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akanemnon · 2 years ago

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TWIN RUNES MASTERPOST

Because of the limited amount of links you can put into a post, you can find the links to each page in these sub-posts:

To be continued...

FAQ under the cut!

TWIN RUNES MINI COMICS

Glasses - Frisk Dance - But nobody came - An acquired taste -Smalltalk - All You Can Eat - Page 75 EXTRA - Page 84 EXTRA - Kris the Detective - Don't Try This at Home

AFTER RUNES:

Not-To-Do-List - Beach Episode - Salute the Frick - Morning Routine - The Universe is a Hologram - Trick as a Treat - Taste the Painbow - Dungeon Doofus - Tour de Nope - Explosive Start - Conveniently shaped... - Sibling Bonding - Home for Iinfite Avoidance - Be Mine Moss - Canine Collision - FUUUUUUTUREEEEE - Nontendi - Mango - Normal Human Interaction

PRE-RUNES:

Fallen down - First steps - Press [C] - Eye opening - Whatstheirface - This Nugget is Not in Service Acid reflux - Connection issues - Normal Human Behavior - Hide and Squeaky Clean

TWIN ROOMIES:

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TWIN RUNES - FAQ

What exactly is this AU about? Twin Runes is essentially a comedic crossover AU between the universes of Deltarune and Undertale. No fancy nicnacs. Just the characters being their chaotic selves. But there might be some darkness lurking up ahead... ____________________

When is the next comic? The comic updates most Sundays at 6:30 PM Central European Time. ____________________

Why is this AU called Twin Runes? The name is more or less a play on the typical naming format of most AU's by featuring the "Runes" part. There are no literal Twin Runes. The whole name is more of a stand in for Undertale and Deltarune as parallel worlds. Hence the "Twin" part. ____________________

When does Twin Runes take place? This AU takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of Deltarune. On the Undertale side of things, it takes place post neutral route just as Frisk was about to deliver Undyne's letter to Alphys.

How many pages are there going to be? The script for this comic estimates that the comic is going to be 137 pages long (if I don't make any major changes). ____________________

What software do you use to make your art/the comic? I use Clip Studio Paint. ____________________

Is the Player a thing in this AU? The Player(s) lost control over both human children as soon as Frisk entered the world of Deltarune. Essentially, the reader takes on the role of the Player. You have no influence on the outcome of the story anymore. All you can do is watch. Both Kris and Frisk refer to the Player as "It" and "the THING". ____________________

Is there going to be a Weird Route? Due to the lack of Player, all choices made by Kris are now their own. How to engage in battle all depends on Kris, and not the Player. Because of that, there are NO DIFFERENT ROUTES. There is only one route and that one is based on Kris' choices. Because of the lack of save points, there is no "what-if" scenario. ____________________

When Chapter 3 and 4 are released, will it affect the story? Any chapters after Chapter 3 won't affect the story in the grand scheme of things. Twin Runes created a new timeline so to speak. UPDATE: We are nearing the final arc of the story. The script has been long completed and is set in stone. Even with Chapter 3 and 4's release there is no way for me to incorporate anything from Chapter 3 (read the rest of the FAQ) into the story without making a mess of things. Yes, that also includes your favorite character Pluey. UPDATE OF THE UPDATE: Since Twin Runes was created before Chapters 3 and 4, there are bound to be inconsistencies going forward!Luckily, this is an AU, and I designed it to be purposefully off in some parts because I knew I would inevitably be wrong!!!! So no. There won't be any references to Chapter 3 in the comic going forward (since the story takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and 4 [so not the canon ones]) And it won't be moved downwards the timeline. ____________________

How old are the characters in this story? Frisk appears to be around 9 years old. Kris thinks they're 14. (Both Frisk and Kris don't know their actual age.) Chara died when they were around 10-11. Susie is around 15-16 (she was held back once) Ralsei appears to be the same age as Kris. ____________________

What's up with Kris' and Frisk's hair? The red bits of their hair is more or less a representation of their souls. That in turn is also why Chara doesn't have that feature. They are soulless. It's a stylistic choice. ____________________

What's that thing on Kris' chest? It's a scar they got from tearing out their soul.

And why do they have weird lines all over their body? Both Kris and Frisk's anatomy resemble that of ball-jointed dolls. They appear just as markings across their bodies. Think of them as elaborate birthmarks. Kris and Frisk are still made of flesh and blood, but are in fact hypermobile. The reason as to why they do is still a little secret :) People here like to refer to these markings as "puppet limbs". You can get a better look at them and the scar in this artwork

Why does Kris have braces? This is why:

Are old art, comics and asks from your blog part of Twin Runes? Unless stated otherwise, all art that was made prior to the start of the comic are not canon to Twin Runes. That mainly includes the old asks. __________________

Why is Dark World Frisk green? Frisk changes their main sweater colors with Kris when they enter the Dark World.

Could other ghosts see Chara? (pre Darkner transformation) No, only Frisk and Kris were able to see Chara. ____________________

IS KRIS NOW FRISK'S COUNTERPART OR CHARA'S???? :) ____________________

Where are Jevil and Spamton? Are they in Castle Town? The Fun Gang have already fought these two in the previous chapters and added them into their inventory. Outside of that little dream sequence, neither will be making an appearance. ____________________

Is anyone from Undertale Yellow gonna make an apperance? Outside of a tiny cameo from Clover (that has no greater bearing on the story) no one from Undertale Yellow is going to make an appearance. ____________________

How would the characters from Deltarune react if they met their Undertale counterpart? The universe would implode if that happens. ____________________

But what abou- The. Universe. Would. Implode. Next question! ____________________

How did you come up with the idea of Twin Runes? Twin Runes is an offshoot of a separate script I started in 2023. The concept of this script is similar to Twin Runes, but turned on its head. The funny moments in that script made me continue what now is the start of Twin Runes. I pretty much just wanted to see if I am actually capable of drawing a comic to begin with. So... in a way Twin Runes is my first attempt at a comic ever. If I ever finish Twin Runes, then I know I can tackle turning that mammoth project of a script into a comic too. In the grand scheme of things these two projects are sister series. They have A LOT in common and even share similar plot elements. When Twin Runes is over you will automatically also know certain mysteries of The Other Script. ____________________

What is The Other Script? As of this moment I call The Other Script: "Lost in the In-Between". At its core it's an inverse of Twin Runes. I.e. Kris falling into the underground and being aided by Frisk on their quest to return home. The story is considerably more grounded than Twin Runes and so are the characters. Though they do have their silly moments from time to time. The overall mood of that script is a lot darker in nature and it's a 200+ page passion project of mine. The script OF The Other Script is not open to the public. Only a select few people have access to it for proof reading. ____________________

Is there x ship in Twin Runes? The focus of this story is not on shipping. If it's in the game it will very likely be mentioned or brought up, but that's about it. ____________________

What pronouns do the human children use in this story? THEY/THEM FOR ALL OF THEM WITHOUT ANY EXCEPTIONS. That is what they are in this story. This is not open to interpretation. Please respect that. If this is a dealbreaker for you, then unfortunately this story is not for you.

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ABOUT FAN CONTENT

Am I allowed to make fanart? ABSOLUTELY! You are very welcome to make fanart if you feel like it. Please let me know if you do by tagging me, so I can share it with everyone to see so that you get the appreciation you deserve! ____________________ Can I use the funny faces you draw for memes or for stuff like memes or for profile pictures? That's what they're here for! ____________________

Am I allowed to translate the comic and post the translation to a different site? I get asked very often by people who want to translate my comic in different languages, so it's quite hard for me to keep up with who asked for permission or not. This is why the comic is free to translate if you like. All I ask is that you are well-versed in the language you're translating it into and to please link the original work with the proper credit given. ------------------------

Am I allowed to dub your comic? See the point above. You are free to dub the comic if you like. The same simple rules apply. With ONE important rule you NEED to adhere to... -----------------------

If I create content off your comic (dubbing, translations, etc...), am I allowed to monetize it? NO. Everything about Twin Runes is NON-PROFIT. Meaning that I don't make any money off this comic either, as it is purely fan content. If I see people making money off my work, I WILL use my right to ask you to remove it.

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ABOUT ASKS

Asks will open after a new comic has been released. I will queue the questions from Monday until Friday. Once the queue is full, asks will close. Your questions will then be answered over the course of the week.

