of us now, it’s gonna take a little grace.”

You and Bucky locked eyes over your mugs. Clearly, there was no grace, only war.

——

After breakfast, the guys headed out for a Whole Foods run, arguing over oat milk versus almond milk as they disappeared out the door. You stayed behind, however, choosing to confront the disaster that the loft turned into from your move-in yesterday. So, with Japanese Breakfast on Sam’s speaker, you got to work.

You hauled your boxes to the center of the living room, then tore through them with the determination of a woman who was about to perform a miracle. Blankets, candles, books, and years of collected knick-knacks found their homes. A patchwork quilt over the chaise. A vase of bodega flowers on the dining table. Your Princess Diaries poster now hung proudly beside Bruce Willis, which perfectly summarized the loft’s new look.

In the kitchen, you replaced the single wooden spoon with actual utensils, alphabetized the spice rack (because who was stopping you?), and stuck a whiteboard on the fridge that read Weekly Chore Rotation — TBD in teacher handwriting. You almost changed your alphabet magnet message from HELLO ROOMIES to HELLO FUCKERS, but you figured you’d soft launch your personality and have them get used to the harmless kindergarten teacher first.

Perhaps you were getting carried away, but you even cleaned the entryway. Now there was a shoe rack, jacket hooks, and a key bowl because you weren’t a barbarian. You felt very smug about your work… until you opened the hallway closet and discovered the mini-armory.

Mounted neatly on the back wall was an array of throwing knives, each blade gleaming despite the dim light. Steve’s old, battered shield leaned against the corner, the once bright paint chipped and scratched raw to the vibranium. It looked like it had been through hell, probably had. Maybe he kept it for emergencies, or maybe out of sentiment. Above the shield, resting on a shelf, sat a worn military grade duffle bag with WILSON embroidered on the front. You didn’t dare to open it, something told you that it didn’t hold gym clothes.

And then, there was the bundle. It was tucked in the far corner, hidden enough that it could be overlooked. Before you could even begin to think about unwrapping it, keys jingled outside, and the front door swung open with a dramatic slam.

“Guess who survived Whole Foods!” Sam’s voice rang through the loft, followed by the telltale thud of grocery bags hitting the floor.

You quickly shut the closet door, forcing a casual smile despite your heart hammering in your chest. “Hey! So, who won the milk debate? For the record, I was team oat—”

“Hold up,” Sam cut in, eyes widening as he entered the living room. He gasped, hand clutching his chest theatrically. “Is that Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia next to John McClane?!”

You followed him into the living room with a shrug. “Don’t they look cute together?”

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asked, breezing past with grocery bags and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Princess Diaries,” Sam and Steve answered in unison, though Steve was a beat slower and slightly more ashamed about knowing.

Steve bent to pick up the remaining bags, but paused as he took in the living room. His eyes did a slow sweep across the space before he broke into a pleased, golden-retriever grin. “You redecorated.”

“Holy shit, you did,” Sam added, spinning in place to look around. “No more hostage bunker, frat house adjacent. This place has… character now.”

“There’s a key bowl,” Steve noted in delight, pointing to the entryway like you’d just placed a national treasure.

“I’m ignoring this,” Bucky cut in from the kitchen. He scowled at the whiteboard magnetized to the fridge. “Weekly Chore Rotation? This is not elementary school.”

“Also, where are the tongs?” he asked, rummaging through the newly organized drawer with increasing irritation.

“The rusty ones?” You asked, joining him in the kitchen. “I threw them out before it gave someone tetanus, but don’t worry, I replaced them with new ones.” You opened the other drawer and showed him the new tongs.

Bucky turned to you, arms crossed. “So you’re in charge now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Someone has to be a functional adult out of the four of us.”

Steve chuckled as he dropped the last bag on the counter. “She’s not wrong.”

Bucky muttered something about “whiteboard dictatorships” as he walked off, but not before you caught him glancing at the newly filled bookshelf.

That was the closest thing to approval you were probably ever going to get.

——

Adjusting to your new life at the loft with three superhero roommates was… messy at best. The only man you’ve ever lived with before was Adam, and while that came with its own set of issues, chaos had never been one of them. Adam had been neat, predictable, and quiet. The exact opposite of the three men you now shared a loft (and very thin walls) with.

The loft wasn’t perfect. It was loud, unfiltered, and filled with clashing personalities. But oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed right now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, not to them at least, but the chaos helped. It distracted you from thinking about Adam and from falling back into the life you’d walked away from.

Monday started off strong.

You were in the kitchen, half-asleep and clinging to your coffee before work, when Sam practically sprinted down the stairs looking like he’d already finished at least three marathons.

“Morning, miss girl,” he beamed, already reaching for your mug as if you didn’t need it to survive. “What’s your sign by the way? Wait—don’t tell me. You’re a Virgo aren’t you? You alphabetized the spices.”

You stared at him. You didn’t even get a word in before he declared you his ‘platonic soulmate’ three times and tried to convince you to join him on a sunrise run. It was 5:07 a.m.

Later that day, after work, you found Steve in the living room, utterly absorbed in The Great British Bake Off. You expected him to switch to something more macho when you sat beside him, but instead he turned to you with a frown.

“I just think he could’ve decorated that cake better…”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond at first. “You know what, you’re right. It’s lacking something and the sponge looks dry.”

“You wanna make something better?”

“...Sure?”

By the end of the hour, you were in the kitchen covered in flour, while Steve was making frosting. You two were making something completely unrelated to the show, and the smell of vanilla filled the loft. Steve wore an apron that said ‘Be Patriotic & Kiss the Captain’ with an arrow pointing toward himself. You didn’t question it, but you had a sneaky feeling that Sam was the one who gave it to him.