Try not to submit multiple asks. If necessary, just keep everything in one post.

Keep in mind that I receive AL LOT of asks. There is no guarantee that every question will be answered.

Questions containing spoilers will not be answered on principle. Wouldn't be as fun if the surprise was ruined, right?

Before leaving an ask (mostly for everyone who's new), please make sure to read the FAQ section above. A lot of times your question might have been answered already.

I love memes and dumb jokes as much as the next guy, but try not to spam

It probably goes without saying, but please stay civil. I want to give everyone the respect they deserve, and naturally like to be treated the same way.

Please be mindful about drawing requests. It is understandable if you're eager to see a certain character drawn in my style, but I do not like to be bombarded by requests. The more it happens, the less likely I am to do it. Be kind and ask nicely.

I don't take unsolicited comic ideas.

Don't use other people's posts that I reblogged to ask me questions! It has happened before and I do not wish to see this!

This isn't an ask blog. The comic has a script that will not deviate. Reader interaction with the characters won't be possible due to the overall "no Player" subplot.

Please do not ask me to put your characters into the story. Like I said, the script is already finished and I'm quite happy with it. Your characters are in better hands with yourself and your own stories. Please have respect for mine.

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ABOUT SUBMISSIONS

The submission box is for FANART ONLY!

It is meant for those who do not want to submit their fanart to their own blogs, in case they feel scared or intimidated to do so.

ASKS AND REQUESTS THAT ARE SUBMITTED THIS WAY WILL NOT BE ANSWERED.

Please wait until the ask box opens. You can read more on how asks work in the section above.

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REFERENCE SHEETS

The following are ref sheets of characters that don't have established Dark World forms yet (as of writing this comic). The list will be updated as soon as a new character enters the Dark World. Here you will also find references of characters that might appear as surprise cameos, or maybe even completely new faces...

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FULL ART

#twin runes #twin runes masterpost #masterpost #deltarune comic #comic #deltarune au #crossover #undertale #my art #FAQ #frequently asked questions #important #please read #deltarune

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sistertotheknowitall · 11 months ago

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Some guy gets arrested

Inspired by @medium-sized-ghost addition to the Original Post.

Masterpost

“So sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

“No, I understand. I’m just glad to see the law doing their job so well.” Bruce continues pleasantly through the police station with Commissioner Gordon leading the way.

“We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible, but in the meantime you will need to unfortunately be placed in holding.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem, it was my mistake missing my court date like that. Time just gets away from me sometimes, you know?” Nevermind the fact that Bruce hadn’t even known about said court date or the speeding ticket it was for. He couldn’t prove which child had taken his car for a joy ride, but his prime suspects were Jason or Dick. (He would later find out that it was Stephanie upon a dare from Duke. He already attempted to banned them from playing Truth or Dare after Tim convinced Dick to do a handstand on Jason’s bike going 95 down the freeway. Not that Dick really needed any convincing.)

“Well you’re in luck, one cell is mostly empty.” It was a small cell closer to the front. Bruce could see a teenager laying on the bench to the right. Gordon opened the door and stood to the side so Bruce could enter and locked the door behind him. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Bruce smiled, “No, thank you.” Gordon nodded and looked past Bruce at the only other occupant in the cell, “What about you kid? Anything?”

Bruce watched as the kid, one he unfortunately recognized, lifted his arm from where it was thrown over his eyes and waved it in the air at the commissioner, “I’m good.” The arm went back down. Gordon grunted, “alright Officer Mitchell is keeping watch, call out if either of you need anything.”

With that Bruce was left alone with the boy who had befuddled and befriended his many children. He sat on the opposite bench and thought about how best to approach the young man. Danny had never responded well to Batman and there was no telling how he would respond to Bruce. According to Tim, Danny actually had some respect for Bruce and the money he dumped into bettering Gotham. (When it was announced that the public library was being renovated Danny had interrogated Tim about it and then offered his own opinions on how to involve more of the general population.)

Bruce didn’t think the time called for his “Brucie” persona and he couldn’t be Batman at the moment. He could approach the boy in a “fatherly” manner but that approach rarely worked on his own kids, he didn’t think it would work on this one.

“Have you called anyone?”

Danny looked out from under his arm and stared at Bruce suspiciously. In hindsight it was a creepy question.

Bruce brought his hands up and breathed a laugh, “I’m sorry, I meant have you been given your one phone call?” Danny didn’t move. “Why? You a lawyer?” He eyed Bruce in his nice suit and watch.

Bruce smiled at the boy, “goodness no, I don’t have the attention span for law school. I actually did pre-med before dropping out.”

Danny seemed too curl a little more into himself. It was the most cautious Bruce had ever seen him. He was locked in a Gotham police cell with a man in an expensive suit who seemed completely unconcerned about being arrested, it was wise on Danny’s part to be wary.

Bruce stuck out his hand, “Bruce Wayne.” Slowly, Danny sat up and crossed his arm scoffing, “why would Bruce Wayne be in a holding cell?” Bruce continued to smile at the kid and shrugged, his hand still in the air, “speeding ticket I’m afraid, missed my court date. I do have to say, though, the updated traffic cameras are a good investment by the police department.” “Wayne Enterprises payed for them.” “We did?” Bruce asked, knowing full well it was to give Oracle better camera footage. “You were at the press release.” “Huh.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “mm no, not ringing any bells. I go to so many of those press conferences, they just bleed together after a while.” “Mhm.” Danny still didn’t take the offered hand. Bruce sighed and let it drop back to his lap, “I’d offer to show you my ID but I don’t exactly have it on me.”

They sat and watched each other for a minute. Danny shifted and seemed to make a decision, “I work at a coffee shop and one of your sons is a regular.” Bruce slapped his thigh as if a light bulb suddenly went off, “You’re Danny! Tim’s mentioned you! You know he’s the only one with a weakness for caffeine, the others like to tease him but I don’t think he has an addiction. However, he does seem to spend a lot of time at that shop.” Bruce leaned forward as if confiding a secret, “to be honest, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

Dropping his own arms, Danny sighed. “Yeah, he’s not really that subtle.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s never been good at that. At least not when he’s interested in someone.” Tim was great at subtlety when it came to the mission but never in his personal life. The funny part was he didn’t even draw that distinction on purpose.

“I called a family friend. To answer your question. He should be here soon.” Bruce nodded, “so you do have people you can rely on in town?” “I could have a whole family I can rely on in this city.” Danny said, catching the older man's slip. He shifts further in his seat and stared hard at Bruce.

Bruce knew Danny had no one in town. He did the background check, Danny's whole family lived in Ohio with the exception of his older sister who was in one of the top psychology programs in the country. They seemed to visit each other often but rarely their parents.

The older man dawned an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I assumed when you said ‘a family friend’.” Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him, “are you from Gotham?”

“No,” Danny shifted further back in his seat and didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

It was different from how the boy interacted with Batman. To the billionaires alter ego Danny was defiant and outspoken. He always seemed to say what was on his mind, completely uncaring of the audience he had.

——-

“Mr. Fenton, your god-father is here for you.”

Danny never thought he’d feel this relieved to know Vlad was picking him up. While Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite, something about the man felt off. Danny also didn’t appreciate the questions. What was it to this man if Danny had family near by or not?

One of the cops opens the door with Vlad in his nice suit and overly polished shoes right behind him.

“Daniel, let’s not make this a habit.”

“I was just feeding the homeless dogs!”

“Strays.” Vlad corrected, “while trespassing?”

Danny rolled his eyes and continued pass his “uncle”.

“How am I supposed to know an abandoned building is considered ‘private property’?”

Vlad just sighed.

——

Bonus:

Stephanie would continue to stick to her story, thank you very much. She had every right to punch the creep and she wasn’t backing down. Not even if “the creep” was apparently the son of a very influential prosecutor. A corrupt one, but he was influential nonetheless. Such is the justice system in Gotham.

Even if it landed her in a police station, handcuffed to a desk while said creep cried about the bloody nose she gave him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her legs and continued to glare at the door way that led to the holding cells. It was her night off and she still had to deal with this godforsaken city’s degenerate citizens. God forbid she have a day off.

It was while glaring at said door that Steph noticed a familiar boy walking out with a gentleman she wasn’t familiar with. He was a little behind Danny but reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before leaving the hallway. Steph slid her gaze away but kept her ears open, grateful she was close enough to hear.