Steve and Sam were surprisingly easy to get along with, but Bucky on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a locked door.

On Tuesday, he glared at you for leaving your clothes in the dryer.

On Wednesday, you got into a five-minute shouting match because he was using your shampoo.

On Thursday, he accused you of “hogging the hot water” like you’ve just committed crimes against humanity.

But on Friday, your shampoo was replaced with a fresh bottle, and when you walked into the living room later, he was reading your copy of Anne of Green Gables. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you just baked the cookies that Steve offhandedly mentioned Bucky liked. He didn’t say thank you, but the cookies didn’t last a day.

Midweek, the boys left on an impromptu mission. It was a quick recon, nothing too dangerous according to Steve, but the silence in the loft was jarring. You wandered around in your fuzzy socks, grading math quizzes with background noise from a sitcom rerun just to fill the void.

You actually missed the chaos.

They came back home a day later, exhausted and grumpy. You didn’t say anything, but you had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready for them. Steve muttered something about being “blessed,” and Sam dramatically asked that you platonically marry him (whatever that meant). Bucky just gave you a curt nod, which, in his language, might as well be a hug.

On Saturday, Steve and Sam insisted on helping you grade a stack of your kindergarteners’ spelling tests while eating cereal straight from the box.

“Why does this kid spell ‘banana’ like ‘bunahnuh’?” Sam asked.

“Gwen spells phonetically,” you replied, like it was obvious.

Steve, squinting through his reading glasses with a red pen in his hand, held up a paper. “What’s turlul?”

“Turtle,” you replied with a grin.

Then Sam, looking deeply concerned, held up your lesson plan. “You’re teaching them Romeo and Juliet with puppets?”

“What? They’re five and they love tragic romance.”

Steve chuckled. “New York kids… gotta love ‘em.”

The week ended with you, curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, grading kindergarten science homework while Steve sat beside you, quietly sketching. Sam DJ’d badly from the kitchen while Bucky was silently fixing the crooked picture frame you meant to fix days ago.

“You hung this badly,” he muttered.

“I’ll fix it later,” you replied without looking up.

“It’s going to fall.”

“Aw,” you looked up and smirked at him. “So you do care.”

His lips twitched just a little, but you didn’t point it out.

Living in the loft was a mess, but it was home.

Your home.

——

Two months into living with the boys, a rhythm had settled in. It was morning coffees with Sam’s unsolicited astrology takes, quiet evenings grading assignments with Steve, and your usual snark-filled cold war with Bucky. Against all odds, the arrangement was working. And yet, even with all the laughter and distractions, the sinking feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, the stillness between the noise made it even louder.

You missed Adam. Terribly and painfully, in spite of the hell he put you through. Some wounds didn’t announce themselves with aching pain, they crept in during the quiet, slipping through the cracks when you were doing everything to keep moving forward.

You thought you were hiding it well, smiling when you needed to, laughing when expected. But somewhere deep down, you had a feeling that the boys were starting to catch on.

It started with Sam. One afternoon after work, he appeared at your door without knocking, flopping onto the edge of your bed with a bag of chips and zero introduction. He didn’t pry or asked how you were, he just talked about nothing. He complained about the subway system. He argued about why almond milk was better than oat milk. He recalled the dream he had where Steve ran for mayor and lost to RuPaul.

Then Steve started stopping by too. He’d sit in the armchair in the corner, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Sam’s ramblings and occasionally offering stories about old missions and silly anecdotes about his teammates. He talked about the Avengers often that you were starting to feel like you knew them, even though you hadn’t met any of them in person. Steve never asked what was wrong, he just stayed just like Sam did.

Bucky never set foot in your room, but the arguments with him stalled. The sharpness between you dulled just a bit. He still glared, still muttered under his breath when you used the last of the coffee, but he didn’t pick fights the way he used to. It was as if he didn’t want to add more weight to what you were already carrying.

At one point, the quiet sadness that had been simmering beneath the surface tipped into something heavier. A mini depressive episode, maybe. If you could even call it that. It crept in gradually at first and was barely noticeable, but soon your behavior shifted in ways the boys couldn’t ignore.

You started locking your bedroom door after work, claiming you were just tired. You bailed on loft game night more than once, always with a vague excuse about lesson planning or needing to grade your students’ assignments. Even when you didn’t have a stack of spelling tests to get through, you stayed tucked away in your room, lights dim with Pride and Prejudice looping in your TV just to feel something.

You stopped lounging on the couch. Stopped making dinner for the loft. Stopped bickering with Sam over his abhorrent snack combinations or baking with Steve for fun. You slipped in and out of the kitchen like a ghost, only entering when the coast was clear. You timed your showers to avoid Bucky, dodging eye contact in the hallway like it was a full-time job.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You did. It was that everything suddenly felt unbearable. Every noise, every conversation, every mundane task, it all felt too much.

The worst part? You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself or the boys.

By the time the weekend rolled around, you’d all but vanished into your room. The door stayed closed, the lights stayed off, and not even the smell of Steve’s buttermilk waffles managed to lure you out.

Sam, in an attempt to get you to talk, slipped a piece of paper under your door:

Are u mad at me? Yes or no. Circle one pls <3.

You saw it, but you didn’t pick it up.

Later that evening, the three boys were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a terrible action movie and working through their respective takeout containers. The dialogue on the screen was awful, the explosions louder than necessary, but no one bothered to change the channel.

Then, casually, as if tossing in an afterthought, Bucky asked, “What’s going on with her?”

He didn’t look up from his food, he just stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Last night, she had this song on repeat. Something about a girl sitting in a restaurant, waiting or something. Played it for hours. I didn’t say anything. Kinda liked it.”

Sam froze mid-chew. Slowly, he lowered his chopsticks. “Wait. Was she playing Right Where You Left Me?”

Bucky shugged. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention. Her room’s next to mine, I just heard it.”

Sam immediately placed his food on the coffee table like it had become irrelevant. “Oh hell no. That’s the emotional paralysis anthem.”

Steve frowned. “You got all that from a song about… a restaurant?”

“It’s not about the restaurant, Steven, it’s about the metaphor,” Sam said, deadly serious. “It’s heartbreak, it’s what you play when you’re stuck. And she’s got it on loop? Oh, I’m gonna kill that Adam guy.”

“Who the hell is Adam?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing.

“Her ex,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Steve and I met him briefly. Bad vibes, stank aura, absolutely zero stars.”

“Not a pleasant man,” Steve added diplomatically. “Didn’t seem to appreciate her.”

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then muttered. “Figures.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Figures what, Barnes?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He refocused on his takeout with exaggerated interest, stabbing the piece of beef in his plate half-heartedly.

Steve sighed and looked toward your room, his features softening. “I should try checking in on her again.”

Sam was already on his feet, grabbing the extra box of chow mein from table. “Nope. We’re doing this together. This is a group effort.”

Bucky didn’t move.

Steve glanced at him. “You coming?”

Bucky groaned, dragging himself up with zero enthusiasm. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” Sam and Steve said in unison, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Bucky followed them down the hallway. Sam knocked first, rapping his knuckles gently against your door.

“I know you’re alive in there,” he called. “I can hear Mr. Darcy monologuing through the wall.”

No response.

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Wanna insult me? Could be therapeutic. I’m an easy target and I used up all your conditioner again.”

Still nothing.

Steve gave the door handle a patient turn, but it didn’t budge. “We just wanna check in. No pressure.” Steve said, his voice low and gentle.

Sam held up the box of food like you could see it through the door. “We brought noodles… and poor emotional boundaries.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered.

Steve side-eyed him. “You offered yourself up for verbal abuse two seconds ago.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms.

Another beat of silence followed. Then, from inside the room, you spoke up, your voice muffled, “Is it chow mein or lo mein?”

Sam grinned triumphantly. “Chow mein.”

You shuffled to the door and creaked it open an inch.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because I’m hungry and you guys are loud.”

As you stepped back to let them in, Bucky was the last to follow, but not before glancing at your TV, the frozen frame of Pride and Prejudice paused on Darcy’s rain-soaked confession. He didn’t say anything, just slipped inside and quietly straightened the crooked calendar by your door as the others made themselves at home.

Sam looked around your room, eyebrows raised at the unmade bed, scattered tissues, and the lopsided stack of grading papers on your desk. “I love you,” he said as he handed you the box of chow mein, “But this is just… a mess, and I will be cleaning while we talk.”

You gave a weak laugh as he started picking up the empty cups on your nightstand like he lived in your room, too.

Steve sat gently on the edge of your bed, his tone soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.” His brows pulled together in concern. “I know we’re not… the best at this kind of thing, but we care and we want to help.”

You looked down at the box in your hands, fingers digging into the paper. “It’s not that I didn’t feel comfortable with you guys,” you said, voice tight. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And honestly, it’s stupid. I’ve been crying over Adam.”

The words felt small and pathetic once they were out in the open. But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental.

From the doorway, Bucky shifted his weight, arms still crossed tightly. His gaze stayed on the floor, then he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “It’s not… stupid.”

You glanced up at him in surprise, but he refused to meet your eyes.

Sam looked between the two of you with a knowing expression. “Well damn. If Barnes is offering moral support, then you’re officially at rock bottom.”

Bucky glowered at Sam while you flipped him off. “Whatever, Wilson,” you muttered in mock annoyance.

Steve smiled, looking relieved that they were somehow helping. “Why don’t you go and spend a day with your own friends?” He suggested kindly, his tone gentle. “Not us, you know, like… women. People who get it more than we do.”

“Sure! That’s cute,” You said dryly, bitterness bleeding into your voice. “Except all my friends were Adam’s friends, and when we broke up, he turned them all against me. They blocked me, every single one of them.”

“That motherf—“

“Okay,” Steve cut in quickly, shooting Sam a look before he could finish. “I’m calling Nat. She’ll know what to do.”

“Nat?” You echoed, confused. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” Steve clarified, pulling out his phone.

“You know… Natasha Romanoff,” Sam clarified further, seeing your confused expression. “Black Widow…? Come on, keep up.”

“Oh no, no, no,” You sat up a little, alarmed. “I am not meeting her like this. She’s going to think I’m a loser. I mean, she kills men for sport, and I’m here sobbing into my pillow over one. I’m literally crying over someone who owns a mug that says ‘Rise and Grind’, I am beyond pathetic.”

Steve raised his brow, but you kept going.

“It’s already embarrassing that you three know,” you muttered, tugging your blanket higher. “Just give me one more week of bed rotting and I swear I’ll bounce back.”

“You’ve been rotting,” Sam said bluntly. “We’ve hit the compost stage.”

“Advanced decay,” Bucky chimed in, arms still crossed. You shot him a glare. “Nat won’t judge.” Steve reassured, patting your shoulder gently. “She’ll understand more than we do.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “She’ll actually be gentle, like surprisingly gentle. You need someone who gets it, because if it were me? I’d just deck the guy and move on.”