“You need to be more careful, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t respond and Steph looked over to see him pull his shoulder away and start walking again.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to bail me out. I could have called Jazz or Sam.”

“Nonsense, it’s good to get out of Wisconsin.”

Steph wrinkled her nose, Wisconsin? The pair continued out of ear shot and shortly out of the station.

When Bruce was released a few minutes later, Stephanie smiled and took great joy in his obvious (to any member of his family) despair and exasperation at seeing her.

Part 8

#I ment to make this more funny but my brain took it somewhere else #I don’t know if I like it.#danny is just some guy #batfam #batfamily #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dp dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc

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demidoodlefox · 2 months ago

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Breakdown - Confrontation AU

>>>><<<<

"Get away from me!" Lucifer yelled. With painstaking effort, he pulled away, one trembling hand swiping at Michael; the other grasped at his chest in a desperate attempt to calm his racing heart.

Tears streamed down his face as he let out a choked sob. He couldn't breathe. Terror was dragging him under. Drowning him, twisting his insides, and chilling him to the bone.

"Dad!" Charlie cried out, catching her father as he fell.

In the past, Michael would've huffed in frustration; told Lucifer to stop this dramatic display. Now, he stood frozen; face scrunched in abject misery as he watched Lucifer trembling and gasping in his daughter's hold.

The guilt weighing down his heart for thousands of years clawed its way up his throat. He wanted to help. Everyone was gathering around his brother and trying to calm him down. He should help.

But how could he when his very presence was the cause of Lucifer's suffering.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do.

A snap of his fingers and a portal opened behind him.

"It's time for us to go, Emily."

>>>><<<<

Set right after Regret. Lucifer will not be accepting hugs from Michael anytime soon, I'm afraid. So what do y'all think? Did Michael do the right thing by noping out of there?

Illustrations/panels accompanied by some flash fiction. I presented a lot of my stories this way in my old blog. Usually reserve them for oneshot scenarios.

It's best to check out the masterpost from time to time. It will often be edited to contain the latest updates. It's also where the content warnings are at.

>>>><<<<

Confrontation AU Masterpost

#demdraws #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #confrontation au #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin charlie #michael gallantblade #archangel michael

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shalaaex · 1 year ago

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back by unpopular demand

im going to try going back to regular updates!! next is gonna be my first like comic fight scene so go easy on me- also id love for advice to help me get better!

Anyways the usual reminder this is an adaption of the fic When Worlds Collide by @celestiangell read here

previous || Masterpost || Next (coming soon)

SEE YA NEXT TIME IM SO TIRED IM PASSING OUT.

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #leo rottmnt #donnie rottmnt #rottmnt angst #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt movie #rottmnt post movie #leosagi #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #amd wwc>>>#wwc comic #wwc #when worlds collide #wwc fic

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the-winter-spider · 4 months ago

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Yours, Always | Part One

Steve x Reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Angst, fluff

A/N: I know the major majority voted for This Love to be the next one I post buuuuuuut my gut was telling me to post this one. I will be posting on Ao3 soon to just because a few people messaged me about it!

As always i will still be updating my other stories i just have its easier for me to be creative when i have multiple things going. Next part of Say dont go soon!

Masterpost

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The smell of tomato sauce fills the kitchen as you stir the pot, trying to focus on the task at hand. The garlic bread is almost ready, the pasta is done, and Steve will be home any minute. It’s a typical night, like any other night, but there’s something tugging at the edges of your thoughts, something that’s been there for days, weeks even. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it’s theres like this persistent knot in your chest that refuses to unravel. It's heavier than the typical weight you’re used to.

Lily’s laughter echoes from the living room, her voice a sweet hum in the background as you stir the sauce one last time. She’s watching some cartoon, probably the one with talking animals who save the world that you’ve memorized every word to by now. You glance at the clock. Steve should be pulling into the driveway soon. Everything is falling into place, just like it always does. Just like it should, just like you hoped for, just like you wanted.

It’s the kind of life you imagined for yourself, stable, predictable, good. And yet, lately, you feel like something’s missing. You don’t feel whole, but yet you haven't felt whole in years.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you wipe your hands on a dish towel before picking it up. It’s a text from your mom. You smile, unlocking the screen to see what she’s sent.

Mom: Look what I found! :)

There’s an attachment, an old photo, grainy and slightly faded. You tap it, and the image fills the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a picture of you and Bucky.

You were maybe eight years old, standing on the playground, grinning like it was the happiest day of your life. Your arm is slung around Bucky’s shoulders, and his arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. His smile is lopsided, the same one you always knew, that mischievous gleam in his bright blue eyes. You had forgotten how blue they were. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in different directions, but it suits him. It always did.

The sight of it hits you like a wave, washing over you in a rush of memories you didn’t realize you’d been holding back. The sounds of the kitchen fade, the smell of the sauce disappears, and you’re not standing there anymore. You’re back there,, back in a time before everything got complicated.

You’re back in third grade, on that day when it all began.

It’s fall, and you’re seven years old, almost eight. Standing on the cracked blacktop of the elementary school playground. The air has that crispness that makes your skin tingle, and the sun is warm on your face, but you don’t notice. You’re too busy staring at the ground, clutching your lunchbox in both hands, wishing you could disappear.

They’ve been circling you for a while now, the group of kids from the fifth grade, the ones who always find something to pick on. Today, it’s you. Today, you're sure it’s your clothes, you were wearing one of your Dads old shirts it was huge and it had holes but it still smelled like him. Or maybe it’s your shoes, the ones that squeak when you walk, or the way your hair frizzes up when the wind blows just right.

You don’t know why they’ve picked you today. You never know. You just know that your throat is tight, and your hands are shaking, and you’re trying not to cry.

“Hey, Y/N,” one of the boys sneers, his voice sharp and cruel. “What’s wrong? Gonna cry again? You gonna run home to Mommy? Since you don't have a Daddy!”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears back. You’ve cried in front of them before, and it only made things worse. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry today, you were going to be strong, because you were strong, your Mom said so. But the lump in your throat is growing, and no matter how hard you try to swallow it down, it won’t go away, it never does.

They laugh, jostling each other, getting closer, their voices growing louder. You want to run, but your legs won’t move. Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground.

“Leave her alone.”

The voice cuts through the taunting like a knife, sharp and clear. You blink, looking up, startled. The group of boys falls silent, and you see a boy standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his face set in a determined frown.

It’s Bucky, he just moved here. You don’t know him at all.

He steps forward, planting himself between you and the group of kids, his chin held high, his blue eyes blazing with a kind of courage you’ve never seen before. He’s smaller than most of the boys, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stands there like a wall, like he’s daring them to do something.

“What do you want, Bucky?” one of the boys mutters, but there’s a shift in the air now. They’re not laughing anymore. They’re not pushing you around.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “I said, leave her alone.”

For a moment, the boys hesitate, glancing at each other. You can see the uncertainty flickering in their eyes, the way they’re sizing him up, trying to decide if he’s worth the trouble. And then, one by one, they start to back off, muttering under their breaths as they turn and walk away.

You stand there, frozen, your heart still pounding in your chest, staring at the boy who just saved you from what felt like the worst moment of your life.

Bucky turns to you, his expression softening as the danger fades away. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentler now, like he’s talking to an old friend.

You nod, still too stunned to speak. You don’t know what to say. You’ve never had anyone stand up for you like that. You’ve seen him around school before, but you’ve never really talked to him. And now, here he is, looking at you like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“I’m Bucky, I’m new” he says, sticking his hand out like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You blink, glancing at his outstretched hand, and then back at his face. He’s smiling now, that crooked grin that makes you feel like everything’s going to be okay. You reach out and shake his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

“Y/N,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he says with a wink. “Wanna be friends?”

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if he’s serious. No one’s ever asked you to be their friend like that, so straightforward, so sure. But then you smile, and you realize that you want nothing more than to say yes.

“Okay,” you say, your voice a little stronger this time. “Yeah. Let’s be friends.”

And just like that, everything changes.

You’re still standing there, staring at your phone, caught in a moment that isn’t here anymore.

You can still hear the laugh that must have come right before the picture was taken. You can still remember the way the sun hit his brown hair just right, making it look lighter than it was. You can still feel the warmth of his arm around you, the way he always pulled you just a little closer, like you were his to protect.

Your fingers hover over the screen, tracing the shape of his smile. You were both so little.

You don’t even hear Steve come in.

The front door opens, closing softly behind him. A rustling of keys, a quiet greeting as he passes the living room. “Hey, kiddo.” You vaguely register Lily’s excited response “Daddy!” then something about cartoons and garlic bread, but you don’t move.

You don’t even notice when his footsteps come closer, steady and familiar, until suddenly, there’s a warm kiss pressed against your cheek, and his voice is right there so soft, loving. “Babe.”

You jolt slightly, blinking, the world around you snapping back into focus. “Huh?”

Steve smiles gently as he pulls back, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his blue eyes. You follow his gaze as he glances down at your phone, which you’re still gripping too tightly in your hands.

Before you can react, he reaches around you, his fingers brushing against yours as he zooms in on the photo. His voice is light, teasing. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen many childhood photos of you?” He tilts his head, grinning. “You’re adorable.”

A small laugh escapes you, though it feels fragile. He never saw any past your eighth birthday because they were all filled with him. You try to relax, try to be present, but the weight in your chest won’t let you.

Then Steve’s expression shifts slightly, the amusement fading just a little as his gaze moves to the boy beside you in the photo. “Who’s that with you?”

Your fingers tighten around the phone before you can stop yourself, your voice small. “Bucky.” The name lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.

And just like that, Steve stills.

He’s heard the name before. Of course he has. He knows the trauma you carry, the grief that shaped you in ways you never talk about. He knows about the years of silence, about the loss that still lingers in the spaces you refuse to acknowledge. Mostly from your Mom filling him in. He knows loss, that's why the two of you work so well, you both lose people around the same time but Steve’s worked through is, you though, you’ve just bottled it up.

But he’s never actually seen him.

Never seen the boy who once held your whole world in his hands.

Steve doesn’t say anything right away. His hand rests lightly on the counter beside you, his other arm brushing against yours as he continues to look at the photo. His silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, thoughtful.

“He looks…” He exhales softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just… I’ve never put a face to the name before.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “Yeah.”

Steve shifts, turning slightly so he can see your face. His voice is quieter now, careful. “You never really talk about him.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Instead, you keep staring at the photo, at the two kids who had no idea what was coming. “I know.”

Steve watches you for a moment, his fingers brushing against yours again. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. Instead, he does what he always does, he gives you space to breathe. “You okay?”

The kindness in his voice nearly undoes you.

You force yourself to nod, to look away from the past and into the present, the man in front of you, the life you built, the warmth that should be enough. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’m fine.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. But he doesn’t call you on it, he never does.

Instead, he leans in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips soft against your temple. “Okay,” he whispers. “If you ever want to talk about him… I’m here.”

You close your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. You don’t deserve him. But right now, you just nod. “I know.”

And just like that, Steve lets it go.

He squeezes your hand before stepping back, moving to take off his jacket. He calls out to Lily, something about setting the table, and just like that the moment passes.

But your phone is still in your hand. And Bucky’s face is still staring back at you.

The sound of the oven timer snaps you back to the present, jerking you out of the memory like a splash of cold water. You blink, shaking your head as the kitchen comes back into focus. The sauce is bubbling, the bread is ready, and Lily is calling your name from the other room.

But your mind is still stuck in that moment, stuck on Bucky’s face, on the way he looked at you, on the way everything felt so simple back then. You glance down at your phone again, the old photo still displayed on the screen, and something inside you twists.

You haven’t thought about Bucky like this in a long time. You haven’t let yourself. There’s too much there, too much to unpack, and you’ve built your life carefully around avoiding those memories. But now, here he is, staring back at you from the past, and you can’t help but wonder how things got so complicated.

“Mommy!” Lily calls from the dining room, her voice full of impatience. “Is dinner ready yet?”

You force a smile, tucking the phone back into your pocket. “Almost, sweetie! Did you set the table?”

She runs off, and you turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce one last time. The garlic bread smells perfect, the pasta is ready, and everything is exactly as it should be.

The three of you gather at the table, the kind of scene you’ve played out a thousand times before. Lily’s already in her seat, bouncing in excitement, her eyes bright green shining as you bring the food to the table.

“Daddy! We’re having pasta!” she exclaims, as if Steve hadn’t already figured that out.

“Looks like it, kiddo,” Steve says, smiling at her. “How was school today?”

Lily launches into a detailed explanation of her day, who she sat with at lunch, what book her teacher read to the class, how she got to be line leader, and what game she played at recess. Steve listens with that attentive smile, nodding and asking just the right questions. He’s good at this, being present, being the father Lily adores.

You’re sitting there, your fork twirling spaghetti absently, but you’re not really listening. You’re watching them, but your mind is miles away. You can still feel the weight of your phone in your pocket, the picture of Bucky tucked away, waiting for you. His grin, his bright blue eyes… It’s all coming back, flooding your thoughts with memories you’d locked away for years.

You don’t realize how quiet you’ve gone until Steve’s voice cuts through the fog. “Y/N?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, meeting his concerned gaze from across the table. “Hmm?”

He smiles gently, but there’s a crease of worry in his brow. “You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet.”

You nod quickly, forcing a smile that you hope is convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

But Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you well enough to see through the surface. He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes searching your face, but then Lily tugs at his arm, pulling his attention back to her.

Dinner wraps up soon after, and you help Lily brush her teeth and get into her pajamas, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed animal. Steve reads her a bedtime story, his voice soothing and steady, and you sit beside him, offering a few smiles as Lily drifts off to sleep.

Everything should feel perfect. This is your life, your family, the life you’ve built with Steve. But as you head down the hall toward your bedroom, that picture of Bucky lingers in the back of your mind, pulling at you in ways you can’t shake.

In the bedroom, Steve pulls off his work shirt, changing into an old t-shirt as you start pulling back the covers. The familiar routine plays out just like every other night. But tonight feels different. There’s a distance you can’t seem to bridge.

Steve climbs into bed, settling against the pillows. He looks over at you, still watching, still noticing.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

You pause for a moment, trying to find the words. You don’t want to lie, but you also don’t want to open up a conversation that you’re not ready for. “I’m fine,” you say, hesitating only slightly. “It’s just… That picture threw me off.”

“C’mere” He says softly, pulling you against his chest. Steve doesn’t say anything for a while.

You’re still resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, a comforting rhythm that should soothe you.

But you can’t stop thinking about the picture.

The one still glowing from your phone screen on the bedside table.

The one Steve had looked at for longer than he probably realized.

The one where you and Bucky were standing under the summer sun, arms slung around each other, grinning like the world belonged to you.

But something about the moment lingers.

Maybe it’s because you know that Steve, for all his kindness, for all his patience, has never actually seen Bucky before.

He’s only ever known of him, the shadow of him, the weight of your grief, the way you never talk about him. And now, for the first time, he had a face to go with the name. It was his adolescent face and you thought what would he think if he saw his face the way you tried to forget. With his little stubble, that dimple on his chin, his ocean eyes, his smile, his everything. You could almost see it so clearly in your head but at the same time you couldn't. You didn't even remember what he sounded like.

You wonder what he thought when he saw it.

You wonder if he were to see other photos of you and him. The ones where the way Bucky would hold you, like it was the most natural thing in the world. If he would notice the way you were looking at each other, no just like best friends, but like something more.

Something that never had the chance to exist.

Steve shifts slightly, exhaling a quiet breath. Then, softly, he asks, “Do you want to tell me about that day?”

Your stomach clenches.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because you do.

You swallow, fingers curling into his shirt. “You really want to know?”

“I’d like to,” Steve says simply. “He was important to you. Is important to you. And I’d like to know more about him from you.”

It’s such a Steve thing to say. So genuine. So unthreatened.

And yet, past tense.

Was.

Steve didn’t mean anything by it. You know that. But the past doesn’t feel like the past. Not when it’s still sitting in the center of your chest, not when it’s still carved into the parts of you that never healed right.

But it’s not Steve’s fault. You know that. There wasn’t a malicious fibre in his body.

So you push the thought down. You swallow hard, ignore the lump in your throat, and nod.

Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head, then leans back against the pillows, waiting. Letting you take your time.

You close your eyes.

And you let yourself go back.

“Come on, come on, you have to!”