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. “If I end up crying in front of Black Widow, I’m changing my name and I’m leaving the country.”

“She cried during Marley and Me, you’ll be fine,” Steve reassured as he pressed Natasha’s contact on his phone.

——

The next morning, you shuffled out of your room in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks. Your only mission for the day: retrieve coffee without making eye contact with anyone.

You failed instantly.

All three of your roommates were seated around the dining table, and sitting casually among them, as if she hadn’t just completely caused your soul to leave your body, was her.

Natasha. Romanoff.

The Black Widow.

Former Assassin. Legendary Avenger. Threat to all men.

She was drinking her coffee from one of your ridiculous mugs. She wore no tactical gear, no combat boots, just jeans and a fitted black top, with a posture so immaculate that it made you stand up a little straighter.

Her red hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and her gaze met yours the moment you entered. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she just looked. It was as if she was quietly assessing whether you were dangerous or just a sad little mess Steve had guilted her into babysitting.

You, of course, chose to freeze like a deer in headlights.

Flattening your sleep-matted hair instinctively, you stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if you should apologize for daring to set foot in front of her presence. You didn’t understand why she was here. There was no way someone like Natasha Romanoff wasted time on strangers. She must’ve owed Steve big-time if she came to the loft immediately after he called yesterday.

“Good morning,” Natasha said smoothly, voice low and unreadable. It was a statement, not a greeting. Like a poker player declaring her turn. You stalled in real time, your brain shutting down in a panic. And then, you opened your mouth despite every survival instinct begging you not to embarrass yourself:

“Hi. Wow. Is being hot a requirement to be an Avenger because… damn.”

Silence. You could even hear the birds chirp outside.

Sam snorted into his coffee. Steve blinked slowly like he was rebooting. Bucky coughed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

Natasha tilted her head, still expressionless. “Yes,” she said simply, and took another sip of her coffee. “That’s why Sam didn’t make the cut.”

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was your first real laugh in weeks, and it caught everyone off guard.

“Okay, first of all, I just didn’t sign the papers, Romanoff,” Sam shot back, pointing his fork at her like it was a weapon. “I was recruited! There were negotiations!”

“Yeah,” she replied dryly. “Negotiations to keep you off the roster.”

Steve hid a grin behind his coffee. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his smirk, though he kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention.

Sam turned to you with a hand over his heart. “I’m being dragged in my own home. Do something,” he said, turning to you with pleading eyes.

You dropped into an empty seat next to Bucky, grabbed a piece of toast, and casually stole a forkful of eggs from his plate. He shot you a look, brows knitting in mild disapproval, but he didn’t stop you.

“Not too much on Sam,” you said with a grin. “He’s an emotional guy. He cried during Paddington 2.”

“He went to prison!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you incarcerate a cute little bear who just wanted to make marmalade?!”

Steve nodded solemnly, like he was testifying in court. “It was deeply unfair.”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re all unwell.”

“This is my life now,” Bucky muttered, sliding the rest of his eggs your way with a resigned sigh. You beamed at the gesture.

Natasha took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning you like she was running a background check. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I like you. You’ve got potential.”

You blinked at her, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Potential for…?”

Natasha stood up from her chair, already grabbing her keys off the counter like this was a done deal. “Not sure yet, but you’re coming with me today.”

You choked on your eggs. “What—why?”

“Does it matter?” she said, already halfway to the door.

You looked around the table like someone might save you, but Steve just gave you a thumbs up and took another sip of his coffee. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fine or maybe dead,” you muttered. ‘What’s her idea of fun anyway?” you asked in a small, horrified voice as Natasha opened the front door.

“Get dressed,” Natasha called. “Ten minutes. I leave with or without you.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Congratulations. You’ve been Romanoff’d.”

Bucky, now taking back his eggs, gave you a flat look and a lazy wave. Then, with zero sympathy, he nudged your chair with his foot. “Go. Now.”

You groaned, already standing. “God help me,” you muttered, fast walking to your room like your life depended on it because with Natasha Romanoff waiting at the door, it just might.

——

Spending the day with Natasha Romanoff was nothing like you’d expected, but exactly what you needed. She didn’t drag you to brunch to get bottomless mimosas or ask how you were feeling. Instead, she tossed you into the passenger seat of a black Corvette Stingray, drove like every red light was a suggestion, and took you to an underground boxing gym in Brooklyn where she taught you how to properly throw a punch. You expected sympathy, but she gave you bruised knuckles and a protein bar.

Later, she made you walk through the city with her, mostly in comfortable silence, stopping only to grab overpriced lattes and people-watch like spies on a stakeout. At one point, she handed you a pair of sunglasses and muttered, “Put these on. We’re stalking your ex.” You tried to protest, but she was already leading the way, reciting tire-slashing tips like they were ancient wisdom. “Don’t worry,” she added coolly, “I’ll make sure there’s no trace.” You still don’t know how she found Adam’s car, but you did it, and oddly enough, it felt like therapy.

By the time you got back to the loft, your head felt a little clearer, your shoulders a little lighter, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest had eased. You didn’t feel fixed, but you finally didn’t feel like rotting for the foreseeable future.

Now, the five of you were sprawled across the loft’s living room, half-watching The Princess Diaries play on the TV. It was Sam’s idea, of course. He insisted that Bucky had to be cultured, and no one else had any other suggestions.

Steve sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, fully invested. Bucky was squinting at the screen like he was trying to solve a murder. Natasha, lounging in the armchair with her legs propped on the ottoman, glanced at you. You were pitifully curled up under a blanket with a bowl of ice cream. She gave you a once-over, then turned to Steve.