Bucky’s voice was breathless with excitement, his hands gripping yours as he dragged you through the crowd. The fairgrounds were packed, kids running with half-melted popsicles, parents struggling to keep up, the sound of laughter mixing with the distant hum of carnival games and the occasional crackling announcement over the loudspeakers.

“Bucky, slow down!” you had whined, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“No way, you’re gonna love this!”

You had barely caught your breath before Bucky stopped in front of the biggest bounce house you’d ever seen.

“Look at it,” Bucky breathed, his eyes wide with awe, like he was staring at something magical. “It’s huge.”

You had crossed your arms. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on.” Bucky turned to you, grinning that grin, the one he always used when he wanted to get away with something. “What’s the Fourth of July without a little fun?”

Before you could protest because you both knew you were about to, he was already kicking off his shoes, already climbing inside, and the next thing you knew, he was bouncing, laughing, calling your name, looking so happy it was impossible to say no.

So you kicked off your shoes, too. And the next ten minutes were pure chaos.

You had both gone flying across the inflatable floor, bouncing so high you nearly crashed into each other half a dozen times. Bucky had grabbed your hands at one point, spinning you in a circle, laughing as you shrieked, as if he could make time stop just by holding onto you..

You had been trying to get back to your feet, still giggling, when Bucky tripped, taking you down with him.

You landed in a tangled heap of limbs, and when you tried to get up, your face was way too close to his, your noses almost touching.

For the first time all afternoon, Bucky had stopped laughing.

For a second, you just… looked at each other.

“Bucky! Y/N! Time for pictures!”

Your mom’s voice snapped the moment in half, and you scrambled away from him, your face warm as you followed her voice. You were thankful for the bounce house because you were blushing like crazy you had almost had your first kiss with Bucky. All the girls in your class had already had their first kiss. But it felt too soon you were only eight so you were grateful for your Mom.

Bucky was still grinning like a fool when he caught up with you, his arm slinging around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Smile!” your mom had called.

And you had. You always smiled when Bucky was near.

Both of you, smiling, glowing, bright with childhood joy, frozen in a moment you’d never get back.

When you open your eyes, the room is quiet.

Steve hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved. His fingers trace slow, absentminded shapes against your back, like he’s trying to hold you here, in this moment, in this life you built with him.

But your mind is still somewhere else.

Still in that bounce house, in the warmth of a Fourth of July that feels like another lifetime.

“My mom took that picture right after we got out,” you whisper. “We were covered in dirt, sweating, our hair was a mess. But we were happy.”

Steve exhales softly. “He sounds like he made you really happy.”

Your throat tightens. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “He did. He was my best friend.”

The words barely make it out.

Steve doesn’t say anything else. He just holds you, letting the silence stretch, letting you breathe.

But even in the quiet, Bucky’s laughter still echoes in your ears.

He leans over and kisses your forehead softly, his hand brushing against your arm. “I love you, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I love you, too,” you say, and you mean it. Of course you love Steve but you also can’t help but mourn the love that never was, the one you lost.

Steve is asleep within minutes, his breathing slow and steady, but you lie there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The room is dark, the only sound is the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the hallway.

Your hand drifts to the nightstand, and before you can stop yourself, you reach for your phone. The screen lights up in the darkness, casting a soft glow on your face. You scroll back to the picture your mom sent, opening it again, staring at the image of you and Bucky.

You trace the outline of his face with your thumb, the memories of that day flooding back, the way he smiled at you like he’d always be there.

You never thought much about what life would look like without Bucky in it. But then, life happened. Choices were made. Time passed.

And now, here you are, lying in bed with your husband asleep beside you, staring at a picture of a boy you once knew, wondering how everything got so complicated.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the memories swirl around you, but when you open them again, you’re still here. In this life. In this bed. With Steve.

You turn off the phone and place it back on the nightstand, the glow fading as the room is plunged back into darkness. But even as you close your eyes and try to fall asleep, that picture of Bucky lingers, imprinted on the inside of your mind, refusing to let go.

You wake up feeling… off. Not exactly sad. Not exactly anxious. Just off.

His face still lingers in the back of your mind, hovering like something unfinished, like a conversation you walked away from too soon. You try to shake it, try to focus on the morning routine, getting Lily ready for school, making breakfast while Steve drinks his coffee and reads the news on his phone. You go through the motions, plastering on a smile when necessary, laughing at Lily’s excitement over something one of her classmates said yesterday.

It’s normal. Everything is normal.

So why does it feel like everything inside you is unraveling?

“Beautiful?” Steve’s voice breaks through your thoughts. He’s watching you over the rim of his coffee mug, brow furrowed slightly. “You doing okay?”

You force a small smile, reaching for your own mug. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitate, then glance at Lily, who’s humming to herself as she doodles on a napkin. “I was thinking about heading down to visit my mom this weekend,” you say casually, stirring your coffee though you’ve already added enough sugar. “It’s been a while.”

Steve smiles, setting his cup down and reaching for your hand across the counter. His touch is warm, grounding. Safe. “That sounds nice,” he says, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. “I know she’d love that. Do you want me and Lily to come with you?”

Guilt presses against your ribs. He’s always like this, so sweet, so thoughtful. You don’t deserve it. Not when you’re sitting here, pretending this trip is just about visiting your mom when, in reality, it’s something else entirely.

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I think I just need a little time.”

Steve studies you for a moment, searching your face like he’s trying to read between the lines. Then he nods, squeezing your hand before letting go. “Okay,” he says easily. “But promise me you’ll drive safe?”

You smile, relieved he’s not pressing because he knows why. “Always.”

He leans over, kissing your forehead softly. “Good.” Then he pulls back, grinning. “You know I’ll just be calling to check on you every few hours anyway.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” You laugh, but it feels hollow. You know you love Steve but why does it feel like a stranger’s hands are gripping your shoulders, turning you around, pulling you backward into something you swore you left behind?

The drive to your mom’s house is long. Almost three hours, but it feels even longer with your thoughts weaving in and out of the past. You keep the radio on, some soft indie playlist filling the silence, but nothing can drown out the memories creeping in. Especially when your mind starts to think of all the new songs you’ve added to this playlist, the ones he never got to hear, the ones you know he’d love but you’ll never get to find out.

It’s late afternoon by the time you pull into your childhood home. The house looks smaller somehow, though nothing has changed. The same mailbox, the same front porch with the wind chime that always scared you when you were little remind you too much of the horror movie sounds Bucky would terrorize you with.

You step inside, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and old books. Your mom greets you with a tight hug, fussing over you before leading you to the kitchen, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you. She knows why you’re here, even if you haven’t said it out loud. She knew the moment she sent the picture.

“So,” she says, setting down a cup of tea in front of you. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

You wrap your hands around the mug, staring down at the steam curling into the air. “I just… I was thinking about some old things.” You hesitate, then force the words out. “About Bucky.”

Your mom nods, her expression unreadable. “His letters are still upstairs. I never touched them. Everything is exactly where you left it”

A lump forms in your throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

She reaches out, squeezing your hand “Well I oughta run to the store to get some stuff for dinner!” She smiled before placing a kiss on your cheek and letting you go.

You barely register walking up the stairs to your room but here you are and the box is exactly where you left it.

It’s tucked away in the corner of your bedroom closet, buried beneath stacks of forgotten sweaters and high school yearbooks. Your hands tremble as you pull it out, settling onto the floor. Dust clings to the lid, and for a long moment, you just stare at it.

You shouldn’t open it.

You shouldn’t because the can of worms you'd open with it..

But your fingers are already moving, lifting the lid, revealing a neat stack of envelopes inside. Some are crinkled at the edges, others yellowing with age. Your name is written on every single one, in his handwriting.

You pick one up at random, your breath catching as you recognize the date, seven years ago.

Slowly, carefully, you unfold the letter.

Y/N,

I don’t know why I keep writing these. You never answer. I don’t even know if you’re reading them. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I still need to say these things, even if they never reach you.

It’s late here. The kind of late where everything feels too big, and I can’t sleep, I never can anymore anyway. The only thing keeping me sane is remembering home and thinking about you.

Remember that summer when we were sixteen? The one where we spent half of July sneaking into the lake after dark? You always said the water looked like liquid silver under the moonlight. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I remember the way you looked then. I mean, really looked. The way your eyes caught the light, the way your laugh echoed across the water. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sound as good as that laugh. I remember feeling so overwhelmed in that moment, so scared of the things I was feeling that I decided to pretend something grabbed my foot.