“She needs a rebound.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to disagree, but instead he gave Natasha a thoughtful look and decided to keep his mouth shut.

You choked on your spoon. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Exactly,” Nat said coolly, not missing a beat. “You’re sitting, you’re sad, and you haven’t been laid in…?”

“Do not answer that,” Sam interjected, hands raised. “Please, I beg.”

Unfazed, Natasha went on. “You need someone pretty who’ll tell you your hair looks good and you know… absolutely ruin you in the best way.”

Your face flushed an alarming shade of red as you stared hard at the TV. “I need to get struck by lightning.”

“Whatever you do,” Bucky said flatly from the opposite end of the couch, “Do it at his place. I’m not hearing that.”

Sam gagged dramatically. “Can we not talk about her getting defiled during Princess Diaries?’

“Uh-uh,” Natasha cut in smoothly, already pulling out her phone. “No talking unless you’re volunteering, I need to focus.”

Before anyone could argue, she cast her screen onto the TV, replacing The Princess Diaries entirely. Sam let out a horrified gasp as the screen flickered.

“Nat! Princess Mia was about to give a speech!”

“Shhh,” Natasha waved him off. “This is more important.”

On the screen, three crisp photos appeared in a neat row.

“These,” she said, gesturing toward the candidates like she was presenting a PowerPoint presentation, “are all people we know. Which means they’re not losers… not really. Low emotional investment, good hygiene, passably good-looking. All solid rebound options.”

The screen displayed the following candidates:

Johnny Storm — Shirtless in a bathroom mirror, abs flexed, sunglasses on indoors. There was a 99% chance this selfie had originally been sent to someone else, or possibly everyone else. He looked like the human embodiment of a “wyd?” text at 2 a.m. “This guy? Really?” Bucky sighed, genuinely disappointed. “Slim pickings, huh?” “I’d steer clear with this one,” Steve added with a grimace.

Sébastien Noir — A S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a sleek black-and-white headshot, clearly pulled from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D file (because, of course, Nat had access to that). Dark hair and a darker smirk. Very French, very suave. “Could be the next James Bond,” Natasha said casually. “Or a complete poser,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Matt Murdock — The Avengers’ lawyer. Crisp navy suit, tousled hair, holding a cane and leaning casually against a brownstone like he walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation if it was directed by Scorsese. “I like this one,” Sam said with a thoughtful nod, “Lawyers have money.”

After much deliberation and a fair amount of peer pressure, you begrudgingly settled on Sébastien Noir. Johnny had given you nothing but red flags, and you didn’t hate yourself enough to fall for a walking thirst trap with the romantic depth of a frat boy..

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, was too much. Too handsome, too smart, and too put together. You weren’t emotionally stable enough to be perceived by someone that kind, and to be honest, it felt borderline disrespectful to label him a rebound.

So… Sébastien it was.

Tall, French, and suspiciously charming, he felt like the safest terrible decision. There was a certain relief in choosing someone who came with low expectations and virtually no risk of actual feelings. If it all went up in flames, you could just blame it on ‘cultural misunderstanding’... or Natasha.

“Are you sure about this…?” Steve asked cautiously, like he might step in and offer a better alternative if you gave him even a hint of hesitation.

“Not really,” you admitted with a frown. “I feel like I’m setting feminism back a few decades.”

“That’s how you know you chose the right rebound,” Natasha nodded while typing something on her phone, probably texting Sébastien himself.

Bucky didn’t even bother commenting. He just sat there, slowly shaking his head like a man watching a car crash.

“What? No notes?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“This is just… unbelievable,” He simply muttered, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth like he was trying to eat away his disapproval.

“To your slut era, I guess,” Sam said half-heartedly, raising his beer before switching the TV back to Princess Diaries like nothing life-altering had just occurred.

——

Later that evening, on your way out of your room to brush your teeth, you caught a glimpse of Bucky standing by the hallway closet you jokingly dubbed the mini armory. The door was open, and dim light spilled out over the floor. He was unraveling a black bundle you vaguely remembered seeing months ago, back when you were just trying to store your cleaning supplies.

You paused in your room’s doorway, unsure if he’d want company.

The cloth slipped from his hands to reveal a silver prosthetic arm with a red star near the shoulder area.

“So that’s what it was,” you said softly, stepping out just enough for him to hear.

Bucky froze. His head turned slightly, shoulders tense. “You were looking around here?”

“I just thought it was a normal closet, okay?” you said quickly, holding your hands up. “I was just looking for somewhere to stash my Swiffer and boom… murder closet.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. Barely.

“I should throw this thing out. Make room for your junk.”

You smiled just a little at the jab. “I don’t know…” You said, tilting your head. “I kinda think you should keep it.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s good to have a reminder of how far you’ve come,” you said, meeting his eyes. Then, with a wry twist of your lips, you added, “And also, maybe we can use it as a talking stick. In my class, we pass around this glittery baseball bat to stop the kids from yelling over each other. This could be our version.”

That earned you a real smirk this time, brief but genuine. “You’re weird.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” you said with a shrug, just as your phone buzzed.

You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Sébastien. Bucky noticed, and his smirk immediately faded.

“You’re going through with Romanoff’s idea?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“Why not?” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “It could be fun.”

“You’re going to regret it,” he warned, putting his old prosthetic back inside the closet like he was wrapping up the conversation.

“Probably,” you called over your shoulder as you turned to the bathroom, “But at least I won’t be looping Pride and Prejudice in my room anymore.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just gave you one last unreadable look before retreating to his room and closing the door with a soft click.