I also remember the way you shivered when the wind picked up, but you wouldn’t admit you were cold. You were stubborn like that. Still are, probably. I wrapped my jacket around your shoulders, and you gave me that look, you know the one. The one where you’re about to say something sarcastic but then change your mind.

I wanted to kiss you that night. Did you know that?

Of course you didn’t. I never told you. I was always too scared to ruin what we had. But I think about that night a lot. About if things would have changed if I had just kissed you.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard your laugh. I don’t even know if I remember the sound anymore. I do remember it was my favourite sound in the world.

Yours, Always

Bucky

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nhaaauyen · 10 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part V

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land."

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines.

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face.

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.” She’s practically pleading now. “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you.

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days. Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure. You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last.

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--"

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late. You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name.

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her. It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process.

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes. You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man.

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika.

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices. Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines.

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face. She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm.

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?”

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape.

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.” Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.”

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew. In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity.

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration.

“I’m satisfied – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling.

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many – I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed.

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched.

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction.

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way. You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming. She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel.

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home?

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle. You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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neverniko101 · 6 months ago

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Chapter II: The Razor

Note: This Route has been altered from the canon route.

I’ll update the guide soon but first I wanna go play Spore

———

Masterpost

———

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delicateperspective · 4 months ago

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The Observer (Observed)

Either someone is deep in the Lore or LT3 era has begun.

Edit: I guess I am going to turn this post into a masterpost of sorts. I go more into detail about what I think this might be here (hint: not Louis).

But for now just please play it safe:

Don’t give them personal information.

Don’t engage in DMs with them.

Keep a healthy skepticism.

TIMELINE:

Twitter user @FromTheObserver was created on March 9th 2025.

At the time it first tweeted, it's pfp was a lavender eye with the roman numberals for 369.

The bio was "Through the looking glass the observer watches, craving what is just beyond reach."

The cover image was the below (MORE ABOUT THIS ARTWORK AT THE END):

At 2:44 GMT PM its first tweet said:

"The silence is broken. At last I return. Did your faith in the future endure, or did it waiver in my absence? You have waited, perhaps doubted, but the silence was never empty. I am ever present, hidden just beyond the veil. -The Observer

At 4:55 PM The Observer tweeted again:

Have you forgotten me so soon? -The Observer

At 7:44 PM Louis' official account tweeeted:

India I had no idea what to expect but you turned up in full force. From Doncaster to Mumbai. Fucking mind blowing! Thank you!

People started digging. "The Observer" appeared in a list of songs someone found on the French Music Directory SACEM. They first tweeted this list on February 2nd 2025.

I was able to confirm the listing at this link.

It is important to note though, that this lists SONY MUSIC PUBLISHING FRANCE as a sub-publisher and Reservior, Big Life Songs, and Inconnu Editur as publishers.

If we compare this to an LT released song, SILVER TONGUES, that ALSO has Sony listed as the subpublisher. So that doesn't debunk this as a real possible upcoming song.

For those who were saying that since it's sony he wouldn't use it. It appears Sony still has some claws in him. But thats normal in the music industry. A SUB-PUBLISHER doesn't mean he has a Sony deal again. It just means that BMG might not have the reach he needs in France to distribute so they'd rather pay someone else to do it.

I'd also like to point out that I could not verify this or any of the other songs on any American or UK repository like BMI or ACE.

I feel really uncomfortable digging into potential songs of Louis' knowing how badly he doesn't like the tracklist leaked. So this will be my extent of my digging on THIS SUBJECT. (But please feel free to let me know if I got anything wrong or I am missing something)

On March 10th, 2025:

At 1:30 AM The Observer tweeted:

I told you… But did you listen? -The Observer

Louis followed Lolla India sometime before 10:19 AM (based on the HL Daily update)

LTHQ Posted a Tiktok of Louis' show at Eletric Brixton around 4:38 PM (based on the HL Daily update)

Louis posted a reel from his time in India at 7:25 PM

At 10:00 PM (20:00) The Observer posted:

Day 1, 20:00 It’s eerily quiet in the laboratory today. - The Observer

At the time of this tweet, their pfp was the same lavender eye. HOWEVER the 369 roman numerals were gone. Replaced by a 7 (Or maybe a 1?). (For information about Louis' connection to the number 7, see this masterpost by @so-idialed-9.

On March 11th, 2025:

Louis poasted a pictures and video for Soccer Aid at 9:13 AM

Louis followed Soccer Aid on Instagram at 10:53 AM

Louis liked a photo from Soccer Aid of his 28 jersey at 1:44 PM

At 10:00 PM (20:00) The Observer tweeted again:

Day 2, 20:00 Watching from the outside, I can only hope not to become one of them. Perhaps I already have… Is it too late for me? -The Observer

The pfp at this time replaced the 7 with a 2.

On March 12th, 2025:

At 3:12 PM The Obsever Tweeted:

Day 3, 15:12 How can I change what’s already been written? If the past is in permanent ink, can the future ever be a blank page? -The Observer

At this time the pfp updated to a red 3 at the bottom.

Around 4:00 PM CST Louis followed footballer Jermain Defoe on Insta.

Also on this day, a pretty TeRrIbLe article from The Standard dropped, essentially making fun of 28, Louis, and his fans.

We also get a "Rome Unseen" of Harry drinking coffee with a friend and yelling at stalkers trying to take his picture.

On March 13th, 2025:

At 3:12 PM The Observer tweeted:

Day 4, 15:15 Inhale. Exhale. Surrender to what’s beyond control. -The Observer

Pretty telling for a fandom that is crashing out over circumstances outside of anyones control.

The number in the pfp changes to a white 4 in the right hand corner.

Louis doesn't move on this day.

On March 14th, 2025:

At 6:20 AM The Observer tweeted:

The shadow consumes the light. A fleeting moment where past, present, and future collide. Do you see it? Observe. -The Observer

It is important to note that there was a Blood Moon Lunar eclipse that could be seen in London just before dawn. "Stargazers around the world caught the first sign of the lunar event, which began at 05:09 GMT, on a livestream run by LA's Griffith Observatory."

Note the nod to the Observatory, to shadow consuming light.

The pfp stays the white 4 during this tweet.

At 3:18 PM The Observer tweeted:

Day 5, 15:18 Across a million futures, one constant endures. -The Observer

Sound familiar? If you are a Larrie, it should. Mr. "souces say he has trouble with long term relationships" used a similar line in his "You Are Home" promo.

(personal opinion here. take with a grain of salt. this has confirmed for me that Louis has nothing to do with this account. This line was too loud when H tweeted it. It didn't fit any narrative. It wasn't even related to anything on the album. This and the "half way home" debacle were some of the craziest wtf is going on here moments in the You Are Home tweet saga. If this had anything to do with his work or career, Louis would stay far away from using lines this closely tied to Harry.)

The pfp updates to a white 5 (which really looks like an upside down 2)

At 6:00 PM LTHQ posted an IG reel from India.

On March 15th, 2025:

At 10:00 AM The Observer tweeted and immediately deleted:

"A true observer must always be watching. Blink, and you'll miss what matters most. 625 369 825 007 326 028 -The Observer"

369 and 28 are both intrinscly linked to Louis and can be found in the masterpost at the begining. 007 is typically a reference to James Bond which Harry is a favorite to perfom the next James Bond song or play him.

HOWEVER, 625, 825, and 326 could possibly be month/years. As in June 2025, August 2025, and March 2026.

Louis is playing in Soccer Aid on June 15th 2025. (THIS COMES INTO PLAY IN A FEW DAYS. Approximately 40% of the articles about Louis' new stunt involve his involvement in SoccerAid and how he will be on the team with his stunt's very recent ex.)

Should we be looking for August 2025 and March 2026 events as well?

At 9:45 PM The Observer tweeted:

"Day 6, Unkown Too quick to catch, too fleeting to frame in memory. But a true observer is always taking notes. -The Observer"

The pfp updated to a white 6 (at the three oclock position)

On March 16th, 2025:

We got two posts again this day.

At 9:30 AM The Observer tweeted:

Day 7, Unknown How did we end up here? -The Observer

The past two posts have stated that the time is "Unknown" instead of giving us UK time. Have we stopped tracking the time? Have we moved timezones?

The pfp updated to a white 7 at this time as in accordance with the dart board.

At 11:30 PM The Observer tweeted:

Silent? Silenced. Patience. Observe. -The Observer

The first part of this refers to an Oprah interview.

The implication is that someone has not CHOSEN to be silent. They've been made to be silent. However, if we - as the audience - are patient, we can observe what they cannot say.

The pfp updates now. There are no numbers. The pupil is smaller and we can see what appears to be eyelashes in the top right corner.

On March 17th, 2025:

We ge two posts again today. But it's what happens in between that makes it important.

At 8:25 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 8, 20:25 No key to turn, no doors to guide A journey taken, far and wide The walls unfamiliar, the roads unknown A wandering soul, yet not alone -The Observer

The pfp updates back to the original eye with a white 8. Which looks oddly like an infinity sign as the circles are elongated.

First thing to note is that were back on UK time. The second - your intepretation of this tweet will matter to how authentic you think this account is. For me - when I saw "no key to turn, no doors to open". I immediately thought of the tattoo Harry has on his ribs of a birdcage with no door. Next to his drama masks. Above the SMCL (smile more cry later?) tattoos. There isn't a keyhole nor a door to this closet. The "you are home" door is closed, it cannot be opened.

Yet the last line of the 28 word (if you include the signature) poem leaves us hopeful. Despite the distance, the walls, the unknown roads, there’s an undercurrent of connection

Then an hour and a half later at 10:00 PM on the dot The Sun gives us our very first confirmation article of Louis' new stunt. Which I will not speak about in depth on this post. If you want more info, my page is full of it, but I don't want to muddy this post with that.

At 11:55 PM we get another tweet from The Observer:

Fabricated fairytales, observed by all. -The Observer

The pfp does not change.

The "fabricated fairytales" is a line from Louis' She is Beauty, We Are World Class. (my intrepretation of that song is here if you're into that kind of thing.) This is in direct response to the stunt. It is not mincing words or leaving room for interpretation by the timing. It is saying "this is a fake romance and now the world is watching".

On March 18th, 2025:

At 8:35 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 9, 20:35 Nearly Halfway Home. A long journey, but well worth it. -The Observer

The pfp uppdates to a green 9 as per the dart board.

The tweet itself, needs lore to explain.

On April 1st 2022, Louis registered a song Halfway Home. This registration can still be confirmed here.

THEN on April 13th 2022 (two weeks later), the You Are Home account for Harry's House promo tweeted "half way home"

Home, as a concept, has always deeply tied to both Louis and Harry and both of them together. The lore goes deep, but a summary is here.

The capitalization of Halway and Home, directs us to the song name.

But if were intepreting, it's also telling us that there is a plan in place. And though its a long way out, we're nearly halfway there and it will be worth it in the end.

On March 19th, 2025:

At 2:28 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 10, 14:28 A fresh set of eyes, born from little white lies. -The Observer

The pfp changes to a white 10.

Little White Lies is a clear refrence to the One Direction song, Little White Lies.

Bare with my little larrie heart here (but since this account is obviously also a larrie I'd be suprised if you aren't too) but Louis is in the headlines more than hes been in a decade right now. The PR is PRing. There are a whole new set of eyes on him. All because he's selling the story of some "little white lies".

DARTBOARD THEORY AND UPDATES

At this point, to anyone who is paying attention, it's become clear that the numbers represent a dart board.

See the most recent overlay below:

There have been a lot of recent theories revolving around dart boards after Louis posted one while he was in New Orleans for the superbowl and then followed a darts player on Instagram.

As to keep this unbiased and not tied to further speculation, I won't comment on the connection around all of the other people in Louis' life that have posted pictures of dart boards recently (just know that his sisters, Pleasing, Lamby, Niall, and more have posted dart boards - usually with the dart in the triple 20 spot). HOWEVER, darts has always been popular in the UK and its growing in popularity with the younger crowd recently. It's entirely possible that Louis just loves a game of darts at the local, and his sisters' boyfriends do to, and he's watching competive darts lately (especially the first openly gay dart player who is super popular right now), and Pleasing thought somehow darts were Valentine's day imagery.

EXTRA STUFF & FINAL THOUGHTS

As mentioned by this Twitter user, the artwork is pretty well likely AI generated (plus a little Canva/Photoshop for the numbers). It has all the tell-tale signs of generative AI (wonkey lines, misproportions, etc).

Louis has entire teams of graphic designers plus Joshua Halling (who loves this skind of thing) in his back pocket. He wouldn't need AI for any of this.

At this point, The Observer is definitely an interesting mystery, but whether it’s something to pay attention to or just a fan-run account remains to be seen. The AI-generated images are a major red flag—it’s hard to imagine Louis or his team relying on AI when he has actual designers and photographers on hand. Even his more cryptic rollouts in the past have been visually polished and intentional.

That said, the timing of the tweets, the SACEM song listing, and the number symbolism do make it intriguing enough to keep an eye on. If this is a fan project, they’re clearly deep in the lore and know how to grab attention.

Key Takeaways:

Be cautious. If this is a fan messing around, engaging too seriously could be dangerous to your online safety.

Don’t assume it’s official.

It's probably not connected and Louis probably knows nothing about it. If it is somehow connected it will become obvious soon. If it's not (way more likely), it’ll probably fade out like other fandom mysteries before it.

For now? I’m just observing The Observer. 👀

#the observer #Louis Tomlinson #lt3?

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too-much-tma-stuff · 1 year ago

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I Never Blamed You (Part 6)

So, where has Dick been?

Previous | Masterpost | Next

Dick was not going to reach out to Bruce first, he absolutely was not. He wasn’t wrong, and Bruce was never going to change anyway! Their fighting was the reason he had gone to Bludhaven in the first place, and their relationship had only gotten worse when Bruce had taken in Jason, and worse again when he died. Dick had blamed Bruce, but he had blamed himself more, for not being a better brother to the kid. Ya sure he hadn’t wanted a brother, but that was how siblings usually worked! He should have been there! And now here he was, not being here for Tim either, and feeling like complete shit about it.

He apartment was a fucking pigsty and he didn’t clean it. He hadn’t been taking care of himself, he’d been eating junk, he was barely sleeping. He was not doing well and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much other than his patrols and being Nightwing, he didn’t care about much besides saving people. Like maybe if he saved enough strangers he could make up for not saving his brother.

He couldn't.

He still checked in on the rest of the family sometimes, and he never blocked Batman on official channels so if they really needed help they could call him. Bruce had never blocked Dick either, or locked him out of their servers, if he did Dick would probably cry.

It had been a few months so it was time to check in again. He still wasn’t locked out thankfully, so he had a look around at the most recently updated files. What were Bruce and Tim having issues with in Gotham?

The most accessed file in the last few weeks was the one on Red Hood and his partner Hyena. Dick really didn’t know that much about them besides they were Gotham’s new crime lords, and he had heard on the news Hyena had killed the Joker. Dick felt like he owed Hyena for that. He had succeeded where Dick had failed after all. He still held a small grudge against the people who had resuscitated the bastard, Nightwing had killed him on purpose after all.

Dick opened the file on Hood, propped his chin on one fist and leaning against the desk, bored and tired, ready to skim the file before moving on. He froze, his body going completely rigid as any trace of his previous fatigue fled his body.

Alias: Red Hood

Civilian name: Jason Todd

It couldn’t be the same Jason Todd, he was dead, it had to be an awful coincidence surely! But he read on with rebid hope anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was Jason, the Baby bird. He’d grown so much, he’d changed so much!

Dick barely remembered to turn off his computer before he grabbed his suit and headed straight for Gotham, and Crime Alley.

It was half a miracle that Dick didn’t crash on his way to Gotham with how fast he was going, and how little attention he was paying. He wound in and out of traffic to get to his little brother as quickly as possible, ignoring everything else till he reached Crime Alley. He abandoned his bike more than parked it, and went looking for Red Hood.

They must have access to the cameras in the Alley, or maybe just a network of informants, because they came to meet him long before he would have found them. Both Hyena and Hood were there, but as soon as Dick saw Red Hood he zeroed in and barely noticed Hyena, didn’t even hear the way he snarled when Dick rushed towards Jason.

Jason made a ‘down’ gesture to Hyena who subsided and stopped growling, fading partially into the shadows, though he was still watching them intently.