—————————————————————————————————— End Notes: this was so dumb i cracked myself up writing this one. oh and for some reason, when i was writing this i kept imagining Sébastien (original character) as Sebastian Stan when he was the mad hatter in ONCE hashsdhasdhahdfh i need to sleep oh and i will be changing the summaries to look like friends episode titles because why not

tags: @projectjuvia @vibraniumavenger @mommymilkers0526 @iyskgd @pllwprincess @hiraethmae @b1pan1cg1rly @starstruckfirecat @soupiemeowmeow @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @cherrypieyourface @lasnych @okbutiambabygorl @herejustforbuckybarnes @ilistentotayswifttocope @s-sh-ne @ficmeiguess @alagalaska

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moonchild1 · 1 year ago

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park jimin fic rec list (Ⅲ)

woah it really has been a long time since i posted but i am so glad to be back and to get back into reading i saw so many of my favourite authors have updated and i am beyond excited to start this journey again but in the mean time here's jimin rec list as promised it was so exciting finishing this list cause i got so nostalgic making it and reading all the old fics i had on my reading list ughhh i just loved it so much and it got me back into the swing of things and i cant wait to make more lists, i do have another jjk list ready and i will post it the day after tomorrow so i hope you enjoy this one and don't forget to show all the love and support in the world to these amazing authors they work so hard to create these fics for us and they deserve endless praise and love for the commitment and generosity they have so please do leave them a comment, heart or reblog a small comment can go a long way here and can make someone smile even bigger so dont don't shy away from making someone happy... as usual you guys know this fics i recommend contain smut so minors don't interact you will be blocked... i really do love hearing from you guys so if you do have a little fic you are super into right now and you just want to rant about how amazing it is feel free to send me an ask 😊🖤

a- angst s- smut f- fluff

series

plot twist by @xpeachesncream f s a

↳ jimin isn’t interested in fake dating, but he’s definitely interested in getting to know someone the right way. after all, he feels like he’s ready to put himself out there and give it all he’s got. so, he takes a risk in trying something completely out of his comfort zone and hops on the new, popular dating app - only to come across and get to know someone he didn’t expect to meet.

a remedy for mondays by @dovechim s

↳ all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

it’s okay, that’s love by @/dovechim f s a deals with deep subjects

↳ People are constantly making some kind of connection with each other- be it friendship or romance. But human bonds always lead to messy complications; commitment, sharing, driving people to the airport, letting them get up close and personal with the darkest parts of ourselves. And sure- it’s scary as hell to watch them cross those boundaries you’ve so meticulously drawn, but it’s okay, because that’s love.

so it goes by @/dovechim f s

↳ Park Jimin knows a lot about humans. of course he does, he studies them for a living. he knows that they say hello by holding hands, and when they say goodbye, they put their arms around each other. but this particular human, he notes, is unlike the rest- stuck in a slump, going about your day praying for the Universe to stage an intervention in the form of an alien abduction. when he decides to finally fulfil your wishes, he finds that you have a little something to teach him about what it means to live life on Earth the way you do: ugly crying, underwear and all. in return, he shows you the possibilities that abound if you simply adopted their mantra: everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

love again by @taestefully-in-luv f s a

↳ A friend of yours is eager to introduce you to her new man but what happens when Park Jimin, the man who broke your heart 5 years ago walks in through the door?

the other woman: the seduction and the illusion by @namjooningelsewhere f s a

↳ No one told you being the other woman would never be easy, No one told you that his love would be two sides to a same coin. No one told you he came to you because you were his escape to his demons. No one told you he would always call you his, but he would never be yours. And most importantly no one told you, He never loved you because you dont destroy the people you love.

FUTURE HEARTS by @jungblue f s a ft. jjk

↳ It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

after the applause by @foxymoxynoona

↳ Jimin doesn't know how he would have made it this far after the shattering of his world without the support of his thoughtful, generous, helpful neighbor. Hanbyul has lived next to hottie Jimin and his adorable daughter for years now, long enough to remember the wife he was so devoted to and lost far too young. With each safely ensconced on their side of the brick wall of the Parks' grief, it will take an enterprising little scientist to set the stage for a second chance at love.

saved by @to-star-lake s a

rockstar au deep subjects read warnings

midnight memories by @hobipaint f s a

↳ there's drunk habits, and then there's drunk mistakes. What do you call meeting your friend - no, ‘former friend’ - at a bar, getting drunk with him and sleeping- 'accidentally' - with him? especially when everyone already knows that you stay away from him as much as the day does from night?

Easy. You forget about it.

heartbreak chronicles by @sugaxjpg s

↳ Park Jimin had it all — good grades, a place as the soccer team’s captain and, more than that, the broken hearts of at least half the campus’ population. Though, one thing he did not have was someone willing to break his heart and, after you were dragged inside a miraculous plan to play that part, the last thing counted on was the preposterous idea that, perhaps, you could fall for him as well.

drifting by@hongcherry f a

↳ After being assigned different partners for your midterm routine, your and Jimin’s relationship starts to deteriorate when you both begin spending more time away from each other and with your assigned partners instead.

growing pains by @taleasnewastime f s a

↳ Growing up the daughter of the boss of a gang is never easy, but normally the problems are around being given too many responsibilities, or the risk of being connected to a gang leader, or wanting to escape but not being able to. But you’ve got a different problem, you want more responsibility, want to be like your brother who’s been named heir, want a role in the family gang. Your whole life you’ve been denied what you want, being born a female seemingly your main issue; perceived as weak, naïve, trying to step above your station. But as unsupportive and dismissive as your family is, there is always the bright light that is Jimin; the boy you love but can never have.