“Is that really you Little Wing?” Dick breathed, he felt like the hope was choking him and he didn’t even know if it was real. He’d had delusions and hallucinations before, and Jason featured in them regularly. Hood looked tense, his arms were crossed and his posture closed off, he didn’t seem exactly happy to see Dick.

“What do you want, Big Bird?” He asked. The nickname, even through the modulator Dick recognized the way Jason said it.

Dick was shaking he realized, and he could feel the burning of tears behind his eyes as he crumpled in on himself. Hardly a warm reception, but of course it wasn’t. Why would Jason want to see him? He had been a terrible brother, he hadn’t been there when Jason needed him, he hadn’t been there for Tim. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have intruded on Jason’s new life. He was probably better off without Dick anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” He managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t here. B didn’t tell me, you- No, you didn’t have to tell me, you don’t have to accept my apology. But I wish-” He was interrupted by a little hiccupping sob. He shook his head and brushed away his tears with the back of his hand, furious at himself for his useless self pity. “I wish I’d been a better brother to you. I should have been there, I should have saved you.”

A pair of strong arms wrapped around Dick and he surrendered to them immediately, if Jason hurt him he probably deserved it. But no, Jason just… held him. “I don’t blame you Dicky,” Jason said softly and the floodgates just broke. Dick wrapped his arms back around Jason and sobbed into his broad chest, clinging like a child and barely processing it as he was picked up. Hyena leading the way and Jason brought him to their nearest safehouse.

Dick passed out before they got there.

----------

Danny opened the door for Jason and quickly disabled all the traps so Jason could carry Dick in and lay him down on the couch. He covered Dick with a throw blanket and slumped down into a chair, taking his helmet off and took a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the chair with a soft thunk.

Danny trotted to the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on to brew. Once it was done and Jason had a moment to collect himself Danny poured Jason a cup. He pressed it into Jason’s hand and curled up on Jason’s lap purring softly, Jason was sure he wasn’t actually happy right now, but knew Jason found the sound soothing and was doing it for his benefit. He appreciated it.

He absently rubbed Danny’s back while he processed his feelings. Danny didn’t say anything, they never really demanded answers of each other, Jason appreciated that too.

“I didn’t know he cared this much, or that he was doing this badly,” Jason told Danny softly. “I should have reached out to him. I thought he already knew and just didn’t care.”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t have a great relationship with him before did you? You didn’t think those things for no reason,” Danny told him.

“Ya, he’d left by the time Bruce took me in and he was barely around. And when he was Bruce and he would fight and he’d storm off,” Jason said with a sigh. “But he’s thinner now, and so tired. I didn’t realize-” He cut himself off, hiding his face in Danny’s shoulder.

“He’s here now, we’ll work it out,” Danny promised, and his confidence did soothe Jason, at least enough to come out of hiding and sip his coffee.

---------

Dick woke up to the smell of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. For a moment he thought that he must be at the manor, and it felt like it had when he was a kid, but when he stretched he realized he was sleeping on a couch. He paused for a moment, and all the memories from before came back. He sat up abruptly and looked around wildly.

“Well welcome back Sleeping Beauty. Seriously, how long has it been since you slept?!” Jason asked, and the other man sitting at the kitchen island cackled. He recognized the laugh, even if Hyena was out of his suit. “You’ve been asleep all night, I made cinnamon rolls.”

As if to prove it Hyena held up his half eaten cinnamon roll, and then took another big bite. “There’s coffee too,” Hyena said with his mouth full, Jason whacked him with a spatula for it and Hyena dramatically pretended to be hurt. Jason rolled his eyes.

Dick blinked and got up, warily approaching the counter as if he expected them to reject or attack him. Jason just got him a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll as he sat down. Dick picked it up and nibbled it, it was delicious enough that he kept picking at it, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite.

“How long have you been back?” Dick asked Jason softly. He should introduce himself to Hyena properly, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Jason right now. He’d grown so much, he looked older than he was. Where had that little boy gone?

“I came back about six months after my death but I wasn’t all there,” Jason said, turning away to pour his own cup of coffee. “The League of Shadows found me and dumped me in the Pit. I had the worst case of Pit Madness afterwards. It took me a year of training with them, and another year with the All-Cast before I really knew who I was enough to come back to Gotham, and I’m still not the same as I was before. I never will be,” Jason said like a warning as he pulled up a stool and sat down across from Dick and Hyena.

“They’re pretty common ongoing side effects of resurrection like that,” Hyena added, finally drawing Dick’s attention to him. “Increased violence and obsessive tendencies are pretty normal. So are the grudges and the need for closure, I mean, it makes perfect sense doesn’t it?”

He stretched across the table towards Jason, and Dick finally noticed the white in his hair. It matched Jason’s now, though the placement was different. Jason absently brushed his fingers over Hyena’s open palm in a brief but practiced caress. Hyena grinned up at him fondly. It made Dick feel out of place.

“How would you know?” Dick bristled, he didn’t mean to, and he shouldn’t have. He just hated how well Hyena obviously knew Jason when Dick didn’t know him at all. He had always been a bit of a jealous person.

“Because I died too and I was the same! And I wasn’t even exposed to this Pit stuff,” Hyena explained with a little shrug before straightening up again.

“Oh,” Dick sounded, deflating again, he really shouldn’t be picking fights. He'd rather focus on Jason anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back,” He said looking at Jason and trying not to cry again. “You’ve been back for, what, 8 months? You could have reached out.”

“I didn’t think you'd care, we weren’t exactly close,” Jason said with a shrug. Dick felt like he had been punched in the gut. “When I revealed myself to Bruce and asked why he hadn’t avenged me he threw a batarang at me to stop me from killing the joker and slit my throat,” He said, tilting his head to show the scar. Dick felt like he might throw up at the sight. “I guess I didn’t want to risk reaching out again.

“I figured I was pretty well disowned and didn’t have a family anymore-”

“Besides me!” Hyena chirped, smiling at Jason who gave his partner a look of fond exasperation.

“Yes, besides you. So I just kept going with what I was doing, making Crime Alley a safer place and stuff. I did reach out to Tim and we’ve had dinner a few times, but I guess I figured… I heard through the grapevine you didn’t come to my funeral. I didn’t think there was any reason to reach out.”

“I was just in denial,” Dick admitted in a near whisper. “I didn’t want to believe you were gone. I never got a chance to be a better brother, I thought that I’d have more time I guess. Bruce and I, we both fell apart after your death. He got violent to the point Tim felt like he needed to step in,” Jason was nodding, Tim must have told him about that. “But I did too, I had nightmares, and didn’t sleep to the point I started hallucinating you. I beat the Joker to death and never forgave the fucking EMTs who resuscitated him, even though I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I missed you.”

“Damn… I’m sorry Dick, if I'd known it fucked you up that bad I would have reached out. I just assumed since Bruce and Tim knew, you must know too. I wasn’t that surprised you didn’t come, but I didn’t blame you.

"Not this time, and not when I died either. I was mad at Bruce, not you, you didn’t ask for a brother and I understood that. I wasn't your responsibility.

"But, I guess, you’re here now, and I am too. We can try and start over. It’ll have to be slow though,” he glanced at Hyena, who nodded encouragingly. “This is going to be… a lot. For both of us I’m sure.”

“Right,” Dick agreed sheepishly. “Whatever you need Little Wing, I’m sorry I just showed up without warning last night. I just needed to see you.”

“It’s okay, I’m… glad to know you care. No one told me that you tried to kill the Joker.” Jason paused and shoved the plate of cinnamon rolls towards Hyena. Huh, Dick hadn’t noticed him trying to sneak another one. Hyena looked sheepish as he took another, Jason shook his head at his boyfriend before continuing. “Just take better care of yourself okay? Next time I see you I don't want you passing out in my arms again,” Jason chided him.

“Ya, ya I will,” Dick agreed with an embarrassed little blush. “I’ll reach out to Tim too.” It was way past time to do that.

“Good, he’s a good kid but his self worth is in the fucking gutter. He’s going to work himself to death before he’s 30 if someone doesn’t give him a healthy role model, and some support, and we all know Bruce won’t do it,” Jason huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll do my best to help,” Dick vowed. This was a second chance he never expected, he was not going to waste it.

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #dead on main #my writing #dick grayson #Hyena!Danny #batfam #long post #multii part fic #dick grayson has eldest daughter syndrome #Dick Grayson has depression

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