tuqburni by @solastia f s a ft.myg

↳ You’ve spent two years building a life with Yoongi who you loved more than anything in the world. Now, his ex-boyfriend Jimin is back in the picture, and Yoongi begs you not to make him choose between the two of you, offering the choice of a polyamorous relationship. Though your heart is shattered, you agree.

stardust by @venusjeon f a

↳ struck by your beauty, Jimin begs to paint you naked behind the world's back so as not to stain your influential family—his patrons—with scandal.

drift by @snackhobi f s

↳ You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

the deli diaries by @jimlingss f

↳ Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

best of me by @xotoosweet f a

↳ when he tells the story of how he met you in a few years, he'll claim that it was meant to be. you'll laugh and call it a coincidence. it was a coincidence that on the first day of summer semester, he decided to go on a run (though he claimed he always ran in the mornings). it was a coincidence that he chose a less traveled path in the university arboretum that morning. and it was definitely a coincidence that you were there, sitting on the rail of the river bridge.

the ten days of ex-mas by @kpopfanfictrash f s a

↳ Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling.

strip by @yoonia f s a

↳ Summary | Everything you have done has always been about surviving life and raising your child on your own. Having someone else caring about you was the last thing you had expected. Especially when that someone is the same man you have watched performing every night on stage and secretly admired. But will he run the moment he finds out about your little secret waiting at home?

falling by @/yoonia s a

↳ For Park Jimin, you are everything he will ever need—his assistant, his housekeeper, his task runner, his fairy godmother. For you, he is more than everything. You have dedicated your life for him and, before you even realised it, your heart belongs to him alone. The only problem is that he is never yours, and you are living in a world that your love for him is nothing more than a fairytale ending. As you are suddenly given a chance to wake up and face the real world, will you be ready to embrace it? Will he be ready to deal with the world without you in it?

wrapped around by @jjkfire ft. kth f s a

↳ Freshman year was a mess and sophomore year doesn’t seem to be looking too good either. You know boys like them are no good for you but maybe they’re just your kind of type

baby, baby by @hobiwonder f s a

↳ When you’ve run out of savings to continue on to the last semester of your Bachelors - you take an unorthodox route. Helping a desperate couple have a child and getting paid for it? Heck yeah. But what do you know - it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

love at first touch by bagelswrites (ao3)

↳ The first time you meet your soulmate, it leaves a bruise on both of you at the point of contact. From then on, your body begins rejecting any sustenance other than the touch of your soulmate. The trick is, the bruises take a few hours to appear, so you have to figure out who you've touched and find them before you starve to death. But once you do, all you ever need is them. So what happens if you're an idol and you meet your soulmate at a fan event?

our little family by @nightbts f a

↳ you were living a simple life filled with simple dreams; combining your two most loved things in life, children and teaching, you were starting out your career as a teacher at the local pre-school. but little did you know, how one child and her very special father, would change your simple life into something extraordinary

one-shot 35

brand new eyes by @missgeniality s

↳ Jimin’s eyes had potential to ruin you, and tonight you test the damage.

waves by @shina913 s

↳ It's Valentine's Day and your boyfriend decides to spice things up with a little surprise for you.

failure to communicate by @gukslut s

↳ Enemies to Lovers/ College AU

physical by @ppersonna f s

↳ you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it’s enough to make you irrational.

good for you by @candlewaxandp0lar0ids s

↳ Jimin can’t help the way he drowns himself in you. Why should he anyway?

ho-ho-home by @jjungkookislife s a

↳ Golden neighbor extraordinaire, Park Jimin, is (unintentionally) stealing your spotlight this holiday season. Despite your one sided rivalry with him, all Jimin wants is for you to remember him, to remember your past and hopefully create a future with you.

100km/hour by @chateautae s

↳ what exactly happens when you and your friends have to pile into one car for the ride home after an insane halloween party, and you find yourself sitting in park jimin’s lap? especially when he’s dressed as an angel, and you’re in the sluttiest devil costume ever?

what it's like by @jimilter s

↳ You’ve always heard great tales about how good the infamous fuckboy on campus, Park Jimin, is in bed, and wondered if there could be any truth behind these claims when the guy looks like an angel with his cheruby cheeks and precious smiles. So when a new gossip starts to circulate about how ‘hard he hits’, you have had enough of the suspense and decide to finally sample him yourself.

feel your touch by @/jimilter f s a

↳ You have always known yourself to be a sexual switch in bed, flipping between exercising and submitting control according to different situations and partners. And this camboy you are addicted to, one that seems to kinda reciprocate your interest, submits so beautifully that you just want to command him. But when things progress to levels you never anticipated, you end up discovering pleasant surprises that might just change your life.

the prince’s cinderella syndrome by @/jimilter f s a ft jjk

↳ He shows up at Halloween, every year, dressed the same, and leaves at midnight like some Cinderella. You would think he was a prankster if his eyes didn't look like they contained all the sadness in the world. You don't know him - no one on campus does. You don't know why he appears only once a year. You don't know why he never smiles. But you can't help falling in love with him. Even if he breaks your heart when he abandons you at midnight, again.

scream your panties by @opaljm s a

↳ As your midterms have ended and Halloween has arrived, you are looking forward to a pleasant time relaxing and enjoying the festivities at your sorority and Jimin’s frat houses. Luck is not in your favor, though, because things keep going wrong like a trail of dominoes falling – the only upside to your slowly deteriorating day being that you get to end it with your boyfriend’s delicious self between your legs.

first snow, last kiss by @taeshobipop f s a

↳ He broke your heart four years ago; the old loving memories of your time together now tainted by pure betrayal. Yet in the haze of new snow, after returning home for the first time, the moments you had once convinced yourself were nothing but a lie, reveal themselves to be otherwise.

antifreeze by @winetae s

↳ Jimin participates in the school’s adaption of The Nutcracker for extra credit but doesn’t expect his new dance partner to a) be this bad at dancing and b) be this fucking cute

what she likes by @untaemedqueen f s

idol au husband au marriage au

only you by @personasintro f s a

↳ you’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad

sucker by @/personasintro s a

↳ You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin. Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

please, lie to me by @ressjeon s a

↳ "centuries of loyalty vs. only months of fucking, how could you miscalculate?"

summer synchrony by @seokkgenie f s a

↳ childhood friends to lovers

neon seoul @readyplayerhobi f s a

↳ It the city of New Seoul, another homicide isn’t newsworthy but instead just a statistic. But when the son of the mayor is murdered in an alley in a shady part of the city? Then it’s important. You and your partner, Detective Park Jimin, are given the honour of investigating the crime. Will you find out who killed him? Or will you fail?

serendipity by @btsracket s a ao3

↳ It's serendipitous. Jimin braces for darkness but finds his light instead.

the boyfriend concept by @/kpopfanfictrash s

↳ Win a Date with a Porn Star! You saw the sign when you walked in, of course, but you had no idea your friend dropped your name into the raffle. Fast-forward to later that day, when you actually win. You are horrified, of course, with no intention of accepting and setting yourself up for embarrassment. But then you meet Jimin, and decide this might be worth a shot.

Lovely Demons by @/kpopfanfictrash s a

↳ As penance for a crime committed long, long ago, the Witch Council banished you to the feared Tholoss forest. Your sentence was one hundred thousand days of solitude – or death, whichever came first. Your only hope of salvation comes from the demon names routinely sent your way; creatures who escape the inner circles of Hell and pose a threat to the mortal realms. For each demon you kill, days are removed from your sentence. For years you’ve existed, biding your time, until one morning you receive a name which throws your entire world into chaos: the name of Park Jimin, High Prince of Hell himself.

blue blood by @joonbird s a

↳ “Prince Jimin was born with blue blood. His coronation is rapidly approaching, but there are two requirements he must fulfil before becoming a king. He must have the skills to fight in battle, and he must have a Queen with blood as blue as his. You, a member of the royal guard, are assigned to teach Jimin the ins and outs of combat. You are not scared of death, of blood, or of battle. What you are scared of however, is falling in love with Jimin, the one man your blood decrees you can never have.”

i want to be with you by @oddinary4bts f s a

↳ moving to Seoul has always seemed like a good idea, until the bubble bursts when you realize your new neighbor is Park Jimin, and he's not the sweet angel you've always imagined him to be. Will the reality of Park Jimin forever be a nightmare, or will he turn into a sweet dream?

locked in love by @parkmuse f s a

↳ Getting locked in the mall on Christmas eve isn’t ideal, but getting locked in the mall with your brothers best friend that you haven’t seen in a while? Well, it might have been alright if you didn’t have feelings for him.

peaches and cream by @snackhobi s

↳ you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

reset by @/dovechim s

↳ We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

the dark side of the moon by @/dovechim s

↳ falling in love at first sight is cliche, not until it happens to you on a dark night in a lonely alley. but you’re only human, while Park Jimin is Alpha of his pack; it could never work out. so you resort to pining for him like a wolf howling at the moon, but when Jimin goes feral, that’s when everything changes.

Unconditionally by @kstopping s a

↳ Jimin constantly torments you. But you love it.

Instinct by @evangelene f a

↳ A lost child appears into your life only to bring you closer Jimin–a man that you’d thought you’d hated once upon a time. Now all you want is to be there for the child, and maybe his father–but only if his mother gets the hell out of the way.

eternal sunlight by @kidguk f s a

↳ “college and soulmate au where the first words your soulmate will say to you are tattooed on your wrist. jimin thinks he met his soulmate exactly four months after he met and fell in love with you. you can’t explain your attraction or your feelings toward him, even though technically you’re meant to be with other people. taehyung and jungkook helpfully suggest that the universe might be glitching.”

foul play by @kimvtae f s a

↳ Everyone loves a good rivalry, and the students at your university are no exception. Unluckily for you, the rivalry of the decade is between yourself and a furiously irritating Park Jimin. A top gymnast and a basketball star shouldn’t cross paths, but Jimin makes his way into your heart before you can put a stop to it.

lost and found by @/kimvtae s a

↳ The only thing bigger than Park Jimin’s ass is his ego. After one too many scandals, after one too many mornings stumbling back to the dorms drunk or ruining the reputations of other idols, Jimin is given an ultimatum: complete a rehabilitation program in America or leave Bangtan.

if we were a movie by @/kimvtae f s a

↳ Friends with benefits never worked in the movies, but you and Jimin had been friends for so long, it was bound to work for you. Until, of course, Jimin gets a girlfriend, and you fear you may lose your friendship with him for good.

the pull of the tides by @goldenscript f s

↳ The expanse of the deep blue sea has always drawn you in. Each ebb and flow of the tides never ceasing to take your breath away. And now, a boy with hair as light as the morning sun and a smile just as bright does too.

hard to say by @floralseokjin f s a

↳you've had feelings for your best friend Jimin for as long as you can remember, but you always thought they were unreciprocated. What if it turned out they weren’t...?

↬looking for pjm library or the other members check out my library

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